TEN - RETURN

Earlier that morning . . .

There was something to be both admired and feared when it came to the seismic upheaval to a man's bravery in the face of the one and only Ganon Dragmire. No amount of bravado would ever withstand that soul-wrenching gaze that belonged to the very man that held all of Hyrule by its metaphorical balls. One of the eastern wharf's renowned directors was no exception. Though he, Cole Kimado, had been known for both his ego and pig-headed fearlessness, it had crumbled in the very presence of Lon Lon's founder within a matter of seconds. Yet he'd somehow managed to persist despite the raw and unbridled fear and the blood that puddled beneath him.

Ganon was a monolith in the sparse room. His large frame leaned against the front of a desk that had been shoved against the far wall. His shadows stretched far beyond Cole who remained deathly still atop his rickety, metal chair. His milky skin was much paler than normal, sweat drizzling down the sides of his face in rivulets. It was hard to say if the color of his skin was thanks to the dim light overhead or the lack of blood. Regardless, it's what he deserved. A necessary punishment considering all he'd done in the past three hours was to incessantly stick to false claims and excuses. A punishment which he'd feared was far from over.

All the while, throughout the episodes of bloodspill and questioning, he'd all but avoided eye contact. For fear of the man before him knowing, as if he had the uncanny ability to read one's mind. That and he knew, like the many that worked under the man's thumb, to never meet the eyes of the sun no matter the forms of torture or threats that were made. The intimidation, the power, was always too great to bear. Especially when the room itself was thick with dead weight. Suspense and tension so thick that they could be cut with a knife.

Cole jerked in his seat, metal legs altering the solid silence as his bindings bit into the raw flesh of his wrists. At the corner of his eye, he caught Ganon straying away from the desk that he'd sought out in the far corner of the room. "Humor me." Those two words forced Cole's head to crane lower.

Ganon closed the distance between them much faster than he would have liked, and squatted down until they were eyelevel. If it hadn't been the hand that had roughly grabbed his red hair and forced him to meet the man's gaze, he would have likely never looked up again. "Unless you'd like to play a game?"

Like a beast with razor sharp fangs, Ganon smiled sinisterly. His question akin to a dark promise as Cole felt a violent shudder push against him. Perhaps it was the amount of blood loss, having spent too much time feeling that vile blade carve into his flesh, but it took longer than he would have liked until those words clicked into place. Recognition flooding over his face as his eyebrows raised disproportionately over his eyes. "N-No! Please, no!" Cole's voice cracked, careened on fear, as rumors of past "games" came to mind.

You never played games with the beast of Lon Lon. Ever. Unless you valued your sanity and valued every facet of your body.

"A shame, I really wanted to play a game with you, but I suppose we can settle with that music of yours." Ganon replied, and he yanked Cole's head back, relinquishing him and brushing remnants of his blood along one of his arm sleeves. Ganon stood then and Cole's eyes followed him. "I believe we both know why you're here." The man began, acting as the epitome of a calm before a storm. His voice was soft despite the heavy presence that rode alongside it. "But, to think that you'd betray the Solem, no, the Dragmire family name like that?"

"I didn't-I was-"

"Ah-ah, interrupting is rude." Ganon tsked. The soft calm, the faint and playful lilt to his voice, dropped. "And I have neither patience nor desire to hear your half-assed excuses." There was something wintry behind those words, something violent and gut wrenching. It urged Cole to draw further into the seat. As if the metal chair would hide him, protect him from the man's anger that was beginning to rise up in a crescendo. "Let's just cut to the chase." The putrid grin that showed off his teeth was now a memory. In its place was wicked danger, an oppressive darkness that enticed a new strand of fear to grind against Cole's bones and stutter along his nerves.

"After all, we've been at this for hours." Ganon's eyes dropped to the concrete floor to admire the crimson puddle that had gradually begun to form under the chair. "It seems you continue to disregard my generosity… but there's no need to answer my question from before." If he saw the way that Cole's mouth fell open, he ignored it. "You've been scraping off merch from the crates for over a year now. Mostly crystal meth, if I'm not mistaken. At first, you took an ounce here, a gram there. Nothing to cause immediate suspicion if the scales read a few numbers off. Yet you got cocky, didn't you?"

The air in the room was gradually being eaten away, and the bindings, thick cords, were gnawing into his wrists until they became one with his skin. Without a doubt, his heart had stopped, the fright and bloodshed finally pulling him under as Ganon's words consumed him.

"You started scraping more and more, even misplaced a crate or two. Sold it for more than what Solem sold it for. Oh," Ganon continued, "but that's not all. You got bolder. Bribed drivers to change their routes. Made money selling off information." He was in Cole's face once again, drawing closer until their foreheads almost touched. It forced Cole to lean back, but the man only leaned further in, crowding him. Then, the thundering of a cocked hammer ricocheted along the walls. A chilling barrel pressed onto the side of his head.

His struggling heart pounded at his ribcage then, fear of the end punching through him as he found himself drowning in the beast of Lon Lon's burning eyes.

"N-No-Please-" He choked on his words, and the barrel of the gun burned along his temple. Not like this. I can't go out like this. "I was framed! I would never-"

A deafening bang cut through the tension.

Ganon had barely even stepped through the door, his dark blue brioni a shade darker and his tanned face splattered with specks of gore, when his cell phone chimed. With its ringtone muffled by the roaring of the oceans, he pulled it out.

"Dragmire." The sea itself seemed to quell at the sound of his name, and as he made his way across the wharf, the two dark suited men that had taken up a post at the door followed a step behind him. "Yes," Ganon replied, "he's been decommissioned. Now all that's left is to attend to the mules he made deals with."

The trio turned off from the stretch of wooden planks, many of which were riddled with tales of rot, and onto a dirt path, the dingy warehouse and the yawning seascape at their backs. "I don't believe he had the balls to do this on his own. Find out who played the first card. Phone in Veran if you have to. She owes me a favor as is." Her name invoked disgust to curl around his chin. She was most certainly the reincarnation of a foul Twinrova dog, one of which he held at arm's length. She, much like Cole, had tested his generosity more than once, and yet she was still alive and well while Cole was nothing but a husk with a bullet engraved in his skull. It was more or less because she was much like his sword, Ghirahim. A useful tool that had a wicked adoration and undying devotion for him. Well, "undying" was not entirely true. She had attempted to cross him in the past, but unlike Cole, she hadn't wasted his precious time with excuses and claims.

Nevertheless, using her was always a Plan B. Though she'd proven herself time and time again, what with the assistance in taking over a rival gang, Yiga, in Ordona and getting the necessary dirt on the councilmen of Hyrule, he would sooner put a bullet through her head than admit her usefulness or acknowledge her evolving loyalty. Perhaps it was because of his curse. He'd seen the pawns he'd used in the past test him, try to overcome and surpass him, more times than Ghirahim ever had. Not that his sword could do much, Ghirahim's soul having long since been embroidered with his will.

Beyond their path parked a matte black, four door sedan. Its blacked out windows caught them in its reflection, and as the trio neared it, one of the suited men at Ganon's side moved to open the side door.

"What's the status of the FCPD's investigation?" He ducked into the car. "With Spotlight's Rise?" His laughter muffled the turn of the ignition. "They'd get better results if they shot fish in a barrel. Get Ghirahim in the loop, and transfer me to the Salesman."

Just the mention of the infamous merchant from the depths of the black market seemed to add to the prevalent tension in the sedan. The pair that had taken a seat across from him seemed to straighten, their eyes catching one another with an eerie knowing. The "Salesman," much like their boss, was just as monstrous. Perhaps it was because not a single soul knew of his true name, that or had never seen his face lacking that painfully gleeful smile. A curl of the lips that would make a man go insane at the sight of it.

He'd gotten his title as soon as he'd appeared in the underworld. The man had an ungodly knack for getting anything and everything, including heads and masks of both man and beast. Though their boss wasn't keen on collecting taxidermy trophies, and mainly contracted with the Salesman in hopes to find more artifacts from the Triune era.

The call transferred just as the sedan drove along the gravel road. Crunch of rock underneath tires did little to overpower the man of Calamity's voice as he asked, "did you find it?" The question was heavy, icy, but it lacked a certain corruption that Ganon typically saved for his other unsavory sellers.

Then a grin snaked its way across his face. "So now you have all four? Have they been tested?"

His men observed in silence as whatever the Salesman had said lengthened Ganon's smile, fangs flashing. "No worries. Even if you had, I have a penchant in seeing such things be tested in person. You took longer than expected on finding all of the pieces so I think that it's fair to cut the price down to 1.5. Unless you can make a speedy delivery to the old Diababa warehouse. Then maybe I'll add another 1k."

"It seems we've met with a fortunate fate, haven't we?" A voice like oil dripping along the side of a can, the Salesman's wild grin cut deeper into the snowy depths of his face until his eyes squinted out of sight. He patted the metal table in front of him with both hands, drawing Ganon to where a large pelican case sat halfway open. An eerie crimson glow seemed to be crawling out from within the case, tendrils of light licking along the sides.

"That depends." Ganon replied as he stepped toward the table.

"Surely I've never given you reason to doubt me. Especially when you oh so kindly dangle another 1k in front of me." True, the Salesman had not failed him once when seeking out supposed Triune artifacts, but this particular item was more obscure, more outrageous than even the Eye of Truth. Yet as he stood before the pelican case, the artifact within held no presence. A strange observation considering its ties with the Mirror, the item of which had the most wicked of presences.

He opened the case, revealing matte gray stone accented by the still body of a snake. The snake itself stretched along two pillars the curled inward, their facades covered in intricately cut shapes. He reached for it, brushed along with stone that felt cold to the touch. At his touch, the red light that ran along the snake's body seemed to dim.

For as long as he'd lived, for as many lives as he'd had, the Fused Shadows and the Mirror were as vibrant a memory as the Hero of Time's glare. Yet this artifact, though it was nearly identical to the one in his memories, did not feel right. It lacked malevolence, bitterness, and a hollowness that could be described during starvation.

Was it perhaps defective? Had old age finally caught up to it and drained it of all its power?

"Humor me, Salesman. Do you feel any wickedness from this one?" His voice had lost its usual edge, unease gradually boiling within him. If an artifact from the Triune could lose its power, its purpose, then what of him? He who was cursed to live for an eternity without the warmth of the Triune's power, would he too feel as dead and weak in the years to come just like this stone before him?

The Salesman's grin faltered at the query. Though the question did not go over his head as he'd most definitely felt vile presences from the numerous artifacts that he'd dredged up for Hyrule's unsavory characters. However, nothing could quite compare to the Mirror. He himself had never retrieved it, but when Ganon had requested the Fused Shadows, he'd been introduced to the dark object and had had the chance to witness its dastardly presence in person.

He shuddered at the memory.

"Did you not state that the Mirror and Fused Shadows reigned from the same tribe? That both made use of some old, forgotten magic? Perhaps this artifact has lost its-"

"Yes or no." Ganon's gaze cut to the Salesman.

There was a ghost of an uncharacteristic flinch, and then the Salesman unevenly replied, "No."

Just as Ganon had feared.

"But perhaps-perhaps!" The Salesman exclaimed, grin twisting along his face once again, "this artifact just needs to be in the presence of the Mirror!"

As if its power simply needed to be restored by the source? If only it were that simple for him. The Triforce was dead and gone. There was no "recharging" or "restoring" the power of the goddesses when the very source of their power, their treasure, was akin to dust. Still, he amended with a grunt, at least he'd finally gotten his hands on the last Twilian artifact that had made its way into this dimension.

"Now, I've brought the item that you requested. Did it in a timely manner even, as you requested…" the Salesman shifted from foot to foot, his words gradually losing their backbone as Ganon's eyes once again cut to him.

"Yes, you have, on all accounts done as I'd requested. Though your delivery is… hmm, disappointing. This artifact might as well be the headstone to your grave. I have a multitude of paper weights from the Triune religion. I do not need another. This artifact was supposed to be intact."

Preposterous! The exclamation was clear all over the Salesman's face, and yet all he managed was a weary, "But sir, I have no control over if the artifact retains its power or not."

Ganon's dark chuckle was thicker than the tension that settled between them. "I suppose you're right." He pulled away from the artifact then, "but just to be sure, place this alleged Fused Shadows on your head. Wear it like a crown of sorts."

"M-Me?" The very idea had the Salesman shaking his head. He knew little of the artifact's background, but if it was tied to the Mirror-no way in hell!

"Since it lacks power, the only other option to verify that it is what you claim is to see it atop someone's head. So, if you want that added bonus and this is the real deal then it shouldn't be a problem."

Risk a good pay day or risk his sanity… the Salesman bit on his thin bottom lip, trepidation urging him to risk the latter. Just being in the mirror's vicinity was enough to make him want to run for the hills. This artifact was nothing near as malevolent. "The underworld would be at a loss if the artifact were to do anything to me." He threatened lamely.

As if people would care about some blackmarket merchant.

Ganon only nodded silently as he picked the Fused Shadows up from their snug case and offered it to the Salesman. They stared at one another for the breadth of a second until the merchant finally took it in-hand. Its facade felt like a conglomeration of summer and winter along his fingertips, and as he gave it a once over, the red light that snaked around it seemed to give off a faint pulse.

Granted, he could be seeing things.

Slowly, slowly, he pulled it atop his thinning head and with an audible gulp he drew his hands away. The artifact itself was much larger than his head, and as soon as it touched his hair, it seemed to leech off his body heat. So much so that in moments he found his teeth violently chattering, skin shuddering underneath an invisible icestorm.

Ganon watched with mild interest as the man's lips turned a pale blue. Saw how the red that snaked around gradually withdrew its light until the lines around the stone were a dark black. Then, as the man grabbed the table between them for support, shivering more than a leaf in the wind, he saw the black lines begin to ooze.

Thick, gloppy drops of obsidian dripped down the artifact and along the man's papery skin. As soon as it made contact with his flesh, he hissed sharply as if he'd been burned. He moved to wipe a drop that had brushed against his cheek, but as the back of his hand met the blemish, he cursed and wrenched his hand away. "Fuck," he cried, "it burns."

"That's good then, is it not? You seemed cold." Ganon sneered.

"No, asshole," the Salesman bared his teeth and threw his hand at Ganon's face, any fear of speaking so disrespectfully having vanished. The back of his hand was now sporting a dark discoloration, a vibrant mix of red and blue shadowed by a sheen of black ooze. "This, whatever the fuck this is, is not good. I'm taking this off!" At his words, the Salesman tried to yank the Fused Shadows from his head, and though the artifact was slightly larger than his head, it did not budge. If anything, it seemed to entice the black substance that oozed from the lines cut into the stone. They dropped along the sides of the Fused Shadows, faster now.

Each drop of darkness that splattered against the Salesman's skin left streaks of burnt flesh in its wake. Each streak of discolored skin felt akin to a serrated blade carving along his body, and the harsh heat that accompanied it did little to settle the winter that had settled within him. Again, he pulled at the headpiece, but again it did not budge. And as the stench of his own toasted flesh met his nose, the Salesman turned to the closest wall to them. Still shivering, even hissing with each drop of ooze that met his skin, he ran forward and bent his head down until his pointed chin touched his chest.

The collision of the Fused Shadows and the drywall resounded with a hollow pop that danced along the small room's floor. In the collision's wake, the artifact had penetrated the wall until both the pillar-like appendages that the stone snake coiled around were hidden within. Yet as the Salesman pulled back, the headpiece remained both on his head and stuck in the wall.

Squirming left and right, the Salesman cried out, "Ganon, get this off me!"

He missed the wicked curl of Ganon's lip. His eyes were alight with glee as he watched the Salesman's turmoil unfold between him. It was a pleasant sight considering the fool had had the audacity to threaten him, curse him.

Would be much better if this idiot was the Hero of Time.

"Excellent. It seems the Fused Shadows does in fact still have some power. Though… I don't remember it doing that." At his words, the Salesman growled in warning, and he then replied in a fit of laughter, "Oh, but how silly of me. Seems I forgot that it was originally forged and worn by those of the Twilian race. Something you are clearly not. No wonder it's acting this way."

"I don't give a fuck, get this shit off of me!" The Salesman's voice was stifled by tears, his voice in hysterics as his nails dug into both the stone of the artifact and the fragments of drywall. "Forget the 1k. Forget the whole damn deal, just Get. This. Off." His scream snapped in two, tears and a dry throat muffling his words.

"But there's no fun in that, now is there?" Ganon rounded the table, his vile smile cutting deeper along his face as he watched the black ooze gradually envelope the Salesman's skin. It had started in streams at first, globs of ink that made thick lines along his face, his neck, his whole body; but now it was a curtain that painted him. Consuming him.

It ripped the Salesman's voice out of his throat, a clamorous scream that rattled the table. The way his body twisted and turned in such wild desperation, a convulsion of flesh and bone, was both disturbing and wickedly appealing to Ganon. As if he were watching a fox struggling against a coil spring trap.

Whether it was at Ganon's close proximity, the Salesman's constant flailing and screaming, or the artifact's power alone, it devoured the Salesman's papery skin until not a single bit of color from skin and cloth remained. And with it, his screams were torn and discarded into dead silence. Within seconds, as the last bit of ooze discolored him, the Salesman's body crumpled. It sagged, but remained partially suspended from the aid of the artifact still stuck in the wall.

Realistically, it was a strange sight, but after having seen what the contaminated drugs could do to a person, he supposed this wasn't incredibly surprising. However, it didn't really answer his questions. Why was the Mirror corrupting all life around it? And the Fused Shadows, why was it dormant one moment and all-consuming the next? Speaking of, if the Fused Shadows could do this… imagine what it could do when accompanied with the Mirror.

He closed the distance between himself and the body to take a closer look at the black substance. It held no scent, and appeared sleek, slimy even. Almost an identical appearance to the liquid that protruded from Ghirahim's test subjects when injected with Pitch. The only difference was that it looked wetter, runnier. Drops of the black ink still dropped along the Salesman's body to the floor, faster than blood ever could.

Swiping a thumb over the body's shoulder, he felt his face warp into a grimace as the ink clung to his fingers. It was thick, sticky, and threatened to hold his fingers together as he tested its elasticity. With each parting or rubbing of his fingers it resounded with a shuddering squelch. Strange considering how it oozed and dropped.

He would have pondered over it more if it hadn't been for the buzz of his cellphone. Ganon ran his hand along the wall then, but the black substance remained. Sighing, he reached for his phone with his free-hand, finding no need to check the caller as he answered with an icy, "This call had better be important."

"The FCPD have come and they wish for an audience with you…"

Ah, Ghirahim.

"It wouldn't hurt to see him for yourself."

As soon as Ganon's sedan had pulled up to the Lon Lon building, any hope that he'd managed to cling to that this investigator was the Hero was as dead and gone as the underworld's Salesman. After all, the name "Link" was now perceived as a common name, and he'd witnessed many lookalikes within the past few decades. So he began trudging up to the main entrance of his building, doubtful as he prepared himself for the disappointment that this meeting would surely bring. While finding that he would have rather stayed to watch his men try to decapitate or remove the Salesman from the Fused Shadows than deal with a lookalike, he gave a fleeting glance to his building's luminescent sign. It blared down at him, its red hues reflecting in his eyes, and as he looked back down, he felt time stop.

Blond hair, as vibrant and deep as the desert's unforgiving sun. Blue eyes as deep and vast as the yawning skies. Skin that was roughed and scarred by battle, by weather, and by time. Even now, his frame was short and slim yet he knew better than to judge the man. No, he'd seen him lift fallen comrades from the field, seen him wield heavy armor and sword alike, and had felt the power and weight of his sword's strikes firsthand.

Ganon had only managed a mere glance at the shorter man before him, but a glance was all it took.

Hero of Time. Link.

He blinked, and then time tumbled forward in the guise of the man stumbling and heading straight for the ground. In an instant, he reached for the man and latched onto one of his arms. The touch was akin to holding burning hot coals in his palm. A pain that was sharp and threatening, fueled by old and forgotten agony and rage.

He almost jerked away, but instead he let his grip tighten in defiance. "You all right?" His words felt distant, miles away, but they pulled the man's attention toward him and as their eyes' met, he saw the battlefield in those dark blues. Saw the age, the loneliness, and the heroic bravado that he hadn't seen in centuries.

If he hadn't been so sure just moments before, he was now.

Link couldn't hide the shiver that punched through him, the shade's words replaying in his head louder and louder as he followed Pipit back through Lon Lon's main doors. Somewhere ahead of them, Ganon led the way, and with each step Link felt they were being led to their doom.

Nonsense, this is work. Yet that excuse, that reasoning, was souring in the pit of his stomach as they drew closer to the row of turnstiles. For some reason, the idea of pushing against that cold metal felt permanent. As if that would be the last thing he'd feel, as if after that - nothing. That thought alone is what led him to blindy grab Pipit and yank his partner back until they were at a deadstop in the middle of the lobby.

Pipit squeaked, "Whoa there, Link!" Link retained his grip on his partner's wrist with both hands, silently and aimlessly pulling his arm downward. As if somehow anchoring them to the spot. "Man, what's gotten into you today?" Pipit tsked as he partially turned, catching Link's gaze, but his words fell on deaf ears as Link blurted out in a frantic whisper, "I'm not okay. We have to leave."

His partner's eyes widened, brows furrowing, "Wh-what? Leave? Leave now? But they're letting us interview. Y'know, what we've been wanting to do since we got here."

Words on deaf ears.

"We have to leave now. Before it's too late."

"Before-what are you saying?"

"We have to get out of here. I'm not ready."

"Buddy, pal, if you don't want to talk to the big honcho, don't worry. I'll ask the questions, you just write in your trusty notepad."

"We can't be here. Please."

"Link, seriously-"

"Please."

Pipit flinched, hearing vulnerability coming from Link was rare, but lately he found himself hearing and catching it more and more. But this, this was something else. This was raw, pure fear, but for and from what, he didn't know. And by the way that Link was staring at him, pulling at his wrist, he found himself not wanting to know.

"Gentleman, is there a problem?" He felt Link's hands around his wrist turn into deadweight at Ganon's voice. Saw the fear swim in his eyes as he peeked over Pipit to the man beyond them.

"My partner's been sick, and I think he's getting worse. We may have to postpone-" Pipit began, but then Ganon was right beside them, interrupting him.

"Apologies, but due to my busy schedule, I'm afraid that I'll only be available for today."

Well, shit. That definitely put a damper on things, but then what would they even gain from asking the CEO of Lon Lon? The man likely wouldn't have been aware until after the fact if Revali had been snooping around. And if he had done anything to cause Revali's death, Ganon Dragmire definitely wouldn't admit it.

"That's all right. We'll just try and come back when you're not busy, sir. Sorry to bother you." Pipit relented.

"That may be a while, but… do keep in touch."

Of course he'd say that, but Pipit only nodded. He'd made to head to the main entrance once again yet Link remained glued to the spot, still gripping his wrist like a lost child. He had to pull, almost drag, to get Link to follow and as soon as they made it back outside, he stopped and turned on Link again,

"As soon as we get out of here, you're telling me what's going on with you."

Past them, back inside the lobby, Ganon remained where he was until he watched the two FCPD investigators make their way to their cruiser through the windows of the building. He'd already had a lot of fun and good news in the past few hours, but this was icing on the cake.

"Why did it take you so long to return though?" Ganon muttered under the lobby clamor, his eyes narrowing. "The power of the Triforce, the divinity, the legacy, all of it died with you. So why are you back, after all these years? Or have you been alive, just as we have, all this time?"

No. This Hero was not the same one he'd slain. He'd seen that Hero die. Watched the light leave his eyes, watched every last drop of blood fall from his flesh.

"Not that it matters. I'll have great pleasure in killing you again, with or without the aid of Din's Power."