Part of a collection of prompts that I decided to upload by itself.
There's a thrumming in her chest that won't stop. It rattles her rib cage with every beat, her heart in tune with the echoing rhythm that spreads throughout Hyrule.
It's a powerful curse, the radiating pulses demanding action of all those affected. Even herself, a descendant of royal blood, chosen by the Triforce of Wisdom, is not immune. Every step is measured. Every movement planned out. Evasions are dances and lunges are precisely executed. She balances strategies for battle with routes through Hyrule and a list of objectives and things she has picked up.
It is perhaps the most taxing experience she has ever had in her sixteen years of life, but she endures. She is the crown princess of Hyrule. The blood of the goddess Hylia runs through her veins, just as it has for generations of Zeldas. She knows far more than a girl her age should, having far outpaced her teachers' lessons, yet she hides more than any would believe her capable of. Prophetic dreams that were more cryptic than helpful; a sense for the magical potential of others; witnessing the true self of every individual that has come before her, a ghostly image superimposed over the flesh, a mirror of their souls and intent.
And when she sees Octavo, she really sees him. She sees the desperation on his face. She sees the fear in his eyes. The hunch in his shoulders tell of tension, coiled up and ready to snap. But his fists clenched at his side and his teeth grit say he is determined to do whatever it takes to reach his goal.
One of her first thoughts, before she is left with the musical monstrosity of a Gohma, is: When did I fail him?
He was the court musician, a passionate young man whose ghost smiled with glee with every song he played. Lips whispered half-made lyrics she could not hear, but imagined anyway. The ghost would sway in time, sometimes at peace. Sometimes with an excited grin. Some days there was frustration, but that was normal. It was never tainted with malice though, and was swept away by the music in due time.
So what had cracked this gentle soul into becoming a tyrant?
She hasn't a moment to ponder the thought as the Gohmaracas rears up and spits out venomous blobs.
Thump-thump.
The second time she confronts Octavo is in the chilly underground chambers of a recently developed temple. A few centuries old and enchanted by the Sheikah, it had been intended as a trial of sorts for the chosen hero some time in the future, yet it has been cast in the monsters' favor.
He grins menacingly from across the chamber, but his ghost has gained a steely tint to its gaze. Translucent fingers flex and tighten again. His determination is solidifying, she realizes. Is his fear really so encompassing? Or is it something else?
"I'll not make the same mistake again," he announces. "Face my second champion!"
As the element of the temple is taken and shaped with a crowd of Wizzrobes, the ghost closes its eyes. Its mouth moves, speaking words that cannot be heard. But Zelda knows better than most how to read lips and it only takes seconds to figure it out.
This is for Hyrule, I will not die, I will not-
In an explosion of magic, the oboe transforms. Octavo flees and the princess is left to take care of the unnatural creature.
Thump-thump.
The next she sees the court musician is deep within the ruins of the Gerudo Desert. Her canteen is nearly empty, the dry air and demand of the constant rhythm to keep moving making her parched faster than planned.
He is waiting for her. There is no other explanation for why he stands there bouncing on the balls of his feet.
There is stress lining the eyes and mouth of his ghost. He claimed to need champions and she had dispatched two of them already. She knows why he is so persistent now. The Fate of Power had told her what had been told to Octavo.
A death sentence. A young life extinguished before his time.
And instead of telling anyone, he plunged headfirst into taking the reins of the kingdom in a desperate attempt to take agency over his destiny.
Didn't he trust anyone?
Didn't he trust her?
"Perhaps you're stronger than you look," he comments, the ghost in front of him searching her up and down in assessment. "Not that it matters… You'd never be able to defeat Ganon." He speaks in such a confident way as if there could be no alternative. The grass is green. The desert is hot. Princess Zelda of Hyrule cannot defeat the King of Evil as her fore-mothers have. She scowls and lifts up her rapier, ignoring the sting in her heart. "But are you strong enough to defeat my third champion?"
Fire infuses the guitar behind him. After the maracas and oboe, Zelda is certain she can handle whatever it is Octavo is throwing her way.
She just doesn't expect the additional Armos to come crashing down.
Thump-thump.
The fourth temple she enters is at the summit of Death Mountain. It's dedicated to the storms the volcanic heat brings with each eruption, curbed by the Gorons so the lava does not cascade to the mountain's base.
In the farthest reaches of an open chamber awaits Octavo, as he is wont to do. Rain patters the ground and soaks into her dress. Octavo, in comparison, doesn't seem to be affected by the weather. Water lands on his hair, his suit, and yet it all rolls off. His ghost seems to be split between irritation and wonder while his flesh face flashes in indignation.
"You again! Still haven't given up?" He crosses his arms. "I'm doing this for your own good, you know," he says as if addressing a petulant child. "We'll need an army when the time comes to face Ganon." "We" he says. And yet he refuses to ask for aid. Was it the Triforce of Power infused with his lute or had he always been this way deep down? The musician's face twists into a sneer. "My fourth champion will beat some sense into you!"
This time as he chants, she watches the ghost carefully. It mouths words again, eyes closed.
Just one more until I have it, just one more and I'll defeat him.
When the transfigured Gleeok appears, Zelda doesn't even blink.
Thump-thump.
The final time she finds Octavo, he is on a raised platform, his very own stage in this closing act. His ghost has a look of intrigue, rubbing its chin as it looks at her. Reevaluation. She's far too used to seeing such a look on adults' faces when she exceeds their expectations.
It does not reassure her, however.
Neither does the sudden relinquishment of the instruments she had kept in her bag. They blink into place where tapestries would be on the wall, each encased in colorful crystal.
"Perhaps I require a new champion," he says, eyes briefly landing on her, Link, and Cadence. His spirit of intent grins, showing off teeth. "Let's find out if you are the Champion of Hyrule! Prepare yourself!"
The beat changes up and Zelda finds herself in a veritable gauntlet. Monsters of all kinds burst into existence, as do Octavo's champions, though thankfully more manageable in such a cramped space. The man himself comes down to attack her himself between the destruction of each partial monster. The phantom superimposed over his body won't stop grinning.
She half-wonders if it's more out of anticipation or the thrill of finding a true "champion".
Either way, she doesn't find out. The former monster champions are once again dealt with, and as she stabs at Octavo one last time, a dark portal opens above the stage. The Golden Lute is pulled through and suddenly the phantom is furious, matching the man's own expression. His demands to know what transpired go unanswered. Hyrule has been witness to dozens of odd and miraculous happenings over the millennia, but there is still much that even the holder of Wisdom cannot solve.
"You fools!" he cries. "Without my Golden Lute, how will we defeat Ganon?" His gaze searches the floor, darting to the scattered remains of the element-infused instruments. Each one is destroyed beyond repair. His so-called "army" is finished.
Link and Cadence keep their guards up. Zelda eyes the specter. It shudders and shifts. Its face is a mash of confusion and despair and anger.
Then it settles. Its eyes are wide, mouth cracked in a maniacal smile. It laughs silently at a joke that no one can hear, no one can see.
That's it, that's it, that's it!
Her stomach drops.
"We have only one final hope." And without another word, Octavo, self-proclaimed savior of Hyrule, flees.
They follow after, rushing up the stairs up the stage and into the hallway beyond. Boots stomp down the carpet, echoing faintly in the tight confines. At the end they encounter a portal, and without a second thought, they leap in.
And land in the crumbling ruins of the castle.
She, Link, and Cadence leap through the only exit: a hole in the floor. The landing is rough, but there is nothing debilitating from the fall.
They move forward quickly. There is only one place Octavo would have gone. Only one thing he would have done.
But they're too late.
Face down on the floor is the young man who sought to defy fate. His breaths come out in ragged gasps, his suit bloody and in tatters. His baton, for once, lies out of reach and he makes no motion to grasp it.
But what makes Zelda's heart twist is the ghostly image lying over him. It's paler, almost completely see-through to her eyes. The ghost is torn, shredded as if some horrid creature had raked its claws across its form. And what little she can see of the face speaks volumes.
Regret. Resignation. Defeat.
And through it all a current of terror.
The specter huddles in on itself as Octavo groans. "I couldn't...defeat him...alone..." He coughs, a pained thing that makes him groan again.
A man seized by the mania to live, fulfilling his own prophecy. His well intentioned goal to save Hyrule was noble, but his methods were corrupt at best. He had put her and her people through many trials, and such actions would ordinarily grant him a stay in the castle dungeon at the very least.
But this situation is far from ordinary.
And he is still a member of her realm, no matter how misguided.
Zelda kneels down next to Octavo's prone form, and hefts her sack off her back. It jostles some, the items inside clinking against each other. She sticks a hand inside and rummages through it, pushing her collection around. Maps, a bag of rupees, a spare rapier, a dowser-
-a bottle of red potion.
She fishes it out and very cautiously turns the man over. Cadence takes care of his lower half, perplexed and saying as much, but giving in at the princess's stern look. Octavo hisses as they lay him on his back, then Zelda props his head up on her bag, opens the bottle, and carefully pours it down his throat.
The man coughs and sputters, but does not jerk away. When the bottle is nearly empty, she reseals it, and puts it away. As she draws her sack closed and moves his head to the floor, she can already see his face regaining some color. The gash along his side heals up well, leaving behind a pink line. His phantom intent becomes more solid, the rents filling in, blinking in disbelief. He will require rest, but he will live.
Nodding, she rises to her feet. Link and Cadence bob their heads in acknowledgment, the local hero smiling. Zelda turns, taking a steadying breath for the battle that surely awaits them.
At her feet, the reflection of the soul stares at her. Its mouth moves.
Why?
Zelda looks down, her companions slowing. The spectral form is in awe, as is the soloist. "You asked for a champion," she says, and rejoins her allies, stepping into the room beyond.