"We are all born of woman's blood. Blood is a ritual performed under the light of the changing moon; a harbinger of womanhood. A bloodstained woman is a natural woman."

Gerudo Warrior's Creed

Link's lungs twisted inside him. He could feel Impa tense at his side, preparing herself to fight or flee, but he could not tear his eyes away from the person who had emerged from the water. The icy needles she had summoned from her oasis sparkled around her like jewels, hovering in the dusty air. The mist from her pool cloaked her shoulders like a robe, and the jewelry on her wrists and throat seemed as much a part of her as her long red hair. When her body had risen entirely from the water, clothed in nothing but steam and shining gold, she appeared to hover above it, toes barely touching the surface. Her eyes stayed locked with the King's, and her large, colored lips opened slowly to speak.

The words echoed through the chamber like music, sending a chill down Link's spine, but he could not understand them. He squinted, trying to extract meaning from the shapes of her curled lip, from the movement of her eyes, streaked heavily in black and gold. She spoke slowly to the King, in deep, tonal Gerudo, and even when she paused to gesture or take a breath, he did not reply. He stood in silence before her, almost deferential, as she said something that seemed to frighten his magicians.

The King did not take his eyes off hers as she raised her hand, twitching her finger almost imperceptibly. The needles of ice at her side disappeared with a harrowing whistle, plunging into the throats and faces of the King's men. They fell in silence, crumpling to the floor in a flurry of dark robes, but their sovereign did not seem to notice or care.

The woman extended her hand to him, bent elegantly at the wrist, rings and bracelets shining. The King took it gently in his, and kneeling, pressed his lips against it. The woman's smile spread, and taking her eyes off the man before her, raised them to the screen above the aqueduct. Her golden irises shone brightly, hovering over the shadows that covered Link. She twitched one eyebrow briefly, almost playfully, telling him with no hint of uncertainty that she knew he watched.

When her yellow gaze met his, a paralyzing, freezing pain swept from his heart outward. He clutched at his chest, gritting his teeth against the cry that threatened to billow up his throat and out his mouth. But Impa's strong hand wrapped around his arm, pulling him back, away from the grate, away from the woman on the other side. When she dragged him from that petrifying golden stare, his heart thawed, his breath returned, and he found the strength to chase after Impa.

He could almost feel the woman's eyes on his back as he scrambled through the darkness. He could almost feel her gaze pierce the stone between him and that enchanted pool, following him as he fled, too slowly, through the tunnel. As he struggled toward the distant light, he half expected the small passage to flood with angry steam or needles of ice, or the sound of musical, witchlike laughter.

Link burst from the darkness as if from deep water. He gasped, dusty air filling his lungs, as he tripped after Impa, stumbling through the golden light of the temple's main chamber. His heart skipped a few beats when he accidentally kicked the grating they had left sitting on the conduit. It spun from the stone, and for an infinite second it hovered in midair, turning like a tossed coin, before hitting the floor with a deafening clatter. All was still for a second—Impa turned and widened her eyes at him, and he could see Palo and Talm's shapes emerge from the shadows by the walls. Impa stilled for half a second, lips pursed in thought, before deciding their course of action. She motioned for the others to come down from the buttresses, and signaled the command to flee.

She launched herself from the aqueduct in silence, landing on the nearer arm of the goddess. Her strong hands gripped the ledges of its jewelry, and she barely slowed her fall before she pushed off and rolled safely to the floor. Link followed, fearfully, clumsily, kicking off the conduit and grasping the statue's arm. He managed to push himself forward, dropping onto one of her crossed legs before he jumped to the floor, copying Impa's roll and launching himself after her.

As he sprinted past the altar, he glanced behind him, to the shallow door at the statue's base. He saw no sign of activity, no indication that the King or the terrifying woman would emerge from it. Link did not want to think about those needles of ice flying into his throat, or the burning steam of that chamber crawling out to wrap around him. He just followed Impa, praying that no one heard the racket he'd made, hoping that the woman hovering over the water hadn't told the King that their ritual had attracted a couple uninvited spectators.

Talm and Palo dropped to the floor in silence, and Nabru tumbled in a clang of armor and obscenities. She landed unharmed, but with a louder racket than Link had made with the aqueduct's gate. He sprinted past her, giving her a hurrying look, and within a few seconds they had made it to the entryway of the temple. Link rushed through without looking behind him; he did not want to see if the King had followed the sound of metal on stone, did not want to see the shadow of the man at the base of the goddess.

He and his companions flew out onto the open portico, only to find a pair of well-armed soldiers guarding the door. After the initial shock of seeing a whole host of strangers fly from the entrance in a wave of panic, the men lowered their spears and chased them across the stone court. Palo turned, and dodging a powerful thrust of the first guard's spear, lifted a foot and kicked him in the soft spot between his helmet and breastplate. He drew his knife to finish him off as the guard's partner ran toward them, weapon raised.

He didn't get two steps before Nabru's spear, heavy-tipped and bending with the motion of her arm, met the guard at the neck. With a harrowing crunch, the blade ripped through mail and met flesh, sending the guard flying at least half a dozen feet before his head even left his body.

Palo stood stunned for a moment, knife still in the throat of his own adversary, before he grunted in approval and swept after his companions. He leapt from the stone portico and onto the soft sand, following the others into the desert, toward the oasis where there horses waited. They had not gone a few hundred feet from the temple when Impa suddenly slowed. Link skidded to a halt by her side, and followed her gaze to the hurried footprints they had left in the sand.

"Keep running," Impa told him. She shoved him with her elbow as she drew her lyre from her back. "Ready my horse and I'll catch up." He knew better than to disobey, and fell into step with Nabru, glancing behind him to see her run her hand across her instrument. A terrible, thick sound emanated from the harp, and a massive billow of sand swirled up from the ground like a dark cloud. Impa stepped away from it, strumming, coaxing more sand into the air, covering their tracks and enveloping the area in a thick haze. She turned and stumbled after them, occasionally plucking a few more billows of her sandstorm, and when she was sure she had summoned enough to cover their trail, turned and sprinted after him. She caught up to them easily with her long strides, feet kicking up dust. No one spoke, no one looked back—the only sounds that accompanied them were the quick, desperate puffs of their hurried breath, the creaking of Nabru's boiled leather and the whistle of Impa's little sandstorm raging behind them.

Link's lungs burned with exhaustion, his legs shook, his mouth was dry and tasted of sand, but when they reached the oasis, there was no time to rest or drink. They stumbled to their horses, fumbling to untie them. The animals snorted, surprised at the sudden, chaotic entrance, but did not complain as their riders threw themselves on their backs and kicked them toward the Haunted Waste.

"What are we going to do about a guide?" Talm called over the rush of wind.

"We'll find one once we get there," Impa answered. She looked over to Palo, and he widened his eyes at her, frowning. Link recognized the doubt in his face, but he said nothing as he followed Impa, kicking his horse to the edge of the dark, haunted sands. They maintained their deep silence as they descended, directionless, into the Waste.

"What in all the goddesses' names went wrong back there?" Talm demanded.

The winds were cold and sharp, sand obscuring the sky as night fell. Palo sat a few yards away from them, legs crossed, palms turned up, muttering. He had not yet found a ghostly dragoman, but they were far enough into the Waste Impa was sure the King could not follow them.

"We were seen," Impa replied. She removed a large flagon of water from her horse's side and drank deeply from it.

"And here I had faith that you lot were subtle," Nabru grunted. She leaned on her spear and watched Palo sit and murmur to himself a few paces away.

"We made no mistake I could gather," Impa said. "Well, at least not until we came back out." The clamor of the grate falling to the floor filled Link's ears, and he reddened.

"You sure flew out of there," Talm said, folding her arms across her chest. "Did the King see you?"

"No. No, it was his… it was…" Impa raised her eyes, as if she could find the correct word somewhere in the sky. "It was a woman who rose from the water."

Nabru turned her head, eyes wide, pulling her spear from the sand and approaching to better hear the conversation.

"What?" Talm almost laughed. "Who rose from where?"

"There was a room beyond the statue."

"Well, we figured that."

Impa ignored her sister's interruptions. "And in that room was a pool. He seemed to summon her from the water."

"What was her name?" Nabru had joined the interrogation.

"I didn't catch everything she said." Impa closed her eyes, brow furrowing. Link certainly couldn't help her—the only meaning he had gleaned from the conversation were the woman's strange motions, facial expressions, and twists of her wrist as she summoned her magic. And even then, all he'd figured was that apparently she did not mind the presence of the King, but had some sort of grudge against his underlings. "My Gerudo is less than great," Impa continued, "but she said… if I heard right, she said she had been sleeping for a long time… and she does not enjoy waking up to unworthy company, or bad company, or… maybe just 'the company of men.'"

"They are generally one and the same," Nabru quipped, as if she couldn't help it despite the circumstances.

"And then she killed the King's magicians."

"What, just like that?" Talm snapped her finger.

"Yes. She drove them through with ice from her pool."

"Ice," Nabru muttered.

Talm's eyes widened. "Well, that explains why you were in such a hurry. And what happened to the King?"

"I don't know," Impa answered.

Link recalled the way the woman's golden eyes danced when she looked at the sovereign, the way he lifted his hand toward hers. "I don't think she means him harm."

"How would you know?" Talm demanded.

"He kissed her hand; she spared his life," Impa answered for him. "If that doesn't constitute some sort of deranged alliance, I don't know what would."

"We must tell Ahnadib of this," Nabru said. She started to pace. "Yes, she would very much like to know."

Impa turned her gaze to Link as Nabru muttered to herself. "So, that metal we found…" Link knew she wished to speak of its relation to the scrap they discovered on Eldin's peak, but couldn't. He nodded in understanding. "That was not his goal."

"Why would it be?" Talm said. "It's just junk. And look where you found it. On the sacrificial table? Goddesses above, who knows how many throats it's slit."

Link had to admit the likelihood of Talm's theory. Though he did not quite know the purpose and history of the temple on Eldin's peak, he was at least familiar with one story about the Colossus. He wondered if the metal had played a part in killing the linguist whose ghost had led them across the Waste.

"Hurry up!" Nabru shouted. He looked over at her to see her with her hands on her hips, leaning toward Palo. "This place is infamous for being haunted, how hard can it be to find one goddamn ghost?" He didn't respond; he didn't even seem to notice Nabru's increasingly aggressive shouts.

Impa gripped the giant's elbow sternly. "You can't hurry something like that," she said. "We need to rest while we can, unless you want the horses to die under us on the way back. He will find a guide soon."

"He'd better, unless he wants me to smack some haste into him." Her frown darkened, but when she saw that Palo was not hurrying (and unlikely to start), she sighed and slid to the ground, crossing her legs. "Tell me more about this woman you saw in the temple."

Impa related all that had happened, never missing a beat in the narrative where Link could jump in and contribute—the woman rising from the water, what Impa could make out of her words, the way she looked up at them as if she'd known from the beginning they were watching her. She did not mention an ice-cold feeling spreading from her heart when the stranger held her gaze, but Link was not sure if even he'd felt that unexplainable sensation, now that the ordeal was behind him.

It was difficult to tell the time of night when Palo returned to them, eyes ringed with fatigue, claiming to have found a guide. "This one can take us to the edge of the Waste," he said. "She says she knows the fastest way."

"Good," Impa replied, and wasted no time mounting her horse. "Ask her if she knows anything about the Colossus witches."

"Is that what you saw beyond the statue?" Palo frowned.

"Perhaps. We can't be sure."

Palo closed his eyes for a moment, mouth moving slightly. "She knows nothing. She died looking for wormsilk. She never made it to the other side."

"Pity you can't summon the first man," Nabru said. "I'm sure he'd have a thing or two to say about what he saw in the Colossus before he died."

"He told me all he could," Palo answered, pulling himself onto his horse. "He was blindfolded most of the time. Hell, who knows, it could've been whoever you saw beyond the goddess statue that ate him."

Link's stomach turned. "Ate him?"

"Did I not mention that before?" He shrugged at Link's stare. "Well, someone did. You should've seen his torso. It looked like the boar we cut up at the winter festival." Link tried to imagine the scenario, and couldn't. Palo watched his face contort in disgust, wearing the beginnings of a morbid smile. "Well, don't look so offended. I'm sure he tasted just fine."

"Palo, we're in a hurry," Impa reminded him.

He shook his head and nudged his horse forward, closing his eyes and letting his tattoos and whatever lay beyond them guide him back through the wasteland.

"It's quiet."

It did not need to be said. It was clear enough how unnaturally still the sands of Wormhaven lay under the white sun. The grey dunes were silent for miles—there were no waves, no shifts of sand, no distant rumbling of wormtracks. The horses seemed relieved to find the land free of predators, but Nabru's mare, used to the area, appeared to be nervous about the sudden change of atmosphere. It snorted in protest when she urged it down toward the dark sands, but obeyed.

Link and the others followed their Gerudo guide across the empty land, waiting for the unmistakable sound of a rumbling worm, but the ground remained unmoving for miles. Link pushed his horse onward, up to Nabru's side, carefully preparing his questions for her.

Talm saved him the trouble. "What the hell happened here?"

"I don't know," Nabru answered. "I've never seen it like this. There are always a few… at least a couple, here and there…"

There weren't many things that could've changed since the last time they had traversed Wormhaven. "Do you think—" Link started.

"It was that witch," Nabru said. "I know it. Somehow, she…" the Gerudo did not seem to have any idea where she was going with her accusation, but she seemed sure of its veracity.

"All right then," Palo started. "Let's say she did this. Let's say she emptied this place of worms, all from a distance. Now we're stuck with the questions of how and why. Both unanswerable."

"Exactly," Impa muttered, but her sister seemed to latch onto the idea that the witch—or whatever she was—had somehow managed to clear out the miles of land between the Waste and Obra Garud.

"What sort of person could do something like this?" Talm's voice was soft, but echoed across the empty landscape like a shout. "Did she scare them all off?"

"She couldn't have," Nabru answered. "Worms fear nothing."

"We know nothing about what happened here," Impa reminded them. "And we're wasting time speculating. Meanwhile gods know what our enemies are doing." Her inflections were confident and firm, as usual, but Link could hear the waver of anxiety in her voice. "We should take advantage of the circumstances and hurry through Wormhaven. Maybe we'll come across a few later on."

They didn't. As they rode quickly and silently, the landscape did not change. The dark sands rose and fell as lifelessly and gradually as any other windswept dune in the vast desert. It appeared the worms had taken their roaring and rumbling elsewhere, leaving only empty stillness.

It was as if their entire journey across Wormhaven was one silent, held breath. It wasn't until they reached the eastern edge of the dark sands that any of them could release the sighs they didn't know they held inside them. When they stopped for the night, halfway between Wormhaven and Obra Garud, their little camp was desperately quiet. Nabru knelt at its edge and lowered her head to the sand, praying fervently in Gerudo. Link heard Molgera's name invoked more than once; he didn't know what sort of pleas Nabru sent to her armored goddess, but she seemed fervent—distraught, even. He supposed it shouldn't shock him to see such a steadfast adherent lament the ejection of her spiritual sisters from their sacred land, but it still made him shiver a little to see a woman so strong entreat a higher power so vehemently.

Link spent most of the night dividing his attention between eavesdropping on Nabru's ardent invocations and focusing on the conversation between Palo and the sisters, who all had their own ideas about what had happened at the Colossus.

"Clearly that woman has something of value to the King," Impa muttered between bites of cured meat. "Otherwise, he wouldn't have wandered that far into the desert."

"If she's one of those infamous witches, you'd suspect he wanted to learn some magic, or at least ask her for some," Palo suggested. "Though if that's the case he's probably dead."

"Why do you say that?"

"He's a man," Palo continued. "A particularly masculine one at that. You've seen—well, I've seen what those witches have done to men. At least, to that linguist who led us across the Waste." He inadvertently pulled a strip of meat from Link's hand and took a thoughtful bite. "You said she killed his magicians—she probably wouldn't stop there. She might've taunted him for a little while, let him flatter her, but I bet you she ate his liver when she was done with him."

"What is it with you and cannibalism?" Talm asked.

He shrugged. "The linguist told me that's how the Colossus witches made offerings. The nameless goddess lives inside all her worshippers, and to put a sacrifice on the altar, so to speak, you've got to eat it." He finished Link's jerky and reached for another one. Link let him, since his appetite had waned for some reason.

"As nice as it would be to have the King die of his own accord," Impa started, "he's no idiot. We have to assume he knew what he was doing when he traveled to the Colossus."

They nodded in agreement. Link took advantage of the silence and cleared his throat. "The King talked about… before he left for the desert, he talked about magic. About the wind… and souls, and being lost. The desert called to him, or something. I don't remember."

"Surely you'd recall the crazier things he said," Palo half-smiled.

Link shook his head. "He… he said a lot of things. He talked a lot. Sometimes in Gerudo. I didn't understand everything."

"And I don't understand anything," Talm sighed. "All this desert magic, and redead witches and missing worms. I just want to sleep."

Impa glanced over to Nabru, who continued to kneel and mumble, long braid curling by her elbow in the sand. "Whatever is happening, the best thing we can do is get back to Obra Garud and tell the others about it. I just have this feeling…" She fell silent, words evaporating into the night, replaced by a thoughtful frown.

Link looked at Palo's concerned scowl, then at Talm's perfectly plucked brow furrowing in sleepy anxiety. It was easy for any of them to guess Impa's feelings. It was much harder to doubt them.

Ahnadib did not appear pleased. Then again, she never really did—Link could not recall ever seeing the woman smile, but the way she cupped her chin and furrowed her eyebrows seemed even more solemn and troubled than usual. Talporom, flanked by Galra and a white-skinned Sheikah Link had never met, wore the same look, crossing and uncrossing his arms almost impatiently.

Nabru took one knee before her employer, staring at the gilded feet poking from her long, billowing dress, and recited to her all they had learned in the desert. Ahnadib just stroked her second chin, jewelry jingling, frown widening with each turn of events. When the tale of their encounter with the woman inside the Colossus' temple arose, Ahnadib had to interrupt her subordinate.

"He found what?" The intensity of her tone forced Talporom to shoot her a concerned glance. Galra, too, seemed to pale at the news Nabru conveyed.

"You know the Colossus has been abandoned for more than a century, mistress," Nabru said. She kept her face serious, free from fear. "But these two—" she motioned to Link and Impa—"saw a woman rise from a pool of water, very much alive. She responded to the summons of that coward King of theirs. Apparently she killed his underlings with blades of ice, but left him unharmed."

"So we have a rova on our hands?" Ahnadib asked.

"Maybe. But that's not the worst part. When we rode through Wormhaven on our way back, it was completely silent. Not a worm in sight."

Ahnadib's face contorted, her jaw flexed, and she bit the inside of her lip. She tapped her fingers furiously against the arm of her ornate chair. "What sort of witch…"

"I don't know, mistress." Nabru lifted her head. "Do you think Ganondorf will bring this witch back with him when he returns?"

"We cannot afford to doubt it. Whether he sought her alliance or merely her teachings, we cannot say. But we must assume the worst." She turned to Talporom. "Does this change our preparations?"

The Sheikah cupped his chin. "Somewhat. I'll discuss things with you later." His red eyes settled on his daughters and their companions, noting their wind-burned complexions, the fatigue in their stances, the smell of sweat and horses wafting from them. "For now, we should let the travelers rest. They have done well to bring us this information."

"Very well. But we will have to gird our loins if we want to survive the coming battle with our city intact." She dismissed them with a wave of her hand.

Outside Ahnadib's house, in the warm shadows of her intricate wooden screens, they could greet one another informally. Talmporom embraced his daughters, nearly lifting them from the ground with his large arms, before his light-skinned companion approached, laying a hand on Impa's shoulder.

"How long has it been?" she asked.

"Years, possibly. We never seem to find ourselves in the same city at the same time." Impa returned the gesture, smiling. "It's good to see you are well, Elpi."

"You too. And Talm, baby Talm, come here." Talm reluctantly let the woman embrace her, wearing a frustrated scowl. Elpi mussed her curly hair, dislodging her bun, and when she let go, Talm retreated, gathering her locks in her hands and replacing them.

It never failed to surprise Link how quickly Sheikah could switch from their emotionless scowls to warm smiles when the eyes of the world moved elsewhere. They shed their dispassionate, invulnerable frowns and dropped the formal language, exchanging clasps of hands and quips and embraces. Link only counted himself lucky that he was thought of as Sheikah enough to witness a display of affection other races and peoples rarely, if ever, could see.

Talporom approached him and Palo, grasping their shoulders tightly. "And again the gentlemen return alive, despite my daughters' best efforts," he said. A rare smile passed over his lips. "All of you probably have much you want to talk about, but we can do that after you clean yourselves up. Ahnadib has lent us a private residence. It is not far—you probably want good food and a long rest. And you will no doubt make good use of its bathing rooms. You all smell terrible."