Chapter

Why we failed pt. 26

Bells and Masks

Zelda stood quietly, eyes transfixed by the shimmering cascade of images still projected vividly upon the waterfall's veil. She clutched her fingers tight, heart caught in a fragile rhythm of wonder and dread, barely noticing the murmurs of astonishment echoing softly from those gathered nearby.

"Here they come!" shouted the herald, for all to bear witness to the heavens above.

A sudden fluttering stirred above, and Zelda's focus turned swiftly, startled from her reverie. Through the dying twilight, Revali and his Rito scouts returned like pale ghosts from the skies. They swooped gracefully onto the arena grounds, wings whispering softly in the gathering dusk, their precious cargo clutched carefully within taloned grasp. Zelda's breath tightened sharply at the sight.

The cadets the Rito deposited onto the grass were no longer proud and eager boys, but frightened, wounded youths—faces pale beneath layers of dirt and blood, some struggling to hold back tears, others unable to hide their terror and pain. Some could barely stand, collapsing onto the field, gasping or clutching at wounds. Zelda's heart clenched painfully at the sight. Clerics and healers equipped with medicinal supplies rushed to their landing.

She had known the trials would test them—had heard the tales countless times—but to witness their suffering firsthand was another matter entirely. Guilt gnawed at her chest, heavy and bitter. Had she unknowingly urged them toward this fate with her presence, her expectations? What sort of test demanded this much sacrifice? She would never be able to understand the justification of her ancestors for such a test as this.

Then came the chilling realization, piercing sharply into her thoughts: Helmsworth was nowhere among those brought safely back. A shiver prickled along her spine, a cold whisper of fear gripping tightly. The projection no longer showed his form or hinted at his whereabouts, choosing instead to reveal only fleeting glimpses of other cadets still wandering in the misty gloom. The last time they saw him he disappeared into a grove which faced a buried, forgotten monument of some kind that she had no memory of.

Her silence, more telling than words could ever be, drew Jun's watchful eye. He moved quietly to her side, his voice gentle yet firm. "Don't worry, he's strong, Princess. I've seen Helmsworth fight—he's far tougher than half these soft-handed lords' sons. If anyone can beat these silly trials, it's him."

She turned slowly, her gaze meeting his. The reassurance in Jun's expression was genuine, warm, but even so, it did little to ease the quiet storm within her. Before she could muster words to reply, Purah cut in, voice tart with an attempt at levity.

"Indeed, the little squire is right. Your Helmsworth is made of sterner stuff it would seem. Seeing is he made it to where none of the others have, yet. If I were you, Princess, I wouldn't fret. Besides, if he disappoints, you can always pick another champion from the pack. Goddess knows there's a never-ending line of eager knights willing to impress you. At least, that's what mine eyes have seen."

Zelda arched an eyebrow, suppressing the blush threatening to creep onto her cheeks. "Oh? And should I trust your expert opinion on knights, Purah?"

Purah grinned impishly, adjusting her glasses with exaggerated dignity. "Absolutely, Your Highness. My taste in men is legendary, after all. Ask anyone."

Zelda then hid a smile from her, raised her eyebrows and whispered to herself. "I'll be sure to ask Robbie then."

"What was that?" Purah blinked, unable to hear; yet had really didn't want to hear because she had a sneaking suspicion of what sort of jest her friend was playing at.

"Oh, uh, nothing," Zelda said back.

Jun snorted, hearing Zelda whereas Purah couldn't, his mouth curving into a reluctant smirk as the playful banter briefly eased their collective tension. Zelda's faint smile lingered, though worry still clung stubbornly to her gaze as she turned her attention back toward the returning cadets.

Yet, despite their attempts to comfort her, Zelda's thoughts quickly drifted back to the wounded cadets. They sat or lay scattered across the grass, attended hastily by healers and helping boys alike. She studied their faces from afar, some twisted in pain, others masked by empty stares or quiet whimpers.

If the forest had dealt such ruin to these brave youths, what cruel hand might it yet hold poised above Helmsworth? The question haunted her, gnawed at her resolve, and cast long, silent shadows across her heart.

Her gaze flickered again toward the darkened woods, silently praying for any sign, any whisper of hope that the forest's cruel embrace had not claimed the one cadet whose fate she cared for most. She hardly realized her own hands now clasped together against her chest.

"There you are my Princess," called out a familiar voice, breaking her steadfast vigil. Zelda and the others turned. It was the smooth walking seneschal. "Your father beckons you back to the royal box, my dear, sweet princess," the silk-tongued man said, appearing as if he conjured beside her.

Zelda, not one to dispute the wishes of her father, answered his message with a subtle nod. She then spun on her heels and faced Athelon. The stone-hard veteran still stood by, stoic and stalwart as ever. "Will you take care of these men?"

"Without a doubt, your highness. Do not trouble yourself over this lot, they are in for a bit of healing to be sure, but they are in good hands and will survive." Athelon assured her. "It's the others who still trespass into the abyss we must turn our thoughts to now."

Zelda gave him a knowing look that she would be doing just that and motioned the others to follow her back up the wooden steps that led to their grand seating area. They would still be able to view the fountain and its cerulean waterfall of cascading images from where they sat; for it was very large and clear to see. However, it was the company Zelda dreaded. He would be there.

Zelda reluctantly made her way back into the royal box, the heavy velvet drapes whispering closed behind her. Her father, King Rhoam, offered a brief nod—stern, but tinged with warmth—before resuming his conversation with the stoic, ever-watchful Danarus Draene. She noticed he was also in the quiet company of foreigners as well; emissaries and dignitaries from the lesser kingdoms no doubt. Even one of the forty princes of Corredi would be in attendance. Or, was it just nine princes? Well, she couldn't be sure to remember her lessons; but it was their custom that their lands were governed by ordained princes than a solitary proper king. Each equal in authority.

A recognizable tall, gerudo gave Zelda a smirk. "It appears our Princess has decided to grace us again, about time. I was beginning to bore without you here," said Urbosa in that rich, teasing voices she had, eyes gleaming with amusement. "Tell me, did that young, squire friend of yours manage to fetch those masks of yours?"

"Well, he hasn't been able to fetch them; he's been with me—" The princess caught herself mid-speech. Perplexed, Zelda glanced about quickly, noting Jun's absence with mild concern. To her bewilderment, the lad had disappeared. She could have sworn he was trailing right beside her. Yet, he seemed to vanish as if he was just a figment of her imagination.

"Gone again, I see," Purah added. "That boy steals away like a thief in the night. You sure he isn't part Sheikah?"

The princess didn't hear her question, still amazed at his sudden absence. Urbosa then took that as her cue to assure her and leaned over to place her hands on her shoulders to help her find her seat. "I'm sure he realized his tardiness in offering the masks and went to gather them for the evening celebrations. He probably got lost in all the excitement as of late."

Zelda blinked. "Yeah, he must have," she said, almost trying to convince herself. "I believe that may be so," she murmured absently, gaze drifting toward the distant waterfall of moving pictures of the trials. "At least, I hope he did."

Beside her, Lady Anjuel leaned forward eagerly, eyes radiant with quiet excitement. "Oh, Princess, can you believe it? The High Priest himself will be blessing my union with Kafei after the final trial. Mother nearly fainted when she heard he would be doing the honors himself—can you imagine, me being sanctified by the High Priest of all the land? Is there no higher blessing than that?"

Zelda smiled for her but didn't want to spoil the joy sprawled on the girl's face. If only she knew what sort of priest he was, she thought.

It was the brightness in Anjuel's voice that unsettled her most—like a pebble dropped into a still pool, sending ripples of unease through waters she'd tried hard to keep calm. Marriage. Once upon a time, that word had stirred something gentle in her chest—soft and golden, like a bird alighting on the edge of a windowpane, wings twitching with the hope of soaring blissful skies; never to look back with reckless abandon full of love to fill a lifetime.

As a girl, she often would fantasize dreamily of it—childish, yes, but sweet all the same. She would imagine the ceremony in vivid detail: where it might take place, the faces in the crowd, the shape and shimmer of her gown. The happiness bright in the smiles of her Father and all her friends. And above all else—the man who would take her hand beneath the gaze of Hylia and men. Not just a name spoken for politics' sake, but someone chosen by her. Someone who saw her and not for duty's sake.

Now the word alone conjured visions she'd sooner avoid at all costs—Arasmus smiling possessively, the High Priest's hollow blessings, her own life bound neatly within the confines of duty. To make matters worse, hers would come sooner than later. Zelda's belly twisted at the thought. How different it would be if she, too, could choose freely, unshackled from expectations and obligations, able to follow the quiet longing of her heart instead of the crown's stern decree.

Anjuel's brow knitted slightly in gentle concern, pulling Zelda from her quiet dread. "Princess? Is everything all right?"

Flustered, Zelda forced herself back into the moment, warmth rising swiftly into her cheeks. She shook her head lightly, banishing sadder thoughts behind a well-practiced mask. "Yes, yes—of course! Forgive me, Anjuel. A mix of worry of the final trial and my mind drifting to and fro, just thinking how wonderful it must feel to marry. The big night has finally come!" She gently squeezed her friend's hand, sincerity genuine even if tinged by melancholy. The princess had to find her cheerful voice now, everyone was watching. "Truly, you and Kafei deserve every happiness."

Anjuel smiled shyly, reassured, and Zelda inwardly chastised herself. Careful now. She'd grown careless, her expressions far too easily read. Her heart's quiet rebellions needed better guarding, especially among so many prying eyes.

With practiced ease, Zelda turned smoothly to her uncle, burying her worries beneath a veneer of curiosity. "Speaking of the final trial, does anybody know what is to come?" she began, her voice deliberately composed, "what precisely awaits the cadets?"

Prince Arcturus chuckled softly, folding his hands thoughtfully on his lap. His voice was calm yet authoritative, effortlessly gathering everyone's attention. "That I can answer for you, my dear niece, that commander Athelon was kind enough to share some intriguing insights when I spoke to him earlier in the day. From what he knows, this trial is named 'The Crucible of Inferno.'"

Purah leaned forward, eyes glittering behind her spectacles. "Sounds appropriately ominous," she quipped dryly. "Let me guess—fire, blades, and more ancient mischief cleverly devised from my ancestors?"

Arcturus inclined his head slightly, smiling faintly. "Not quite, Lady Purah. From what I understand is that these devices are made from the ingenuity of ancient Hylians, though aided by your people of old. The contestants will indeed face creatures conjured through ancient magic and Sheikah technology to be sure—beasts long absent from our world, resurrected from legends; or so I have been told to watch out for. I must say, I am excited if even part of what that old goat says comes true."

Lord Danarus scoffed dismissively, his cold gaze sweeping contemptuously across the assembled nobles. The older lord rarely spoke but when he did, he commanded the attention of the room. He spoke very low, but a man like him never needed to shout to be heard. "Smoke and mirrors, surely. Clever illusions to dazzle the easily impressed."

There was a pause at his insulation. To dispel any tension in the air, Daruk's hearty laugh boomed across the box, drawing startled glances and quiet chuckles. "Illusions or no, Chancellor, it's bound to be one fine spectacle! My wager's on those who keep cool heads. Lynels from what we Goron have been told have a habit of sorting illusions from reality quickly; if you get my meaning."

Danarus' eyebrows quietly scoffed at the Goron but Prince Arcturus also added his two rupees to lighten the mood. "That being said, I'm sure it will be a good show; and if it's not we have mummers, tumblers and fire spitters to fill in the rest this evening. Goddess knows I'm told we spent enough of the crowns treasury to afford it."

"Lynels?" Zelda echoed, astonishment widening her eyes. She still wanted to hear more what Daruk meant. "Truly? Here today? But those beasts—"

"—Have not been seen in many, many centuries, aye. Not since dark forces stirred from the Savage Lands beyond the Forbidden Wastes to the far reaches of the northeast," Daruk continued with knowing cheer in his voice, excited for the spectacle. "The Sheikah have always been clever, though. Who's to say what secrets they've kept buried beneath our noses?"

Prince Arcturus twisted his golden mustachio with an added smirk. "From what I hear they are fierce as demons."

"They are demons!" Daruk joined with a laugh. "Tougher than rocks and spit fire too some legends say."

Zelda's face flickered with worry for her hopeful, Helmsworth. He would be facing against harder things than she imagined if what they told was certain.

As if he could read her like a book, Arasmus, silent until now, leaned toward Zelda with a smooth, sardonic smirk, his voice tinged with mock reassurance. "Surely, Princess, your favorite initiate is resourceful enough. Helmsworth seems to have luck on his side, if little else."

Zelda met his gaze evenly, hiding her rising irritation beneath practiced serenity. "He has far more than luck," she replied firmly, her voice tempered steel beneath silk. "I trust him."

Mipha, gentle as ever, placed a delicate hand upon Zelda's wrist, offering quiet reassurance. "Your trust is well placed, Princess. Courage often accompanies wisdom. And from what I have seen in the waves, he has shown to be both wise and brave to have found the Ancient Cistern so quickly."

"Yes, wisdom and courage," Arasmus drawled lazily, eyes glittering with thinly veiled disdain. "But how will they fare against raw, unbridled power? Cleverness and skill mean little when staring down a Lynel, illusion or no."

Arcturus cleared his throat pointedly, reclaiming the conversation smoothly. "Yet, even power alone will not suffice. This trial demands cunning. The fledglings must seize strategic outposts scattered throughout the arena, halting the summoning of foes. Only by strategy, strength, and leadership can they approach the central beast—at its center, a Lynel guarding the Flame of Power. They must work together if they are to succeed. Each must abandon their own pride and glory and should seize the prize as one."

Lord Arasmus chortled, "But there can only be one champion I heard?"

"Tis true," Zelda's uncle sighed. "You know the nature of young men well. They are more like to each try and win the honor and glory for themselves. Though that road to victory will be much harder. I just hope the man who does is deserving."

King Rhoam nodded gravely, his voice resonating with quiet authority. "Indeed, the victor shall prove mastery over both battlefield tactics and strength. Only then may he rightfully claim the Flame."

Urbosa questioned. "And what of the others? The other lads who don't claim the flame, yet survive to fight another day by trial's end?"

Danarus' quiet, cold voice spoke across the tables again, everyone hushing to hear what he had to say. "Then they take their vows and become guardsman," he said pointedly. "Albeit only one will be adorned the cloak of champion and the honor to serve in the princess guard with high accalades. There is also a prize in store for the lucky victor too if that isn't enough, to be gifted by the princess herself as well."

Purah ribbed Zelda in a hushed voice as Danarus droned on with the duller details. "You hear that? A prize in store for him? Any ideas what that might be?" Hmm?"

The princess defensively shrugged and hid her face abashedly at her friend's insinuation, fighting back the smile though Mipha giggles to the notion were like a quiet song airing the mood.

An intrigued silence settled over the royal box shortly after, punctuated by distant cheers and murmurs from the excited crowd below. Zelda as she pondered what was said stared pensively into the waterfalls display, eager to see what it would show next, envisioning Helmsworth standing alone against creatures summoned from legend.

Urbosa gently broke the thoughtful quiet, voice low and comforting. "Fear not, Little Bird. Your Helmsworth possesses a fierce spirit. And if he's half the warrior you believe, perhaps today we'll see legends reborn."

Zelda exhaled slowly, offering her friend a grateful nod. "Perhaps we will," she whispered softly, her gaze fixed upon the distant arena, hope and dread intertwining silently within her chest.

"There you go," Link heaved. The heavy stone door groaned behind him as Link wedged a broken sliver of column beneath its edge, ensuring it wouldn't seal again. Just in case the others made it this far. When they made it this far, he corrected silently.

The chamber beyond exhaled cool, ancient breath as he entered—still, and heavy with the scent of water-worn stone and something older, like soaked parchment left in a temple long sealed. Before him stood a familiar sight: another oil basin.

Link slowed, boots sloshing lightly across the shallow puddle that rimmed the floor. His gaze lifted to the tall torch beside it—iron wrought and timeworn, its flame flickering gently, as though it had been waiting for him alone.

He looked down. There it was—etched into the smooth floor beneath the basin: the royal crest. Three triangles interlocked in their eternal dance, ancient and holy. As he knelt and touched the lip of the basin, he noticed it—one of the triangles glowed now, lit from within by some gentle magic. It first had gleamed after he claimed the Flame of Courage and stil did. He knew what needed to be done now.

The oil caught with a hiss as he took fire from the torch and tossed it to the basin. The flame that emerged was unlike any fire he'd ever seen—no crackling blaze of reds or oranges, but a slow-burning sapphire, elegant and fluid, as if drops of water had learned to dance like firelight. It curved and bowed rather than leapt, quiet in its flicker, dignified in its presence.

Link's breath hitched. He felt… watched. Not by danger, but by time itself.

Below on the stone floor, the royal crest stirred to life.

Two of the triangles lit—one already awakened from the first trial, still warm with the memory of courage earned. Now, beside it, the second triangle flared to life in response to the basin's flame, bathed in that unmistakable hue—the hue of Lanayru, of wisdom. Just one more left, he thought.

Suddenly, the ceiling above rumbled. Link staggered back, instinctively reaching for his blade, though no enemy came. Instead, the ceiling groaned, then parted like petals blooming beneath moonlight. Soft beams spilled downward, silver and pure, as if the goddess herself peered through the crack in the world.

A passage. A staircase—no, a marvel—descended from the ceiling, each step precise, sculpted from a blend of shimmering coral and blackstone. It did not fall so much as glide downward, elegant and patient. Zora grace, Sheikah mastery. It unfurled from the rim of the ceiling down into the chamber like a stairway made of song. A way home.

Link tilted his head up, watching the impossible unfold, light trailing along each carved step, ancient and pristine.

He exhaled slowly. "So… that's the way out."

But his fingers lingered near the basin, his eyes on the blue flame. His thoughts, as always, drifted.

Orin, Sven… are you alright? Did you make it past the illusions of the forest and almost here? He chewed the inside of his cheek, guilt nagging at the corner of his thoughts. Regosso too… stubborn, thick-headed ass he is. Link frowned. But no one deserves to be left behind in a place like this.

Still staring at the flame, he muttered under his breath, "Come on, all of you. I didn't hold that door open for nothing."

He stepped onto the staircase. Each footfall echoed faintly in the silent chamber, reverent somehow. The moonlight bathed him in silver, the air cooler here, cleaner—less like the breath of buried tombs and more like the hush of a world reborn. His fingers brushed the carved railings, marveling at the seamless blend of coral inlays and smooth obsidian lines. Zora beauty, Sheikah genius. A forgotten alliance set in stone.

Then his stomach gave a loud, pitiful growl.

Link blinked.

"… I'd kill for just an apple. Or three."

The thought pulled a quiet laugh from his throat, one he hadn't expected. It centered him. Grounded him. Reminded him of the simple things—like how terribly long it had been since he'd eaten anything that wasn't dried, salted, or clinging to the bottom of his satchel. He sure hope the feast he would be able to enjoy this time. Goddess knows that little squire of his lucked out last time. There will be no deathblows to the head to send him to the infirmary, he vowed. Not this time.

He picked up the pace. The surface awaited. The last trial awaited. And whatever this war of kings and chancellors may have devised for him and his friends… he'd be ready.

The royal box was once again alive with movement and light, the warmth of the sun now replaced by the mellowed pale hue of the coming moonrise that bathed the silken awnings and polished marble underfoot. Trumpets had fallen silent, replaced by the music of conversation, the flutter of silk fans, the faint lapping of the waters below, and the rustling of guests finding their own masks trickling through the gallery levels under them.

Zelda turned as a familiar clatter of feet bounded up the last few steps—Jun, desperately clutching his hat to his head and winded, held a burlap sack nearly half his size.

" And just like that, I've returned, Princess!" he declared, breathless but triumphant, dust puffing from his tunic as he skidded to a halt. "And I've got them—all of them!"

"You slipped away without a word, where did you learn to sneak away like that?" Zelda smiled, leaning in her seat, evaluating the boy. "I'm glad it were the mask you were after. I was beginning to wonder if something happened with you."

"With me? Never fear! I can handle myself better than most." The boy boasted.

"I bet you can," Zelda mused aloud. Jun grinned crookedly and tugged open the sack with a dramatic flourish. "I have one for everyone," he said.

"Who needs a mask?" he asked as few curious glances shot back his way. Some delighted guests scooted out from their seats to get a gander at his wares and he began handing them out one by one, careful in his choices.

"And…to Lady Purah, the keaton, she'll want," he announced, producing a sleek, crimson-and-gold mask with narrow, slitted eyes and a cunning grin. "Clever eyes for a clever Sheikah, am I right?" Jun said, as he smiled and courteously handed over the mask. Oh, I bet you think you are clever, he thought, eyeing her take his friendly offering. Well, let's see how smart you feel when you fall right into our trap and get what's coming to you, blood traitor.

Purah snatched it with a delighted twirl. Even catching herself off guard by her over interest in the affair. She returned his prize with a suggestion. "Flattery and accuracy in one sackful of loot? Jun, you're wasting your talents as a squire, I see."

"And, to the Princess Mipha," Jun continued, holding up a delicate white heron mask, accented with flowing azure feathers. "For the grace that glides through the hardest currents."

Mipha blinked, surprised, then smiled softly, her cheeks tinting pink. "It's beautiful. Thank you. I'll be sure to do the festival proud and frighten back the moon with this prized gift!"

"Speaking of fright!" Daruk nudged the boy, and was already peering into the sack with childlike wonder. "Is there one that makes me look like a Blin-slayer?"

Jun pulled out a bright red mask shaped like a Goron elder—its stony brows furrowed in a battle cry. "Or… perhaps this," he offered. Swapping it for a grinning, round faced sneaky looking man with squinting eyes.

Daruk tried it on, only for Prince Arcturus to burst into a laugh.

"Ah, with just three more drinks of the finest Cremia Red and you could almost pass for Hylian now, old friend."

"Hah!" Daruk barked, ripping it off good-naturedly. "No thanks! If I'm to wear anything to a masquerade, it better make my enemies whimper!"

Jun blinked. "Er… we've a few beast masks left...Bokos, Gobs, Sneaksnakes…"

Daruk pushed the lad aside eagerly and rummaged himself, then triumphantly held up a floppy-eared dog mask with a tongue sticking out.

"Now this is what I'm talking about! Yeah, this is the one!" Daruk accepted it with a boisterous roar of approval, lifting it high for all to bear witness. "Perfect. This'll strike fear into their hearts."

The crowd unanimously blinked and mipha let out another giggle of amusement she tried to hide.

Zelda on the other hand couldn't hide her laugh at all and sweetly remarked to him. "That is if you plan to melt their hearts with adorableness," she chirped. "A sweet, doggy mask like that? And he is such a good boy," she said, making a petting voice, gesturing toward Daruk who went red, embarrassed, looking like he was about to erupt like Death Mountain.

Urbosa added, "Given the choice between the pooch and yourself now, you're much more terrifying already, Daruk. That mask could only add charm."

Laughter rippled through the box and Jun turned to face Zelda, speaking only to her "You still have yours?"

"Of course." Zelda's fingers found the edge of her own mask—already secured earlier, a delicate silver owl shaped with sweeping brows and intricately detailed feathers. The "sweetling owl," you called it. A symbol of quiet knowing. "I had it brought up while you fetched the others."

"I'll make sure it matches the one I have in store for Helmsworth, Princess," Jun said, as if reading her thoughts.

Before she could reply, a shadow fell across the fountain's image as the great waters rippled once more. The crowd watching below rose in a sudden cheer and applause.

A hush fell at the royal enclosure, as they all attempted to see what the commotion could have been about.

The waterfall shimmered on the great Sheikan-Zora canvas, revealing again the familiar figure now burned into Zelda's thoughts—Sir Helmsworth.

He stood within a circular chamber deep beneath the earth, a single torch in hand. The basin before him blazed suddenly, casting ghost-blue light that danced like watery flame. And then, to their collective astonishment, the ceiling above him peeled open like a bud to the moon. A staircase descended—stone and silver, ancient and precise.

Gasps erupted all around her.

"He's done it," Zelda whispered, standing slowly. Others followed to watch in amazement.

"Goddess," Purah murmured, her hand tightening over her fox mask. "That boy keeps defying the laws of probability."

"Or perhaps," Impa mused beside her, "he's simply fated for something greater."

"I knew he would." Jun puffed out his chest with a smile that tried to hide how deeply he'd been worried. "He's—well, he's him."

A voice slithered in, smooth as polished glass. "See?" Lord Arasmus leaned against the balustrade, addressing no one and everyone. "Did I not say so, my Sundelion? He has the luck on his side for certain."

Zelda's lips tensed.

Arasmus gestured to the image as nobles chuckled politely around him. "Perhaps I'll meet this mysterious knight one day. Goddess knows, I should keep an eye on him. Talents like those… well, they tend to stir the wrong kind of attention."

The words were for the crowd, the tone generous—but the glance he slid to Zelda, half-amused and half-possessive, was anything but.

She straightened, calm and bright as a moonlit blade.

"I hope you do meet him, Lord Arasmus," she replied with perfect poise. "You might even learn something."

Several of the younger nobles chuckled. Even Daruk let out a soft "hoo-boy" under his breath.

Arasmus's smile tightened and he raised a cup to her and she did likewise before her gaze went back to the flickering pool; letting the laughter fall behind her like an old veil.

Helmsworth had completed the second trial. Two flames kindled. One to go. Come on, you can do it, I know it, she thought. She too eagerly wanted to meet the man behind the helmet as well.

She only prayed he'd make it back before the masquerade began… or before her heart gave itself away completely.

The image shimmered once more—now the cascading veil of water split, like twin mirrors colliding. One side showed Helmsworth climbing steadily from the ancient sanctum's depths, the sapphire circlet gone but the light still clinging to his armor as if reluctant to let him go. His boots met moonlit stone with wary grace, sword sheathed at his side, hair damp, chin lifted. The other half of the image bled back to the Forest of Dark Whispers, where ten figures stumbled into the fog's edge—muddy, bruised, haunted. The survivors.

She saw that one had a lean gait, helping another walk as he limped beside him. Even Regosso she recognized as he descended to the Great Cistern where Helmsworth had fled ahead, pride tattered but still upright. Alive.

A soft breath escaped her. Relief, tinged with guilt. They had made it where others had surrendered to the saving grace of the Rito patrols.

But Helmsworth was alone. He always was. Always pressing forward, daring to even the odds.

Zelda clasped her hands, fingers winding tight. She didn't realize she had gone quiet again until Purah nudged her gently with an elbow.

"You're thinking too hard again, Princess," she said without looking up. "That boy's more durable than castle forged steel."

Zelda blinked, then forced a smile. "It's not his durability I doubt. Only the world's patience in giving him time to prove it."

A moment passed, and then Chancellor Danarus Draene rose beside her father with the finality of a hammer's fall.

"Then it has begun," he declared, arms spread wide, voice rising above the murmuring crowd. The first ever Zelda ever heard him speak so resoundedly, "The Grand Finale. The Coliseum. May the best man win."

Applause followed like a tide. Somewhere behind them, the bells of Hyrule Castle began to toll, long and low. Nightfall has officially come and with it, the climax of the great trial of their day, ushering the beginning of the Moonfall Masquerade and celebrations to follow.

Zelda remained still.

Her eyes did not leave the image of the knight-to-be ascending stone by stone, alone beneath the stars, climbing toward the final trial that waited beyond the flame.

Authors Note- I hope you enjoyed this tidbit, please leave a comment if you did enjoy, it helps the story a lot and keeps me motivated. I noticed I haven't had any comments for a long while on this platform and am curious if anyone is still reading. That being said, I am writing, like of course I am, but I also have a confession to make. I've been redrawing the map of Hyrule. The other one is too low of quality for my taste, so I decided to make a more detailed map. This one though won't just be the Kingdom of Hyrule. It will be the whole world. So, all the kingdoms known to the Zelda universe. So, there will be Hytopia, Labrynna, Halodrum, Gamelon, and Corredi. Plus a few extras. If you know which games these are from, all the better. It shouldn't rob me too much time from my writing so don't fret, but it helps me relax and keeps me in the Zelda zone. Thanks and I hope you'll like it when it's done.