A note about the content: This chapter contains brief scenes of homophobic language (onscreen) and anti-gay violence (offscreen). If you wish to skip the scenes in question, you should stop once you reach the sentence "The two apprentices had long ago given up any ambition of unraveling the occult depths of their enigmatic master." There will be a summary free of descriptive detail at the end of the chapter for those who do not wish to engage with this material directly.

The young believe their time is long, and their knowledge vast. The old believe their time is short, and their knowledge meager. The wise understand that time is endless, and knowledge infinite. The frog sings to all; to listen is all.

Don Gero, Meditations from the Frozen Pond

Happiness, the man had learned, was good. He had been too young to understand this element of his mother's stories. He tried to imagine trekking with his beloved across the snowy peaks of Hebra, an absurdity, and then wondered if the Gorons knew of any hot-springs hidden away in these northern mountains. The man liked the idea of visiting the hot-springs together. Even if they could not reproduce the full context of his mother's tale, he expected they would enjoy themselves. (He tried not to think of his mother's obvious fondness for the Sheikah that had been her first lover. At least that voe was probably not his father.)

Sometimes it was convenient to have a partner so well traveled. The fellow apprentice had explored the country thoroughly in his days as a mapmaker, and like many artists had a good memory for what he had drawn. The man had been particularly curious to see Ikana, and the site of his beloved's recruitment into the atelier, for that meeting had been prerequisite to their own, and all that came after. The environment of this foreign desert suited him, and the man imagined that he might have been satisfied there in the past. It seemed so empty now, however.

They spent most of their vacations in his beloved's homeland, for he knew it best and loved it most, and because the man also loved the family that he had found there. There was a shooting gallery, for example, run by his partner's uncle, where the man could showoff the hard-won skills of his youth. He smiled to himself every time he drew the bow, and every time his arrow struck true he remembered his good fortune, that he did not have to chase after and gut and skin and clean—all just in order to survive. The witches of the swamp were excellent cooks and they had flour and dairy in regular shipments from the Ranch.

The swamps were his beloved's home in the deep sense that the man had so assiduously cultivated in the highlands of his own country. This connection was noticeable in small ways, like his contemptuous avoidance of the aggressive but mostly-harmless Deku Babas, or his readiness to wander days on end through the Woods of Mystery with only his memory to guide them. It was noticeable in big ways, such as his successful petition to the Deku Princess—a childhood friend—to allow them entry into the interior of the palace, hidden deep within Woodfall and permanently barred to outsiders. The man did have to wear that horrible first mask, though.

The pair, of course, also spent these years hard at work within the walls of the clocktower. The atelier remained lively. The man had begun reading history, which in their library improbably covered his homeland (he had long forgotten that old prediction of his master), because he wished to help his fellow apprentice with the great project he had begun to draw. The queer Hylian was beginning to think (secretly, to himself) that he had the design of early masterpieces for each of the branches of his current practice. He was nearly done with what his master had told him would be the most difficult replication, even with the master taking care of the raw materials. He had prepared all necessary schematics for a great mask of his own design, although the materials to realize it were not yet available, even to his master. And in his own personal art, he was putting together his most involved drawing yet, which was to be a gift. It was a map of the lands of Hyrule, his lover's foreign home, rendered with fastidious precision in a mixture of their blood. This work also was nearing completion.

The man was reading about the last of the Gerudo rebellions when he was interrupted by the passionate discussion of his master and his friend. The latter had completed his version of the Mask of Truth. The master invited them both to join him for a drink at Latte. They were both amazed, as the master so rarely showed himself in town, and never socially with his two apprentices. The Mask of Truth was a milestone, however, for all those following the path of his art. Its completion demanded celebration. So the trio made their way across town to the milk bar, each donned a simple cow-faced mask, and entered. A band was playing. The master ushered them to sit, and returned with three glasses of Château Romani. They toasted—To Art, and to the Truth that it reveals—and they drank. The master offered his further congratulations, in a tone that was perhaps still more disconcerting for seeming in earnest, finished his glass, and vanished in an instant. The two apprentices had long ago given up any ambition of unraveling the occult depths of their enigmatic master.

They left once the band's performance had finished. A rowdy crowd filed out of the crowded premises. The two lovers began in the direction of home, their arms in casual embrace, already thinking of how their celebration would continue later in the night. The man was jarred from these pleasant thoughts by an angry shout. Look at that fucking fairy! A Gerudo with a fairy! Loo—! The drunken Zora had been shoved by a Goron into the pavement. Silence, brother. The man stopped short, unsure how to handle the situation—but before he could do more than signal his acknowledgement and thanks to the Goron, he was being tugged away by his partner. It was obvious that his beloved was greatly upset. The man knew it was not the first time he had heard such language, although it had been a long time since the last. They hurried home. The man held his friend in his arms as he cried.

They went to the clocktower together the next day. The map project was nearing completion, as the man had had explained to him many times. He always listened patiently, of course. He loved his partner's enthusiasm, his magic, and the connection that this particular work testified. Evening wore on, as the man continued his reading into the history of the Hyrule Gerudo—he had reached the subjugation of their last recorded warlord—and he told his beloved to go ahead. He would head home after he had finished with his book. The other man agreed, saying he would stop to purchase food and then start preparing their evening meal while his lover finished up at the clocktower.

Some thirty minutes later, the man emerged onto the streets of Clock Town. He had lived there for years, he knew the streets and the squares almost as well now as he had the cliffs and plains of the highland mountains. He sensed that something was very wrong. The man hurried to their apartment and what he saw filled his mouth with bile and his every fiber of being with thundering fury. His beloved lay in a bloody heap, his green suit sliced open at the stomach, and his head with its tall hat slumped against his chest. Two Zora stood over the body, their ulnar fins red with blood. The man gave an anguished cry. Without thinking, he sent a riot of lightning at the first Zora. He died instantly. (The Zora have never once defeated the armies of the Gerudo. They hate the desert and even the electricity of a novice child can be deadly to them.) The second Zora had been laughing. His neck was now taken in the man's grasp, who lifted him bodily into the air. A golden light shone brightly upon his hand, and the Zora's windpipe was crushed beneath its power.

Basic summary: Ganondorf and Tingle spend some time in the status quo of the previous chapter. Tingle nears completion on a magical map of Hyrule drawn in a mixture of his and Ganondorf's blood, while Ganondorf studies history. Separately, Tingle also completes his version of the Mask of Truth. They are harassed coming home from the milk bar. The next day, Tingle is murdered by two Zora. Ganondorf sees them before they can get away and kills them in revenge, awakening the Triforce in the process.