Where our FCPD investigators venture into Lon Lon.

I barely made it guys, woo! I honestly sat around thinking about how I wanted this to go since last month when I began this chapter.

NINE - ENCOUNTERS

Nearing the end of Queen Zelda Daphnes Hyrule VII's reign, the Royal Family began a tradition that invoked privacy as well as secrecy. According to the history books, the queen had suffered a terrible disease that had caused physical mutations. The mutations, as the text described, were so greatly horrific that the Royal Family sought to cover them with veils. Feeling sympathetic, the remaining Royal Family also made use of veils. The veils became timeless as the nation of Hyrule grew to accept it, seeing it as a way of demonstrating one's purity as well as one's humility.

It was only as Hyrule's border expanded, technology progressed, and the shift in religious beliefs and practices transpired that the Royal Family set forth a decree. No one was allowed to see a member of the Royal Family's unveiled face. It, like the initial use of the veils, were accepted though the Royal Family encountered several incidents from both the people and the nation's allies. The marriage ceremonies were private, the coronations were announced days later, and the occasional assassin always had a wild and colorful story to tell about the Family before he was executed. Each event sparked or revived a rumor that the queen herself was the very queen told in history books that predated the Great War. The rumor itself seemed impossible, unreal, as that would have meant that the queen was none other than Zelda Daphnes Hyrule VII. A queen whose death had been both sudden and tragic.

And so the rumors were discarded and forgotten, even as the Royal Family kept silent.

The use of the veil and the decrees that followed had started so long ago to the point where the common response was that, as Nabooru Rise had said, it had always been like that. Before, Link had never considered it to be anything but weird. Yet now as both he and Pipit escorted Nabooru out of the FCPD office, he couldn't help but feel that yes, it was weirder than pigs flying.

There had been many journalists in the past that had tried their damndest to get a picture of the Royal Family member without their masks and veils, but none had ever been successful. If they were, the evidence was always destroyed or missing and they often ended up in jail for a significant amount of time. So the possibility that Revali Rito had been killed for trying to catch the queen without her coverings was extremely far-fetched.

Ganon Dragmire, on the other hand… that name alone still made his skin not only crawl but burn as if he'd stood against a blazing fire. It's what drove him to seek out the bathroom. His hands curling around the painfully white porcelain sink until his knuckles turned a similar white. And not even an ounce of water was enough to chill that sizzling unease.

Pipit found him then, clinging to the sink as if it were an anchor, and drowning himself in splash after splash of cold water. The man had only paused for a moment, brows furrowed, but as soon as Link looked up and set his eyes on his partner's, the tension that had pressed against him lifted. He turned the faucet off and withdrew, eyes darting anywhere and everywhere but at Pipit's observant gaze.

Whether he found the sight odd or concerning, he didn't show it. Instead, he broke the spell of silence between them with a soft, "Chief wants us to head to Lon Lon. We got a lab request approved in the nick of time, and they stated they would assist in any way that they could."

"Good-"

"And with what Rise said, we should see if we can get Dragmire alone for a few minutes for an interview."

Link felt the heat that had coiled around him suddenly rush out of him in a ragged exhale, cold overriding his senses. Yet he took a breath, the inhale bouncing off the walls of the single toilet bathroom, "All right. Let's hope he'll agree to it-"

"Oh, don't worry. As big and as popular as Lon Lon is, they would definitely hate it if their values and reputation were to be questioned."

You should never threaten a beast. The thought, like many in the past few days, was not his own, and yet he knew it to be true. Believed it in his bones. "Shouldn't we send the evidence along with an Evidence Custodian?"

"And miss this opportunity?" Pipit laughed as he headed out of the bathroom, Link following close behind.

Lon Lon towered over them, a monolith that swept the entirety of the crosswalk in shadows. It's height drew Link's eyes skyward, his neck craned as he sought out the building's roof as it scraped along the clouds. Glass walls crawled along the facade, the industry's sign barely even catching his attention until he absently muttered the motto displayed for all to see. Where futures are made. A motto which felt entirely wrong. As if it were a blemish on an otherwise clear and pristine mirror.

The main entrance opened like a gaping mouth, and as soon as they crossed the threshold, the dread and the fear manifested until they were one with the cold that lingered outside. Both had felt misplaced as he'd never been inside Lon Lon before until this moment. Pipit stood a few feet in front of him, visibly in awe of the huge lobby and its elegant decor while he took off his jacket. While Link kept his eyes on the evidence bag in his hands, the bit of fear evolved into worry that the idea of looking around would somehow draw out his growing insanity. Unlike his partner, he kept his black departmental jacket on in hopes to fend off the icy, ominous premonitions even as they finally walked further into the lobby.

They paused before the row of turnstiles, Pipit veering left to one of the glass cubicles. The cubicle, or a kiosk, was a small pod of glass rounded by dark, wooden countertops that seemed to have been added as an afterthought.

There were two guards, a tall man and a stout woman clad in black clothing with a single word splayed across their chest and back, "Security." The woman had her eyes glued to the farthest monitor, her back to the main entrance, while the man followed Pipit and Link with his eyes. He had taken to one of the rolling chairs that occupied the kiosk, but as soon as Pitpit stopped before the kiosk's archway, he stood. The movement drew the woman's attention, her eyes catching Link's blues for the breadth of a second before she returned to her screen.

"Can I help you, gentlemen?" The tall man asked as he seemed to stare at the FCPD's logo etched onto the front of Link's jacket. His voice was gravel underfoot and thick with suspicion.

"I hope so. We're from the Faron City Police Department, have some evidence that we'd like Lon Lon to test for us. We were told to just come up to the 'front?'" As Pipit answered, he flashed the gold badge clipped to his belt while Link tapped on the golden logo on his chest.

"Oh, yes. It'll just be a moment, I'll let the lab know you've come-"

"Perfect. While we're here, we were wondering if we could schedule in a meeting with the head honcho or a subordinate too? We have a few questions pertaining to our investigation, you see."

"Mr. Dragmire is extremely busy and is known to not take impromptu meetings; however, I can notify our Chief of Security, Chief Ghira, about your request. He usually tends to any questions or interviews pertaining to investigations or journalism." As he spoke, Link felt the cold slide down his spine like water. It drew him to shudder, his body seizing up as the security guard moved away from them.

"This may be a useless endeavor after all…" Pipit mused. He'd turned back to Link, a grin on his lips, but as soon as he met Link's gaze, the smile fell short. "You okay? You look like you're about to keel over."

No. I haven't been in a long while.

"Just cold is all." He managed a shrug, spit out a laugh that fell lower than Pipit's frown.

We need to leave. We-I-shouldn't be here.

"Seriously? It feels like hell in here, to me. Didn't you feel that blast of heat when we came in? They must have the heaters on max or something."

Link raised his eyebrows, doubtful as he most definitely had not felt the warmth. In fact, he was positive that outside was warmer than Lon Lon's lobby, and although he'd welcomed the numbing cold on multiple occasions, this type of cold was more closely intune with his nightmares. Unforgiving, misplaced, and draining. He shook his head then, faded pieces of past dreams consuming his thoughts. No, that wasn't quite right. It was more than that. It felt disgustingly wrong. A counterfeit copy that violated him underneath his skin, and yet no amount of shivering or tightening of his jacket seemed to quell it. If anything, it just made it worse. As if the icy sensation were alive and irritable.

Of course, there was always the possibility that he was undoubtedly going mad. A usual and constant suspicion. That or perhaps he was just feeling under the weather. Succumbing to a flu.

If only it were that simple.

He sighed as the thought cemented. Right, of course, if only. If only he wasn't slowly but surely losing his sanity day by day, like grains in a sand timer. A worry that seemed to constantly appear ever since he'd taken possession of the magical-although it felt weird to even admit it as such-pen.

That alone introduced another worry. If the loss of his sanity were to continue, would he still be aware of it? Would he still know that he was unstable, detached? Was it possible to continue working and living as he did now when he finally reached that breaking point? And what about Malon?

She deserves better.

"Hey, got any ideas for food after this?"

Yes, she did, and yet he couldn't picture a day without seeing or hearing her. She was likely one of the main reasons he'd made it as far as he had with each passing year. Her presence, her voice, they somehow tethered him and forced the raging seas of his soul into a somber calm.

"Link?"

Pipit and he stood beside the kiosk until the security guard returned, his eyes only brushing over Link once before he turned and re-addressed Pipit. "The Chief will be down shortly. If you want, you can go through the first turnstile on this side. We have a few chairs just to the left." With the instructions, he gestured to the closest turnstile and to a direction beyond the kiosk. "If you need anything, please let me know. Enjoy your stay." There was a ghost of a smile and then he moved back away from the counter.

Link moved before his partner did. His mind still turning over and over, a broken clock, while Pipit once again tried to reel him back to the solid here and now. Each call of his name and instance of food didn't reach him until they passed through the turnstiles. The contraption clicked loudly in his ears and the feel of it only added to the seeping cold. Pipit finally reached forward, Link's name on his lips, and tapped his shoulder.

"Link, man, you in there?"

It was the physical contact that pulled Link back, and he paused midstride. "No, sorry. What is it?"

Pipit sided him, eyes squinting, "I feel like a broken record, but you sure you're good?"

There was a moment of hesitation. A battle of whipping out a retort, a truth, or a lie, each option tilting on the tip of his tongue, and then he relented with a half-truth. "No, but I will be better once we get some coffee. I don't think I had much this morning, honestly." The disbelief was written all over Pipit's features, from the quirk in the corner of his mouth to the way he crossed his arms over his chest, but he didn't prod as Link continued leading the way beyond the kiosk.

The chairs, two L-shaped couches, were wide and colored in a vibrant red. They faced each other, surrounding a single glass table that held an assortment of pamphlets showcasing Lon Lon's services and promises. An elderly man garbed in a neatly ironed suit sat on one cushion, his eyes digging through a single pamphlet in-hand. Beside the couches and to the man's right, farther away from the row of turnstiles, sat another cluster of red seats accompanied by a glass table. Link chose the latter, but Pipit, for some reason unknown to him, found his seat across from the older man and immediately began to strike up conversation. That was fine, he needed a moment of solidarity. A chance to reel in any semblance of insanity or delusions. Perhaps even find a way to calm the cold that caked his bones.

He didn't get very far, unable to wade through his clamoring thoughts, before the cold began to move. It slithered up to the back of his neck, electrifying and numbing. Warning, fear, a menacing awareness, stung him and rekindled the earlier thought-no-need to leave.

"Oh, Mr. Link?" The voice was peppered spray, a mixture of unrelenting fire and ice. Link's fingers dug into the thick plastic of the evidence bag until it threatened to rip in his hands.

He turned in his seat, all noise of the lobby falling into a subtle hum. Chief Ghira, or Ghirahim, stood just an arm's length away from the back of the couch. Bile gnawed on the back of his throat as the man inched closer. Ghirahim smiled kindly, flashing a perfect row of teeth. It drew out the shadows along his cheekbones, the hollowness making the gesture seem forced, insincere. It looked out of place, just like the tight fitting uniform of dark navy blue. Its high collar was folded neatly back, the edges as sharp as a knife, and the crisp embroidery on his chest etched out a thin "Ghirahim Nomeds, Chief of Security" in blinding white. The color contrasted greatly with his snowy skin and dead black eyes, making him appear as a shadow of death.

"I didn't think I'd get the pleasure of seeing you again." Much like the first time he'd met the man, that smile, those words, and that sweet voice of his, it all sounded incredibly and painfully crooked. "Though I do wish it was under different circumstances. I heard about the investigation earlier, it's awful!" His watery sweet tone sent a spider-like walk down Link's spine. Ghirahim extended a hand then as remnants of his toothy smile still ghosted along his lips. It took all Link had to not visibly flinch, to stand up right then and there and leave.

Yet he couldn't hide the faint grimace that overtook him as he took Ghirahim's hand. The handshake lasted barely even a heartbeat before Link quickly wrenched his hand free as if the others hand had scorched him. "I didn't realize you were over security here…" Link teetered on the edge of wariness, his unease clear as Ghirahim's smile fell minutely. He'd said that, meant it, but somehow a part of Link said that this shouldn't surprise him.

After all, demons are everywhere.

"Valoo is one of the many hospitals and offices that have partnered with Lon Lon. As a thanks for their partnership, Lon Lon often shares its resources and manpower. The security department is no exception."

It was a good play on the company's part. Put your "partners" in debt by providing resources that, in the end, they could not do without. Though he didn't know much of Valoo's financial standing, he knew that most if not all of the medical facilities depended on Lon Lon's power.

"You must be very busy then… why did they call you down here for this?" Link shook the evidence bag between them, pulling Ghirahim's eyes to it.

"Precautionary nonsense, if you ask me. Though you are a man with a badge, we cannot help but be wary. For all we know, you could be cajoling with a rival of Lon Lon and will report anything of value that you are not permitted to see. Like a prototype vaccine or even something as small as mundane medical methodologies and observations." The man shrugged. "Usually we'd just bother a security guard with assisting you, or an agent from Human Resources if it were a tour. Of course, your being here isn't for something as simple as a tour or interview of sorts. Now, is that the only item of evidence that you have?" He gestured to the bag in-hand, "Evidence" printed along the bright red seal peeked through Link's fingers.

"Yes," Link ignored the outstretched hand, his eyes shifting to Pipit who was still deep in conversation with the old man, "and my partner has a physical copy of the lab request for it. We just need it analyzed. Get a better idea of what it might be. And, if possible, we'd like to schedule an appointment with Lon Lon's founder, Ganon Dragmire."

He barely missed the way Ghirahim's lip curled on the side, his brows furrowed during the mention of the CEO. Was that from concern, confusion… no, something else. "May I ask why?"

"We just have a few questions to ask him about Lon Lon in general. Also, if it would be possible if we could ask for an interview with any of the security guards that were working the past few days. We have reason to believe that the recent victim from whatever this may be might have been last seen here."

The look that had flitted across the man's face did not change in the slightest as he seemed to eat those words slowly. Considering his response. "You have reason, hmm..." he tilted his head then, a sharp and strange gesture, and then his curled lip and drawn brows eased, "you suggest that this individual, a journalist, was it? You suggest that he might have come by here? Well, it's possible considering how vast and prosperous this company is. We've had many curious journalists come here, and all of them are required to sign in at one of the kiosks. I'll get our schedule to you then and try to gather those who were stationed at the front desk on whatever day or time you require. As well as the sign-in sheet."

"We aren't making any assumptions or claims, we just need to see if we can assess a timeline of some sort."

"Right, of course, of course. I understand. Now, about meeting Mr. Dragmire, I will have to see if he has any openings. If you would, please wait here a moment. I will send for a lab technician to take you and your partner," his gaze slid to the redhead, the investigator seeming oblivious of the conversation between Link and him, "up to our lab. We should be able to provide you some idea and more detail to whatever it is you have in your hand."

He offered a smile, one that Link did not return, and turned on his heel. His pace was slow, predatory, and Link watched him until he stood before one of the elevators farther into the lobby. The cold that had sought refuge along his skin and under his bones seemed less bitter, softer, but he still shivered against his jacket. He looked to Pipit then to relay Ghirahim's words, missing the Chief of Security's final look that dripped with venom in his direction before the elevator's doors slid shut.

Ghirahim mused Link's requests as he let his dark gaze linger on the blond-haired investigator even as the elevator began to ascend. The nerve… the words burned in his mind, lashing out against the dark of his absent conscience. And yet a smile split across his face nonetheless, large and feline. The nerve that these investigators had, but oh, this would be fun. For they would find nothing, just as his master had ordered.

Speaking of, before assessing the empty space of the elevator, he brought out his phone. He sent a quick message to one of the company's text groups, to one of their labs, before dialing his master's number. His smile cut dark lines across the hollows of his cheeks.

"This call had better be important." The voice buzzed in static and darkness, gravel and glass, on the first ring.

"The FCPD have come and they wish for an audience with you. As well as to question my security on if they saw our dear rat."

There was a beat of silence then a gruff, thick chuckle. "Wonderful. Let us give them everything their little hearts desire. Though an audience…"

Ghirahim nodded, "Yes, I know well of your schedule today. However, I believe it would benefit you greatly. Though his name had escaped me before… and the name is rather common, it wouldn't hurt for you to see and observe him for yourself."

"Oh? A name? Does one of the investigators share the name? Regardless, that means nothing. After his death, many shared his first name out of childish, baseless reasons."

"But did you not believe in Zelda's claim, and did you not ask for me to fetch the Mirror? It wouldn't hurt to see him for yourself."

"Yes, but if the outcome is that I have wasted precious time, you will not see the end of it."

"I do love when you threaten me. It reminds me of the old days."

The lab technician that had originally come to escort them to one of the upper floors ended up taking the evidence bag and leaving instead. "Sorry, but we can't have non-personnel in the lab." Had been the excuse. "In the meantime, I can schedule a tour for you both, if you'd like?" It was Link that spoke up, declining the offer as soon as it had been said.

Only when they'd been left alone again did Link sink back down into the red cushions. Pipit joined him this time, and brought out his notepad that was much larger and newer than Link's own palm-sized pad. He flipped it open, reading off what they knew in a voice that was easily drowned out by the noise of the lobby.

With a leg crossed over the other, Link watched his partner for a time in silence. Pipit's words barely reached him despite the way he leaned in, eager for a distraction, but even when he sat right beside the redhead, his partner's words were akin to a dull hum. Strange, but he thought nothing of it as he too fished through his pockets in search of his own notepad. As if to cross reference or jot down a few words, but like with his mind in the past few weeks, his thoughts escaped him. Like the puff of a dandelion on the wind, he found himself lost.

The question of why was quickly answered as he stared at the worn cover of his notepad. The ominous feeling from before still glazed over his senses, a warning still thrummed along his nerves.

"Have you ever heard of the Hero of Time?" He spoke without thinking, his voice able to make use of the title he hadn't been able to say much earlier.

Pipit didn't respond. Had he spoken too softly, perhaps even imagined he'd said it? Link looked up then, his blue eyes catching along Pipit's face.

The man that sat beside him was frozen. A figment trapped in a pocket of time. His eyes were glued to the small pad in his grasp. His mouth was still and opened as if waiting to chew on a word that he had yet to give life to.

Link leaned back, the cushion dead silent underneath his sharp movement. In fact, the lobby… his head whipped around, snagging on the frozen strides, the silent mouths, and the closed off eyes. The elderly man from before was in the middle of turning a pamphlet from the table over. One of the security guards at the first kiosk was on the verge of standing up from a monitor, her head partially turned to her partner who was stuck eternally with a phone to his ear. The elevator, the closest to them, was trapped between the floors. Suspended, anchors in a dead sea.

"You shouldn't be here."

A disoriented choir resounded out of a pit, hollow and grave, until the noise settled onto a single note. It sparked nostalgia first before fear gripped him by the heart, pulling him to his feet.

"This is no place for a Hero such as you."

He spun on his heels, nearly bumping into the table, in search of that voice. As far as he knew, it had only made itself known in his dreams. It was only as he circled and drew away from the couches that he found the figure, the shade, standing right before the main entrance of Lon Lon. Its armor, like in his dreams, was rusted and cracked. Its single red eye pulsed along each syllable until it began to mimic the beat of his heart.

"Why?" No, that's not what he wanted to say, but words, as they often did, failed him.

Why did he feel like this, lost and afraid? Why was something out of his dreams here of all places?

"Have you forgotten already?"

Forgotten… forgotten what, the dream from last night? How could he forget? Every dream, not just the one the shade had appeared in, was etched into the back of his head, burned into his eyelids, and carved into his skin.

"Of course not, but why-"

"Surely you too have felt it, the corruption and darkness that lingers in these walls." It waved a skeletal hand around itself, Link noticing that its figure bore no reflection along the floor or the glass beyond it. "You are not yet ready to face the beast of such malevolence. If you meet with them now, then the events that will unfold will surely alter the course of destiny. You must leave here, Hero, before it is too late."

"Could you please stop talking like that? Just say it!"

"I have said it. Time and time again, and this is not what I meant. You must face your demons, this is clear, but your existence cannot yet be discovered. Not like this."

He struggled with the meaning behind the shade's words, hands clenched at his sides while the notepad in his own hand crinkled. So this place was dangerous, but what about it was so bad? Sure, he was oddly cold. A sensation that wasn't easily explained as walking outside without a scrap of clothing on. Not to mention how he felt despite that cold. He had found himself climbing out of an abyss with no end as soon as Ghirahim or Lon Lon's founder came into view, whether it be their presence or name. But all of that, plus the dream, "This 'Hero' crap is impossible! You're making no sense! Please just say it plainly."

Denial, he winced as his conscience took that single word and ran with it. Yes, he was in denial, but though it all sounded far-fetched, irrational, batshit crazy, it felt right. It made sense in some way. As if someone was on the verge of making a foggy mirror clear again.

"Lies. Do you require me to write it out for you?" It tilted its head, "You are dishonest with yourself. That much is clear. And I neither have enough power nor time to set you on the right path, that is, if you fail to heed my words. No matter the reason, you must leave." Urgency accompanied its words, but before he could manage a word of his own,

"Hero of Time… is that some new Marvel hero?" Pipit spoke up, breaking the spell, and as time spilled over the lobby, the shade vanished.

His eyes searched for the skeleton, and he found himself still seated on the red cushions with Pipit beside him. Breath caught in his throat when he realized that the shade was gone, and that perhaps their encounter hadn't happened. Perhaps it had never been there in the first place? A hallucination. And yet it's words, much like they had in his dream, felt solid and real.

"Link, man? Didn't mean to upset you. You know I'm not that knowledgeable when it comes to the super hero stuff." His body snapped to his partner. Pipit had leaned forward in his seat, brows raised in question, but Link must have had a tell because he stood at lightning speed. He reached for Link's shoulders, stilling him before his worries and woes could try to consume him. "Whoa! Forget keeling over. You look like you're about to hurl."

Should he tell him? How would he explain it if he did?

"I'm not sure. I think-think it could be the flu?"

"Well you did say you were cold which is still hard to believe. I'm burning up here," Pipit relinquished Link's shoulders to pick at his own long-sleeved shirt. "Think you'll be okay to stay and meet Dragmire?"

He should say yes. This, an interview, was just a part of his job after all. One of which he'd said he'd be a part of as soon as he and Pipit had agreed to take on the investigation.

"No." The response slipped past his lips, compelled by the cold and the fear that clung to him. "I'm going out. I'll be in the cruiser." He winced at his audible fragility, and didn't miss the way Pipit's questioning face twisted into one of concern.

Without giving his partner a moment to respond, he headed for the turnstiles. On the verge of running, he pushed past the stiles and stumbled to the main entrance, drawing the attention of the security guards as he nearly slammed into the glass doors. It was a necessity though because as soon as he passed the threshold, the dimension between the hell that was Lon Lon and the autumn wind, the cold fell from him. The chilly outside air brushed against him, stripped the abominable cold as if it were a layer of his skin, and relief skittered over his nerves.

The freedom and ease that enveloped him nearly had him falling, but as he took a measly two staggering steps forward, he felt his heart lurch. It shuddered against his ribcage, demanding his hands to cover the corner of his chest. The fluttering was sharp, as if his heart was in desperate need to escape the clutches of his bones. It pulsed like a bleeding wound, and as he stumbled, feet tripping against the solidity he'd thought he'd found, someone caught him.

The grip was hellish. A scalding eruption of anger, pain, hatred, and war sliced into his left arm until it swarmed. It ran along his limb, tainting the skin underneath his jacket until it met his hand. Ghost pains from past nightmares and hallucinations made themselves known, triggering the memory of that strange triangular symbol that cut into his flesh.

"You all right?" That thudding pain of his heart fell into silence so abruptly that it drew the breath from his lungs, the blood from his vessels.

It was the epitome of carnage, of famine and plague, of the wrong and the vile. A voice that held so much heavy malice that he found himself shivering from its weight. The speaker's hand did not relent against his shuddering, if anything those sharp fingers only tightened around his arm and pulled him closer. As if forcing him to meet their gaze, and though everything within him screamed to not look up, he pulled his eyes upward only to careen back at the sea of molten amber dug into a canvas of a dark desert.

Electricity, more vicious than the spark he'd felt from Ghirahim's presence, lashed at him and he reeled back. He ripped his arm free, eyes wide as the towering figure before him unlocked a tumoutlous wave of melancholy.

I know this crippling presence, those eyes that hold the sun.

His behaviour was certainly strange, but the man made no move to comment. No, he only offered a gentle smile, one that looked disturbingly wrong. "Sorry, I thought you were going to fall." The power of his voice did not fade, neither did the way his gaze lingered over Link. Either observing or admiring, Link wasn't sure. "Are you perhaps not feeling well or has one of my security guards treated you unfairly?"

His security guards… "who?" he huffed the word, struggled to get enough precious oxygen in his lungs.

"Oh, rude of me. I'm Ganon-"

The Great Calamity.

"Dragmire, founder of Lon Lon."

Death. That's what this feeling could only be described as, its embrace slowly suffocating him. It was heavy, thick, and reeked of iron and copper. It pushed him back a step, body rigid as something akin to rigor mortis slithered up from his toes to the top of his head. A blast of gelid winter struck him, accompanied by the weight of forbidding fear. Yet instead of life flashing before his eyes, it was the monsters' faces that haunted his sleep every night.

"Link, hold on! I-oh." Link's eyes reached a new size as his partner yelled from somewhere beyond them, a warning buzzing through him as his own name settled between Dragmire and him.

"Link?" The man asked, his kind smile evolving into something much more wicked than any of the monsters that had wreaked havoc in his nightmares. It seemed to speak for him, silent words that only Link could hear, "What an interesting name."

Pipit sided Link, his presence weak in comparison to the man that towered before them. "'Scuse me," he nodded to Dragmire, turning to Link, "but hey, I was going to say before you bounced off that we can just postpone. I'm sure that he-" he paused as soon as Link dragged his eyes away from Ganon's steady gaze. His eyes, like Ganon's smile, must have spoken a thousand words in silence. Yet each of them fell on deaf ears, misinterpreted as Pipit addressed the man. "Mr. Dragmire?"

He nodded, strands of red hair falling into his eyes yet nothing could obscure the intensity in those golden orbs. "You two must be the two investigators from FCPD," his eyes left Link's for the fraction of a second to take in the law enforcement emblem on Link's jacket. "I was told that you would like an audience with me. I've just come back from a meeting, and have an hour or so free, if you'd like."

Run, Hero. Run.