A/N: Hold the door! I've got another 8,000+ word chapter. And it has only been a little over a week. I told you I surprise sometimes. ^_^'

Thank you Bluebadger (Yay for Bob!), Mokki Takashi, Branded Lunacy, Meta-Akira, MayBeADragon12, Moon ninja Luna, starfish (He really is. We'll see how Kya fares.), Ambiguous Cake, MoonlightDovakiin, Pineapple (Thank you!), and auroraskyewalker (I'm very flattered you created an account for this. I hope you will like the upcoming chapters too!) for your feedback last chapter!

Chapter 23

Being circled like a slab of meat on display is one of the more uncomfortable experiences I've felt.

I stand stiff, struggling not to fidget. Ghirahim paces the circle, his narrowed gaze raking me up and down. He pauses to tug experimentally on a flowing sleeve, traces a finger along V-neck borders, both front and back. The chill of his fingertip sends shivers through my skin. I fight not to let it show, not the shivers or the hitch in my breath when he takes to fingering my collarbone instead of the new dress. A knowing little smirk twitches his mouth and he moves on to smooth his palms over the diamond cut-outs positioned in the sleeve of each shoulder.

"Well, it fits, at least. How do you like it?"

I stare up at him widely, surprised he'd ask my opinion. My mouth stays in a straight, unyielding line. What am I supposed to tell him? That I hate it? That I love it? That, in truth, I don't even know how to feel about it? The fabric feels like water against my skin it's so soft. The sleek sleeves are fitted to my elbows, where they then drape down in a loose ruffle—a flounce sleeve, I think it's called. The handkerchief skirt tickles at my knees as I shift my feet, and the falling, slightly flared fabric reminds me of the 'fangs' of Ghirahim's cape, except that mine are ruffled and uneven.

Ghirahim watches me, his hands still resting on the round swells of my shoulders, covering the rhombus shaped cut-outs with his palms. I'm surprised those are the only cut-outs, considering his own outfit. The V-neck isn't too deep either, although I'm sure if I had more of a bust I'd be singing a different tune. As it is, I find myself struggling on how to thank him for this allowed modesty.

Hah. He would have had to drag me out by the heels if he hadn't allowed it.

"It's—it's…" I glance over into the full-length mirror. It's like nothing I've ever seen. The only reason I know what to call the unique sleeves and skirt is because of my mother. Though the industry she worked in was cosmetics, she dabbled in fashion. She once promised to make me a dress, long ago, and as I stand here now, I…I think of this dress as one she could have made me. If she had ever found the time.

A lump forms in my throat. I swallow it down, mask it with a hastily asked, "You made this?"

Ghirahim lifts his brows, the annoyance at having his question dodged glinting in the dark of his eyes. "I had it made; I didn't make it, you silly twit."

"Who made it?"

He waves the question away impatiently. "Never mind that. You didn't answer me. Do you like it?"

I glance between him and the mirror. "It's—beautiful."

Tension that I hadn't noticed eases from his shoulders and his smile melts from sharp to genuine.

Then I blurt out, "First grass stain I get on this and you're gonna kill me." A complaint, an accusation, all rolled into one.

His eyes widen in shock. The expression quickly falls away, and he throws his head back in a burst of laughter. "You silly little bird! Why do you think it took so long? Not only was it specially made, I put several incantations on it. It won't stain, or tear. It will keep you warm, or cool, depending on what you need. Now, be polite and say thank you."

I throw myself into him before my mind can comprehend my movement. Only after my arms have latched around his waist does my brain catch up, asking, What are you doing?

Ghirahim's breath comes out in an amused huff. His arms circle me, pull me closer, and he bends to rest his nose on the crown of my head. "Mmhm, such manners. But… Yes, this will suffice."

Early morning light breaks free from the clouds and hits off the mirror, pricks me in the eye. I see us standing there in the reflection of my room, the pale light sparkling just over our heads, and it almost looks something out of a fairytale. But the glinting of the collar fastened around my neck, though gold and red jeweled, reminds me of the truth. I'm a slave in a suddenly generous master's embrace. The beautiful dress, with its tapering waistline and silken crimson belt with a golden rhombus clip—an inversion of the colors at my throat—cannot be allowed to delude me.

I loosen my arms, hoping the demon will follow suit.

He does. He holds me at arm's length, again giving me a shrewd once-over. "The fabric is made from a special Skulltula silk. It will wear like armor." He circles to my back, dragging a finger down the V. "I thought I told them to close this," he hisses, his knuckles brushing against the exposed curve of the nearly healed sutured wound on my back.

Sensing an outburst, I draw his attention to my sleeves. "Shouldn't these be, um, shorter? I mean, the flowy part?"

"Nonsense. They're the perfect length. They only come to your wrists, correct? Yes. As long as they don't obscure your hands, they're fine." He smiles puckishly. "After all, we wouldn't want you without your wings, now, would we?"

I scrunch my brow, just then noticing the tiny feathers embroidered on the hem of the draping silks. "…Do you think maybe you're taking this 'bird' thing a little too far?"

His hand grazes at my head in a halfhearted slap, mussing my already ratty hair in the process. "Oh, be quiet. It pleases me. Now, something else is wrong about this…"

I suppress a groan. I don't want to stand here all day while he picks his own design apart.

Suddenly he snaps his fingers and in his grasp appears a golden diamond-shaped clip much like the one at my waist. He moves it towards my hair, but then stops, a frown snarling his features. "What have I told you…" he growls lowly.

I back up from him. "What?"

He marches to the vanity and snatches up the silver backed brush.

"Uh…" My eyes snap wide. "Oh, uh—w-wait, I can…!"

"I gave you your chance!"

I shriek as the brush rips through my hair in vigorous strokes. But you didn't give me a chance, I think. You woke me up at the ass-crack of dawn to put me in a dress!

"Hold still!" He yanks the loose strands back from my face and fastens them with the clip at the base of my head. "There. Some semblance of order. Now let me look at you… I suppose that will do. Come along then. We have a lot of ground to cover."

I blink back the stinging tears. "Yep," I rasp, "great. Okay. Yes, Master," I add at his withering look.

"It was just a hair brushing, blasted gods knew you needed it. Stop acting as if I've whipped you. I could whip you, you know." He backs out the doorway, a smirk pulling at his snowy lips, his voice turning dark. "I could make you like it."

"Let's go find that gate, Master!" I say, suddenly gung-ho.

Ghirahim rolls his eyes and lets out a soft laugh. He disappears behind the doorway.

Before following him I look back at the mirror one last time. I'm still a dull feathered hen, only this time I'm wrapped in light blue silk.

A thought forms that makes me smile wryly.

I wonder how Zelda and Ghirahim would react if they knew they put me in exactly the same color of dress.

The grass tickling my ankles whispers with the wind riding across its vast expanse. It sails over the glades, grass bending like waves on water, the sunlight shimmering off reflective blades so bright I must squint against it. The rolling hills go on and on, right into the clear blue expanse of sky, wherein the horizon gives in to shadowed valleys and silhouetted mountains.

My breath becomes caught in my throat; my heart flutters like impatient hooves, begging the leash to snap so they may run. I start forward, relishing the way the grass scrunches beneath my silver slippers. The slippers—or whatever they are, these sleek things covering my feet—are far from the clunkiness of my boots. They let me feel every nuance of the earth, every skittle of dirt and wisp of grass, yet when I step on a small but particularly jagged rock, it does not hurt me, and I wonder if they've been enchanted too.

My pace quickens and the breeze pushes against me, its crisp touch leaving trails of goosebumps along my exposed skin and its fresh scent invigorating exploration's desire. I don't know where I go. To the mountains, their majesty stretching high into the sky; to the valleys lying low and mellow, splotched with shade and sun; or the somewhere beyond? Anywhere! my heart sings. We can go anywhere!

Laughter follows me, and soon after an arm of smoothly muscled strength cuffs my waist. Air leaves my lungs in a startled woosh.

"As adorable as it is to see you frolicking, we'll never get where we're going if we go at your pace." Ghirahim lifts me like I'm no more than a feather.

Instinctively my legs wrap around his hips. Unlike when the expanse we crossed was sand, the closeness does not bother me; my attention remains rapt on the outstretched world before us. I lean my torso out from him, looking left, looking right, looking everywhere I can. Finally there is more to see than stone walls. Finally there is more to see than endless clouds. Finally there is more to see than the designated spots only my 'visions' have afforded me.

"So enraptured," Ghirahim murmurs with amusement. "Do you like the surface, darling?"

"It's been so long since…since I've been in a wide open world," I respond breathlessly, still engrossed with where to go, what to see, not blinking for fear it should all disappear.

Ghirahim goes silent, and I feel more than see his burrowing stare.

I turn my head to him. "What?" I ask innocently, the dread and realization of what I've implied sinking in only after.

It's been so long since I've been in a wide open world…

I've lived and breathed in one before…

His dark eyes roam my face, digging for answers buried deep.

I meet his stare, hoping he can't feel the stampede of my heartbeat. I keep my expression carefully blank, will it to seem unknowing.

The intensity of his probing eyes lessens slowly, from piercing demand, to gentle contemplation, until finally he relaxes and a smile curves his lips. "It's nothing, my darling."

I exhale softly, steadily, so as not to give away relief as its cause.

But the sweetness of his tone belied the mischievous tilt of his brow. While the hand at the small of my back continues to hold me steady, his other snakes into my hair and pulls me close. His mouth brushes my ear. "You will have to tell me sometime, Kya. Today, tomorrow, I don't care which, but you will tell me."

My breath hitches.

His laugh is low and indulging. He kisses my cheek, a quick touch of soft lips. Not a moment later he teleports us off, fractal diamond panes flashing in our wake.

We travel much the same way we did in the desert of Lanayru, only now he is kinder and less impatient. He allows me to roam at ease among old groves and their large gnarled roots, to circle round green mounds of clover and blossom, and poke my nose in small stalagmite caves and crevices. It's to be more thorough, I reason. It's a wider search and we're trying to overcome an impasse rather than prevent one. Time, for now, isn't our enemy.

I ignore the pang of my heart where the clinch of purposeful deception squeezes—stronger than ever. I know exactly where the second Gate of Time is. I could take him directly to it if I wanted to. But I'll stall, of course. I'll take as much time as I can get away with. I'll lie and beguile as much as I have to, not just for my sake. For all of us. For Link, for Zelda, for everyone in Skyloft, and for…

…A great obsidian blade, its size massive, its serrated edges viscous fangs, shatters into metallic dust…slips right through the fingers of his master…

I throw a glance in Ghirahim's direction. I swallow the strange lump that's mysteriously formed in my throat. For everyone's sake.

He is never far from me. Never out of sight, never out of mind. He is there when I look for him no matter how many turns or bends I cross. Softly he treads, watching after me with distracted attentiveness, his mind traveling faster than my feet ever could. When an area yields fruitless, when nothing I see triggers neither recognition nor visions, he takes me once more into his arms and whisks us away to another place kindled in his memory.

"This moor is where the goddess intermingled with her mortals," he says in regards to an expansive grassy hill littered with odd-shaped rocks.

On closer inspection I see they are not rocks, but ruins.

I stumble over the remains of an ancient castle, its foundation splintered and sunken in the reeds, and catch myself on the crumbled husk of a watchtower, barely recognizable save for the lines of cut stones still standing precariously, cemented by years' worth of grime and overgrowth. My palm traces over the rough yet spongey green lichen dotting the stone. A disembodied archway stands not far, covered in creeping vines. The rest of the castle has fallen away; the stones, some small and cracked, others large but still with a cut edge, though weathered by time, attesting to their man-utilized origin, are scattered among the grasses and weeds of the moor.

"What…happened?" I ask to no one in particular, looking up the skeleton of the watchtower as if it will tell me.

There were people here. Lichen crawling upon rocks of old, ruins of castles long left to rot. Whose castles were they? Where did they go?

A raven perched on the highest stone of the ruins startles with a squawk before taking off for the sky in a flurry of feathers. I watch it until it is a speck in the clouds. I understand its fright when Ghirahim comes wandering out of the ruined archway, fingers trailing over the stone, across deep scratches left from long ago—from what I don't know. His eyes have a far-off look to them, like he's remembering something fondly. A cruel smile curves his mouth.

A dream of dark creatures crawling from deep within the earth…

Of castles torn apart and left to rot…

Candle flames in the shape of humans, running, caught, snuffed out…

And suddenly I don't want to ask. Or to know.

We finish our scouting and move on.

I look to the new direction's horizon. Stacked boulders so large in the distance, and so strangely shaped, look like stone giants reaching heavenward. I squint my eyes at them and tilt my head. Those can't be natural.

Ghirahim cuffs the back of my head as he passes by, mussing the brown hair he had so adamantly tamed. "We're not out here for sight-seeing, Kya. Stop staring off and focus on what's in front of you."

I scowl at his back, but follow obediently. We walk and walk, and soon the moor alters from smooth grassland to rocky plains. The clouds roll in and so do the mists. Or am I blind to the way the fog seems to start where the large odd-looking boulder plateaus begin? I keep my eyes peeled, and to my secret shame I stay right on Ghirahim's heels. I don't know why suspicion crawls through my nerves; Ghirahim doesn't seem bothered.

I think I hear a sound somewhere to my left. My imagination, probably. Regardless my hand creeps to the dagger hanging from my red belt. As my fingers curl around the dark green hilt, I grimace, recalling what lead me to taking it.

Before we left for our journey, Ghirahim presented me with the very sword I used to slay the blue Bokoblin. After recovering from shock, I promptly refused it. He quickly became indignant. I tensed up, fearing an outlash.

"Well, what do you want me to do with it?" I fired off.

"Use it," he hissed like I was the most stupid creature for even asking. "I'm not going to let you out into the world with no weapon."

I bit off a retort that he was weapon enough, wrestled down the desire to raise my hackles and fight. It would do no good; he would win with sheer force… But only if I fought by his rules. No. I remembered the dream I had. Respect and be kind.

"I…" I swallowed my vengeful tone. "Master…can I have the dagger instead? The one I chose before…?"

He regarded me sharply. "Why not the sword?"

"I just prefer the dagger. It was…quicker."

He stared at me long and hard. I could tell he wanted to push me, but something warred in his eyes. "…I suppose just this once. You will never be far from me, after all."

He relented, but not before giving me a lecture on range. You'll have to move quickly, he said, to get within reach and out again before you're struck. And then he handed me the dagger. I took it reverently. Hardly able to believe I'd won. A strange feeling overcame me then.

I shouldn't have hugged him, I think in the present. Twice in one day. I can still feel the little tremor that went through him after I slipped my arms around his slender waist, fingers pressing into the firm muscles of his back, holding tight as I could. His arms followed suit with me, coming around my shoulders. That tremor… That smile of his when I pulled away… His whispered phrase…

My darling…

"Be careful," Ghirahim suddenly speaks, just as I stub my foot on a rocky outcrop. He spares the crinkle of rock, and my foot, not a second's glance, and I'd be offended if the silver slipper hadn't absorbed the impact. "The mists permeating these parts are not temporary and they have been known to turn travelers around. Despite the open ground it is easy to get lost."

I glance around. The mist has thickened the deeper we've gone. "This is weird," I say. "It's like the Lost Woods but…with rocks."

Ghirahim raises a brow. "There are only sparse little trees in this place, few and far between. Though, yes, this area is called the Lost Plateaus. What do you know?"

"Just that there are woods somewhere filled with mist that people get lost in…called the Lost Woods…" I stress the words, look around in wonder.

"I know of no such place."

"It must…not be yet," I reply dazedly. Has it not come to fruition? Am I walking the precursor ground that will one day grow to be the woods of legend? Yes, I mull to myself, and somehow I suddenly know it for a fact. This is the Era of the Sky—millennia separate us from the Hero of Time, and from the heroes that will follow him.

The realization sets a lonely feeling of smallness deep in my bones. I'm nothing but a dot on the time scheme.

And then I look to Ghirahim, watching me with narrowed eyes, standing like any human would, but tall with a pride befitting one of much more grandeur, skin stretched smooth over an iron frame. He'll never wrinkle. He is like the rocks. He was here long before me, and will be walking and breathing long after I fade.

Tch. Not that I know what it's like to reach old age.

"Kya." His hand slips onto my shoulder. "We must keep going."

I wonder if it was a gesture of impatience or comfort.

We go deeper, the fog growing ever thicker, until I am completely reliant on Ghirahim to see what's ahead. Sometimes a wind blows, thins the covering enough to show nothing but rocky terrain and rough grasses.

We're on a flat stretch when the ground rumbles beneath the creeping mists, gentle at first, but then grating with unmistakable consistency.

"Uh…" I start, feeling the tremors tingle up my legs. "Earthquake?"

"Stay close," Ghirahim interjects sharply, sights narrowed into the mists.

I clam up, my fingernails pressing crescents into my palms. I do as he says, matching his soft steps with my own. Whereas he walks with confidence partnered with caution, I walk with false bravado tittering on nervous flight.

The ground goes quiet, but an ominous air remains.

"Are you sure we'll find anything here?"

"I'm not 'sure' of anything. Your vision did not gift us with precision, now did it? So we are left to poke around in the dark." His irritated voice continues in low volume. "The ghost of the goddess's presence is our best bet. Ancient reports from the era of the Great War alluded to this place and to a temple the goddess had meant to construct. Perhaps she left something else. Keep your eyes open, and tell me if anything pops out at you."

Oh yeah, I'll tell you. With a scream. I think over his words, dart my eyes around, and shiver. "Why would she want to build anything here? It's creepy." My foot slips on a loose piece of earth, sends tiny bits of dirt and pebble skittering down the wet slope.

"Be silent!" Ghirahim turns and hisses. "To deter fools like you from finding anything, no doubt. Step carefully."

"Ouch," I reply dully, "my feelings."

"Shut up and come to me." He motions for my compliance, demands it in his tone. I had fallen behind. "I want no complications, Kya, from you or from anything else."

I pause in my scowling. "Anything else…?" I move next to him, quickly. "Is there something you're not telling me?"

"On the surface you are never alone."

I wait for him to elaborate. He doesn't, which only serves fuel to my wildly running imagination. I swear I start seeing shapes moving in the mists. I'm almost expecting to hear an imp laugh.

"Concentrate," Ghirahim reminds me. "Any occurrences in your head about temples or secret places?"

"N-no, I… What makes you so intent on temples?"

"The goddess and her little mortals built many across the surface—a majority of them done in secrecy as acts of worship from her followers." Ghirahim sneers with contempt just from mentioning them. "The first Gate of Time was in such a temple. It stands to reason the second would be in similar surroundings."

"Why'd you never check the Sealed Temple, then?" I wonder to myself rather than ask—because I always had wondered why—but realizing what I've said aloud freezes me in mortification. What the hell have you done? Think before you speak, think!

The mists swirl. A loud pop echoes from afar.

Ghirahim glares in the direction of the noise before turning to me. "You think I have not?" He laughs shortly. "The only thing residing there is a bitter old crone guarding dust."

I blink once, twice, letting his explanation sink in. "But…" I cannot help myself. "How did you get in?"

He chuckles lightly, smirks. "The old bat isn't as vigilant as she thinks, and besides, there are plenty of ways to peer inside."

"Oh…" I suppress a relieved sigh. "So…not there, huh?"

He scoffs. "No, darling, of course not. Not even the goddess would be so stupid as to place a gate right next to my master, in such an obvious location."

I stare bewilderingly, but wisely refrain from speaking. He has no idea…

The loud popping and cracking noise again reverberates through the fog, once more drawing Ghirahim's silent ire.

"What is tha—?"

"Come along. Quietly."

"Okay," I start after him, "but—ow!" I slap a hand over the back of my head, glare with pained confusion at the offending pebble now rolling at my feet.

Looking up, I see Ghirahim staring out at something over my shoulder, his lips drawn in a tight line.

I flash a glance behind me. Only mist. "Okay," I say, facing the demon lord, "what the f—"

The ground splits open behind me, pops and claps presaging booming groans and shudders. Rock rises up in splintering cracks, dirt falls in roaring hisses.

"Kya, to me!" Ghirahim calls over the racket.

I'm running to him before he finishes speaking, not daring to look back until I reach him.

A shadow blots what's left of the murky sun.

A creature twenty feet tall and made of rock looks down on me—or it doesn't. There are no eyes in what I take for its head, or a nose, or a mouth. It is only rock, all condensed together to make a burly, grotesque form vaguely resembling a hunchbacked human, complete with crooked stubs for toes and fingers. Its head, which is no more than a bumpy rock atop a hulking boulder making its torso, fixates straight ahead, not bothering to look up or down or anywhere.

It looks like a golem, I think, standing petrified.

Everything is quiet for a few moments, the sound of trickling dirt all that disrupts it.

Then the creature—the golem—raises its arm, the gravel making up the joint grinding with the motion. I gawk in astonishment as it lifts its hand high, forgetting the dagger at my belt in a half-hardened grip.

The golem brings its hand down and I am slammed to the side with just enough presence of mind to glimpse Ghirahim knocking me out of harm's way. He catches the golem's arm in his, now blackened to the elbow.

"Loathsome cur." Ghirahim grins derisively. "Couldn't you stay asleep like a good little Taliticus? No matter." He shoves upward with such force it sends the rock creature off-balance.

It shakes the ground with its fall.

I stumble to my feet.

"Kya, stay where you are. You won't be of any use to me in this."

I try not to let that sting. I lower my hand from my belt. I respect and grudgingly obey, looking on with an awe I attempt to mask with sourness.

The golem crawls back to its legs, waves its massive arms at Ghirahim in horizontal swipes. The wind buffeted by its powerful movements lick at my hair and dress. Ghirahim sends barrages of daggers at it, jabs the blade of his sword into the clusters of its knee and ankle joints, chipping away at the stone and earth collected there, ripping at the moss that had grown over it while it slept. He teleports, left, right. For all its fanatical waving it never lands a blow. It falls onto its back again and again, and Ghirahim keeps pushing. But no matter what, it keeps getting up.

They get further through the mists and, not wanting to miss any of the fight, I follow after them.

Getting up close, I see exactly what Ghirahim is going for. A cliff, jagged and steep, with no end in sight, leading down into a chasm of fog.

He's going to knock it down there. I hesitate going any closer to the edge, instead stand on tip-toe and stretching out to get a better look into the misty below. Good plan, I guess, considering that thing seems to have no weaknesses.

Ghirahim leaps over a swing from a lumbering limb, lands on the creature's 'shoulder' and thrusts his blade into its neck. A loud crack resounds, but no give. With graceful agility the demon lord kicks off the golem, backflipping to land a safe distance away. The golem teeters dangerously from the push, bits of earth cascading down the cliff at its heels.

Ghirahim grins.

The golem leans steadily forward, saving itself from the fall.

Ghirahim frowns. "Oh, come now! Just fall off! Annoying pest. Where do you think you're going? Running away, are we? I'm not going to let you get away after wasting so much of my ti—" His eyes widen on me. "Get down, Kya!"

Panic is not something I'm used to hearing from Ghirahim. Ever.

Before I realize it, the rock golem looms, its bulky arm barreling towards me. All I see is the great shadow of it blocking out my sight, and then the sound of Ghirahim's teleportation rings in my ears. I'm shoved down and the earth comes up to my face, the smell of moist dirt filling my nostrils. A weight on my back is forced off by the blow rent by the golem. The hand that was pressing on my shoulder blade is torn off, fingers scraping at me as it goes. I turn my head to the side in time to see Ghirahim sailing over the side of the cliff. I stare in disbelieving shock as his form gets smaller and smaller, disappearing into the mists.

"Oh…my God," I croak. "Oh my God. Oh my God!" I shoot up on wobbling legs. "You knocked him off the cliff! Oh my God! You knocked—! You piece of shit!" I shriek with increasing intensity.

The golem lumbers toward me, uncaring of my words or giving any indication it heard.

I rip the dagger from my belt, teeth baring in a snarl. "I'll kill you!" My words are as big as my voice and laden my actions with expectations far too much to live up to. But I do not think of that, of my thin body or my weak noodle limbs. The smoke of rage covers everything except what I want. To stab.

Later I will question it. Later I will look back with foreboding at the raw authenticity of my anger, and fear how it will cause me to act in the future regarding one I now so readily call 'Master.'

But in the moment I see only red. And a rock I wish could bleed.

The golem brings its fist over my head. I jump inland from the cliff, the splash of my skirt grazed by the golem's strike. The ground where I had stood concaves, splitting dirty veins. The tremor sends me stumbling. I keep my feet under me, swipe out with the dagger. It does less than a cat's scratch.

The golem drags its fist across the terrain, tearing up grass and roots and loosening small rocks. I scramble from the golem's strike, but have no way of escaping the earthen rain pelting my skin and gritting into my eyes. Aggression turns to panic. I can't see—I have to get away! Humiliation isn't the only thing on my tail, though the golem is much slower.

"Stupid rock," I growl, looking back through rapidly blinking eyes, trying to clear them. "I don't know how but I'm going to…" I trail off.

The golem pulls back its arm like it's going to throw a punch.

Move, a feeling of absolute dread tells me. Move!

My lungs heave, my legs burn, running with speed fed by terror. I toss half-blind glances over my shoulder. My heart pounds with fearful amazement. The golem follows through with the punch and its entire fist breaks from its arm. The projectile boulder flies, slams and shatters into the ground not five feet from me. My scream careens into the mists. Bits of earth fly, as do I. I fall flat, skidding a line through dirt and grass. A sharp outcrop of bedrock slices my wrist to the elbow. The pain stings, and the emotions instilled in me skyrocket.

I'm going to kill you.

I shoot back into my run, and in circles I go around the golem. Heart pounding a war drum. Muscles stretching and contracting, burning. A stitch stabbing into my side. Still, I go, a single-minded determination usurping control. Tears streak my dirty face, cleansing my eyes.

Look for a weakness. They always have a weakness.

Around and round I go, the golem clumsily spinning after me, until I see it. A sparkling at its back, just under its head. My blood roars, my gasps drown out any thought of impending suicide. Running, running, I close in, zig-zags and dodging leaps. I shove my dagger's hilt between my teeth. Upon the golem, I rush in between its legs, whirl and jump to its back. I cling to the crevices of its hip, climb. The gravel making its junctions move as it does, pinching one of my fingers and nearly crushing another. The dagger muffles my shriek. Pain gives fuel to my wild-eyed frenzy.

I kick and fight to the top, with one last lurch getting my hand caught in its neck joint, using the grip to steady myself while I ready my dagger.

The golem cranes its neck, and I swear I hear a bone in my hand pop.

Screeching, I stab the smooth slab of gold, not even knowing if it will work, or if I'm just a fool who played too many games once upon a time.

The tip of the dagger bounces off uselessly with every desperate strike.

And then one little chip flies off.

Nothing. The golem gives no reaction beyond its stumbling attempt to shake me off. My heart and breath seize.

Then suddenly the golem shudders and falls to its hands and knees not a moment later. With its back level, gravity no longer fights me.

I commence my assault with renewed hope, stabbing like a deranged woodpecker. With every golden chip that falls away, the rock golem convulses.

I continue, continue. It's not enough. Frustrated tears gather. Fatigue weakens my every strike and panic climbs my heartrate. The unadulterated need to eliminate the threat mixes with thoughts pertaining to the bottom of the cliff.

"Die!" My demand morphs into plea. "Just die, please, please just—!" With one last stab I slump, exhausted, defeated. Weakness found, but still…my own has come to fruition first.

A loud chime signals the downward thrust of a black blade into the golden patch. It pierces through with a reverberating crack. Ghirahim stands over me, feet paced on either side of me on the golem's back. His mussed hair would look ridiculous on anyone else, but for him it only lends to the ferocity of his fang-bared snarl. He spews words in the demon dialect, their foulness transferred though their meaning not. He plunges the blade deeper, twists it, cracking the golem completely.

Just like that the creature falls apart, rocks no longer held together by cohesive magic. They tumble and roll away like any other stone.

The back of my dress is grabbed and I'm thrown from what's left of the golem. I land sprawled on the grass, the soft pad of Ghirahim's graceful landing following me. He walks to me with deliberate slowness, palming the sharp edge of his sword, an angry glint in his eye. "Did I not tell you to stay put?"

I gawk at him stupidly. "Uh…huh."

"And did you?" He takes a threatening step closer, nearly on top of me.

I look him up and down, at the dirt streaking him, at his errant strands of hair, at his black fire expression…at the fact he was standing in front of me, unharmed.

…And I smile like a jackass.

His eyes widen and his lips thin with indignance. "You think it's funny, you little whelp?" He glances down at himself, sneering with disdain at his filthy state. With a click of his fingers and a flare of his fractal diamonds he is back to his normal, pristine self. "There," he hisses, misunderstanding my joy's source. "Nothing for you to laugh at now—and when I'm through with you, you won't be!"

"You're okay."

It stops him in his tracks. "What?"

I'm still smiling, voice soft with relief. "You're…okay."

He catches it. "…Of course I am. Nitwit. Did you really think I could be done in so easily?" Offense tinges his tone, along with…something else. He's probing, waiting to see how I'll react.

I snap out of my daze. "Of—of course you're okay. I know that! I just didn't want you freaking out about…your clothes. Or your hair. Not like I… You… Whatever." I finish in a huff, embarrassment staining my face.

His eyes flit over me for what seems like forever. Whatever he was looking for, he seems satisfied he found it, smug even. "No need to worry, my darling. Stand up now. Show me you can walk."

I bite back a retort, too tired to resist. He catches me by the elbow when I falter, his stare narrowing in on scrapes and bruises, and most notably the small gash on my arm.

"Good girl," he murmurs when I stand fully. "You did well to find that weak point. How did you know?"

"I just look where they usually are," I say, not bothering to clarify.

He sighs. "Ah, well. You certainly did better in this fight. Tell me, is lack of blood a mitigating factor for you? We'll have to break you of that."

I scowl and shrug, not even wanting to think of the blood he's referring to. The blue Bokoblin flashes in my head anyway. And then, realizing implications, I do a double take. "When did you get back up here? Were you just…watching?"

He waves his hand dismissively. "Hush, darling. It was only for a minute and you were already clambering on that beast's back."

I make to yell, but as if on cue all my aches and pains burst through adrenaline's floodgate.

Ghirahim clicks his tongue and pulls me close. "So prone to injury. Poor little bird. Perhaps if you didn't fight so sloppily…"

"I…!" But then I give up and sigh, lean against him.

"It's a good thing I was here to end it or you would have been stabbing at it all day." Laughter tickles his voice.

I frown and start to say something, but memory pricks. "What were you saying when you stabbed it, Master?"

His smile goes stiff and he averts his eyes. "Nothing you need concern yourself with."

"Sounded like a whole lot of cursing to me."

"I do not curse," he snaps. "You must learn, Kya, that one needs to keep a sense of dignity around them at all times."

"Sure," I say, swallowing a remark about him not being very dignified when he went over the cliff. The blame was mine; I should have stayed back. "…Yes, Master," I amend before he can scold, lean my head against his chest.

It is then I notice something.

"What…" I tentatively lift the front flap of his mantle. A black line spans across his chest where the diamond cut-out exposes skin. "Are you…hurt?"

The cape disperses and Ghirahim thumbs at the mark, his hands and arms gloved and white once more. "No, don't be ridiculous." But as he continues to rub at it the truth becomes apparent. He stops, stiffens. He smiles, the action doing little to disguise smoldering anger at the imperfection disgracing his meticulously kept veneer. "Just a scratch."

I blink in disbelief. "It scratched you?" I reach out with a swelling hand, stopping myself from touching him by clenching it. Pain zaps up my arm. Rage rattles with shock in my voice. "It scratched you!"

"Don't be a fool." He glares accusingly. "The Taliticus didn't scratch me—the fall did."

Guilt douses my ire. "I… Amazing that's all that did then, considering," I say shakily, fumbling to push past my fault. Should have stayed put.

Ghirahim leans down, looking right into my eyes, a dangerous smile tilting his lips. "I'm not breakable, Kya," he whispers, breath puffing over my mouth. "Never forget that."

Alarm clenches my heart. He doesn't think I tried to get him knocked off, does he? I flex my injured hand, hovering in concern. "I didn't…mean for it…"

Ghirahim's eyes soften. "So distraught, my darling little bird…" His gaze slides to the gash in my arm. "Perhaps…you would care to help me fix it?"

My curious stare is all the permission he needs. Gently he clasps my wrist, brings the lightly bleeding wound to his mouth.

"What are you—?" My cut myself off with a sharp inhale.

His tongue, warm and wet, trails the cut with languid slowness. His lips brush the soft skin of my arm's underside with subtle caresses. I stand rooted, shocked, uncomprehending when I feel…something pulling from inside me.

The scratch on his chest glows a faint white and closes up like a silent, lazy zipper.

My mouth opens with a croak.

Ghirahim pulls away, chuckles lowly. "Your aura is delicious, darling. Thank you."

"Aura…?"

"Yes, your aura, your spirit, your life force, whatever you want to call it. I merely borrowed some of it. See? All better. You can kiss it now." He motions to his chest, an entirely too pleased and smug look about him.

"Blood…?" Internally I cringe at my lack of coherent intelligence, but my astonishment does not allow me to come undazed.

"A conduit for transferring some life force, but not necessary. It simply makes it easier." He watches me closely. "You didn't know demons could derive from another's aura? It can be used for many things—healing is one—but we'll not get into that gritty business now. How are you feeling?" He looks at me sharply now, eyes appraising.

I snap my jaw closed, fail to muster up a glare to hide my stupid one-word questions, and shrug. "Am I supposed to feel something? You know, besides everything the rock monster did to me?"

His stare tunnels deep. I fight to keep from squirming under its intensity. Then a grin splits his face. "I knew it. Incredible. A normal human would have succumbed to exhaustion and fainted. But you…" He laughs with delight. "As I said, your aura never dissipates when drawn upon. It's like it replenishes itself instantly. Remarkable!"

"Uh…" I fidget. If his soul-piercing stare doesn't make me squirm, his praise does. "Eh."

He laughs low. "Articulate as ever, my darling." His knuckles brush my cheek and then with a snap of his fingers he summons a red potion. "Drink. But let's not get into many more skirmishes. There aren't many of these made."

"Look, look! I gotta get behind this one."

Ghirahim grunts a poorly suppressed groan. "What is your fascination with water? Enough. There wasn't anything behind the last waterfall; there won't be anything behind this one."

"But there could be," I wheedle. "You won't know unless you look, so let me—oh, come on, Master!" I struggle against his grip on my collar—two fingers hooked over the gold. "Let me go. What if the gate is back there?"

He scowls. "Do you take me for some gullible fool?" His glare turns from the water to see me nearly vibrating with repressed excitement. It softens. "Oh, very well. If it will sate your curiosity."

He releases me abruptly and I fly forward, staggering to remain upright.

The waterfall is six times a man's width and taller than the long skinny trees surrounding the stone-laden alcove. It splashes into a shallow pool, sprays me with a light dusting of moisture. I move lightly along wet rocks, the sun shining and the smell like a summer's rain, and sidle along the small cliff's face to get between smooth stone and water. I find nothing but that. Not that I expected to, yet years of games and an explorer's spirit demanded I make sure.

Besides, I think, observing a certain demon lord through the white veil of water, I'll be telling him about a vision of a waterfall later… For now, I lean back and enjoy the sound of rushing water.

"Enough, Kya!" he shouts over the rumble of the falls. "Come out this instant!"

I heave an annoyed sigh and make my way back to him. He sounds like a fretting hen.

"No more," he says when I approach, surprising me by pulling me into the folds of his cloak. He dries my face with the satin-like fabric. "No more water, no more getting wet. We aren't in a bathhouse."

He ushers me along, silences me with a sharp glower after I ask what his grudge against water is.

I sigh and shrug, try to think no more of it.

Yet I can't stop my laughter when it starts raining. Ghirahim glares at the sky.

In a flash of diamond panes we appear in a forest that looks as old as time itself. I've never seen trees as tall as these—not even the Great Tree in Faron Woods can compare. These trees stretch up tall as towers, their distant branches filling an all-encompassing canopy that turns day to night. Craning my neck to look up, my mouth falls open at all the mushrooms growing along the thick trunks. The ones in Faron look small compared to these discs. They are like stepping pads—stairs for giants wanting to reach the canopy. Some sit demurely, blending into the brown wood, others glow with a bioluminescence that makes them look like moons in the sky.

Ghirahim has to pull me along, but even then I walk in an amazed stupor.

Light fog filters around the trees, moss grows fur coats on the bark. My shoulder brushes one as we walk by. I jump, thinking I'd bumped an animal. With my attention on the furry tree, I in turn bump a slab of cracked rock.

I glare suspiciously.

"Here, darling, look at this." Ghirahim runs his hand over the face of the stone, and it is then I see the strange etchings lining it in arcs. Fissures and gnarled roots growing over the top of the stone obscure the writing further. "Anything you recognize?"

I squint at the etchings, fingertips grasping at my temple for non-existent glasses as per usual when I can't see something well. The carvings are a language, but not Hylian or any kind I know. I shake my head in the negative.

"Pity…" His eyes roam the words. "This is a part of the Rock of Ancients. Very few exist who can transcribe the words."

"You can?" I guess by the smugness lining his tone.

He smiles. "I can, though it is difficult, even for one such as I. Perhaps this will yield clues pertaining to our goal. Don't wander far."

With that, he throws his concentration to deciphering. I busy myself marveling over the forest.

Little steps turn to big ones. A circle around one tree leads to another. I swear I didn't walk much at all, yet when I look for Ghirahim and the stone, neither are there. Only mist and trees and sparkling spores falling from the elevated branching mushrooms. It's not mist, I discover, waving my hand through the dust, rubbing the granules between my fingers. Spores. All spores.

I glance up at the umbrella-like mushrooms, the softly illuminated ones the only source of light in this sun-blocked place. It also blocks the rain; water seeps gingerly through the canopy and trickles down the mossy trees, and I can't help but feel that's why Ghirahim chose to search here.

I stand and I wait. He'll find me. And he'll slap me.

Sure enough, his soft footsteps herald his arrival. I brace myself for impact. I face him.

Only to see empty space between the trees.

The footsteps sound behind me. I whirl.

Again, nothing but forest.

Scuffling and a breaking twig creak to my right.

I slouch sullenly. "Okay," I call, "lesson learned. You can stop trying to scare me now."

My soft echo is the only answer. The birds have gone silent—were there any birds at all?

"Not funny!" I try again, the hairs standing on my skin. I spin a slow circle, intent on guarding my back. I know what he's going for. He's going to sneak up on me like he did with Link in Skyview.

Breath puffs on my neck.

"You!" I whirl and snarl.

Pale milky eyes stare back at me from a delicate oval face. Long green hair, so light it borders on white, falls in waves.

The figure and I stare at each other, neither moving.

Whoever this is I can tell, by the otherworldly glow of skin and eyes, they aren't human.

A/N: This is where inspiration from Breath of the Wild comes into play.

I peruse writer's guides when I can. One guide from the website "Writing-World" gave me some profound advice on settings and descriptions. Avoid laundry list descriptions when you can. Instead of telling, or 'listing' how things look or are, use a character to interact with the setting. One article by Moira Allen gave an example: "If a heavy table dominates a room, don't tell us about it, but rather force your character to detour around it." They also went on to include the five senses, and how to implement those in a scene. I tried to apply the advice learned. I hope it came out okay.

As always, thank you for reading. Feedback is much loved.