Zant felt better returning to the Twilight Realm. For all his dreams of breaking free from the place, it seemed the world of light was still not quite to his liking, and his constitution suffered for it. Even with the veil of Twilight blanketing as much of Hyrule as his magic would allow, and spreading like a plague from Castle Town, he found remaining there an exercise in endurance.

Here, at least, he could feel some relief, and he felt the burden lift ever so slightly from his shoulders once his body and rematerialized from the Corridor of Shadows. Beneath his sleeve, his fingers twisted and knotted in the nest of golden locks he gripped.

"My Lord Zant," an attendant awaited his return, as instructed, and fell into step beside him as he stepped down from the dais and regarded his palace. "Word of your return has been given, the Twili gather to hear what news you bring from the front."

Zant smiled without humor; though Zelda and her impudence had soured his mood, this would, at least, cheer him. Many had resisted his reign when he had risen to claim power and cast down the old leaders of their tribe, but many others had supported his meteoric rise. These Twili would have their faith in him rewarded, their faith in his god rewarded.

"I bear glad tidings," he replied, "tidings of victory. Hyrule is ours, and the shroud of Twilight besets our fallen foe as we speak."

"So quickly," the aide noted, "Truly your strategy is without flaw."

"Flattery will serve you well in my kingdom," Zant preened with pleasure, and for the first time since he had begun his conquest, he felt himself again. "I have left my elite guard in command of Hyrule castle while I repose. They will oversee the campaign in my stead."

He had been reluctant to leave the light world at all at first, but could find no proper rest there; the throne of Twilight suited him far better. Here he could rest after his labors, recover from the cost of feeding his god.

"What of our enemies? Do any remain who would stand against us?"

"Princess Zelda is dead," Zant jeered, "Those who would have defended her are either deserted or slain. Any others who think themselves heroes in the making do not deserve my attention. That is reserved for my people."

"Forgive me , Lord," the attendant bowed apologetically, "I had not intended to question your judgement."

Zant raised a hand to cease the steward's babbling. "Be silent." Immediately the other Twili held his tongue, and Zant exulted in his own importance, his authority. At a spoken word those who had once looked through him would obey his slightest whim.

"Show me to the gathering, I will address my subjects," he demanded, and the aide led him without another word. Zant had something he wished to present to those whom he ruled now, a token he had claimed from Hyrule Castle before he left.

The Palace of Twilight was a grand structure, towering over the rest of the realm of Twilight, its spires rose to the gloomy heavens and runes of brilliant blue etched into the living stone told the history of the Twili, of their struggle against the oppression of Hyrule.

When he had been crowned King, Zant had chosen a loftier seat for his abode, with magic he had shook the palace to its deepest foundation and raised it from the earth to hover above. From a parapet he could see spread out the Twilit Citadel, and the throngs of those whom he ruled over.

A brilliant and exultant cheer spread throughout those gathered as Zant emerged from the shadows of the palace and stood before them. Despite his weariness, he stood tall and proud, every inch the king he knew himself to have always been.

"My people!" he cried, and with a flick of his fingers a spell hurled his words out among them like a wave crashing against the shore. "Today I bring you tidings of our retribution against the Kingdom of Hyrule, against the world of light that would see us locked away out of sight to fester forever in the deep shadows!"

All eyes were on him now, his voice reverberated inside his helmet, and Zant willed the mouthpiece to retract, letting the cool, still air of the Twilight Realm caress his face. As he regarded his subjects, another stab of pride welled up within. The faces upturned to gaze at him were faces of joy, faces of anticipation and wonder. Though some may call him usurper, he had done what the royals of old had been too afraid, too cowardly to attempt. No, he had done what they were too weak to attempt! Through faith, his god had thrown down his enemies and smote their ruinous kingdom like a bolt of lightning.

"Today," Zant continued, basking in this moment, "we triumph!" He raised a fist in the air, letting the sleeve of his robe fall back to show his fist clenched tight, white-knuckled as the crowd roared their approval, their gladness. Even from here Zant could see some of them turn to one another in shock and awe, realizing the gravity of his words.

"Our prison, our kingdom in the darkness, shackles us no more! From this day forward, let the Twilight Realm be not a place of despair, a place of confinement, but the center piece of a glorious empire! And you, my Twili, my people, my kin! You will inherit all lands under my rule! As I address you my lieutenants complete our occupation of Hyrule, but I have no intention of stopping there. No border can withstand us, no mere flesh or steel can withhold from us the sovereignty owed us! The world of light, and all her kingdoms, all her peoples, will bow to us, the Tribe of Shadows, as once they and their kind did before! We shall all of us be as gods!"

The crowd was ecstatic now, and Zant paused once more to soak in this feeling. Basking in his own glory, he continued with passion and zeal.

"My god, the new god, the god that has delivered the Twili from our bondage, offers us the chance to rule alongside Him! Worship with me, my brothers, my kinsman, and draw deep from the wellsprings of His might! The God of Just Retribution, the God of Ascendance, the God of the Twili!"

In the tongue of the ancient Twili, whose words alone carried power, his subjects repeated his praises back to him. Many had witnessed the powers granted to him by his god, many understood that he, Zant, had been chosen as the mortal vessel of that god. He was king, prophet, practically a god himself to those who supported his reign. And for the unbelievers, those who doubted the validity of his claim to the throne of the Twili… his army had needed shadow beasts, and those who would not value their king and god had no place in his world.

"I leave you now, my kin, with this knowledge. Our freedom has been attained, the hour of our ultimate triumph draws nearer. And Princess, Zelda, heir to the royal line who saw us banished from the realm of light… is dead!"

At this he lifted his other hand, the sleeve falling away to reveal the token of victory he carried. The head of Zelda, she who had vexed him, soured his victory, hung from his fingers by her hair, eyes shut, a look of peaceful death settled over her now pallid features. The rest of her remains Zant had given to his lieutenants, to be shown to her own people as a symbol of their defeat. Hyrule would break at the sight, and Zant would gather the pieces to him.

A roar of approval erupted from the crowd at the sight of their enemy. Her perfect, elegant beauty marred by death and violence, a symbol of the just reward that Hyrule would reap for their crimes against the Twili. Zant held Zelda aloft, letting his citizens see his victory over her firsthand, before giving the head to the aide who stood ready to attend him.

"My King?" the other Twili stammered, "What am I to do with… erm, this?"

"Dispose of it," Zant waved dismissively, "or keep it, whatever you desire. Herusefulness is spent. I must rest now."

"Ah, before you do, your majesty, there is a matter that I feel must come to your attention." The steward fell into step beside Zant as they left the balcony and moved into the palace's inner chambers.

"Speak, then."

"You must understna,d Lord, that while we have preached to words of your god, of your vision to all who dwell within the Twilight, there remain some who refuse to listen. Dissenters, those who would see the old royal lines restored."

Zanrt bristled, stiffened, and then relaxed again. It would not do to reveal his error to this menial.

"Princess Midna is dead," he lied, "I saw to that myself. These people who resist suffer from delusion. I would hold audience with them."

A vision filled his head of standing before these dissenters, these Royalists, their hands and feet bound by spells, their eyes wide with terror as one by one the power of his god turned them inside out. The thought brought a smile to his lips.

"Many have fled the city, my King," the aide reported apologetically. "They hide in the mists and with the garrison depleted we cannot go out in force to search for them."

Zant's smile departed and he heaved a quiet sigh. There was always something, wasn't there? Very well, finding his enemies at home would be a welcome diversion, a challenge worthy of his new powers, and quashing their hopes of deposing him would bring him a very special kind of joy.

"I will deal with them myself," Zant told the attendant, "Leave me now."

He watched the aide depart and continued on alone, juggling the tricky decision of whether he would rather repose in his new throne room, or in the king's chambers that he had claimed as his own after overthrowing the old bloodline. The throne room, he decided, would be the best place to be found if one of her servants came to report to him.

As he walked, Zant reflected on the problems he still faced. Though Hyrule was his, or at least would be within the fortnight, the issue of expansion was a broad one. His knowledge of the light realm's geography was… limited to say the least, and knowing where to strike next to grow his empire most efficiently would be crucial to continued victories. The casualties of war mattered to him little; light dwellers could barely fight back at all against the shadow magic they had so long ago sealed away. But to occupy a kingdom, troops would be needed to keep the light dwellers in line. The Realm of Twilight, and his tribe of shadows, were only so large. It may even be that he would need to recruit light dwellers into his inner circle of advisors, or even use them to replenish his armies as his borders expanded further…

Then there were these Royalists, hiding out in the impenetrable mists that surrounded the citadel. Those mists shifted and churned like an ocean, and without specific spells and artifacts to guide one, it would be all too easy to disappear forever within their swirling murky depths. Even those who were loyal to him were not entirely converted to his cause; some he knew only followed out of a belief in the death of Midna. If any were to find out that she yet lived… he cursed his foolishness.

Once there had been a time when Zant had fancied Midna as the dark queen ruling by his side. He had served faithfully as she had grown from a mere child to a young woman of poise and grace, but never quite lost the mischievous streak that had made her ever so endearing to him.

Once he had been refused the throne of the Twili and cast aside by the Royals, his dreams had been shattered. Midna had not loved him the way he had her, and in her rejection, in the deepest depths of his despair, it was then that his god had come to him. His dreams of kingship, his secret fantasies of romance, all had been shattered by the brutality of her rejection. Even just recalling the moment made his teeth clench and his vision blur with bitter tears unbecoming of a king.

She had laughed, laughed in his face. He was a steward, she had said, nothing more. As Queen, she would choose her own consort, if she were to take one at all, and said consort would certainly never rule by her side as King. She had not been laughing when he returned with greater power than could ever be imagined. With a thought, merely by willing it he had destroyed her guardians, their petty magic nothing in the face of overwhelming, divinely granted power, and Zant had thought to kill Midna then and there for her impudence, her rejection of the rightful king of the Twili. His god had urged him forwards, goaded him to speak the words that would destroy her…

But in the end he could not. Some small, secret part of his soul still harbored a bitter affection for his young ward, a tiny, inextinguishable hope that she might reconsider. At war with himself, he had hesitated, and Midna had struck back. The ancient magic of the royal family had harmed him, if only a little, protected though he was, and Zant had compromised. Instead of death he cast a curse on her, warping her beauty, stealing her grace and dignity and transforming her flesh into something too hideously deformed and ugly to ever be recongizable as Princess or as Queen. He had thought to kill her then, now that he no longer had to gaze at the face of his beloved as he did so, but Midna had remained elusive. She had fled from him, he knew not where, and the idea that these dissenters in the mists were her followers brought to mind the fear of rebellion.

"Oh my god," he whispered as he sank down upon his throne, "I would seek your counsel once more."

"I thirst…" the words etched themselves in his mind of his own volition, a volition suggested by the writhing power that burned in his belly.

"Tell me what I should do," he pleaded. "You have always proven wise beyond all mortal understanding. Even in victory enemies surround me. Where shall our wrath be directed?"

"One exists…" his god whispered to him, "one who might defeat you and see the light restored."

"Midna?"

"Nay… one beloved of the gods…"

"Who? Who is this chosen one? How would they defeat me?"

"He is chosen, a child born of the blood of the Hero… He who sealed me away in times past…"

"Where? Point me to him and I will see him destroyed!" Zant pleaded.

"Ordona…"

"I know not of this place," Zant murmured, before a vision filled his mind of a land of open fields, green and golden together, where livestock grazed peacefully and little streams converged into a mighty river that flowed north from the mountain ranges and pumped life through Hyrule. He saw the fields burnt to cinders, livestock strewn in bloodied heaps, light dwellers torn to gore-showered shreds. There, amid the fires and wreckage, stood a figure, swathed in golden light. A blue-eyed beast, wielding a blade of pure light. As Zant watched, he laid about him this way and that, staving off the darkness for a time. Sunlight seemed to burst from him and sear into Zant's eyes painfully.

"Slaughter him!" Zant's god shrieked in his mind, and in his vision Zant saw the darkness overwhelm this child born of hero's blood. The blade of sunlight flickered out, and the lifeless body joined the rest, the spark of those blue eyes gone cold and lifeless.

Zant slumped against the throne, his stomach twisting in knots and boiling painfully while pressure seemed to build behind his eyes until he wished to scream in pain. It was in this discomfort that he woke, hours later, his robes soaked through with sweat.