A/N: I would like to take the time to thank everyone who has left positive and encouraging comments on my stories. It makes my day every time. Knowing that I'm not the only one who enjoys my work is always such a wonderful experience, as I'm sure it is for everyone. So if you like what you've read so far, don't be shy to let me or other authors know. It really brightens our day. Even if we can't reply to them all, we do see them.

And happy 2025 everyone. A bit of a shorter chapter this time because I ran into a little writer's block but I should get back on track soon.

Being resurrected was a wholly uncomfortable experience, Ghirahim learned. It was difficult to describe, akin to forcing a round peg in a square hole, but with body and soul instead.

He couldn't complain too much, though. This wasn't exactly a common occurrence, after all, and it probably fell outside the Fierce Deity's domain.

The discomfort was short-lived, however, and soon Ghirahim returned to himself. And the sun was in his eyes.

"Agh…" He lifts his arm to shield his face from the onslaught of light. Not only is he back in his true form, but he also had his clothes on again! He took a moment to mentally thank the Fierce Deity for being so thoughtful as to not revive him still in the nude… But then he remembered.

Oh.

The Fierce Deity was dormant again. He may be able to hear prayers, but not answer them. And he'd put himself back into that horrible position for Ghirahim. Why?

He wished he could just be grateful for the sacrifice, but Ghirahim didn't understand. How could his life possibly be worth more than the god of demons' own freedom? And he still wasn't convinced that there truly was nothing expected of him in return. There was always a catch with gifts like these; the other shoe would drop eventually, he just knew it.

Ghirahim stretches and sits up. Other than the sunlight incident, he felt better than he had in a while. He felt refreshed, revitalized. His head was clear, to the point that he hadn't realized just how muddled his thinking had been before. What had seemed like perfectly rational decisions at the time now were completely absurd.

But it wouldn't do to dwell upon the past. Accept it, learn from it, keep moving forward. Easier said than done, of course, but he had to try. That's all anyone can do.

Ghirahim tastes the air. Yuck! There's a puddle of his blood a few feet away, and it reeks. He never thought he would smell his own death scent on the wind, and he hopes he will never have to again. With a flick of his hand, it's gone.

But there's still something sour tainting the breeze that didn't come from Ghirahim. Focusing on it, his heart grows heavy once again. He knows this smell.

It is despair. Dull, icy hopelessness spiked with notes of sharp, agonized grief. This particular cocktail of feelings, he's sorry to say that he is intimately familiar with. His ex-master had a habit of evoking those sorts of reactions, and strongly recommendedGhirahim do the same.

But that taste coming from this particular individual? That was new. And it tasted, for lack of a better word, wrong. Though he knows he is far from the preferable person for it, Ghirahim knew he had to investigate this.

He stands up, and lets his tongue guide him to the source. It's not far.

Ghirahim wasn't sure what he had expected to see, but even with the severity of the despair scent in the air, he never would've imagined it would be this bad. Link looks so small like this, huddled in a tangle of limbs in the dirt, not completely unlike how he himself use to be. The boy was sans his weaponry and armor, now only dressed in simple clothing.

He didn't look anything like the fearless boy who had challenged Ghirahim at every turn. Now he was just another hylian that had seen too much. Gazing upon this sorry sight now, something deep within Ghirahim breaks, too.

"Oh, Sky Child…"

Link doesn't respond. He doesn't even twitch. He is still alive, Ghirahim's senses tell him this clearly, but his despair drove him into complete exhaustion, it would seem.

How did this happen? No way Ghirahim's death alone caused this. It had to have been an accumulation of many things built up into an explosion. That's usually the way it goes with these sorts of things.

Still, could Ghirahim's death really have been the final straw? Perhaps it was the pessimist in him born from centuries of pain, but he found it difficult to believe the Sky Child would shed a single tear for him. Why would he, after everything?

He can throw a pity party for himself later, though. Right now, he had to focus on the here and now, even when his brain insistently tried to make him fall into a web of nasty memories.

Slowly, in hopes of not disturbing the other boy, Ghirahim kneels down and reaches out. His hands are gentle as they grasp about LInk's torso, gripping on the best he can given the hero's awkward position. Nice and gentle, like that time you told him you would beat him within an inch of his life. He forces himself not to wince. He doesn't want to jostle his precious cargo.

That voice didn't sound quite like his master anymore, but not quite like Ghirahim himself either. It was unpleasant still, but less loud in his mind. He supposed that was because the vitriol was no longer being hurled at him from his little—ahem—passenger that he didn't even know he'd had before the Fierce Deity got rid of it. That meant that this was all him,now. Great. Simply fabulous. Because dealing with the [justified] hatred of the outside world wasn't enough.

As Ghirahim lifted link off the ground and began carefully carrying him over to the small stone building he used for a lair, the sword spirit was perplexed and concerned at how light the boy was in his arms. As a demon, Ghirahim had superhuman strength and could lift any average hylian with ease, so they were all light to him, to an extent. But this boy not only lacked in muscle mass but also fat. Had he not been eating well recently?

Perhaps it was from stress. Even though he was the chosen, Link was still a teenage boy. The sort of adventures he got up to would be harrowing even for a grown adult used to battle.

Ghirahim exhaled heavily through his nose. He knew very well who was responsible for most of the Sky Child's troubles. He also knew assisting him now wasn't nearly enough to make up for that. The mere thought that it could come anywhere close was downright laughable. But Ghirahim was the only one around that could.

As he neared the hatch and began pondering how to get the boy safely inside, Link began stirring. His eyes, glazed and unfocused, slowly locked onto Ghirahim's

The demon had absolutely no time to process this turn of events before the Sky Child did something completely unprecedented. He spoke.

"Ghirahim…"