Zelda passed the days in idle meditation, punctuated by sporadic bursts of interrogation. General Ironwood, or occasionally his white-haired proxy, returned often, repeating old questions or introducing new ones. She would've liked to answer him. The man seemed dutiful to his position and she respected that. However, they had made no progress towards her emancipation.
Furthermore, she was well-aware now that anything she said would be overheard by Watts. She'd lose her only leverage over the dissident as well if her lips were too loose. So she endured the increasingly frustrated interactions with the General.
"Could you identify this relic?" Ironwood asked, gesturing at the electronic display held by Winter. The specialist stood stone-faced beside him, expressing little as they changed up their usual line of questions.
"Yes," Zelda nodded, examining the screen. It showed a pictograph of a large bow, wings carved in white along the limbs and with such of gold at the ends where it met the string. A sky-blue sash tied around the upper limb screamed its heritage. "It's a bow."
Ironwood grit his teeth. "I'm aware of that. Our team would like details though. Is it yours? Why was it placed in the vau—Temple?"
"To remember its owner," Zelda smiled. "It's why all the relics were placed in the Temple."
"But to what end?" Ironwood demanded. Zelda kept her peace. After a moment, Ironwood nodded to his aide. Winter turned the display around, her fingers tapping at buttons out of sight. Finished, she spun it around, a new relic depicted.
Zelda recognized this one as well. Well, she'd recognize every relic from the Temple, but this, and the bow before, held special places in her memories.
"What of this relic?" Ironwood asked again, adding, "And don't tell me it's a sword, because it's obviously not."
"It is not," Zelda agreed. The two-handed 'blade' was made of stone, and large enough that an ordinary Hylian would struggle with the immense weight. The wrapped grip came to a gear-shaped guard on one end and a gear shaped pommel on the other. The 'point' was a rounded stone the color of magma, screwed to the weapon with massive bolts. "It's a crusher."
"A what?"
"A crusher. A weapon made for crushing—"
"I understand the concept," Ironwood breathed, gripping the bridge of his nose. "You say the Temple is for remembering people, yet it is mostly filled with weapons. Why? Was your kingdom warlike? Militaristic?"
Zelda considered. Could she answer that? Probably, but it would likely lead to further questioning that would be too much. Like what exactly, Hyrule often needed to defend itself from.
She left it alone. "Not particularly."
Ironwood glared at her. "This is getting us nowhere," he snapped to Winter. "We're done for now. No more relics."
"Sir? Not even…" Winter trailed off, glancing at Zelda meaningfully. Ironwood paused at that.
"Fine, bring it up," Ironwood conceded. He turned his attention back to Zelda. "And I expect better cooperation from you."
Zelda nodded, smiling lightly.
Winter once again pulled the display around to work the device. When she turned it back around, Zelda had to actually make an effort to keep her expression stable. Her blood went cold as strange emotions flittered through her.
"We found the sword in the Temple," Ironwood said. "Unlike the other relics we couldn't remove it from its pedestal. We couldn't remove the pedestal either, as we managed to do with you. Whatever this sword is, it's different from the other relics." He stared her down. "Care to explain?"
The sword was exactly as she remembered it. Thrust into an ornate base carved with the three triangled crest of legend, the blade shone in the image as if the camera itself recognized its brilliance. The lavender grip wrapped in green led to a beautiful guard, a gilded diamond in its center. The same crest as on the pedestal was etched on the steel of the blade.
"I'm afraid not," Zelda responded finally. When it became clear she'd say no more, Ironwood clenched his jaw.
"Winter," the General called. The specialist stiffened. "Let's go."
"Sir," she acknowledged.
The pair left her cell, as she recognized it, leaving her alone. Zelda breathed a sigh, glad that another uncomfortable session had ended.
Thankfully, her interactions with Pietro were far friendlier. The doctor confirmed that he'd suffered no serious consequences for his breach of security beyond a stern talking to, to Zelda's relief. The roboticist was genuine in his pride and love for his daughter, and she'd hate for such feelings to be used against him. Especially since she saw little of such emotions from her own mother.
Sadly, Zelda knew she wouldn't be seeing the good doctor today. If the pattern from the past few days held, she'd be left alone for next nine hours at the least. It's possible that Ironwood expected the solitude to negatively impact her, make her more willing to cooperate. Unfortunately for him, she wasn't as alone as he thought. If the pattern held, then in three… two… one…
"Zelda, a pleasure to speak with you again. Are you ready to continue our discussion?"
Ironwood scanned the files, the latest compilation of Section ZW's work on the discovery in the ice wastes. Mostly, it concerned Zelda, a combination of the information she'd already given them, Pietro's speculations as to her physical capabilities and software systems, and the observations of the psychologist he had watching during their meetings.
So far, the last one hadn't produced anything of value. I know she's closed off and wary, Ironwood grumbled internally. What did Atlas pay these hacks for, to tell him what he already knew?
Ironwood sighed. Perhaps he was the fool for thinking a regular psychologist could glean something from an artificial human. He pushed aside the papers. Maybe a change in perspective was needed.
He pushed a button on his desk, connecting him automatically to the person he sought. The microphone crackled. "Winter," he intoned. "Please report to my office. I wish to discuss something with you."
"Sir." The microphone shut off.
Ironwood drummed his cybernetic fingers as he waited, stewing on the subject. He didn't have to wait long; Winter strode into his office with her usual professionality and poise.
"You wished to see me, sir?" Winter asked, curious.
He held up the sheaf of papers on Zelda. "Data on our guest in Section ZW-2." Ironwood explained. "Informative, but not exactly the answers we want." He put the files back down. "I've heard from the experts, but we're still getting nowhere. I'd like to know what you think, Specialist."
"Sir, I'm not sure I'm qualified—"
Ironwood waved his hand dismissively. "Nonsense. You know as much as I. I wouldn't ask if I didn't want to know."
Winter paused. "Alright," She said slowly. "Our guest—Zelda—she's deliberately obscuring her origins, but we know she's not from Atlas, or any Kingdom on Remnant. Yet she was activated by a lullaby common to all Kingdoms?"
Ironwood nodded, urging her to continue.
"This lullaby has no known origin, only theories. Each Kingdom's historians claim theirs was the first. Certain faunus rights' groups claim the melody was appropriated from early faunus societies. But…" She paused.
"Specialist?"
"Isn't it a little convenient that every known society held the 'key' to Zelda's activation?" Winter pointed out. "No matter who found the so-called Temple of Remembrance, anyone had the potential to wake her up. The chances would be slim, but not impossible."
Ironwood blinked. He'd forgotten about that fact, too focused on the puzzle pieces in hand than the ones in the box. "Good work, Winter," he considered her words. "Do you think it was deliberate?"
Winter shook her head. "I'm afraid I don't know enough to say."
"Hmm," Ironwood hummed, rubbing his chin. His fingers rubbed over the early pricks of stubble. "Let's run through it, maybe something will jump out."
Winter nodded, her face blank, but Ironwood could tell the specialist was unsure.
Ironwood started, leaning forward to clasp his hands together on the desk. "You build a large structure, the Temple of Remembrance, powered by technology designed to endure thousands and thousands of years in variable conditions. You fill it with numerous artifacts from your culture and at the end, you place an advanced artificial being in stasis."
"This being, and the stasis field around her," Ironwood continued, "only responds to a singular melody. Let's say, for the sake of the scenario, that this melody is well-known, such that anyone could potentially free the being in the Temple."
Ironwood finished. "Why would you do these things?" A thought struck him. "And for what reasons would you wake her up?"
Winter pondered, visualizing the scenario. The problem, obviously, was how little they had to go on. Zelda was the key, she had to be. "Perhaps the Temple is a time capsule? A culture in decline stashes away its artifacts, then leaves an agent to reintroduce the culture back into the world."
"But why would someone want to restore an unknown, dead culture? And how could they be certain the song would be remembered to do it?"
"Maybe they didn't think they'd disappear? That it would be the same culture awakening Zelda."
"That leads back around to why would they build the Temple in the first place?"
Winter frowned. "Zelda said the Temple was a place to remember. Could it have been a museum of sorts? A temple is a place of worship, and that implies it'll receive pilgrims," she followed the thought. "Built as a Temple, but as the culture declined, it was converted to survive the ages in isolation. Zelda was interred to recreate or preserve the culture as its 'living memory'. They assumed, or maybe hoped, that someone would remember enough of them to awaken their agent to do so."
Ironwood nodded slowly. "It fits most of what we have so far…" He sighed. "But if Zelda intends to preserve her culture, wouldn't she be more cooperative? Why is she so reticent to tell us anything concrete about herself?"
"What do you mean, sir?"
"You've noticed how vague she's being, and not just about the Temple and the relics inside," Ironwood huffed. "She never says anything specific about anything. The relics are simply 'swords' or 'bows.' The only proper noun we've gotten out of her is the Temple of Remembrance."
"She also told us about her mother," Winter noted. "Her name was Zelda as well. And her mother's name was Zelda too."
"Yes, but nothing beyond that. No title, no history, nothing we have to search for." Ironwood's office went quiet as the pair contemplated. Finally, Ironwood sighed. "I apologize for wasting your time, Specialist. This mystery isn't so simple to solve in the dark. You may leave."
"Think nothing of it, sir," Winter bowed her head. "Hopefully, we'll get answers soon. It's not like she's going anywhere." The specialist turned and left the room, leaving the general to fumble around with the puzzle of Zelda.
"Do you understand the plan?"
Zelda nodded, knowing Watts could see her. "Yes, you will cause a distraction, drawing away any guards, while disabling the automatic security systems. After exiting this cell, I then proceed to the artifact lab and procure the items I seek. After which I follow the previously discussed route to the exit."
"Once you breach the Academy proper, I'll no longer be able to guide you. Its systems are separate from these labs. There will be a pilotless Bullhead awaiting you at the third dock—it's programmed to take you to a safe location where I'll meet with you. Your priority will be escaping Atlas to Mantle in that case—which I'm afraid would be quite harder without me aiding you. Once Ironwood learns of your escape, he'll tear the city apart looking for you. This escape is our best chance of slipping you through his iron fingers. Do try not to muck it up."
"I will do my best."
"One more thing—are you prepared to do what's necessary to claim your freedom?"
Zelda closed her eyes. "I pray it will not be needed," she said heavily. "But I have some tricks of my own."
"I'm risking a great deal assisting you, Zelda, please don't let it go to waste."
"I will be fine," Zelda smiled. She stood up, leaving the dais for the first time since she'd awoken. Were she normal, Zelda imagined her muscles would be quite stiff. As she was though, she was always ready for action. "Are you ready, Dr. Watts?"
"I thought you'd never ask, my dear. Thirty minutes until my jack-in-the-box opens."
Arthur's distraction was relatively simple. With the Atlesian Knight 200 set for activation later in the year, the military has been running maintenance tests on randomly sampled units from every batch to ensure the software was properly integrated. For that reason, the tested units would be connected into the research network for any necessary downloads and diagnostic uploads.
Due to demand, a great number of units were manufactured. Ergo, a great number of these tests had to be run. Even in the off-hours, when fewer people were present in the labs, the tests would run.
Thankfully for him, the AK-200 was as easy to crack as the AK-130, and Arthur planned to exploit their vulnerability ruthlessly. A little script downloaded when the individual unit connects to the network and only executed when the tests come to a particular step.
The technician yawned, staring at his screen blearily. Absently, he reached for the stained coffee mug, only for it to lift without resistance.
"Damn it," he said, staring forlornly at the empty vessel. He shook his head, hoping to clear some of the haze away. "Gotta get a refill after the next batch." Though with his luck, they'd be out of coffee. First, he drew the short straw getting these night tests, next he'd have to endure it without the necessary Joe.
Switching to his tablet, the technician strode up to the front of the hall. Before him were five by five rows of sleek Atlesian knights, staring blankly ahead, ready for full activation. All twenty-five AK-200 units were connected to the network and tests were ready to proceed. A stream of data states flashed by on the screen.
With a sigh, he pushed a button, and kept his attention divided between the logs and the physical units. Each unit was set to desired initial testing state before proceeding to test individual functions.
The units moved as if stretching, their metal bodies whirring. It looked like a boot camp doing drills, which he felt was pretty appropriate.
Motor functionality test passed, the technician briefly scanned the logs, more out of boredom than actual concern. These tests were impressive once, maybe twice, then they just became tedious. The next few tests covered connectivity with the network, connectivity with each other, and environmental assessment. These flew by in a blink of eye, reporting no errors.
The speech synthesis functionality came to life, the Knights chanting. "Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet—" a chorus of tinny voices cried.
The technician winced, hoping they'd change the voice to something a little more personable. He was certain these voices would plague his dreams for months. A (former) coworker had once played a prank on the techs, replacing the placeholder speech.
He'd nearly soiled himself when the Knights yelled, "DIE MEATBAGS!"
His colleague had found it hilarious, the brass less so.
The tests confirmed that the Knights could speak and parse properly. Onto basic combat functionality.
All the knights reached behind them, drawing their mock Atlesian battle rifles. For the purposes of testing, these mocks would report to the units when they successfully "shot" something. They drew back into their standard combat stance, rifle braced and sensors aiming down the barrel. Next, they'd spin around to test reflexes and shooting while turning.
The technician paused, head rising when he didn't hear the tell-tale sound of robots spinning on their heels. Instead, they were stuck in standard combat pose. Glancing back at his tablet, he saw the logs had stopped spitting messages.
He frowned. Were they hung? Eventually, the test would time out and he'd report the batch as failed. The other departments would take them off his—
Suddenly, a flurry of messages started flying by. Panicked, he looked up, only to see every mock rifle pointed directly at him. He almost had a repeat of the "meatbag" incident vis-à-vis his pants before he remembered all the rifles were fake.
He looked at the logs. The Knights had failed to activate their turn and shoot subroutines and therefore failed the test. Somehow during the tests, the Knights had activated their real IFF protocols and identified him as a large Grimm. At the moment, they were busy trying to neutralize him.
Scary, he swallowed, but that's the sort of bug these tests are looking for. The technician started the error report, keeping an eye on the logs.
The Knights reported their clips "emptied." The Knights attempted to reload.
The Knights reported a lack of ammunition, triggering new prioritization.
The Knight reported a new prioritization: Capture avoidance.
The Knights reported they had initiated self-destruction.
His eyes widened. "Oh shit—"
Exactly thirty-one minutes and twenty-two seconds after Watts went quiet, Zelda heard a distant boom. As she snapped to attention, the door to her cell slid quietly open. She didn't hesitate, exiting the confined space that had served as her home for previous weeks.
"What was that? Watts?" she asked as she stepped into the observation room. Zelda half-expected to see Pietro working here, but the professor was thankfully absent from the laboratory. Shame she couldn't say goodbye.
"The distraction, obviously. Do hurry, please. Normally, all the lab doors would be sealed and security deployed. I've exempted this floor, but it won't be long before they notice."
"I need to get to the relics." Zelda moved into the hallway hurriedly. She had no intention of ignoring Watts's advice.
"Go right from lab two, the door labeled one."
Zelda found it quickly enough. Like the other rooms in the hall, the door was open, granting her easy access. To her surprise, she didn't enter an empty room.
A middle-aged bespectacled man stood over a table, various items before him. His indigo hair streaked with flecks of white, the man regarded Zelda coolly, unsurprised by her appearance or the sudden security situation.
"Everything's here," he said. The man gestured to a clipboard next to him, papers held in place. "All the relics are catalogued on this manifest. I left out the ones I was examining, but the rest are in the unlocked containers on the walls. Go ahead and take what you want."
Zelda stared at him in confusion. "What?"
"Make sure Watts holds his end of the bargain," he grumbled. The man brushed past her, leaving the lab. "I want the find leaked to the media. No block-head grunt's going to cover up my discovery."
Zelda shook her head. No time for that now. She hurried to the relic manifest. Thanking Pietro for teaching her how to read the strange characters of the Remnant common language, she scanned the list.
Reaching the end, Zelda failed to find what she was looking for. She supposed that was a good thing, since it meant they failed to find it. However, it certainly would've come in handy for this or any future escape attempt. Not that she intended to fail now.
She located the secondary target. Shirt, blue (cyan) w/sword-shaped piping. Tapping the entry, she was greeted with a pictograph of the Hylian tunic, and a list of observations. Ignoring the text, Zelda zeroed on the container index.
"Ah, there we are. It took me a moment to access this lab's PA system."
Zelda didn't respond, too busy searching for her desired relic container. Spotting it, she rushed over.
"I saw Dr. Zro accost you earlier. My apologies, he was not supposed to be present."
Pressing a nearby button on the wall, the container hissed as its hermetic seals released. A drawer slid out, presenting the artifact for the taking. Zelda grabbed it, having no time for delicate reverence. "It is fine," she said, slipping the tunic over her white dress.
"…A shirt? Is that really what you're taking?"
It was true: The Champion's Tunic was not the most impressive item from the Temple. In planning this escape, she considered others, such as the bow or crusher shown to her by Ironwood. But if she had to pick, she'd pick the tunic. While Zelda could reason that she wished not to reveal the capabilities of other relics, the truth was she was sentimental. Besides, it was easier to transport if she wore it.
"It is fine," she responded. "I need nothing else."
"If you say so. Please continue, our window is quickly closing."
Zelda didn't need to be told twice.
Ironwood looked over the disciplinary report. A student had been caught after curfew visiting another team's dorm room. For what, the boy wouldn't say, but considering the team in question was all girls… Well, the professor who caught him had a few ideas about what they were getting up to. Recommended punishment was four weeks bathroom cleaning for "indecency and immoral conduct unbefitting Atlas Academy."
Ironwood penned a note, changing the punishment to one week for curfew violation. Additionally, he added a message to the professor not to overreact to teenagers out past their bedtimes.
Leaning back, Ironwood surveyed the mess of paperwork on his desk. As head of the military and of Atlas Academy, he had twice more the paperwork than any one person would have with only one of those roles. It was frankly a miracle, and legendary self-discipline, that he found the time to do anything other than work.
The general allowed himself a five-second break to enjoy the silence of the evening, before reaching for the next piece of paperwork. This time it was supply requisition forms for the mess hall, those were easy to breeze through.
No sooner had he started did an emergency alert hit his scroll. With trained ease, Ironwood had his scroll out and connected to the system built into his desk.
"Sir! Explosion in the AK testing labs! Cause unknown. one injured so far, working to assess damages." The officer presiding reported succinctly.
"Are emergency protocols in effect and security deployed?"
"Yes Sir!"
"Good, keep me posted," Ironwood told him, turning to check the systems himself. He quickly access the security systems for all the research labs. Nodding, he confirmed the veracity of the report, noting the successful enclosure of all classified materials.
He selected the Z floor more details, and his blood turned to ice. Though the floor reported that everything was secure, the subsystems were showing the opposite. All the doors on the floor were open.
Zelda was loose.
Paging his secretary, Ironwood spoke quickly. "Stephanie, contact Winter. Tell her Section ZW has a breach, and I need her here yesterday."
"Understood. Operatives Ebi and Amin are also on site, shall I alert them as well?"
Ironwood grinned. "Do it. Tell them to meet me at the third stairwell." The elevators would be out in these emergencies, and the third stairwell was the closest to Zelda's cell.
Idly, he noted that if anything else, they'd get some valuable data from this night.
For instance, how an ancient machine handled two of his Ace-Ops.
Zelda rushed up the stairwell, ignoring the handrail and taking the steps two at a time. Before parting, Watts assured her the way was clear, but she didn't exactly have the time to confirm the fact. Her golden hair whipped behind her as her flurried pace took her upwards to freedom.
She reached her goal, the unsecured door at the top, leading into Atlas Academy proper. Watts had come through and unlocked this door as well, so there was no need to hesitate. She burst through, barely slowly down.
Atlas Academy was far more welcoming in appearance than the labs below, decorative ball-lit torches lining the muted blue walls of column embossed walls. The arch-ceilinged hall she'd run into was tall and gently curved along its length.
Remembering the path dictated by her co-conspirator, she proceeded to the Bullhead docks uninterrupted. At least, that was what she wished happened. No sooner after had she started dashing, Zelda was ambushed.
"STAY!" someone shouted. Zelda, to her horror, did exactly that, her motions cancelling as she froze, one leg raised mid-step.
Two figures approached from an unseen intersection off the inner wall, one of which, a dark-skinned young man had his arm raised and pointed at her.
"Looks like we made it just in time," the other said, a fair gentleman with his arms and shoulders bared. "Nice catch, Marrow."
"Nothing to it," the man with the raised arm, Marrow, responded with a cocky grin.
Zelda couldn't move her head to properly appraise them, relying on her peripheral vision. What magic was this? She tested the boundaries of whatever spell she was under. Aside from some of the minor muscles of her face, she was yet capable of breathing. If she tried, Zelda could twitch her fingers, but anything more was beyond her.
"This really the escapee, Clover?" Marrow asked. The other man, Clover, she presumed, walked in front of her, withdrawing what looked like a fishing pole from his waist.
Now that she had a better view of him, Zelda could properly examine him. Clover was well-muscled, though not exceedingly large, wearing a snowy uniform accentuated on the sides with navy, and buttoned with silver studs. His scarlet lapel bore a horseshoe and four-leafed clover insignia, and his popped collar and swept back brown hair gave him a striking presence.
"General said so, 'Blonde, pointed ears, and white dress'," Clover quoted. He tilted his head, regarding her with a lazy smile. "Though, have to say, miss. That shirt really doesn't mesh." He flicked the fishing pole, the hooked line wrapping around her frozen form without resistance. "Alright, you can let her go now."
Marrow nodded, lowering his arm. Suddenly, Zelda was back in motion, stumbling as her raised leg impacted the ground. Clover reacted instantly, pulling on the line. Her bonds tightened, practically freezing her a second time.
"What magic was that?" Zelda queried, finally capable of looking at Marrow. She didn't bother trying to rush free.
"Magic? She for real?" Marrow asked. A furry appendage flicked into sight from behind him. A dog tail? Interesting. That was something to look into later.
"Just sit tight, miss, General Ironwood will be here shortly," Clover assured.
That would not do. "I'd rather be gone before the General arrives, if you don't mind," Zelda said lightly.
"Afraid not, miss, we have orders—"
He didn't get to finish because Zelda was already in motion. She rushed forward, landing a flying jump kick, taking Clover by surprise. The man loosened his grip on the fishing pole, giving Zelda the perfect opportunity to swipe it away on the follow through.
Marrow reacted as expected; raising his arm to freeze her in place again. Zelda, having freed a hand from her bonds, moved a little faster.
She snapped her fingers, remembering the battle anger of a Gerudo chief.
A bolt of lightning shot Marrow in the chest, knocking him clear off his feet. Thunder echoed through the hall like a bomb going off. With the immediate threat distracted, Zelda slipped free of the rest of the fishing line and turned to the newly risen Clover.
The magic of the Champion's Tunic wasn't flashy; it bestowed upon its wearer a greater intuition of their foe's vitality. Of only small benefit, to be sure, but its original bearer favored the subtle advantage to the overt.
And what her intuition told her... was that Clover was far from defeated.
The uniformed man was quick, darting forward with a probing jab. Zelda ducked and attempted to slip past him, only to be thwarted when Clover interposed his leg in her path. Adjusting quickly, she grabbed his leg and pulled. Ordinarily, she wouldn't be a match for his strength, but with his foot off the ground, she was able to spin around.
Clover broke free easily, rewarding her effort with a knee to the chest. It was worth it because Clover now stood between her and the recovering Marrow. Her top priority was keeping the dog-tailed man from halting her motion.
Sadly, the lightning had failed to end his participation in the brawl, and he was quickly recovering. Marrow stumbled to his feet, Zelda guessing that the lightning had more surprised than hurt him. He withdrew what looked to be a large metal boomerang, no doubt his weapon.
Clover was on her again, likely realizing what she'd done. It was clear in only a few trades of blows that he was the superior fighter, even unarmed. He refused to allow her a moment to prepare her magic or escape the battle.
Zelda disengaged, only for the metal boomerang to sweep in front of her, keeping her within reach of Clover. She was trapped, as bound as she was wrapped by the fishing line.
A plan formed; risky, but doable. She darted back as if dodging a kick, outside of the protection afforded by Clover's body. Zelda ducked, closing her eyes as she calculated the timing.
Zelda remembered the tornado winds of a Rito warrior.
Marrow didn't disappoint. "STAY!" he shouted again, locking her in place. Zelda released the magic the instant before it did. A lucky move, to the outside view; precisely planned to hers.
Wind ripped upwards, amplified by the indoor space to blast even more. As she expected, Marrow's magic kept her anchored. In contrast, her opponents were unsecured.
The gales caught them as off guard as the lightning did, and both Clover and Marrow were lifted off their feet. As soon as Zelda could move, she sprang into action, fleeing the battle down the hallway.
"I thought her semblance was lightning?" She heard Marrow groan as she sprinted away.
"Call the general, she's getting away!" Clover responded, getting to his feet. Zelda didn't bother waiting for them.
The path Arthur had given her was supposedly the quickest to the Bullhead docks. Given the late hours, no students roamed the halls of the prestigious Academy. Though she didn't need them, helpful signs at intersections let her know she was indeed heading in the correct direction.
Finally, she burst outside, speeding past a late working receptionist, ignoring her surprised face. The Bullhead docks was attached to the Academy's front lawn, the immaculately gardened grass glimmering in shattered moonlight.
As impressive as the lawn was, more surprising was the broken moon in the night sky. Zelda slowed, eyes widening as she beheld the heavens for the first time in eons. What happened? Why were the stars on the ground?
Zelda approached the third dock—the shiny winged vehicle Watts called a Bullhead sat waiting for her as promised. Nearing the edge, she saw that what took for stars were lights—a whole city of them, arrayed in towers and lanes. Some static, some darting back and forth in reds and yellows and greens.
It was gorgeous, a wonder that had never existed in Hyrule, not in any of its golden ages. Zelda couldn't help but slow to appreciate the sight.
Unfortunately, Ironwood was not so distracted.
A bolt of green light slammed into the wing of the Bullhead, exploding in a burst of emerald flame. Zelda threw herself to the ground, avoiding the debris raining down. She stared at the now ruined escape vehicle but knew that it would not fly.
Zelda stood up, turning to stare at the newly come general. Thankfully, he was alone, Clover and Marrow had yet to catch up. That would change, though, if she let it.
"Stand down, Zelda," Ironwood commanded, hands gripping the still smoking cannon to his chest. "There's nowhere you can run."
Zelda smiled at him. "I'm sorry, General Ironwood, but I can no longer accept your hospitality." She backed up, another risky plan forming.
"Zelda! Halt!"
She ignored him, spinning on her heel, and running towards the edge. Zelda wasn't far and if he wanted her alive, he wouldn't vaporize her. Her gamble proved correct as he futilely tried to catch up to her.
Zelda reached the end, overlooking a dark, rocky cliff leading to the city in the distance. Her feet left the dock platform, escaping into the night.
Clover got done dirty. Actually, most of the Atlas cast got done dirty.
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LeonTetra
