He knew these halls.

The castle was dark. The torches burned low, and the sound of heavy rain hit the roof in steady cadence. His boots, crusted with mud, sank into the red carpets soundlessly. They extended down the halls, with no guards to be seen.

Hazen swallowed, following the carpets to the end of the hall, turning corners, walking a path whose destination he knew all too well. He came up to a door and exited into a roughly hewn, narrow hallway. It continued on in darkness, the torches along its walls down to the embers.

A secret hallway, known only to his family. In case the main entrance to their rooms were ever compromised, the castle staff had carved out this passage so hazen and his family could escape. Hazen followed it through the bowels of the castle, the sound of rain fading slowly, then rising in volume once again. The door, made of solid steel, was cold under his hand. He pushed it open on silent hinges and stepped through.

It was his parents' room. Their door was ajar, firelight slipping through the crack, and he could hear faint voices. It sounded like his brothers.

Hazen looked around the room. It was the same, but somehow it . . . looked different. He couldn't put his finger on it. The closet was in the same place, the dressers and desks were still there, the bed . . .

He ran his hands over the sheets. Cold. Tangled, as if someone had been thrashing. Hazen straightened, feeling a weight come down on his chest, and turned to the desk behind him. A journal laid open on its surface, covered in his father's neat writing, and he bent to read it.

I've searched the Lost Woods four times. No sign of them. The Doors are all but obsolete. Tetra sails the Waker Sea with Valoo, and Ilayen scours the Islands, one by one. Mdina and Dark seek out the furthest corners of the Empire, with no luck, and Zelda . . . Zelda looks everywhere.

She's desperate. We all are. But it wasn't always that way.

In the beginning, she was frantic. Once the Doors stopped working, our last hope was gone. Some called her a madwoman. She searched all over, took her sword with her everywhere she went. Some days, she returned covered in blood, and others she barely responded to conversation. After a year, though . . . she stopped eating.

The soldiers have noticed, as well. Five years have passed, and we're no better off. Zelda had been desperate for so long, but now . . . now she's just angry. Furious. She barely sleeps--she spends all her time on the battlements, overseeing search parties. She scared the wits out of the squires the other day--one of the commanders suggested she give it up, and, well . . . he's no longer stationed at the castle. Foolish bastard. The last person who'd suggested that was sent to a month-long station in Naydra Snowfield.

I fear for Zelda. Her health is declining. Some days it is all she can do to leave the bed, and even when she does, she's . . . listless. The children try to cheer her up, but I can see that they are losing heart. Their brother has disappeared, and now their mother wastes away. I beg her to eat, to just let go of his pin and rest. I've already lost my son, I--I cannot watch her disappear as well.

The last few lines were stained, the ink blotched, as if something had splashed onto the page. Hazen closed his eyes, his own tears joining his father's on the page, and he stepped back from the desk.

Five years. Five years. How--how could that be possible? He wiped his eyes, steadying his breathing. Majora.

Majora did this. It--it sent him here, to the future--a future where they'd failed to return, where they were gone and his parents, his mother--

Is this your way of weakening me? He thought, grinding his teeth. He glared up at the ceiling, imagining Majora watched him. You think this will hurt me?

But that was the thing, wasn't it? It did hurt him. And Majora had known it would. It had chosen this last memory--no, this future--in response to Hazen's words, sitting by that memorial out in the Fields. This was its last taunting message, a test of Hazen's resolve.

Bastard, he hissed, approaching the door. This will not break me.

Hazen peeked through the door, making sure to stay quiet, and saw his mother sitting on a cushion in the living room. She was bent over, her face in her hands, and Dinsel and Faroe knelt beside her, speaking quietly.

Zelda didn't respond to them. Faroe, the more emotional of the two, bit his lip and stopped speaking. He watched his mother with tears in his eyes, unable to comfort her anymore.

On her other side, Dinsel met his twin's gaze, and the shared pain in those eyes made Hazen bite down on his tongue until he tasted blood.

This will not break me. It won't.

Seeing his mother in such a state, his brothers--grown adults, now almost Hazen's age--would not be enough. It would not br--

A door opened, and a young girl slipped through. She approached Zelda slowly, kneeling at her side, and Hazen had to bite his hand to keep from sobbing aloud.

Nayra.

She had to be thirteen here. She had her mother's face, and her hair had been tied back into a braid. She knelt in front of Zelda, who'd raised her head, and began speaking in a low, soft tone.

Hazen didn't want to hear anymore. "Please," he whispered. "Please stop this."

A gasp made him stiffen. "Hazen?"

Zelda's voice was stuffy, wavering. He backed unsteadily away from the door, seeing her rise on shaky feet and approach--but before she made it a few steps, he was enveloped in golden light, and disappeared from his mother's sight.

Again.

Irene wrapped her arms around herself, her eyes wide. "No."

She knew that hut. She knew those woods around the back, knew how many steps took her to the village on their other side. She knew whose broom that was on the side of the hut--

Tears burned. But--but Hazen said--

"He said you'd leave them alone," she whispered. "If we left, then you--"

"He lied," Majora crooned, and Irene sucked in a breath.

"He w--"

There was a flash, and in the vision, the illusion, whatever it was, suddenly there was fire everywhere. Burning the trees, the grass, making the air shimmer with heat. Above the flaming treeline, smoke rose in a great cloud. The village.

"Don't," Irene begged, because she knew what was coming, she could see smoke begin to rise from the chimney--"Don't--don't do it--"

Flames licked at the bottom of the hut, and she could hear it now, hear the screaming and crack of fire, hear the coughing, the banging--

"Please," Irene cried, her hands lighting with magic. Useless, worthless here, timelines away. "Please, don't take her--not her, please--"

Her voice broke, and with it the hut exploded in a burst of flame, and her scream seared her throat as if the fires could reach her here. She sank to her knees, screaming for all she was worth, because what else could she do? She was here, trapped, and--and over there, her Gram, her last family was--

Dead. She was dead.

Irene stared at the vision, watching the roof cave in, watching her life, her home, go up in flames. Goddesses damn it all! She cursed, her chest heaving, her whole body trembling like a leaf in a storm.

No.

She closed her eyes, breathing deep. Imagining she could smell the smoke, the smell of burning thatch and flesh. Her hands clenched into fists. No. I refuse.

Slowly, she got to her feet. Her mind was clearing--she could feel it emptying, bare of all thought but one.

I will not be a victim any longer. Trembling in a storm?

Irene stood, turning so she faced Majora squarely, and raised her hands. They glowed, growing brighter every second, shining so strongly that she could barely see beyond them. Majora's yellow nightmare eyes stared at her, and though she couldn't tell if it was shocked or uncaring, she knew it was at least watching. And that was enough.

I am the storm.

Zelda stood at the ready, her sword drawn. A glance at Link confirmed her suspicions. She'd felt Irene's power spike. Something was happening in there--inside that black dome. No sooner had she thought of it than power exploded outward, and she was nearly thrown back to the floor. She grabbed a table edge to stay upright, covering her eyes against the searing light, and when it faded, she lowered her arm slowly. In shock, or in awe, or perhaps even fear--she wasn't sure.

Majora was screeching, but it wasn't moving. It hovered in space, its face fixed on Irene.

Power swirled around her, sending the pages of scattered books flying, whipping clothes and hair, but even through it Zelda could see the searing light emanating from Irene. She was standing still, one arm outstretched, but she looked as if she was alight from the inside--her skin was glowing bright white, and her eyes--

Zelda hefted her sword. She'd--she'd never seen anything like this. Even the display on the battlefield hours ago--even that did not compare to this. Irene's eyes were a solid white, no blue color to be found. They stared at Majora, and Zelda might have guessed they were unseeing if not for the way they narrowed, the way her face twisted into a snarl.

Majora screeched again, and this time launched an attack. It was fast, too fast even for Zelda--but it didn't matter. Irene deflected it with a flick of her hand. The fireball blasted through the shattered windows.

With a hand, Zelda froze it in midair. She barely heard Ruto put it out, barely felt Link place a hand on her shoulder. Irene was walking towards Majora, her arm still outstretched, and the sheer power that rolled off of her was enough to make Zelda's knees tremble.

She could almost feel the earth shake in response to every one of the girl's steps, could feel her heart beat in time with Irene's. So, she thought, with a wicked grin, holding herself up with Link. This is a white witch's power.

Saria and Darunia went to attack. Zelda threw out a hand. "Don't! Stay out of the fight!"

They looked at her uncertainly, but did as she said. If we get into it now, we'll only be in Irene's way, Zelda thought rapidly. There's no way we can fight on this level. Not even the Sages of Hyrule--I knew she was strong, but this...

Irene was still fighting off Majora. With a screech that sent Zelda's eardrums ringing, it broke free of its invisible hold--Irene's hold, she realized--and flew towards the window. It's trying to escape, Zelda thought, and lurched forward. It's . . . running away from her.

Irene shot out her hand, and Majora froze once more--inches from the broken windows. She yanked her arm, and it went flying backwards. With her other hand, Irene created a ball of pure light--Zelda could feel the heat and pressure of it even where she stood. As soon as Majora crossed her path, Irene slammed the sphere down on it, and it collided with the floor with a boom as loud as cannonfire.

Without sparing a moment, Irene turned from the mask, her fingertip lighting. She drew a line, straight up from the floor, and as Zelda watched, the library peeled apart, as if Irene had undone the ties on a bag and opened it up.

Now, instead of bookcases and stairwells, Zelda stared into a landscape of rolling hills, distant treelines, and a thick mist covering it all. With a crooked finger, Irene dragged Majora into her grasp, her hand grasping one of its spikes, and she chucked it into the rip.

No, Zelda realized. Not rip. The portal.

Irene snapped her fingers, and the portal zipped itself shut. She turned to face Zelda and the others, and Zelda had to fight off a shiver. This kind of power . . . it was almost frightening.

As suddenly as it had arrived, the glow faded from Irene's body. She slumped with a low groan, holding her head, and looked up. Her mouth opened--but she never spoke a word.

She stared at Zelda, her eyes still lit with a ring of gold flame around her pupil--and she lifted a finger and pointed it at Zelda.

Irene was enveloped in another glow, this one bright and gold and as warm as the sudden feeling in Zelda's mind, and when it faded, she was gone.

The silence that followed was . . . strange. Zelda sat against a table, accepting the glass of water that Purah handed her. The library was empty except for herself, the Sages, and their friends. Midna spoke softly with Dark, and Tetra sat at the table, staring unseeing at the papers before her.

"So we've lost it, then," Saria said, glaring at the crater. Zelda didn't answer.

She was still working through everything that happened. It had gone by so quickly, she'd barely been able to keep up. She could only guess that Irene's sudden display of strength was the result of her awakening the last of her power. She was a white witch, and if she had this kind of power . . . she was something to be feared, certainly. And what she'd done at the end... Zelda rubbed her chest, still feeling that tingling warmth in her mind.

"Zelda," Saria insisted. Ilayen laid a hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged it off angrily. "We've lost it. The only thing we had to help us find them. She's gone."

"For the love of the Goddesses, give it a rest," Dark muttered, and Saria whirled on him.

"Both of you, be quiet," Zelda snapped out. She breathed in deeply through her nose, and let it out. "We are all shaken by what happened. Arguing with one another is not going to get us any closer to a solution."

"What did happen?" Link asked.

"We all knew Irene is a white witch," Zelda said wearily. "We just never knew the extent of her power. I think this gave us a rather detailed glimpse of it, but there is yet more to be seen. As for what happened, Majora appeared and fought us . . . but we were not its target."

"Then what was?" Darunia asked, crossing his arms.

"Irene was."

Everyone turned to Tetra. She stood from the table and faced everyone. "It said something before the fight," she said. "'My business is not with you.' and it specifically targeted Irene with that dome. It did something to her in there."

"Do you think it could have been a catalyst for that power she used?" Link asked.

"Perhaps," Zelda said. "But, as Saria stated, there is no way to know for sure now. We've lost our only connection."

That was more than disappointing. Part of Zelda, a large part, wanted to scream and cry and demand what she was to do now. But that wouldn't help anything.

Even so . . . her head was heavy with the effort of not letting it fall. Link took her hands, pulling her from the table, and opened his mouth to speak.

"Empress?"

Zelda pulled away to look at the entrance to the library. Captain Russell stood there with two people, hooded and cloaked, and Zelda immediately grasped her sword hilt. The captain approached on her signal, and behind her, the Sages almost unconsciously readied for battle.

To his credit, Captain Russell didn't let the state of the library, or his empress, deter him. He cleared his throat and gestured to the two figures. "These two were found in the Temple of Time, Your Majesties. They said they needed to speak to you right away."

"Who are they?" Zelda asked, trying not to let the weariness in her voice leak out too much. She tried to get a glimpse of them beneath their hoods, but all she saw was dirty blonde hair, and the glint of jewelry. One seemed taller than the other, and the taller one had what looked like a sword hilt sticking over their shoulder. They were also bulkier than their companion, who was slender and a bit shorter. A man and a woman, then, Zelda thought.

"They would not give names. Something about it being . . . too confusing for you, Your Majesty."

The captain looked distinctly uncomfortable at delivering that comment, but Zelda cocked her head. "I think I shall decide that for myself," she said coolly. "Remove your hoods at once."

Below the edge of the hood, the man allowed a smirk. "Hazen did say you were a hard one to bargain with," he said, and Link cursed violently beside her.

He removed his hood, and Zelda sucked in a breath. "You--"

Beside him, the woman also removed her hood, and now Zelda had to lean on the table for support, her eyes searing with sudden tears.

"We need your help," the Princess of Destiny said, her voice exactly the way it sounded in Zelda's head. She--she even looked the same--golden wavy hair, sharp blue eyes, soft smile and softer voice.

Zelda sucked in a breath and straightened, turning her attention to the man--the Hero of Time.

"And we think you need ours," he said.

This wasn't what I wanted.

Hazen opened his eyes. Bright sunlight shone directly into them, and he squinted. Rolling, he got to his feet and looked around. Three others lay on the grass beside him. They were already awake, and looked at each other with a myriad of emotions.

Saval's head was down, staring at the ground, and her eyes were bright. Her hands propped her up from behind, and as the person next to her turned to her, she closed her eyes tightly.

Tessen looked away with a grimace, staring out over their surroundings with something like pain on his face. He looked haunted, and he didn't glance at Saval again.

To Hazen's right, a girl sat with her back to them, her head down, hands in her lap. Her hair was tied up in a high ponytail, and she wore different clothes than when he'd seen her last. But he'd know her anywhere.

He wanted her to look at him. But he didn't know if he'd be able to stand it. So he said nothing, and she never moved.

Hazen took in his surroundings. He couldn't begin to think about what happened, or where any of them had gone. Not until he'd sorted out his own confusion. So he busied himself with gathering his bearings.

He was in a familiar place. The sounds of a bustling village rose over a few small hills, and on his side of the bridge, a house sat up against the side of a mountain. The grass was green and smelled freshly cut. And in front of the house, two people he never thought he'd see again stared at him, wide-eyed.

Zelda and Link. The Hero of the Wild, the Princess chosen by the Goddess. Their bodies were frozen, their hands shaking.

Zelda dropped her rag and ran, nearly stumbling on the ground. She reached Hazen and didn't hesitate before wrapping him up in an embrace. Her hands sunk into his hair, smoothing it down, and her body shook.

She pulled back, clasping his face, and suddenly Hazen couldn't breathe.

It was her. The shape of her eyes, the tears in them, the golden of her hair, they way she even bit her lip the same way. Hazen looked down, feeling his eyes fill with tears, his body beginning to shake.

Vaguely he heard other voices. But they were background noise, and he couldn't focus enough to hear what they said. He just saw her, her, her getting stabbed, her falling to her death, her sitting in that field saying she needed to be out there, that it was worth it--

A noise reached him, and he realized it was him. Guttural, broken, haunted. Zelda wrapped her arm around him and led him inside, sending a glance to Link as she did. He was kneeling beside Saval, trying to pull her to her feet. His face when he looked at his wife said it all.

What happened to them? Zelda wondered, closing her eyes tightly.

She sat Hazen down at the table and wrapped a blanket around his shoulders, despite the heat outside. He was shivering, and he wouldn't raise his head, no matter what. Even when she set a bowl of stew in front of him, he merely stared at it, his mind clearly elsewhere.

The door opened again, this time admitting Saval and Tessen. Link led them upstairs, their feet thumping on the wooden steps. When he came back, he spared Hazen a glance, and when the boy didn't react, he sighed and joined Zelda at the counter.

"This is what I was afraid of," he murmured, wrapping an arm around Zelda. "That look in their eyes."

She knew what he meant. It was the same look Link himself had had when he'd defeated the Calamity, in those quieter moments. When he remembered them, and why they weren't here anymore. It was in these childrens' eyes now. They were empty, haunted, dazed. Hazen especially.

Zelda was most worried about him. "He looks like he's just been through a war," she whispered, and felt Link's chest expand in a deep breath.

"That's because he has."

Screams, steel cutting through bone and flesh, wind whistling in his ears--

NO!

I will find you.

Hazen jerked awake, gasping. He shot straight up in bed, breathing hard through his nose, and unfisted his shirt. Link's shirt.

He'd reached for a dagger that wasn't there. His fingers unclenched the fabric, shaking, and he stared at them for a long time.

A nightmare. His mother dying--again. Her voice, at the end, cutting through his own scream like a knife through--

Hazen whipped the sheets off and rolled out of bed. No more knives. He crossed the threshold and then stopped. He couldn't go anywhere. Tessen and Saval took up the rooms upstairs. Link and Zelda had taken the couch, and Irene was outside. There was nowhere to run.

But he couldn't stay in this room. He'd go mad. The nightmare was all around him, the voices still too close.

He wanted to talk. With someone, anyone. Even with Link and Zelda--especially them. Even though they were the spitting image, almost, of his parents, he just--he needed someone who knew, who could understand, who could relate--

Hazen took a step and then stopped again.

He was already occupying their room. Their house, for the second time. He shouldn't inconvenience them by taking their sleep, too.

Then where?

There was a back door. It led to the path to the top of the mountain, and Link said there were no monsters up there. That was good. Hazen didn't trust his abilities just then.

He tucked in the shirt, pulled on a pair of trousers left out for him, and rolled the sleeves of the shirt up to his elbows. He left his weapons there, and crept out into the hall.

The back door was silent, thankfully. Hazen breathed in deep and set off.

The path was quiet, calm. A few mountain goats and small foxes dotted the path, running when they saw him, and bugs flitted across his path sometimes. Halfway up, fireflies came to light around him, drifting almost aimlessly through the air. He crested the top and stared at the pond . . . in the shape of a broken heart.

He managed a tiny huff, a push of breath from his chest. Hazen stuffed his hands in his pockets and turned to the edge of the mountaintop, looking out over Hyrule. The plateaus and hills, the Sheikah Towers and Shrines glowing bright blue in the night, the town of Hateno, as sleepy here as it was in his own time. Behind him, the waters of what he guessed were the Necluda Sea spread out farther than he could see.

A broken heart was accurate. He felt like his was cracking every time he thought of his mother. Of the lies she told. Could she not have trusted him? Why didn't she want him to know the truth? He wasn't a child.

He'd had plenty of time to think before the Doors, before Majora, before whatever had taken him. He knew what he'd seen. Zelda had been stabbed straight through the heart. There was no coming back from that. But she was alive, somehow. And his father had been the one to do it--at Zelda's behest, and to kill Ganondorf once and for all, sure, but still. Had they not thought that would be important to Hazen? Their son?

He sucked in a shaking breath. And the other things . . . she'd almost died a thousand times. In the Battle of the Skies, on the Water, the final attack, even before then. Before she'd been routed from the castle. Snowpeak, Waker Sea, in Twilight, in her own damned city. He'd seen it all, every time, and now the pieces were clicking into place. All the details she'd left out, the times she'd averted her eyes in the middle of the story, the things she'd omitted to--to what? To spare him?

How many other times had she come within inches of death? How many other assassination attempts had there been, beyond what he'd been shown? How much danger had she truly been in? How had the others really died? How much had she kept from him?

Hazen shut his eyes, his mouth tightening into a line. Urbosa's death had suddenly gained a whole new meaning. Zelda and Link had never shared details about her death, no matter how many times it had come up. They simply said "She gave her life for the empire".

It had always seemed flat to Hazen, and now he knew why. It may have been the truth, but it was so bare-boned and empty that Hazen almost considered it a lie, especially now. And the others--the Champions, all those names on the memorial in Hyrule Field. How had they died? Were they given the same flat, toneless eulogy that Urbosa was? What were the details? How much of the stories were hidden?

He'd go crazy trying to puzzle it out. But he also knew that he wasn't being completely fair.

He knew he hadn't seen enough of the war to have a real idea of what it was like, but he'd seen enough to understand his parents, at least a little. He'd been a spectator--he had no idea what it must have been like to freefall through the air, with nothing but trust in his Loftwing to keep him alive. Had had no idea what it had felt like to run from a massacre, to look at the ruins of a city and know that he was responsible for it, one way or the other. He couldn't imagine seeing the names of his friends on a lonely stone slab, seeing their faces in a row, one by one, counting the ones who hadn't made it.

Hazen swallowed. Tears burned in his eyes. He just--he just wanted to know. He wanted his parents to tell him, to share that burden with him. They always kept it hidden, tucked away for themselves to suffer in, alone. But now, it was clear they could never have shared it. Asking someone to understand what they had gone through was like asking for the impossible--and he would know. He'd been struggling right along with his parents, and he'd never realized it. Never given a thought to how they might have felt about the subject.

And now, in a cruel twist of fate, he had finally gained a bit of understanding, under the worst circumstances. He understood through first-hand experience. He'd seen mass death, he'd watched arms be amputated on the battlefield and he'd stood frozen as those around him were slaughtered. As his own mother crumpled to the white stones, an achingly-familiar sword stuck through her chest.

Had Majora intended for this result? Was the mask the one who'd shoved Hazen through the Doors, time and time again? And had he been the only one?

He guessed not. He wasn't the only one who was a mess.

Tessen and Saval couldn't even look at each other. Irene sat outside all day, every day, for three days now. Unmoving, silent, she just stared out over Hateno Province. When it rained, she almost lazily put up a shield around her, like a bubble of air that nothing could penetrate.

Not that Hazen had really tried. She seemed perfectly content to sit there and stare at nothing, and Hazen himself had been . . . preoccupied.

They were a mess. He . . . he'd only ever seen them like this once before, and that was years ago, for an entirely different reason.

He wanted to know what happened. He wanted to help. And they had to get a plan together, had to get organized.

He didn't want to go back down. Even the thought of saying out loud what he'd seen was . . . unappealing. But if no one made the first step, they'd stay stuck forever. And he was the prince. It was his responsibility to get them on track, to keep them together.

Even if I wasn't, they're my friends, Hazen thought, opening his eyes to the night once more. I'll do anything to keep us together.

He stayed up on the mountaintop for a few more hours. It was nearing dawn when he finally returned to the house, and as he slipped back inside, he heard voices.

Saval stood at the kitchen counter. She'd tied her hair back into a loose braid, clad in one of Zelda's dresses--a pale cream with loose sleeves--and was helping Zelda prepare breakfast.

"I'm sorry."

Zelda didn't respond. Years with Link had taught her that sometimes words simply weren't necessary. Indeed, Saval kept speaking.

"We seem to keep dragging people into our problems. It's not our intention, we just . . . we're not prepared for this."

Zelda put down the mixing spoons and faced Saval. The girl was trying to hold back tears, staring at the countertop. There was fear in her gaze, and something else that Zelda knew well. She thought of those last few months with Link, before her world had fallen apart, remembered the longing glances and tense moments alone. She felt her heart constrict with sympathy.

"When I was still the daughter of a king," she said slowly, "I was terrified. Calamity Ganon was an ever-present threat, one that I was entirely unprepared for."

"But you defeated him," Saval said, her voice quiet with the effort of not crying. Zelda smiled sadly. "Only when it was too late," she said.

Saval looked confused before her face cleared. Zelda nodded. "I had already lost Link," she continued, going back to the salad. "I had lost my country, my father, my friends. I truly had no idea what I was doing. But I knew that though they were gone, the Champions had believed in me the whole time. I knew that Link believed in me, even on death's door. So I did what I had to do."

"How did you know? What to do?"

Zelda looked back at the memories, recalling the fear, the agony, the heat of fire as it burned her skin. The eye of the guardian as it closed in, its laser fixed on Link's battered body. She turned to Saval, finding hope glittering in the girl's amber eyes. "I didn't," she admitted quietly. "I only knew that I must."

Hazen backed out of the door and closed it silently. Saval and Zelda's conversation faded behind the wood as he made his way to the pond. The sounds of Link chopping wood somewhere on the other side of the house reached him. In the village, a dog barked. The dawn air was chilly, even in summer, and he felt goosebumps rise along his skin.

He stood at the edge of the pond and stared at its surface, thoughts swirling in his mind like the lily pads on the water. Any moment. The Doors could take us at any moment. Just . . . let me have some peace. Please.

He doubted the Doors or Majora or whatever would hear his prayer, but he kept it up anyway. He needed time. They all did. But it was glaringly obvious that time was the very thing they didn't have.

He didn't know what state the timeline was in, but it couldn't be good. If it had started crumbling when they first jumped, almost four months ago, then what could it--

Someone approached from behind him. He kept staring at the pond, feeling his heart begin to race. Fish swam among the lilies, oblivious to the world turning about them.

Irene was the first to speak. "What are you going to do?"

"I don't know."

She didn't answer.

"Zelda makes it seem so black and white," Irene murmured. Hazen glanced at her, finding her blue eyes fixed on the pond's surface. It rippled when a fish broke the surface slightly. "But she did get one part right. It's not always about duty."

"What else could it be about?" Hazen asked quietly. Her voice sent ripples through him, making him itch to do something, say something. His fingers twitched at his side.

Irene glanced at him from the corner of her eye, a flash of blue. "Love helps."

She looked away before Hazen could respond, but he felt something in his chest lighten. Of course. Of course it was.

He opened his mouth, but Irene had turned away. "I'll get Saval. You get Tessen."

"What?"

She turned her head just enough to look at him, but her eyes were on the ground. "We need to talk."

Sitting out in the yard, Hazen tried not to bounce on his heels. Irene was right. They did need to talk. But were they ready?

He knew that they couldn't really afford to wait that long, however long it would take. But he himself wasn't sure he could talk about what he'd seen, and the others . . . he was afraid of what they'd say. Afraid of the damage Majora had inflicted this time.

Irene exited the house with Saval and Tessen in tow. As before, they couldn't even look at each other, and Irene met Hazen's gaze with her own narrowed one. He sighed. Saval and Tessen, unable to speak a word to another? They were really a mess.

Tessen took a spot a few feet from Hazen, his jaw working, and Saval sat beside Irene. There was silence for a few moments, and then Irene said, "I'll go first."

Hazen glanced at her. She didn't meet his gaze for long, shifting as she sat with her legs stretched out in front of her. "It makes sense," she said.

He . . . supposed. If she's really fine with it, Hazen thought, tearing his gaze from her legs and clearing his throat. "When you're ready, then."

She seemed to take several breaths, summoning the strength to speak. "I . . . don't know what happened to you three," she began. "But as for me, I, well . . . I went to Hyrule."

Irene shifted under their gazes--well, Hazen's. She really wasn't sure if the other two were even listening. "So . . . your Hyrule. And I met the Empress."

Hazen's breath left his lungs. "You . . . you met . . . ?"

Irene nodded, watching his face carefully. "Yes. I met your mother. And the rest of your family."

He couldn't breathe. She--Irene and his parents, his siblings--she'd seen them, spoken with them--

She must have seen the questions brimming in his eyes, alongside the tears, because she waved her hand, and a faint blanket of warmth fell on Hazen's shoulders. "I'm sorry," she said softly, leaning forward. "I have to tell this right. But they're safe now, and--and they miss you."

Goddesses. Hazen clutched his shirt, squeezing his eyes shut. How can I just move on from that? Everything--after everything I saw, I have to swallow it all and wait?

For a moment he thought he couldn't do it. It felt like his chest was caving in, and he heard Irene's voice calling his name. It was all piling up--the visions, their voices, how much he missed them--

A hand landed on his shoulder, and he gasped, raising his head, expecting to see Irene's jewel-blue eyes looking down at him with concern. But it wasn't her.

Pale-blue eyes, so light they were almost lavender, stared down at him. Tessen's throat bobbed, and without a word he embraced Hazen.

He was trembling, or was it Hazen? He couldn't tell. Either way, he dug his fingers into his best friend's shoulder, feeling what Tessen wasn't saying.

I know. I miss them too.

With a deep breath and monumental effort, Hazen pulled away and straightened. Tessen sat back, fixing his gaze on Irene, and after a moment, so did Hazen. He nodded.

Irene looked unsure, concern flitting across her face, but apparently decided to continue. "Right. So, after a, um, misunderstanding, we came to an agreement. I'd help her try and fix the Doors."

Hazen must have looked confused, because Irene stammered, "Oh, the Doors were going kind of haywire. Apparently, just before I appeared in Hyrule, they were flaring up really brightly, and then just . . . fizzled out. They never lit up again like that, but they flickered a bit now and again. We weren't sure, but we thought it may have been because--"

"We were jumping," Hazen murmured, thinking.

"R-right. So, Zelda and I, we tried getting the Doors to stabilize, but they never reacted to my magic or hers. Nothing was working. So then your mother thought, well . . ." She took a deep breath, and said, "She thought that maybe looking through Ganondorf's old things would help."

At that, everyone focused on Irene. "He had the Triforce of Power, and he was using some sort of magic to revive monsters," Irene said. "So she thought perhaps there was something in his research that would give us any clues about how to fix the Doors and find everyone. But it wasn't . . . well, it--she didn't--"

"What? What happened?" Hazen asked, feeling a sense of desperation arise in him. Irene looked at him, helplessness in her gaze, and said, "Majora was working with Ganondorf. All during the war, and before that--it was Ganondorf's secret contact. The one he got all his information from on monsters, and magic--" Her voice hitched, and she looked down, as if she were about to cry. When she raised her head, her eyes were bright.

"It was all him," she whispered.

Hazen stared at her, but it was like he wasn't seeing her. He was seeing the visions--again, because they came up at every opportunity, and now that he knew, now that he knew, they'd never stay away--

His breath came suddenly and in short bursts, and he felt that blanket come down around his shoulders again, but its warmth was like a shallow balm--fleeting, and doing nothing to stave off the cold in him. The visions flashed through again and again, one after another. He couldn't keep track of them all anymore, but he knew where they were from because his mother always had that same look on her face, and he knew they were from the war, the war that Ganondorf started--

No. The war that Majora started.

Hazen's head came up sharply, and Irene started. "Why?"

She knew what he meant. "His journals said something about the hero," she said. "S-Something about Majora wanting revenge on your father, because he looked like the hero."

All that--all the pain and suffering and death--it was all because of something like revenge?

His mother had died for this?

He could feel the rage building somewhere deep inside him. He let it, let himself sit back and listen to the rest of Irene's story, because there was more yet to be told. Hazen forced himself to take calm, measured breaths, even as his mind whirled.

How his mother must have felt. Learning all along that it was the work of a mask, a mask bent on revenge--for what? What could Majora possibly be so angry about that it would start a war in a completely different timeline, that it would kidnap the children of that hero it despised so much? What could drive it that far?

Irene was speaking. ". . . so we went to the library, and, well, long story short, we know what happened to the timeline," Irene said tiredly. "It was the witches. My people."

That got everyone's attention. "What?" Saval asked, her first words in three days.

Irene nodded. "The witches have been around since the very beginning. They had incredible power--power to reverse age, to create life with a wave of their hand, and power to--to--"

She sucked in a sharp breath, and Hazen had the distinct feeling that this was affecting her on a more personal level. "--the power to open portals in the fabric of time and space," Irene finished, raising her head and meeting each of their gazes, almost defiantly.

"Wait," Tessen said, holding up a hand. "You're saying--they could open portals? And that's how they fixed the timeline?"

"Well, that's the bare bones of it, yes," Irene hedged. "But what happened is the witches fled persecution at every turn. Whether it was fear of their power, jealousy, or their own faults chasing them away, the witches have periodically jumped through time to save themselves. Some of the witches to do this were the Dark Interlopers."

Saval's gasp was a bare push of breath, but it was heard clear as day. Hazen stared at Irene. "Are you sure? Are you--are you absolutely positive?"

She nodded resolutely. "I'm sure. I saw it myself."

"How?" Saval demanded, her voice rising.

"It was a spell. I used magic to turn the books in the library into a--a--vision, of sorts. It showed me the path of the witches."

"So where did they go?" Tessen asked, leaning forward.

At least these two are participating now, Hazen thought.

"The witches--or Interlopers--took those of their kind who had desired the Triforce and fled to another dimension," Irene explained. "That dimension became known as the Twilight Realm. When Ganondorf arrived and began his takeover--"

Hazen flinched.

"--more of the witches fled his rule. They landed in my Hyrule, and they stayed there for a long time. But, eventually . . ." She sighed, and her voice was bitter when she spoke next. "Persecution followed them, as it always does. There was a short war, most of it lost to history. That's why I had never heard of it before, in my time. But anyway, they faded into obscurity. No one knew where they went, and eventually, enough people forgot about them to leave them alone. They lived in secret for hundreds of years, until me. But it wasn't over. All the jumping they did . . . there were side effects that no one had predicted."

"What do you mean?" Hazen asked, leaning forward.

Irene met his gaze with her blue one, her eyes narrowed with pain and sadness. "In the beginning, before the very first jump, some witches had stayed behind. They'd overcome the persecution, and their magic was strongest. They could feel that something wasn't right. They opened a portal to space."

She paused, worrying her lip. "The timeline was fracturing," she said softly. "It was falling apart at the seams. So many jumps had torn the timeline to pieces. The witches knew there was only one way to fix it, even if it meant throwing everything into mayhem . . . but they had no other choice. Reality was breaking down."

"They sewed the timelines back together, into one cohesive string," Irene said, meeting Hazen's shocked gaze. Fit them together as best they could, but . . . they miscalculated."

"By fixing the timeline, they had interfered--become part of the flow in a spot where they didn't belong. As a result, they were dragged out of their own time and dumped at the end of the line--millenia later. They came out of nowhere. The people of that time were distrustful, unwelcoming. So the witches--confused and frightened--hid away far from the other tribes, keeping their secrets with them. And one day, they just . . . disappeared."

A gasp sounded from the house. Hazen looked to see Zelda and Link standing there, the former's hands over her mouth.

"Irene, are you saying . . .?" Link asked, his voice hushed.

The witch nodded. "The witches became known as the Zonai people, the ancient mysterious tribe of Hyrule--of this Hyrule," Irene said, sitting up straight. "Their cities, abandoned and left to ruin, are those of my people--the white witches of Ancient Termina."

Heyo! So hey, I hired a digital artist to draw the crew! Hazen, Tessen, Saval and Irene are OFFICIALLY in color! (And they're super hot, not gonna lie) (Irene is my wife, hands off)

Anyway that's the chapter, and oh but I do so love twisties. Did anyone see this coming? Like at all? Probably not lmao I didn't lead up to it much. But tell me what you think about this chapter plsss and also tell me who you think those two strangers are, appearing to Zelda so mYsTeRIOuSLy

Anyways see ya! *mwah*