Heyo! I asked out a girl today and after a minor heart attack I am *fully functioning* (lol)
Anyway, here's the chapter that I definitely did not almost forget to post haha what are you talking about. So enjoy!
The fields were crawling with people.
Though upon closer inspection, not all of them were people, Hazen realized. It was a mix of monsters and humans--Hylians. They wore the same kind of uniform his mother sometimes wore, though these were slightly different, and many of them were white.
They dashed around him on the field, screaming and roaring, killing and dying, battling and carrying pallets, and as a pair of them passed him, bearing a man flailing and screaming, Hazen looked down at him.
His gut was shredded, blood and insides falling out even as he tried to hold them in. Hazen clapped a hand to his mouth, feeling bile rise up, and watched him scream unintelligibly until an arrow zipped down and struck him in the throat.
Hazen stumbled back, swearing, and heard a squawk. He whirled, drawing his sword, coming face to face with a bokoblin. He blocked and blocked again, and when the monster reared back, Hazen reacted on instinct.
He ducked below the swing and slashed his sword across the monster's back, bringing it down. It fell face-first to the ground, and Hazen slammed his sword point-first into its skull, silencing it.
He wrenched it out, breathing hard, and stumbled away, holding his hand to his mouth. Where was he? And what was that smell--
Looking around proved to be both a mistake and a good choice. It gave him an idea of where he was, at least, but it also showed him dozens of bodies, both still alive and dead, some still fighting.
Hylians ran like madmen, fighting monsters where they could, defending the white-clad people as they gathered the injured and bore them away. Looking behind him, Hazen saw a large white tent, far away from the battle.
Though, something didn't quite seem right. Hazen looked at the battle again. For such a brutal fight, it seemed . . . low-staffed? He'd only been attacked once, and he had the feeling it should have been more than on--
A screeching sound rapidly approached seconds before a body flashed past Hazen, slamming into the ground with the sound of a cannon blast. Eyes wide, Hazen looked down at it, finding a Lizalfos lying against the ground at an awkward angle. A rib stuck out from its stomach, dropping with blood, and the ground beneath was quickly turning red.
It stunk of rot, and it was covered in gore. Hazen staggered backwards, barely avoiding running into another pair of blood-stained Hylians, bearing another body. This one was barely moving.
As he watched, occasionally defending against a monster, Hazen recognized what was happening. He was in the midst of one of the very first Hylian Alliance battles, one of the first moves made against Ganondorf. He stood smack in the middle of the Battle of the Skies.
He looked up, and whatever excitement he may have felt was abruptly replaced with horror.
The sky was an ever-shifting canvas: black with monsters and dotted with jewel-toned birds--Loftwings. They clashed with a sound like screeching metal, even miles away, and bodies fell every second. Most, whether Hylian or monster, were either already dead as they fell, or died on impact, but a select few monsters got up and kept fighting.
It seemed a ground force had been prepared for this, Hazen reflected, watching the carnage numbly. He walked to a less active part of the field, where fewer enemies were falling, and no more quiet than before. Healers hurried around between bodies, people on the ground moaned and even screamed, and more than once Hazen had to turn away.
Goddesses, he thought, watching a man stumble away from an amputation and vomit. No one said it was like this.
He swallowed against a dry throat, hearing Majora's words echo in his head yet again.
You even fear what you seek.
You are not ready for it!
Hazen ground his teeth. So what if there was blood and gore? He knew that was part of war. It was no surprise. He trudged through the field, hesitating before heading to a group of healers, struggling to hold a soldier down. She cried, holding her bleeding arm. "Please, please," she begged. "Please don't take it, please--"
The healers' faces were grim as they held her down, one of them grabbing a saw, and Hazen braced himself before taking the woman's shoulder, pinning it down. She looked at him, wild fear in her eyes, and Hazen beat back the fear and guilt and Majora's words.
"Drink this," another healer said, handing the woman a bottle. She shut her eyes, tears leaking through, and drank deeply, and the healer offered it to Hazen as well. He hesitated once, then grabbed it and drank. It was awful, and he nearly spit it out, but he supposed taste wasn't its purpose. The same healer then held up a leather bit and put it in the soldier's mouth. "Bite down, hard," he warned. She did so, shutting her eyes, and began praying to the Goddesses through it.
The first healer held up the saw and started cutting.
Hazen grimaced, blood splattering his face. The soldier beneath him screamed through the bit, thrashing, the Goddesses forgotten. "Hold her down!" the healer with the saw--Dana--ordered, continuing to cut.
She made short work of it--the arm was cut through quickly, and the soldier stopped screaming, at least. Hazen sat back, his stomach roiling, and just managed to scramble away before vomiting.
He coughed, spitting, and felt hands grabbing him. "Come on, boy," Dana said, hauling him up. "We've more work to do."
Hazen stood, spitting again, and breathed deep. "Here," Dana said, handing him a vial of rose water. "It helps."
Hazen took it with a word of thanks and sniffed. As he handed it back, he took a breath. Now everything smelled of rose water and death. He followed her to another victim, and thankfully this one didn't need an amputation.
He held the man's leg down while Dana took out the arrow and deftly sewed up the wound, then waved him off. She made to go to another, but a murmured curse made her stop. Behind her, Hazen did the same.
"Bloody Goddesses," the man beside Hazen said, looking up at the sky. The others followed his gaze.
Four shapes fell, two animals, two human. They descended through the sky like shooting stars, and as they fell closer, Dana's face went white.
"That--that's the Empress!"
Hazen stared at her, then at the shapes--the empress, his mother--hurtling toward the ground. The bit in his hand fell to the ground as everyone, no matter what they were doing, stopped to stare at those shapes.
He could almost hear the wind whistling with her descent. Panic began to flutter in his chest. She didn't die--she couldn't. She survived this battle--he remembered hearing about this battle, but--but--
She'd never mentioned this. She--she'd never told him she came within inches of death! Hazen watched her, with growing fear, as she continued to fall. The ground grew closer with every passing second, and--there--
A shape, a Loftwing, bright violet, shot down like an arrow, spearing for his mother as she wrestled with the other shape--the enemy leader, she'd told Hazen. Ghirahim.
He died in this battle. Crashed, splattered on the ground--but not her. Not her, right?
His heart slammed into his chest-- "Come on, come on, come on," he muttered, and his eyes widened as their shouts reached him. She was almost there--
That Loftwing shot beneath Zelda and banked hard, and then they were flying upwards, and Hazen fell to his knees, crying with fear, relief, adrenaline as that boom rumbled over the earth--
He buried his face in his hands, trying to stop the trembling of his body. She'd never told him--never, never even dropped a hint--
Why? Did she think he would get scared? Hazen let out a hoarse laugh, lifting his face. Nothing would ever scare him more than watching his mother hurtle towards her death, he knew that for certain.
Golden light enveloped him, erasing the sight before him, and Hazen had the sudden, distinct feeling that he'd eat those words before this was over.
Tessen ducked behind a door, heart slamming against his chest.
This is really getting out of control, he thought, looking up and down the hall. It was clear, for now, but he knew palace halls never stayed empty for long. He sighed, wondering how the hell he was going to navigate this one.
There was a balcony in the room across from him. After another glance down the hall, he headed for the door and slipped into the room. Tessen strode to the balcony, sweeping aside the dark curtains, and looked out over the city.
Duskwatch had always been beautiful. It spread out for miles, a massive collection of thousands and thousands of lights, its people happy and safe. He'd gone out into that city hundreds of times with Saval, watching amusedly as she haggled with the men at the pawn shop, bartering away her jewelry from suitors in exchange for money. He smiled a bit, remembering how they'd then make their rounds through the city, depositing that money in charities, orphanages, shelters, and wherever else it was needed.
Then they'd come back to the palace and hole up in a room not unlike this one and just--
Voices--unnervingly familiar--sounded from the hall, and Tessen ducked behind the thick dark blue curtains, pulling them over him just as the voices entered the room.
He had to stifle a groan.
Himself, from the past, followed Saval into the room and shut the door. Saval was laughing as she pulled her dark cloak off, tossing it onto the couch. Her dress was a beautiful white and cream, and the gold jewelry in her hair and on her wrists and neck glittered in the soft light of the room.
"I've never seen someone look so shocked before," she laughed. Past-Tessen joined in, adding, "I think he thought your father was going to hunt him down."
Saval rolled her eyes. "He probably would."
"You're not wrong."
Past-Tessen came up to her, smiling, and leaned in to kiss her, and abruptly the real Tessen knew what this was.
It was a memory. And one in which they'd argued, truly argued, one of the few times in their lives.
His heart sank as it played out. Saval's smile faded, and she turned her face away from Tessen's. He frowned at her. "What's wrong?"
She tried to smile. "Nothing. I'm just . . . tired."
Tessen raised a brow. "Tired? You were just running down the halls a minute ago."
Saval shifted, and her movements were stiff. "Which is why I'm tired. Funny how that works, huh?"
Shut up, Tessen thought. Just shut up and let it go.
He did no such thing. Instead he shifted on his feet as well. "Look, if you don't want to kiss me then just say so," he said, a bit sharply, and Tessen wanted to bash his own head into the wall. Saval caught his tone.
"I'm sorry, are you owed an explanation for every time I don't want to kiss you?" she said acidly. "No, you are not."
"Saval," he said, his eyes darkening. "That's not what I'm saying. I just meant--"
"What?" Saval snapped. Tessen blinked. Then he was angry, and Tessen wanted nothing more than to run out from behind the curtains and strangle himself.
"I just meant," he continued angrily, "that you can tell me if you're not in the mood! I'm not asking for an explanation."
"What are you asking for?" Saval demanded, throwing her hands out. "What do you want, Tessen? Me?"
"Wha--yes, I want you, but--" Tessen made a noise of aggravation. "What's that got to do with anything?"
"Oh, well that's nice," Saval said, and both Tessens winced. "'What's that got to do with anything'. I do wonder."
It was a wonder he hadn't died right there, Tessen supposed. That amount of sarcasm was fatal. His past self blinked, stunned, and then threw his cloak down. "What's your problem?!"
"What's my problem? You--everything, Tessen! Everything is my problem!"
"What does that mean? What are you talking about?!"
Saval sighed in disgust. "Nothing. You know what? Nothing. Everything's fine. I'm fine. You can forget about the kiss thing, because it's got nothing to do with this, so don't even worry!" she screamed.
Tessen sighed, glaring at her. "I just want to know what's wrong," he snapped. "You don't have to get so nasty about it!"
"Oh?" Saval crooned. "I'm being nasty?"
That's when she started crying, if Tessen remembered correctly. He watched as his face went slack, the anger leeching out of him, and reached forward to take her arm. "Hey--"
Saval wrenched away, shouting, "Just go! Go home."
Tessen froze, staring at her, and then his lips sealed, brow furrowed in anger and confusion, and he stormed out.
Present-day-Tessen heaved a very slow breath, and watched Saval wipe her face. She took a shuddering breath, raising her hands to her face and breathing in deep.
She swallowed, lowering her hands to her neck. She reached inside the neckline and pulled out the signet ring, and once again Tessen had to stifle a sigh. So that's what that was about.
Saval turned the ring over in her fingers, her eyes staring at it but not seeing it. She always got that look in her eye whenever she was deeply conflicted about something, and as she continued turning that damned ring, Tessen tried to figure it out.
Why didn't she just ask her mother to annul the betrothal if she didn't want to marry the man? It was easy enough--Midna would turn the world upside-down for her daughter. So what was the holdup?
Was there some reason she needed to marry him? Though Tessen strongly doubted the idea that either Midna or Dark would sell their daughter just for some political gain, he supposed, if Saval had agreed to it herself, then . . .
It wasn't so far-fetched. The thought made him sick.
But there was something else. He couldn't tell what, but something in him knew there was a part to this he wasn't aware of.
Saval had stood from the couch. Her face was calm, the sort of blankness that came with someone who'd nearly given in. Tessen's heart lurched as she made her way to the firepit, the flames licking merrily at the logs, the signet ring still between her fingers.
Tessen's lips parted. She wouldn't . . . would she?
Saval knelt at the pit, extended her fist over the flames, and breathed in sharply. Three, four, five seconds she held it out--and her fingers never opened.
A sharp sob broke from her lips, and she curled her arm into herself as she broke down before the fire. Tessen wanted to help her--he would have fought the Goddesses themselves to get to her--but as soon as he took a step, he was enveloped in golden light.
"I don't want to marry him, Mother, please!"
Saval closed her eyes.
Her head smacked lightly against the stone wall of Hyrule Castle, cushioned a bit by her hood.
She'd stolen the cloak from an abandoned room. Everyone was at the party, and so no one had really noticed the Twilight Queen and Princess had gone for a private chat. And no one had noticed her, either, slipping up to the door of their room and listening in.
"Saval, what's wrong? Why don't you want to marry him?"
Midna's voice was caring, some might say at odds with her striking appearance. Saval listened to herself explain, knowing it was a weak argument, compared to the real reason.
"I--I just can't, Mother. I changed my mind."
"Darling. Just three weeks ago you were fine with it. Now, all of a sudden, it's a no?"
Saval could see it. Could see her mother taking her hands, amber eyes searching her daughter's.
She could see herself, standing frozen at the precipice, nearly shaking with fear and pain.
Do it, she begged herself. Take off the dress and show her the bruises. The bite marks.
Show her, damn you.
She didn't. And she knew, past or present, that it would happen that way. Saval let her head fall back against the stone, listening to past self scramble for an answer. All she managed was a broken--
"Never mind. I'm sorry," she whispered. Midna started to speak, and Saval knew her past self was turning away.
"Saval, wait." Midna took her hands. "I'll see what I can do," she said, with that sparkle in her amber eyes. "But . . . the duke will be hard to convince. Just know . . . I love you, darling. Please, trust that I'll try to fix this."
Saval knew she was crying. Knew her mother was wiping her tears in that room, knew she was hurting her and didn't know how to stop it, how to just open her mouth and speak. And she knew it the moment Midna realized it as well, and stood slowly, enveloping her daughter in a hug.
But that was inside the room. Out in the hall, there was no one to wipe her tears for her. No one to clean up the disaster that engagement had turned into. No one, but herself.
Saval pushed off from the wall and headed down the hall, a hand swiping across her face.
"What. The. Bloody Goddesses," Irene cursed, staring at the spread. Her dress from earlier lay on a dress form. Beside it on the bed, nestled into silken pillows, sat a necklace, earrings, and a crown. A bloody crown.
She wasn't royalty. She didn't know much about castle life, but wouldn't this be seen as a little . . . presumptuous? She sighed, staring at the ensemble as the clock in her room ticked down the minutes.
She was expected to be ready and awaiting her escort thirty minutes before the ball started, according to Saria. Who had apparently decided to allow Irene to join her group despite having never seen her before. Was that just . . . something these people did? Rolling with things like that?
Somehow Irene found that hard to believe. From the way Hazen had described the people his parents were friends with, she had to believe there was something else going on. Saria--a Sage, no less--wouldn't just accept Irene without question. Which meant she was probably answering to a higher power.
That's comforting, Irene thought, blanching.
A knock came at her door. "Lady Irene?" the servant girl's voice called. "We're here to assist you."
Oh, goody, Irene thought, standing. Servants of my very own.
She opened the door, revealing two girls in servant gowns bowing. "My lady," they murmured, and came in.
"Have you bathed already, my lady?" one asked. Irene thought her name was Alisse.
"Yes, earlier," Irene answered. The girls nodded and then began preparing the dress, brushing it out and leading Irene to a chair. She sat, and the other girl began brushing out her hair, which had tangled from her bath.
How does anyone live like this? She wondered, staring at herself in the mirror. People doing everything for you, having escorts, servants . . . I can't even draw my own bath.
They made her feel helpless. Irene hated feeling that way. It reminded her too much of her parents.
She forced herself to sit through it, grinding her teeth as they brushed out her hair carefully, until no snarls were left, and it was shining and smooth. Forced herself not to bite the hand that dressed her, almost dizzyingly uncomfortable. When the dress was finally on, flowing smoothly to the floor, they sat her down again and twisted her hair into soft waves, gathered half of it up into a braid and set it against the rest, and arranged it around her shoulders.
It reminded Irene of the way Zelda had worn her hair earlier that day. Was this how the women of the court wore it now, in the far future? Irene's own hair had grown almost past her shoulders; it had always grown annoyingly fast, forcing her to cut it often. She hadn't had a chance since meeting Hazen, though.
Then came the jewelry. They tried to take her blue earrings out, but Irene stopped them. "Not them. Leave these in."
They hesitated, but Alisse curtsied. "As you wish, my lady."
And stop calling me that, she thought, irritated.
The other girl lifted the crown, and Irene eyed it, fidgeting. She really wasn't comfortable with this part, but she supposed, looking at it closer, that it could have been much worse. They could have tried to stick one of the heavier state crowns on her, like Hazen had told her about.
My mother hated those, he'd laughed, that night in Stone Tower. She always preferred the smaller diadems.
Diadem. Was that what this was? It was simple, Irene gave it that much. Small and gold, crafted into the shape of leaves winding around to her forehead. A small opal was set into the center leaf, sticking straight up between the two from either side.
It was so simple, and yet Irene wanted to tear it from Alisse's hands. She gripped the arms of the chair hard, her knuckles turning white, as they set it in her hair. As if she could sense Irene's growing discomfort, Alisse quickly lifted the necklace and slung it around Irene's neck. It, too, was simple--just a string of opals and diamonds meeting the purest sapphire Irene had ever seen in the middle.
Alisse and the other girl left, bowing, with murmured reminders that the guard awaited her. Irene sat forward again, letting out a breath.
Again she wondered what her purpose was here. Could she try and find a way to defeat Majora from here? Was she meant to fix the Doors? Or perhaps--
Irene gasped. She stared at herself in the mirror, searching her own gaze. Could that really be it?
Perhaps her purpose wasn't so obscure after all. Perhaps it had been in front of her all this time--the source of all this wealth and jewels. All she had to do was get to it--to her.
Irene summoned her strength and every last bit of intelligence she had in her--she'd need it if she wanted to avoid being on the wrong side of this discussion, and that was someplace she really didn't want to be.
With a last breath, Irene stood from the table and made for the door. Outside, she said to the guards, "I'm ready."
They set off without a word, leading her down a series of halls. On the way, Irene ran through her plan. Once she got to the ballroom, she'd have to be careful not to talk about herself, like she'd done with Alana. There was already a risk of the stylist having gone to Zelda about her. She'd have to deflect questions, if she even received any, and maneuver to be in a position to speak to who she needed.
Should I start with Hazen? Irene wondered. Somehow that didn't sit quite well with her. She had a feeling any mention of the empress's son would be met with steel rather than calmness. So lead into it, she thought, not noticing how a second pair of guards latched onto her procession.
The noise of the ball grew. Irene could see its lights as she approached the ballroom, music, laughter and guests spilling into the hall. Irene took a breath, preparing herself, and then the guards took a turn left.
Irene blinked, looking behind her. The guards closed the door, sealing the receiving room shut. Stiffly, dread suffusing her body, Irene faced forward again.
The room was large. A sitting area had been pushed off to the left, a series of bookcases stood along the right walls, and the carpeted marble floors were empty in the middle. Movement caught her eye, and she looked up at the people approaching from the other side of the room, double doors shutting behind them.
The plan flew out of Irene's head.
Zelda strode across the floor, dress shifting on the carpet, state crown glittering in the lamplight. She was glowing in cream silk, a purple sash crossing her right shoulder, and the amethyst jewels in her necklace and earrings sparkled with a soft light, in contrast with the sharp edge in her blue eyes.
With the distinct thought that this woman would eat her alive, Irene cleared her throat, trying to remember what she'd seen and heard so far. She lowered her body into a curtsy, and when she rose, she knew it had been less than impressive.
Behind Zelda, a few more people came into focus. Saria, still in that sharp pantsuit, a tall dark-haired woman in a blue dress, a large muscled man in a suit, and another terrifying-looking woman in a military getup.
That must be Impa, Irene thought. Looking over the group again, her heart sank as she realized Zelda had assembled what was left of the Sages. Air grew hard to come by.
Part of Irene wanted to give up at that point, but some lingering faith in her plan made her play dumb. "Your Majesty," she said, trying not to sound strangled. "What a surprise."
Not. Zelda didn't answer immediately. Instead she turned to someone else behind her and said, "This is her?"
Irene watched Alana come forward, nodding. She offered a wince to Irene, and the genuine regret in her green eyes made the inexplicable feeling of betrayal in Irene's chest just a little sharper.
She shouldn't have been surprised, really, she considered. It was only natural. Alana was best friends with the ruler of the world--of course she would tell her about a strange girl who'd appeared out of nowhere, literally.
So it was with no surprise or shock that Irene met Zelda's gaze once more. The queen came forward, and as those blue eyes approached closer and closer, Irene felt the breath leaving her lungs.
Hazen had told her that his mother could be . . . intimidating. He told her stories of dignitaries thinking they would bully her, early in her reign after the war, and leaving absolutely cowed. Irene had laughed along with him, thinking she might like to meet this mother of his.
He was wrong. She wasn't intimidating. She was terrifying.
It was the only word strong enough to describe her, Irene thought. 'Intimidating' only went so far. Zelda stopped a few feet away, far enough to keep herself safe if Irene was ever insane enough to attack her, but close enough to speak. And she did.
"Who are you?"
Irene willed herself not to slouch. "I . . . my name is Irene."
"Where are you from, Irene?"
How such a soft voice could be so hard, convey so much power, Irene could only wonder. "I'm from . . . Ordon."
Why, why, why did I say that, she thought, as Zelda's eyes narrowed.
"Do not play dumb with me, Irene," Zelda said softly, and took a step forward. "Tell me the truth. Where are you from?"
Her mouth was dry. "I'm from Hyrule, Your Majesty," she answered, keeping her gaze trained on the queen.
"What part of Hyrule?"
For a split second Irene's gaze cut to Alana, and then back. "A mile outside Kakariko Village."
Zelda held her gaze for a moment. "There is no village outside Kakariko," she said quietly.
"It's not a village," Irene said quickly, as the Sages began to walk forward. "It's just me. And my Gram. We live alone."
Something in her wilted a little at the last line, and her voice fell slightly. Zelda caught it. The light in her eyes shifted a bit, and she eyed Irene. "I'm sorry," she said.
Irene blinked. "I--it's okay. It happened a long time ago, so . . ."
So what? A voice in her head said. So you're over it? So it doesn't bother you?
Shut up, Irene growled, trying to decipher the look on Zelda's face. She looked like she'd eaten something rotten, golden skin pale. She swallowed. "Nevertheless," she said, going for a smile that looked pained. "I know what it's like to lose a parent at a young age. It's no easy thing to overcome."
Irene didn't want to talk about her parents. "Can we just go back to interrogating me, please?" she asked testily, shifting in her Goddesses-damned dress.
If Zelda was taken aback, she didn't show it. With a raised brow, she said, "And did you have any particular questions you'd like me to ask?"
"Just the ones that are easy to answer," Irene muttered, forgetting for a moment, in her upset, that she was talking to a literal queen, and that giving her attitude in her situation probably wasn't the best course of action.
But Zelda surprised her by snorting out a laugh. "Darling, there are no easy questions in an interrogation."
"Now tell me," and here was the empress again, all business, "everything."
Everything? The remains of her plan floated to the surface of Irene's mind, along with the knowledge she hadn't planned for this part yet. "Um," she stalled, "I--are you sure?"
That was the wrong thing to say. The Sages shook their heads, and Impa swore, rolling her eyes. Zelda had to close her eyes, take a deep breath, and run a hand down her face before she could speak again. "Irene. My son has been missing for two months. I have no idea where he went, and the one thing I had to help me find him is broken. Do not test me."
Guilt wormed its way into her gut. "I'm sorry," she said, wishing she had her robe to bury her hands into. "I'm . . . I'm just not sure you're ready to hear it."
Not to mention, something inside her was writhing, some instinct telling her that Zelda was a predator, and Irene needed to get away.
Irene took a closer look at it. She'd learned long ago not to ignore her magic when it was telling her something, and right now it was almost desperate, almost . . . afraid. Irene peered closer at the empress, sending out feelers. It wasn't Zelda that had Irene's magic so riled . . . but something in her. Something that was a part of her.
She remembered what Hazen had said about the Sages' powers being connected to their hosts. Then this . . . this foreign thing inside the empress, coiling, waiting for an opening . . . this was the Sage of Time.
Waiting for an opening . . .
Irene realized it almost too late.
With a shout she threw up her magic, meeting Zelda's in the space between them. The force of it drove Irene back, and she almost tripped on her dress. Behind Zelda, the Sages surged forward, but she threw a hand out from where she stood, completely unmoved by the invisible battle between herself and Irene.
The two magics pushed against one another, gaining and losing ground, grinding against each other's side. Irene grimaced, hating the way the Sage's power stabbed into hers, searching for a foothold, something to hold onto. Irene's magic pushed back harder, slapping away the mercurial tendrils that drifted out, seeking.
Then something changed.
Sparks flew in the space where the magics met, white gold and hot as a sun. They burst out faster, and across the invisible battle, Irene saw Zelda grimace, muttering, "What?" to no one--just before it all blew apart.
The magic imploded, bursting outward in a flash of gold light. Irene slammed into a couch, knocking her head against the arm, and fell to the ground.
She raised her head, blinking through blurry red vision to see Zelda rising to her feet, holding her arm. The empress stared at her, or rather, at the place between them. As Irene struggled to her feet, vines wrapping around her wrists to pull her up, she glanced at the floor.
The carpet was burned away, the marble stone beneath blackened and cracked. For a long, long moment, the only sound was their breathing. Zelda's eyes flashed up to Irene's, and she couldn't move.
Then something pulled at her mind, and she sank away into darkness.
Weelllll, there it is. Let me know what you guys think of this part so far! Hope you enjoyed this :)