Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you, chapter 21 of Corrupted Hero! This update is more special than normal: this story just had its two-year birthday! Can you believe it? They grow up so fast. :P Thanks for coming along for the ride. And you know what else, this chapter is also a a birthday gift from me to you on MY birthday! Hurray! I hope you enjoy.

Here, our group will endure some of the aftermath of Phantom Ganon's entrance, as well as tackle the dawn of the second day. What awaits them? Read on, and find out!

As always, I want to give each and every one of you a huge, heartfelt thank you for your continued support. I couldn't ask for a better audience and group of friends. I appreciate your readership and can't wait to show you more!

Enjoy!

Link, Purah, and Symin fixed their bleary gazes on Maz Koshia as he crossed out another line on his notepad. Pausing, the monk set his pencil down, his brow wrinkling as he ran his gaze over the list on the page.

For a moment, the only sounds in the stuffy air of the lab were the subtle humming of the Guidance Stone and the tapping of the rain that had begun to fall outside. But the group hardly noticed the rain, let alone that morning was finally breaking. No, they were both too exhausted and too immersed in their work to even realize that they had worked through the night.

Link shifted his feet, swallowing. He stared at Maz Koshia, sweating somewhat, before he dared ask, "...How bad is it, Maz?"

The monk sighed, sinking into his chair — something that didn't bode well with his company. He made a face as Phantom Ganon itched with anticipation within him. Ignoring the odd sensation, Maz Koshia pinched the bridge of his nose, endeavoring to keep his voice light as he replied, "Well, the good news is that we only need a few things." Continuing, he shrugged, his voice sinking, "Bad news is… they're some of the most sophisticated instruments the Sheikah race has ever designed."

Purah and Symin cringed. Phantom Ganon boiled with exasperation, making Maz Koshia grunt and clutch his aching chest. Link's heart gave a heavy thud and his face twisted, his gut souring with guilt.

Perfect. Just perfect.

Link hung his head, his Malice-slicked hands rolling into fists as he leaned against the table. His eyes burned as he dragged them along the vast array of ancient machine parts crowding the tabletop.

Overnight, the group had completely disassembled the Sheikah Slate and the Slate Lite down to their individual gears, screws, and springs, working till their fingers bled. It had taken them an agonizing three hours just to sort through the Slate's seemingly-endless menagerie of components, comparing them to the Slate Lite for what was salvageable.

As Link had watched Maz Koshia, Purah, and Symin work, his head had swilled with an odd mixture of wonder and horror. The Sheikah Slate was incredibly complex — an ancient technological masterpiece that he couldn't even begin to hope to understand. He followed along as best he could, but in the end, all he had to show for it was the headache pounding between his ears.

Amazingly, even after Link had driven a plasma blade through it, most of the Sheikah Slate was intact, thank the Goddess. But for every one piece that was in working order, there were another two that were fried. Taking a tally, they had piled everything aside on a spare table.

Link risked a glance at the ruined parts, only to immediately recoil. The sight of them tore him apart. They served only as a reminder of his recklessness. He had done that — destroyed something as irreplaceable as the Sheikah Slate. He wanted to stab himself in his third eye for being so stupid.

As Link wrestled with his own guilt, Symin's eyes lingered on the Slate's broken parts. "What exactly do we need?" he wondered.

Maz Koshia pointed his pencil to the corresponding pieces of the Slate Lite, droning, "The screen, three of the six processors, some fiber optics, and the power core."

"Oh, goddess..." Purah groaned, plunking her face onto the tabletop.

Everyone's stomachs simultaneously sank — Link's due his own ignorance, and Purah, Maz Koshia, and Symin's out of sheer anguish. Link didn't fully understand the monk's jargon, yet dread still brewed in his gut. But the three Sheikah knew the gravity of these repairs. Maz Koshia hadn't sugarcoated it; the parts they needed were some of the most intricate facets of engineering that Hyrule had ever seen. And they hadn't been actively manufactured in ten thousand years.

Though he knew it was fruitless, the monk cast another glance to the small armada of boxes gathered around the table, each full to the brim with spare parts and junk. They had been rifling through them for the better part of the night as well. While Purah had a substantial collection, with replacements for most of their needs, they had come up woefully short on the most crucial components — a fact that now loomed over their heads like a shadow.

Wincing, Maz Koshia peered at Purah, clarifying, "This is all you have, is it not, Director?"

Peeling her forehead off the table, the girl gave a miserable nod. "A hundred years of research," she sighed, brandishing her hands. "You're lookin' at it."

Everyone fell silent for a few moments as the reality of their task compounded with their crushing fatigue. Their spines and necks were stiff; their eyes were heavy, dry, and bloodshot. They hadn't taken a single break since they had begun working the night before. Phantom Ganon hadn't allowed it. If one of them so much as yawned, he would send Maz Koshia into a coughing fit or threaten to break another one of his ribs. Despite this — or because of it, they weren't sure — they had made impressive progress in such a short time, their repairs fueled by coffee, intimidation, and anxiety alone.

But now they had hit a roadblock. And Phantom Ganon was not pleased. He was growing sick of being in-sync with Maz Koshia's scratchy breath, of listening to his incessant train of thought, bored of looking solely through his eyes. He wanted out. He wanted the Slate repaired. And he wanted it done now.

But before Phantom Ganon could make his frustrations known, Link caught everyone's attention. Scowling to himself, he hissed, "This is all my fault." He thumped his fist against the table. "I'm such an idiot."

Maz Koshia frowned. His voice hardened some, gaining an almost fatherly tone as he said, "Come now, there's no sense in that, Link. It was in the heat of the moment." A glare flickered across his brow. "Not to mention you were bludgeoned half to death."

Purah echoed his sentiments, adding, "And I was the one who encouraged you."

Link wanted to shrivel up beneath their sympathetic gazes. He felt he didn't deserve them. And while a better part of him appreciated their compassion for him, the other still wallowed in the suffocating mire that was his guilt. He gave a heavy sigh, shaking his head.

Link withered beneath Maz Koshia's gaze when the monk continued, his voice tender, "We all had a hand in this. Don't beat yourself up — we can fix it. We'll just… have to find the spare parts somewhere else."

Phantom Ganon seethed at that. Maz Koshia dug his nails into the table, ignoring him.

"But where?" Link groaned, raising his hands, oblivious to the spirit's protests. "Where else could we possibly look? The Slate's ten thousand years old. It's not like you can just pick up parts from a shop!"

Link was right. Painfully right. And everyone knew it. Maz Koshia sighed and massaged his temple, murmuring, "If only..."

Conversation faltered as the four of them strained their wearied minds to scrape up a solution. Link ran his fingers through his hair, trying to control his mounting panic as his Malice writhed on his arms. Symin and Maz Koshia shared a worried glance before Symin half-heartedly sifted through a box of parts. Meanwhile, Purah blinked, hard, trying to clear her brain fog. She squinted between the parts of her Slate Lite and the remains of the Sheikah Slate, her brows knitting together.

Squirming, she eventually said, "Well… we could use the Slate Lite's parts to replace them. All we'd have to do is forge a new screen."

Everyone looked to Maz Koshia, who gave a sudden start, his lungs tingling. Phantom Ganon had liked the sound of Purah's suggestion — the sooner the Slate was whole again, the sooner he could leave Maz Koshia's body. The spirit's intrigue sent an airy bloom of delight into Maz Koshia's chest, teasing a small smile out of him.

But the monk wholly disagreed with Purah's proposal. Wiping the smile off his face, he shivered and shot her a wounded look. "No, Director. I won't ask you to sacrifice your project," he said, his voice low. "You worked hard on it."

"But if it's for Link…?" she tried to say.

The monk denied her with a firm, yet gentle, "That won't be necessary. We'll find replacements elsewhere. Though, I'm not sure how long that'll — "

But the words had no sooner left the monk's lips when Phantom Ganon revolted, thrashing against his host's ribcage. Two of Maz Koshia's ribs snapped, punching the breath out of him. He wheezed and doubled over, clutching his chest.

Everyone jolted, gasping. Link, his blood spontaneously boiling, tore around the table to meet the monk. Phantom Ganon had pulled stunts like this one too many times throughout the night for Link's liking. It was getting old. But the moment Link arrived to help the monk, Maz Koshia twisted away, Malice spurting from his mouth as he broke into a wracking coughing fit.

Link stopped cold, his heart swelling with rage. His Malice throbbed. He skirted about Maz Koshia, getting to his knees so he could look him face-to-face. Malice dripped down the monk's check from his reddened eye as he struggled to breathe.

"Phantom!" Link snarled over his coughing. "Enough! We're working on it, all right?!"

But that wasn't good enough for the spirit. Both he and Maz Koshia held Link in their gazes. Whereas the monk's was pained, the spirit's was demanding. Maz Koshia shook his head, choking out between coughs, "Not — f-fast enough — !"

Behind them, Purah stammered, her voice strained, "We'll use the Slate Lite's parts! We promise!"

But Maz Koshia still refused, even amidst Phantom Ganon's threats. "No!" the monk shouted, slapping a hand onto the tabletop. "We'll figure something out — !" he commanded, only to gag on the Malice clogging his throat. He suddenly lurched forward, spitting up a mouthful of poison onto the floor between his legs.

Link recoiled, gawking at the sheer amount of Malice that had come out of Maz Koshia. An involuntary growl slithered out of him, his teeth baring at Phantom Ganon's tantrum.

Something fowl bubbled up from deep within Link at the thought of the spirit. Something familiar. His legs itched as he was possessed with the urge to leap up and tackle Maz Koshia out of his chair. He wanted to pin him to the floor. He wanted to smash his ribcage, reach inside him, and rip Phantom Ganon out of his body. The thought alone sent a jitter into Link's Malice, exciting it.

The desire came on so suddenly, so violently, that it startled Link. He shivered, blinking it out of his mind. But as he endeavored to clear his head of his savage thoughts, he couldn't help but notice the distinct flash of Maz Koshia's red eye and the subtle curl of his lip.

But Link didn't get the chance to dwell on it. Behind them, Purah and Symin flew into action, their minds surging. They had to figure out something with the Slate's parts. Their scrambled thought process brought Link out of his own head for a moment.

"O-okay, erm… where could we look for more parts...?!" Purah rambled, flapping her hands. "We can't go to Robbie — h-he's too far away… The Royal Lab was destroyed…! Ugh, where else…?! C'mon, think!"

Symin's eyes bulged as he tossed his gaze about the lab. His following words flew out of his mouth before he even realized what he was saying. "We've already stripped clean the few Guardians we had lying around," he wheezed. "Where else could we…?"

Symin trailed off. Nobody spoke for a second — even Maz Koshia's coughing waned as Phantom Ganon overheard Symin's suggestion.

Link's head snapped up, his mind bursting with memories of facing the three Guardians that the spirit had summoned. They were built from Sheikah technology. Surely, they ought to have something they needed?

"What about the Guardians at the lake?" Link blurted.

Everyone came to the same realization at the same time. Regrettably, the four of them had all been too tired to realize the obvious solution right under their noses. And Phantom Ganon had been too frustrated, but he wouldn't admit to it.

Maz Koshia's eyes widened. He laid a hand on his ribs, grumbling, "Argh, of course! W-why didn't I think of that?"

Phantom Ganon groaned and rolled his eye, spurring one final cough out of Maz Koshia. The monk tried to direct it into a handkerchief, but he couldn't grab it in time. The ensuing spatter of Malice splashed against Link's face, making him twitch.

The monk froze, his face draining. He looked about to be sick. Shuddering, he pulled the handkerchief from his pocket and smeared the poison off of Link's face.

"S-sorry..." he breathed.

"It's okay," Link replied stiffly.

There was a brief lull as Maz Koshia studied Link's face. He still had blood crusted on his bone mask. In the heat of Phantom Ganon's demands, he hadn't had the chance to even consider cleaning himself up.

But neither of them could mind that. Not now. Clearing his throat, Maz Koshia continued, his voice rough, "Those Guardians... should have everything we need. Processors, fiber optics, power cores…" He paused, catching his breath before laying eyes on the Slate's melted screen. "We'll just need to make a new screen."

Purah hopped up on her chair, a new light sparkling in her eyes. "We have the materials — and the furnace is lit up and ready to go."

"Perfect," the monk replied, his breath shallow and shaky. "Let's do that."

Satisfied, Phantom Ganon released his grip on the monk, though he still kept a close watch on everyone. Finally, they had a plan. It had taken them long enough. Maz Koshia released a long, strained sigh as some of the pressure on his lungs eased; he slumped into his chair and clung to his side, his teeth bared. Link scooted closer, his face warped with worry. The monk offered him a faint smile.

Purah and Symin leapt from their chairs and darted over to Link and Maz Koshia, whereupon everyone exchanged concerned glances. Link, his insides frothing with anxiety, was about to urge them all to get moving. But Maz Koshia did so for him.

"Come on," the monk murmured, turning his gaze on the doors. "We ought to get to the lake." His face twisted into a grimace as he attempted to stand.

Link shot to his feet, forcing him back into his chair as gently as he could. "We'll take care of it, Maz," he insisted.

Symin interjected, making Link jump, "No — we'll go." He gestured to himself and Purah, who nodded. Symin continued to Link, "You stay with him. Phantom will… probably want you around."

Link's jaw ground. Maz Koshia's fingers dug into his chest as the spirit stirred at his mention.

The monk nodded, urging Purah and Symin, "You know what you're looking for. Grab anything you can that has Malice on it. He wants more." His eyes flicked to Link's Malice for a split second before he added, "Y-you ought to wear gloves."

Symin's eyes hardened with determination. "Got it," he said.

The pair wasted no time in clambering over the boxes surrounding the table, hunting through the lab for supplies. From the clutter, they unearthed a few pairs of thick smelter's gloves, their field bags, some empty buckets, and a toolkit. With everything gathered, Symin and Purah made for the front doors.

"We'll be right back!" Purah called.

"Be careful," Maz Koshia replied.

The moment Symin pulled open the doors, a boisterous gust of wind blasted into the lab. The wind whistled as it entered, cooling the muggy air and scattering papers. Everyone paused, breathing in the heady summer petrichor that flooded their senses. The rain that had begun at dawn had crescendoed from a light trickle to a heavy onslaught, pouring off the sagging roof and whispering against the walls. Between repairing the Slate and staving off Phantom Ganon's outburst, the group hadn't even noticed.

But the torrent outside didn't deter Purah and Symin. Maz Koshia had given them a job to do. And they would see it done. That — and their desperation to get away from Phantom Ganon's raging — drove their feet. After exchanging a quick glance, the pair snatched their coats and wicker hats from some hooks on the wall and bade Link and Maz Koshia goodbye.

As their footsteps faded away into the storm, Link and Maz Koshia fixed their gazes for a moment on the open doorway. The dawn beyond was grey, gloomy. Water was already pooling on the stoop. One of the doors, its hinges damaged from Phantom Ganon's attack, thumped against the wall with each gale that snapped into the lab. They listened to it for a moment, only then registering that they had entered the second day before the Blood Moon rose.

Link's heart skipped a beat — he wasn't sure why. Shaking it off, he turned his gaze on Maz Koshia. He got to his knees again, stressing, "Maz, are you all right?"

The monk took in a raspy breath, crumpling up his handkerchief. "I'm fine," he replied, giving Link a weary smile. "Really. Don't worry about me."

But Link wasn't convinced. He scowled at the trickle of Malice crawling out of the monk's left eye socket. The sight of it sent a shudder through the poison coating his arms.

They both noticed, their spines stiffening. Maz Koshia's smile faded. He sighed, wiping at his eye with his handkerchief, murmuring, "It's ransom, Link. That's all this is. He would have gone for you if I hadn't been the better target."

Link's fists clenched till his knuckles popped. He glared into Maz Koshia's reddened eye, growling, "But he said he wouldn't hurt you unless you disobeyed him." His eyes burned with betrayal. "He lied, Maz."

The monk's posture withered at that. He shook his head, giving Link a start. "Phantom Ganon is many things, Link," Maz Koshia began, "...but a liar is not one of them." He gave a scratchy sigh, gesturing to his misshapen ribcage. "I haven't been as compliant as I should be. I'm bringing this on myself."

"I don't care, Maz!" Link fired back. "This has to stop."

"And it will," the monk insisted. "As soon as the Slate is repaired."

Link's brows knit together, a tepid trickle of anxiety seeping into his gut. "How do you know that? We can't trust him, Maz — you said so yourself." He wet his lips, shaking his head. "How do you know he won't turn on us again, once it's fixed? W-what if we can't fight him off? What if he…?"

Link trailed off when Maz Koshia shivered, his eyes widening. Phantom Ganon had whispered something in his mind — a black promise.

"...Maz?" Link breathed.

Tightening his grip on his ribs, the monk returned his gaze to Link, reassuring him, "He won't turn on us. We'll have done what he wanted. He'll be free of my body, he'll have the Slate back. And he'll be back with you." His expression hardened. "That's all he wants, Link."

Link leaned back, his blood souring at that disquieting reminder of Phantom Ganon's obsession for him. He could suddenly feel the spirit's eye honing in on him through Maz Koshia, smoldering with a crazed fire. Link shuddered as if the ghost were worming his fingers under his skin and crawling inside of him.

Maz Koshia could feel it, too. It sent a swell of heat into his eyes. He screwed them shut for a moment before clapping his hands on his knees, eager to change the subject. He let out a motivational puff of breath, bringing both his and Link's gazes to the ruined screen of the Sheikah Slate.

The monk heaved himself to his feet, extending a hand to Link. "Come on," he encouraged. "The sooner we forge that screen, the sooner he'll be out. I could use your help."

Link swallowed. "Okay," he breathed. He refused Maz Koshia's hand, knowing that he would only burn him.

Link shadowed Maz Koshia as the monk shambled around the lab for supplies. Here and there he gathered various tools, piling them into Link's awaiting arms. Link briefly wondered what exactly they were going to be doing with it all. Maz Koshia had given him some heavy-duty tongs, a few more pairs of smelter's gloves and aprons, a jar of pale sand, a spool of transparent, hair-thin wire, scissors, and a steel brick imprinted with a rectangular mold.

Pausing, Maz Koshia looked over the supplies in Link's arms, his brow furrowing as he marked off his mental checklist. He still needed a few things. The monk proceeded to pluck up Link's hood, which he secured around Link's neck, as well as a thick cast iron bucket from the corner. After blowing the cobwebs out of it, he motioned for Link to follow him outside.

They gathered on the porch, looking on for a moment at Maz Koshia's prize: the ancient furnace in the front yard. Link hadn't paid much attention to it thus far, but he couldn't ignore it now. The furnace breathed with brilliant, scorching blue light. The rain that pelted the cliffside hissed as it gathered around the furnace in a dense cloud of steam. Link could already feel the intense heat radiating off of it, warming his clothes.

Maz Koshia set down his cargo and waved away the steam, squinting. Perhaps he ought to wait until the storm passed to do this? But a stab of pain in his chest reminded him of the impatient specter he was housing, as well as his expectations. He had no choice.

Securing his hat, Maz Koshia turned to Link, pulling his hood over his head for him. Smiling, he helped Link unload his burden onto the porch before handing him an apron and gloves.

"Put these on," Maz Koshia said, his voice gaining that same fatherly intensity he had had before. "That furnace is extremely hot."

"No kidding," Link gaped. Once they were suited up, Link glanced at their supplies. "All right," he began, trying to piece together what they would be doing. "What do you need me to do?"

Maz Koshia picked up the jar of sand. Drumming his fingers against it, he looked at Link rather sheepishly before he muttered, "I will tell you up front that I've, erm, only done this a few times before…" Link blinked at that, but nevertheless heeded the monk as he continued, "This is delicate work, but do exactly as I say, and we should be fine. Ready?"

Link nodded.

Maz Koshia instructed Link to grab the cast iron bucket. Doing as he was told, Link held it aloft as the monk poured the sand into it. The monk then took the bucket from Link and hauled it over to the furnace, setting it onto its front receptacle. Despite the wave of heat between him and the furnace, Link leaned in to get a closer look. But the monk extended an arm, keeping both him and his curiosity at bay.

From a safe distance, the pair waited for the furnace to do its work. Over the course of a few minutes, Link and Maz Koshia watched the furnace heat the sand through to several thousand degrees until it liquefied into a puddle of molten glass. It glowed with searing white light. Both Link and Phantom Ganon were hypnotized by it; Maz Koshia couldn't help but smile at their awe. Once the glass was sufficiently malleable, the monk broke Link's gaze by pointing him to the steel mold, the scissors, and the spool of wire.

"Grab those, will you, please?" Maz Koshia requested.

Link brought them forward. Taking the wire, the monk began to unravel it, measuring out a segment roughly the length of his hand and instructing Link to snip it. Link did so. The pair repeated the process several more times till they had a neat bunch of wire. Handing the trimmings to Link, the monk encouraged him to follow as he doubled-back for the molten glass.

Grabbing the bucket's handle, Maz Koshia ducked his head and urged Link, "Get my hat — hurry. Keep the glass dry."

Confused for only a moment, Link stood on his toes and snatched the monk's conical hat from his head, hovering its wide brim over the bucket to shield it from the rain. Both of them winced against the heat blasting off of the molten glass.

Squinting, Maz Koshia gestured his eyes toward the lab, continuing, "Let's bring it inside to cool — quickly, now."

The pair hustled off at an awkward shamble toward the lab. Link did his best to cover the bucket from the rain. Maz Koshia, meanwhile, struggled with his cargo, his broken ribs flaring with hot pain in his chest against his labored breath. Miraculously, they made it inside without slipping or spilling anything.

"Here we are…" Maz Koshia grunted, lowering the bucket to a stony portion of the floor by the entryway. Pausing, he let loose a few wet coughs into the crook of his arm. The sounds made Link shudder, but he forced himself not to fly into a raging panic. He drew the doors shut behind them, quickly joining Maz Koshia as he knelt near the bucket.

The monk turned to Link and outstretched his hand, requesting, a tad breathlessly, "May I have the mold, please?"

Link passed it to him, scooting back to give him room to work. Maz Koshia laid the mold down onto the stone floor and heaved up the bucket with some difficulty, carefully pouring the liquid glass into the mold. Link drank it in with a stomach-clenching mix of trepidation and amazement. The glass flowed, honey-like in consistency, out of the bucket, slowly oozing into the mold's corners.

"There we go," Maz Koshia wheezed. When all of the glass had been poured, he set down the bucket with a heavy thunk. Catching his breath, he then gestured to the mold, inviting Link, "Why don't you give it a few taps... to get rid of any air bubbles?"

Link's eyes widened, a bead of sweat trickling down his neck. "O-okay," he whimpered. He swallowed, his face burning — both out of fear and from the heat of the glass. With his gloves securely on his hands, he took up the mold. He gently knocked it against the floor a few times before quickly setting it down as if it would bite him.

Maz Koshia paused, leaning over and inspecting their work. His gaze then wandered up to Link, his eyes glittering. "Nice work. We're almost done," he said.

Both Link and Phantom Ganon beamed, the latter's excitement coaxing a smile out of Maz Koshia. Shaking it off, the monk slipped the wires from Link's grasp. His hands shook as he laid them length- and width-wise in a grid on the surface of the molten glass. When the final wire was laid, the monk raised his hands, looking everything over in silence for a moment.

Link's heart thrummed in his chest. His gaze flitted between Maz Koshia and the mold. "Is that it?" he wondered.

A smile slowly spread across Maz Koshia's lips. He nodded. "That's it."

A small wave of relief washed through all three of them like a flood, each for different reasons. But they weren't quite finished. His tension easing somewhat, the monk picked up the mold and rose from the floor, murmuring, "Now all that's left to do is to let it cool."

After a brief search of the lab for a place, Maz Koshia's eyes settled on an old kiln recessed into the far wall. No doubt, Purah had once used it to cool the screen of her Slate Lite. Maz Koshia strode across the lab, endeavoring to keep his gait steady, Link on his heels. Link unconsciously held his breath as the monk slide the mold into the kiln. When it was safely cradled inside, both of their shoulders fell.

There was a brief pause. Maz Koshia leaned back, his hands finding his spine. He sighed when his back gave a sharp crack. "Well, there you have it," he mused. He swiveled his head toward Link. "Once the screen is cooled, we'll reassemble the Sheikah Slate. Easy as that."

Blinking away his awe, Link voiced what both he and Phantom Ganon were thinking. His brows furrowed. "...How long will that take?"

Maz Koshia's hand then wandered to his side. He took a breath, bracing himself for the inevitable eruption from Phantom Ganon. "Since it's a rather thin piece…" he began. "I'd give it until sunset."

Both Link and Maz Koshia stiffened, waiting for something to happen to the monk — a coughing fit, the snap of a bone. Something worse. But, to their shock, Phantom Ganon remained relatively calm. Maz Koshia only squirmed slightly when the spirit sighed, making himself comfortable. Phantom Ganon wasn't upset, nor impatient. They had a heading for the Slate's repairs, now — no more nebulous promises or uncertainties. It was only a matter of time.

And time was on the spirit's side. He could wait.

It went quiet for a few moments. Rain tapped at the windows. Maz Koshia waited for any other remarks or outbursts from the spirit, but none came.

Link approached him, unnerved by the spirit's silence. "Are we good, Maz?" he asked.

Maz Koshia turned his gaze on him. He was about to reassure him, but as he laid eyes on Link, he paused. His expression saddened as he beheld Link's haggard, slouching posture, his weary, gore-stained face and tunic. Now that Maz Koshia wasn't under the spirit's thumb, he stared at Link as if seeing him for the first time. His mind swam with flashes of Phantom Ganon's attack — at the gruesome aftermath they had had to ignore because of the spirit's insistence.

And yet, as battered as he had been, there Link was, worried about him.

The monk smiled, though it wasn't one of joy. It was something else. Perhaps pity? Regret? He wasn't sure. But he let it lie. All that mattered was that Link was fine — for the most part.

"Yes, Link. We're good," he replied. Looking to lighten the mood, the monk then snorted, inspecting Link's face. "I mean you no offense, but… you look awful."

Link was too tired to be taken aback by the monk's comment. He gave an empty chuckle, his heavy eyelids drooping. "So do you."

Maz Koshia echoed his laughter. He grazed his fingers against the bloody handprint branding Link's tunic, murmuring, "Here, let's get you cleaned up."

The monk took Link by the shoulder and ushered him over to the table. They both dropped like dead weight into their chairs, laying aside their aprons and gloves. Maz Koshia helped Link out of his tunic, setting it aside to be washed. He then grabbed a pitcher of water from the table that Symin had yet to turn into another draft of coffee. Removing the lid, he pulled a clean handkerchief from his pocket and wet it down.

Scooting his chair toward Link, the monk took him by the jaw, wiping away the blood crusted on his bone mask. Link closed his eyes, the monk's gentle touch and the repeated motion of his hand warming the anxiety lingering in his veins, soothing him.

And yet… something inside Link ached as Maz Koshia cleaned him off. He wasn't sure exactly what it was. But an emptiness settled within him, heavy and cold. It sunk him into his chair, his throat tightening.

Link's eyes fluttered open when the monk finished. They locked gazes.

Maz Koshia smiled at him. "There, now," he mused. "I can see your face better."

Under normal circumstances, those words wouldn't have phased Link. But not then. Link's heart stopped for a moment, stealing his breath. He swallowed hard, a shudder ripping through him as Maz Koshia's words stirred up something in his mind. Something that leaked into his blood like poison.

His face...?

Link's jaw worked as he stared into Maz Koshia's red eye. A bloom of nausea swelled in Link's gut beneath Phantom Ganon's gaze. He looked away, hanging his head.

Maz Koshia set down his handkerchief. "What's the matter, hero?"

Link cupped a hand around his bone mask, trying in vain to hide it. "This is his face, Maz," he muttered, his voice gravelly. "His face. And I'm stuck with it."

Maz Koshia stiffened. He wondered when this revelation would resurface. It had lurked in the back of his mind all night, like a sleeping cancer.

He cursed himself for not seeing it before. But when he had first met Link, he had been in such shock at his appearance that he hadn't even considered where his new face had come from. And with the whirlwind of revelations that they had uncovered… he hadn't gotten the chance to think it through. Not until the night before. Until that point, the mask had simply… become Link's face. Not Phantom Ganon's. Link's.

And that was his mistake. That was everyone's mistake. Link had gotten used to it somewhat, but Phantom Ganon's grim reminder had only rekindled his own self-hatred. It devoured him from the inside, whittling him down to nothing.

As Link tried to conceal himself, Maz Koshia ran his eyes along the incisors lining his bone mask, to his horns, his third eye. The monk's heart shriveled in his chest. He couldn't even begin to imagine how it felt to be forced into wearing such a ghastly thing — to have it drilled into your head every time you met someone. To have them spit in your face and cower before you… like you were a monster.

Maz Koshia hesitated to reach out to Link for a moment, worried about upsetting him further. But eventually, he gathered his courage. Link needed him. Extending his hand, the monk wondered, "May I?"

Link froze as Maz Koshia's fingers brushed his hand aside and softly prodded the edges of his bone mask, searching for an opening. He slid his fingertips near Link's nostrils with one hand and gripped one of Link's horns in the other. Pausing, Maz Koshia shot him a glance, his brows knitting together. Link knew where this was going. He gripped his chair, digging his heels into the floor as Maz Koshia began pulling on his mask.

The monk tugged lightly, mainly out of curiosity, not expecting anything to happen. Of course, nothing did. Link winced as his skin strained against Maz Koshia's force. He gave a small grunt.

The monk immediately let go. "Did I hurt you?" he stammered.

Link hung his head, his cheeks burning. He shrunk in on himself. "I'm fine," he murmured. "I've already tried. It won't come off."

It went quiet for a moment. "Well… seeing as your very DNA was changed, that doesn't surprise me," Maz Koshia finally said, shrugging. "It's part of your genetic makeup, now. I'm afraid you are stuck with it."

Link recoiled as if he'd been slapped.

Maz Koshia cringed, only then realizing the impact of his words. Leaning toward Link, he added, "But it's not your face, Link. It's his."

"But he forced it on me, Maz — it's all I've ever known!" Link wheezed. His fingers grasped at his face, feeling for something — something normal. Not this. "I-I don't even remember what I used to look like!"

Link's words hung over their heads in the heavy air. He shook, digging his nails into his bone mask, gazing into nothing, his eyes glazed over.

Maz Koshia could only stare at him for a painful moment. But eventually, he sighed, his gaze falling into his bony, emaciated hands. "This may sound strange coming from me, but… I know how you feel," he murmured. "I don't remember what I looked like, either."

Link's head snapped up. He shivered at the newfound agony that swam in Maz Koshia's eyes. It was a pain that Link had only ever seen in him when he spoke of his fellow fallen monks.

Link leaned back, his jaw dropping. "...What?" he gasped.

Maz Koshia shrugged. "I spent ten thousand years alone, Link. My body wasted away. But my mind was filled with visions of the past, the future, other people." He gestured to Link. "Of you. I remember what you used to look like, but not my own face." He gave a dry snort. "Funny, isn't it?"

Link gaped at him, his lips parted in a silent gasp. Without needing to be asked, Maz Koshia explained, "You had fair skin. Dirty blonde hair, blue eyes. You looked very similar to the hero who slayed Phantom Ganon." His eyes tightened, his voice hardening almost invisibly. "It's not a wonder why he would want to change your appearance."

A shudder raked Link's spine at Maz Koshia's words. He struggled to imagine a version of himself that matched Maz Koshia's description. But he couldn't. And that horrified him.

He slumped over, tangling his fingers into his red hair. He was so different. So abnormal. So monstrous. His eyes stung. Whether that was from exhaustion or from his existential spiral, he had no idea. He didn't have much of an idea of anything, anymore. He had no idea what to say. How to react. He wanted to scream. He wanted to vomit. But his body had hollowed out, his limbs numb. All he could do was sit there, gazing emptily into the floorboards, haunted by the blurry image of someone he never knew.

Maz Koshia's shoulders sank beneath the weight of Link's reality. It wasn't one that he envied. Like Link, he didn't know what to say. Frustrating as it was, there was nothing presently to be done about his condition — except for press on and hope that vanquishing Calamity Ganon would cleanse him. And, for better or worse, both Link and the monk knew that.

Maz Koshia wrung his hands together, choosing his words wisely. "Link, I... know these past few days have been rough — for you especially," he breathed. "You've had more thrust on your shoulders than anybody I have ever known. And you have every right to be upset. To be scared, to be angry. I will never fault you for that."

He then reached out, laying a hand on Link's cheek and bringing his head up, locking their gazes. With a tender smile, he consoled Link, "But you can't let this ruin you. You can't let him change you. No matter what. I know that's… easier said than done..." He continued, slowly, strongly, "But you are not the face you have been given. You are much more than that, and you always will be."

Link could only stare, his teeth chattering. He wasn't sure if he could believe that. Not with everything he had learned. What he'd been turned into. But he couldn't coax his voice out of his throat to say it.

When Link didn't reply, the monk searched through his eyes for a moment. He rubbed his thumb on Link's cheek, posing, "Why don't you go lie down? You're exhausted."

Link's eyelids fluttered as he tried to blink off his shock and fatigue. He shook his head, croaking, "No. Not until we're finished. Not until he's out."

"We'll have the Slate repaired before the day's end, I guarantee it," Maz Koshia reassured him. He gestured toward the futons in the corner. "Go. Rest. You need it."

Link stiffened. His heart began to race for some reason at the monk's concern for his welfare. He pursed his lips, breathing in bursts through his nose, hot tears welling in his eyes. But he wouldn't do it. He shook his head again.

A faint frown found Maz Koshia's lips. He lowered his hand into his lap, murmuring, "That's just as well, I suppose. I'll need your help putting the Slate back together, anyway." Cocking his head, he wondered, "Can I count on you for that, hero?"

Sniffling, Link wiped at his eye with the back of his sludgy wrist. He nodded mutely.

"That's my boy," the monk said.

Link melted at that.

It went quiet again for a little while. Maz Koshia eventually rubbed his palms together. "Now, then, how about we…" he said, only to trail off. His ears piqued to the sounds of wet footsteps slapping against the doorstep. He looked to the door before he gave Link as bright of a smile as he could muster, musing, "Would you look at that? Just in time."

Link turned his head, shooting to his feet. He jumped when the front doors were pushed in, in walking Purah and Symin. Rainwater sloughed off of their coats and hats. Symin struggled with two buckets piled high with an assortment of ancient machine parts. The contents of one of the buckets were completely slathered with Malice, aglow with pinkish light. Link's Malice twitched at the sight of them.

"We got 'em!" Purah cried, scampering ahead of Symin.

Maz Koshia gathered to his feet, his face falling with relief. "You did?" He held his chest, breezing, "Oh, thank Hylia..."

Symin nodded. He held up the corrupted parts, chiming in, "The Skywatcher had everything we needed."

"Excellent," Maz Koshia beamed, waving them over. "Come on over here, then, let's have a look."

Shedding their coats, Purah and Symin made their way to the table with their cargo. Maz Koshia and Link gathered around as Symin set down the buckets. Already, the charred, sickly-sweet stench of the Malice wafted into the air, its undertones exacerbated by the rain. Their noses curled.

Symin covered his face and ensured his gloves were on tight as he reached into the corrupted bucket. He pulled out a series of bizarre-looking objects and held them out for everyone to see.

Link had no idea what to make of them — a handful of flat stone discs no bigger than a thumbnail, a long, wriggly bundle of transparent wires, and a puck-like stone with a glowing crimson core. But the Sheikah knew very well what they were. Maz Koshia's eyes glittered as he beheld them, though his lips pursed with slight disgust at the sludge coating them.

"Huh," he mused. "They're in great condition, all things considered…" He raised his hands. "They're perfect! Excellent work, you two," he lauded to Purah and Symin. Their exhaustion waned however briefly, their faces lighting up. Turning to Link, Maz Koshia proposed, "Would you be willing to help put these back into the Slate, Link?"

Link nodded, forcing his voice out, "Of course."

"Right," the monk said, looking to the parts of the Sheikah Slate laid out before them. Phantom Ganon frothed with excitement within him, sending a jitter through his bones. "Let's get to work."

They each returned to their designated seats. Link made his way to the head of the table, near Maz Koshia. As Purah climbed into her chair, her eyes drifted to the smelting supplies near the doorway.

"Did you guys forge the screen?" she wondered.

"We did," Maz Koshia replied, gesturing to the kiln. "It's cooling. Should be ready this evening."

Her brows rose. "Check it!" she marveled. "That's awesome!" Her gaze lingered for a moment on the fresh trickle of Malice oozing out of the monk's eye socket. He noticed her staring, wiping it away. She swallowed, dismissing it. "Let's put this baby back together, then. We can slip the screen in last. That's what I did with the Slate Lite."

Maz Koshia nodded, exchanging a smile with her. His eyes landed on the Slate Lite. It lay at the opposite end of the table, similarly in pieces. "Speaking of," the monk said. "I could use it for a reference..."

"You got it," Purah replied, adjusting her glasses.

Finally, the group settled in to reassemble the Sheikah Slate. Phantom Ganon couldn't have been happier. Maz Koshia and Purah performed the majority of the work, pinging the names of parts back and forth as they gradually pieced together the Sheikah Slate and the Slate Lite simultaneously. Symin followed along, taking notes and jotting down steps, handing Purah tools every so often.

Link hovered near Maz Koshia, where he watched for the most part. He was only able to pitch in much further into their repairs, when they needed to install the corrupted parts. Link worried that, with his sludgy hands, he'd have a less-than-delicate touch, but with some coaching from Maz Koshia, he was able to do his part. His unease from his talk with the monk dissipated somewhat as he felt something akin to pride swell in his chest. He felt like he'd done a bit of good for once.

While the process of reassembling the devices went more smoothly than disassembly, it was still no easy feat. There were an overwhelming number of unique components to fit together just right. As Purah and Maz Koshia buried themselves in their work, the stormy morning blurred into a grey, hazy day. The rain came and went in waves, soaking the lab and Hateno below to the bone.

Before long, the group grew sluggish and hungry, having worked tirelessly from dawn till noon. But now that they were so close, Phantom Ganon wouldn't allow them respite. He was getting antsy. Maz Koshia's leg bounced feverishly without his input. They had to keep working. Though unable to properly stop and recuperate, Symin ensured everyone was supplied with honey candies, bread, and a veritable lake of coffee.

And so it went, when, at last — at long, tiresome last — Maz Koshia locked the last piece of the Sheikah Slate's hardware into place. Pausing, he flexed his aching fingers before picking up the solid brick of machinery, turning it over in his hands for a moment. He then laid it by the stony housing of the Slate.

His eyes flickered to Purah, who had reached a similar juncture with the Slate Lite. "I think we've done it," he said, nodding.

Purah returned his nod. "I think so, too."

Link's eyes devoured the Sheikah Slate. It looked rather naked outside of its casing. His stomach fluttered. "Now what?" he wondered, breathless.

Maz Koshia took in a slow breath, endeavoring to ignore Phantom Ganon's nauseating anticipation. He turned his head toward the kiln, shrugging. "...I suppose we can check to see if the screen is ready? Though, I doubt it will be..."

Link was already swiveling on his heel, making a break for the kiln in the wall. He stooped down slightly to get a better look inside it. He had high hopes for a moment, as the glass' glow had faded considerably. But heat still radiated off of it, warming his face.

Link shook his head, stammering, "I don't think it's ready yet."

Maz Koshia's lungs shriveled at Link's words. He snatched a handkerchief out of his pocket and wheezed into it. Everyone's faces drained at his reaction. Hoping that a double-check of the screen's progress might help, Purah leapt off her chair and scurried over to the kiln.

But she came up with the same verdict as Link. She turned back to Maz Koshia, confirming tinily, "It needs a few more hours."

Maz Koshia tensed up, but ultimately shrugged it off. "That's fine — that's fine," he grunted, wiping at his mouth. Whether that was him or Phantom Ganon talking was unclear. With a long sigh, he continued, "A few more hours. That's all. We'll just have to wait."

Raising his head, the monk peered, bleary-eyed, through the open doorway. It was a little after noon, the sunlight steely as it struggled through the clouds. The rain had lightened to a drizzle. Maz Koshia turned back to the table, leaning over the tabletop and rubbing his face with his hands. He then got to his feet, swaying ever so slightly, before he looked to his companions.

Though they were all in somewhat of a daze, they woke up slightly when the monk announced, "Why don't we all take a break? I'll drum up some lunch. My treat."

Symin shot up from his chair. "What? No, Maz, I can cook — let me do it."

The monk raised a hand, politely refusing. "It's all right, Symin. I want to. You three need to rest."

"So do you, Maz," Link protested.

But the monk wouldn't have it, shaking his head again. "I rested for ten thousand years, Link." A weary smile spread across his face. "The least I can do is cook a meal for my friends." He shooed them away, urging, "Go on, now. I'll call you when it's ready." His gaze ultimately lingered on Link's Malice. "We… need to talk. All of us."

Link, Purah, and Symin exchanged stiff gazes, their brows low. Link's Malice tingled. Yet, against their better judgement, they obeyed the monk. Purah and Symin trudged upstairs to their rooms.

Link lingered for a moment, looking about the lab, not sure where to retire. He found himself grimacing at the state of the place. It looked like a hurricane had torn through it, papers choking the floor, boxes and spare parts clogging the sparse walking space. Scattered mugs, plates, and parts. Dried blood and Malice here and there.

He shivered when an errant breath of wind brushed against his neck, bringing his head toward the open doorway. He didn't care that it was raining. He needed some air.

Shuffling outside, Link stood under the awning on the porch. He stared, bleary-eyed, out over the ocean sprawling beyond the clifftop. The longer he stood, the more his mind tried to wander into dark places. But he didn't dare think about his inevitable reunion with Phantom Ganon, the worrying amount of Malice that Maz Koshia was coughing up, the impending dread of the Blood Moon. He couldn't bear it. It all only made his stomach slither into knots.

But thankfully for his battered psyche, his mind had gone almost comatose thanks to the pitiful amount of sleep he hadn't gotten. His thoughts unraveled into nothing more than meandering strings of nonsense, fizzling into the haze clouding his skull. He swayed on the porch, his head spinning, eyelids drooping.

He honestly had no idea how long he stood out there. It was the low whine of a door creaking open that shocked him out of his stupor. Link jerked his head over his shoulder to find Maz Koshia standing in the doorway, bearing a wooden stool and a wok filled with ingredients.

"May I join you?" the monk asked.

Link's heavy eyelids fluttered. "Yeah," he replied, stepping aside.

The monk set down the stool near Link, patting it a few times, inviting him to sit down. Link didn't refuse it. He was too bone tired. He collapsed onto the stool. Once he was settled, Maz Koshia tucked some honey candy into his hand. A drawling, mumbled, "Thanks," stumbled through Link's lips before he popped it into his mouth. The monk then laid down the wok onto the furnace's receptacle, set aside his ingredients, and drizzled some oil into it.

Neither of them spoke as he cooked. The monk was submerged in thought; Link teetered on the verge of passing out. As Link's eyelids sagged shut, he listened to the sizzle of the oil gradually burble into the rolling boil of broth. Whatever Maz Koshia was making cooked quickly, thanks to the intense heat of the furnace. Before long, Link was slumped against the doorway and the candy in his mouth had long dissolved.

Maz Koshia didn't want to move him, but he knew he had to. The next thing Link knew, the monk giving him a gentle shake to rouse him. He helped Link to his feet and they walked back into the lab together.

Link briskly shook his head to wake himself up. Maz Koshia had cleared some of the clutter on and around the table, giving them room to eat. A warm, earthy, salty aroma hovered over the table, laden with half a loaf of bread, four bowls, spoons, and drinking glasses. The wok sat in the center of it all, filled with a creamy, taupe soup, thick chunks of mushrooms and flecks of herbs swimming in it.

The monk must have called Purah and Symin down while Link was dozing, for they arrived not long after. Symin had changed out of his singed pants and bandaged his burn, and they had both shed their coats.

They all settled down at the table. Maz Koshia gave his chair to Link, opting to kneel — he was tall enough to reach his bowl without one. After serving everybody, the monk gestured to the food, ordering them gently, "Eat. Then we'll talk."

They did so in swift silence, shoveling the soup into their mouths like hounds. Had Link been less anxious, he would have enjoyed his meal better. But a rock formed in his gut alongside it. He had a dark notion as to what Maz Koshia wanted to talk about. It sent a shudder through his Malice.

Once everyone's bowls were scraped clean, they turned their gazes on the monk. No one spoke for a moment as they awaited his words. He wiped away some Malice from his eye and laced his fingers together on the tabletop, exhaling.

When he eventually spoke, his voice was rigid with worry. "Right. Well, as you all know," he began. "The Sheikah Slate will be repaired soon, and Phantom Ganon will be free of me." Everyone tensed. Ignoring even the spirit's stirrings, Maz Koshia continued, "That leaves us with our… next engagement." He looked each of them in the eye. "We need to have a serious talk about the Blood Moon."

Link stiffened, his face twitching. He knew it. Purah and Symin both snuck fleeting, wide-eyed glances at Link, but he didn't notice.

Frowning, Maz Koshia went on, "We only have forty-two hours remaining until it rises." He brandished his hands. "For the moment, we need to talk about what we can expect. And what may or may not come to pass." His gaze, too, trailed to Link.

Link's scalp prickled with heat beneath everyone's gazes. He thrust his arms under the table, trying to control the throbbing of his Malice as the monk explained, "Strictly speaking, the lunar eclipse will last roughly five hours from beginning to end. But we will only be able to see the Blood Moon itself — and thus see its effects — during totality. Around midnight. For one hour."

A pang of fear stung Link's stomach. His weary brain bled with blurry images of crimson skies. But he prayed it was only his imagination and not another burst of memory.

Squirming in his chair, Link breathed, "...What'll happen during totality, Maz?"

The monk's expression hardened. "The moon will become red as blood. By its glow, Calamity Ganon's power will grow," he replied grimly. Link choked, backing into his chair. Fist clenching, Maz Koshia added, "It reaches its peak under the hour of the Blood Moon. And beneath its rays, the aimless spirits of beasts slain in the name of the light... will return to flesh."

Link recoiled as his Malice gave a distinct lurch. He bored his fingers into his sludgy arms, his teeth chattering. "Wh-what does that have to do with me…?" he breathed. "What'll happen to me?"

But, as before, Maz Koshia hadn't the faintest idea. His ignorance was driving him mad. He shook his head, his teeth clenching. "I don't know, Link. In all my years… I've never seen anything like your infection. We have no idea how you might react under a Blood Moon." He twitched as though someone were hissing in his ear. His fists clenched on the tabletop. "And, conveniently, our spirit isn't telling," he growled.

A scowl seized Link's brow, his fear of the unknown abruptly souring into irritation. "...What about the training he promised?" he wondered flatly.

Maz Koshia brought his gaze to him, his lip curling in a snarl. His red eye glittered. "He still intends on showing you, as he puts it, perfect mastery of your Malice." His voice then gained a mocking edge as he added, "But he doesn't want to spoil the surprise."

Maz Koshia suddenly sucked in a sharp gasp, his hand flying to his chest. Phantom Ganon hadn't appreciated his tone. Everyone jumped and leaned forward slightly, ready for another attack. But thankfully, that was all it came to — a warning punch in the lungs.

The monk took a moment or two to draw in a few breaths through his teeth. After swallowing a barrage of insults aimed at the spirit, he finally shook his head, grumbling, "But it doesn't do to dwell on what we don't know. We'll just have to wait and see." He sighed, returning his gaze to Link. But no matter what happens — whether anything does or not — I want to monitor you. I want to run regular analyses."

Link's brows furrowed. "But h-how will that work?" he stammered. "During the Blood Moon, if Phantom Ganon still wants to train me? What if he won't let us?"

"We'll make it work," the monk replied, his voice taking on a snarl. "I don't care if I have to break the Slate again. We'll make it work."

For a moment, Link wasn't sure who he was talking to — them or Phantom Ganon. Again, the group tensed, waiting for something to happen. Some outburst from the spirit. But none came. All he did was smirk, though Maz Koshia couldn't see or feel it.

Maz Koshia blinked rapidly for a few seconds, stunned by the spirit's lack of reaction. Ultimately, he shrugged it off, his anxiety at the upcoming Blood Moon and his distaste for the spirit guiding his reason. He figured he had finally stricken him speechless. But he was woefully wrong.

Turning to Purah, he asked, "Would you be willing to let me borrow the Slate Lite for that, Director?"

Purah had flushed considerably paler, but she nevertheless agreed. "P-please, by all means."

"Anything you need, Maz," Symin added.

"Thank you very much," Maz Koshia said.

Link couldn't help but stir a little at that prospect. He hadn't exactly enjoyed being analyzed. But he had no idea what he was in for when the Blood Moon rose. Though the thought nevertheless unnerved him, he'd just have to grin and bear it.

When Maz Koshia caught the faint look of panic on Link's face, he added, "Don't worry, Link. Nothing... invasive. The Guidance Stone's test should be sufficient. Are you comfortable with that?"

Link nodded. "That's fine. I can do that."

The monk smiled. "Excellent. Then it seems we have a plan."

The lab fell quiet for a moment or two, conversation faltering. Maz Koshia's eye wandered from the partially-deconstructed Sheikah Slate and to the open doorway. By that point, it was barely midafternoon. He frowned, twisting his head back toward the kiln. He doubted the screen had cooled enough within the last hour or so.

He pursed his lips. "In the meantime, it looks like we have some time to kill." He raised his hands, shrugging. "I suppose we'll rendezvous around sunset, then?"

Link, Purah, and Symin met each other's gazes. Mute nods bounced around the table.

And so they waited.

But waiting proved more agonizing than they anticipated. As the day dragged on — and Goddesses above, did it drag — they each tried to busy themselves with something. Though their eyes drooped, they couldn't sleep. Maz Koshia dumped nearly a dozen pages-worth of his thoughts into a notebook. Symin cleaned as though his life depended on it. Link bent over a washtub in the corner in his shorts and undershirt, scrubbing his tunic. Purah sat beside him, a needle and thread in her little hands, stitching together the tears Phantom Ganon's spear had wrought on Link's trousers.

But their distractions weren't enough to stave off their collective anxiety. It suffocated the air like a miasma, building with each passing hour. And Phantom Ganon joyed in their agony. He, too, was eager to have the Slate fully repaired; Maz Koshia could feel it frothing in his veins.

Throughout the day and into early evening, they each unconsciously wandered over to the kiln. It was only when the lab grew considerably darker that the four of them immediately met gazes from where they had settled in the lab. The light outside was changing; the warm glow of the lab became more pronounced in the inky blue half-light. Everyone's heads flew toward the far wall. Without saying a word, they scrambled to their feet and stampeded over to the kiln.

"Is it ready…?" Link breathed.

Maz Koshia gave him a fearful glance. "Let's see…"

Link, Purah, and Symin watched with bated breath as Maz Koshia slid his hand into the kiln, removing the mold. It was cool to the touch. A thin sheet of transparent glass reflected the lights of the lab as they studied it. Swallowing, the monk carefully placed his free hand atop the glass and flipped over the mold. He slowly separated them.

And there, resting on his palm, was the screen. It was perfectly flat and transparent, precisely sized and fitted for the Sheikah Slate.

The steel mold thudded to the floor, making everyone but Maz Koshia jolt. But he didn't care. He only had one thing on his mind. He began to breathe heavily, pivoting on his heel and darting to the central table. He moved with the haste of a man possessed. Link, Purah, and Symin followed after him, crowding around him as he fumbled for the waiting pieces of the Sheikah Slate.

No one said a word as the monk eased the screen onto the Slate's hardware. He then fed the ensemble into the device's stony casing, slipping the gripped handle into place and locking everything shut with a click. Shuddering, he held up the completed device. It looked almost exactly as it had before Link had stabbed it. But its lights were dark. It didn't appear to be functioning.

Link broke out in a sweat just looking at it. "What now?! I-Is it working?!" he wheezed.

"Almost…" Maz Koshia breathed, eyes wide. His head jerked toward the Guidance Stone. He didn't waste any time sprinting over to it, his three companions close behind. In his rush, he cracked his shin on the raised stage, but he couldn't have cared less.

He limped onto the stage, his ribs rattling as he inserted the Sheikah Slate into the Guidance Stone's pedestal. The device tucked into the dock, rotating and settling into the pedestal's heart. Registering the Slate's inactivity, the Guidance Stone automatically booted up its recharge sequence. Everyone's gazes flew from the Slate to the Guidance Stone as it began to breathe with sapphire light. It trickled down the stone stalactite, gathering at its tip before splashing onto the Slate's newly-forged screen.

The device was rejuvenated instantaneously. But, to everyone's unease, its lights remained a vibrant crimson, just as before.

Now more curious than anxious, Maz Koshia took up the device, turning it over in his hands. Squinting, he flicked through its interfaces, from the map to its Runes. There didn't appear to be anything amiss with it. Even the new Runes that Phantom Ganon had programmed into it were still installed — a fact that made his lungs burn.

Blinking, he cocked his head, mumbling, "Everything seems to be in order…" Something stirred inside him at that, but he was too distracted by the Slate to pay it much heed. He turned to face his companions, his eyes widening. "I think we did it."

"Really?" Link gasped.

The monk ran a quick test just to make sure. Opening the Rune interface, he tapped on the Magnesis Rune. The Slate flashed with stark red light, making Link jump. He watched with awe as Maz Koshia commanded the Rune to take hold of a metal spoon drying on a cloth on the table. A lasso of crackling, magnetic blue energy poured out of the Slate and latched onto the spoon. Link couldn't believe his eyes when the spoon began to hover over the table at Maz Koshia's command.

The spoon fell to the table as Maz Koshia deactivated the Rune. A broad smile of relief spread across his face, just as with his companions. "Perfectly functional," he breathed. "We did it!"

But the monk had no sooner said this when he took in a sharp gasp, doubling over. He tried to grasp at his chest — his ribs had given a painful series of creaks — but his hands were clamped around the Sheikah Slate without his control. Head swimming, he stumbled toward the wall, only to lurch forward when something shoved him from within. A grunt of agony tore out of him.

Eyes bulging, Link, Purah, and Symin flew to his aid. "Maz?! Maz, what's — " Link tried to say.

But he never got the chance to finish his sentence before Maz Koshia's body gave a sickening twist. He was thrown against the wall as Phantom Ganon exploded out of his chest. The monk sunk to the floor, blacking out for a moment. Link threw himself to his knees at his side, but his attention was quickly stolen.

Upon gaining his freedom, Phantom Ganon snatched the Sheikah Slate from Maz Koshia. He flew across the lab before crashing onto the table and skidding across it, scattering tools, dishes and spare parts, before tumbling face-first into the floor. But he didn't seem to mind. He flopped to his back, beaming at the Sheikah Slate in his hands.

A bubbly stream of laughter burst out of him. "FINALLY!" he cried. "Out of that prison! Oh, I'll never let anything happen to you again! I promise..."

Had the spirit had lips, he would have peppered the device with kisses. Instead, he nuzzled it against his jaw, cuddling it and relishing in it. He gave a shuddery gasp of delight when the chains of his shackles re-materialized into existence on his wrists, ankles, and neck. Finally, he was whole again.

But Phantom Ganon abruptly paused, remembering that he had company. He sat up, slowly easing himself to his feet before turning and facing his audience. Link, Maz Koshia, Purah, and Symin had all gone stiff as stone, beholding the spirit's rapture with disturbed dread.

Phantom Ganon's eye glittered, landing on his master. Inspecting the Sheikah Slate for a moment, the spirit grinned, slowly prowling around the table toward them. Link flew to his feet, stepping in front of the three Sheikah, his blazing eyes never leaving the spirit.

"Well, well, well," Phantom Ganon began lightly. "That was fun, wasn't it? I hope you've come to an understanding, Master — of how much you need this device," he mused, waving the Slate. Link's Malice twitched.

"...Of how much you need me," Phantom Ganon added. Climbing the raised stage, he slunk up to Link, standing against him till their bodies touched. The spirit angled his face down toward Link's, locking their gazes. "I trust that, in the future, we won't have any more…" He slipped the Sheikah Slate onto Link's belt, purring, "...accidents?"

Link didn't even flinch against Phantom Ganon's advances. He glared up at him, growling, "Not unless you really piss me off."

A grin took the spirit's jaw; his eye shimmered. "I'll have to be on my best behavior, then," he cooed. Turning to the three Sheikah, he gave a theatrical cringe, rearing his chin back. "Good God, you all look like corpses," he recoiled. He then snuck a glance at Maz Koshia, adding with a giggle, "Pun very much intended."

Maz Koshia was not amused. He growled under his breath, his hands rolling into fists.

After taking a moment to snicker to himself, Phantom Ganon sauntered before his company, looking them each in the eye. He rather enjoyed Purah and Symin's cowering. Sighing, he mused, "Well, corpse or not, if I were any of you, I'd get some sleep." He turned toward Link, waltzing back to him. "Especially you, Master. You have a big day tomorrow. You'll need to be in tip-top shape for it."

Link's teeth ground. "I already told you — I don't want any part of this!"

But Link's outright refusal didn't phase the spirit. He cocked his head, crooning, "Aww, don't be like that. Trust me, you want this. You need this." He pointed to the pulsating Malice on Link's arms, luring, "It'll help you get rid of that, for starters. You want that, don't you?"

Link stared into his sludgy hands, his breath quickening. He did need that. He couldn't live with this poison on his arms for the rest of his life. "Show me how," he demanded, taking a step forward.

"Shhh, shh, shh," the spirit hushed, laying a finger on Link's lips. Link reeled with horror, slapping his hand away. His defiance only drove the spirit more wild. With a manic grin, he said, "I know you're excited, but not until tomorrow night. You'll just have to be patient..."

Without further insight, Phantom Ganon stepped away, wiggling his fingers at Link in farewell. "See you then," he purred, vanishing in a breath of darkness.

And so ends the second day…

This chapter was a bit of a cooldown chapter compared to the previous one. Less action, but I hope it was interesting, regardless. I actually had a ton of fun exploring how the Sheikah would have forged the parts of the Sheikah Slate, and studying glassmaking and tech was a cool little bonus. Hope you found it as interesting as I did! XD

I also hope that the emotional scenes aren't too much. I'm trying to really delve into each characters' psyche and let them play off each other in a (hopefully) natural, realistic way. If you think I should tone down some emotional elements, please let me know. I want to give you the best reading experience possible, and I welcome critiques and suggestions. :)

As for what's next… Our team's a little worse for wear after all this. And it seems Phantom Ganon got what he wanted. But what else does he want? Let's just hope that when the third day comes, our little group won't meet with a terrible fate…

I suppose we'll just have to see. Stay tuned to find out!

See you next chapter!