*Ikana Valley [Orchestrated] (The Legend of Zelda: Majora's Mask OST)

**Middle Boss Battle (The Legend of Zelda: Majora's Mask OST)

***Magic is Everything (Final Fantasy Crystal Chronicles OST)

****Burning Ambition (FE9 OST)

*****Agon Wastes (Metroid Prime 2: Echoes OST)

******Gothic Ballroom - Derek Fiechter

******Majora's Theme [Orchestrated] (The Legend of Zelda: Majora's Mask OST)

*******Oath to Order [Orchestrated] (The Legend of Zelda: Majora's Mask OST [Theophany])

*Before the soldiers' shrine just outside of the main barracks, a certain young soldier lingered behind his fellows slightly. Setting his spear and shield against one of the stone walls, he clasped his hands together, mouthing a silent prayer to the great war heroes of his country, his own ancestors, and the gods alike. A prayer for his land's deliverance from its hardships, natural and not. And a prayer for a safe return for himself and his comrades from whatever mission the king had mobilized them. When his pleas concluded, the soldier began to vocalize- vocalize the sacred, solemn oath that was recognized the world over as a plea to the gods for aid and protection.

"Hey, Enil!" called one of his fellows. "Where the hell are you, man?! The king calls us into formation, we damn well listen!"

Snapped out of his trance, the pikeman regathered his effects to rejoin take his place in the ranks. "Sorry! My mother sent me a letter!" he fibbed.

Times may have been hard for the most, if not all denizens of the kingdom, yet judging by the formations of soldiers gathered outside of the great castle's gate, it was as though they possessed the supplies for an extended war- and it was not as though the exactly had a choice, either.

Seated atop his great stallion, the king surveyed his ranks- his beloved sons- keenly, as though searching for any imperfections. It went without saying that he was somewhat agitated, and the news bought by the runner did little for his mood. "Milord!" began the runner, kneeling. "General Labarna is no more- the beasts overran their positions! Captain Keeta and his men are holding on in the west, but only barely."

"Damn!" growled the king. "Any survivors?"

"Not to my knowledge, sire."

Swearing to himself repeatedly, the king was starting to honestly despair of seeing his kingdom out of this predicament. Despite the common parlance, the forces opposing them did not simply consist of mere beasts of the field- they behaved far too intelligently for that. No, the forces these demon-worshipers were able to put into the field consisted not only of beings warped by their own dark magic, but their own sons imbued with their trademark fanaticism and ferocity, to say nothing of their saboteurs.

"We don't have a choice." remarked the king, turning to his right hand men. " Gilgamesh! Enkidu! We're moving out now! We divide the troops in half- you'll reinforce Keeta and I'll halt their advance north any further."

"At once, my king! These fanatics have yet to cross blades with the finest swordsman in the kingdom!"

"Yes, sir!"

It truly was with a heavy heart that he sent these sons of his kingdom- a kingdom which had already gone through so much in such a short amount of time- to an almost certain death against their ancient enemy and their hordes of monstrosities. But what choice was there really? Between almost-certain death and certain oblivion? The utter oblivion that the better part of the country had already suffered?

Still, it did genuinely give the king heart to see that so many of his retainers had remained faithful, even when he could see his kingdom faced its bleakest hour. Even in spite of his visible discomfort and utterly inappropriate attire for what was soon to be a battlefield, even the tall, lanky retainer accompanied them to serve king and country in whatever capacity possible.

"You know, I'd have thought no less of you for taking refuge with your brother." remarked the king. "Any able or willing have done so long ago and the mask-worshipers are a hospitable folk usually."

Reflexively, the man gave his head a disapproving shake. "Perish the thought, milord! I am certain that your leadership will see us through these trials!"

The king's expression turned somewhat downcast, taking in the sheer desolation of the once-lively, prosperous valley. "Your faith heartens me- truly, it does."

No doubt recognizing the gravity of the situation, the men marched across the bridge, eerily silent save for their breath and the pattering of their boots against the ground. By midday, everything seemed to be mostly in order, the king dismounting his steed to confer with his remaining general. "Should we proceed further south, Hattusili?" he inquired. "I am of two minds on the idea."*

"I understand your feelings, milord." the general replied. "But we should make camp here; the highlands are easier to defend, even with our circumstances."

"No, you're correct, Hattusili. It's just-"

One of his aides returning from one of the nearby campfires, the aide, a lad of about eighteen at most, offered the general a tray. "Your tea, General Hattusili."

The general's face lit up at one of the few indulgences allowed him under the circumstances. "Ah, thank you, lad."

Hattusili sipping his tea nonchalantly, the king however, could not shake his feeling of unease about the situation. Perhaps it was because the area past the river was even more unnaturally quiet, or the fact that he could not see the youth's right hand, but some instinct of his told him that this was no longer a time to be idle.

**"Hattusili!" he called, drawing his great blade. "MOVE!"

Reflexively obeying the command of his king, the general stumbled from the stool set up for him, the man, having drawn twin daggers, impaled the low-quality piece of furniture. Lunging at the would-be assassin, the king heaved and swung the blade violently, the lad bobbing and weaving in and out from his stabs and slashes. Attempting to breach the king's defenses with his daggers, proved to be of little use unsurprisingly. The royal greatsword however, had no such limitations in such a situation, as the would-be-assassin found it lodged in his chest cavity rather quickly.

"What?!" demanded the king. "What on earth is going on here?!"

"We're under attack, milord!" informed Hattusili, remarking upon the obvious, drawing his own sword.

"I CAN SEE THAT! But how?! Who?!"

The fabric from the tent had been compromised to such a degree as to render it useless, shortly giving way to expose the king and his general to a scene of utter, bloody chaos. Apparently, Hattusili's attacker had not been a lone assassin, but part of a cell- a sabotage team. To devastating effect against the formed-up troops, struggling to keep their formations as they were slashed at, stabbed, and sniped at with arrows. It was not merely enough that such a scene had commenced, but to be completely blindsided by it?

"Damn, can it really be them?!" inquired Hattusili. "The fanatics' shadow warriors?! Father and Grandfather both swore they were a myth!"

"Well, they appear real enough! Get down-!"

It was not surprising that the pair of them were high-value targets for the assassins, the king in particular. Perhaps it was not surprising either that they had the tent surrounded with a team of snipers, to a man, bows drawn and ready to fire. Hattusili, not exactly the sharpest knife in the drawer to begin with, failed to react appropriately to his king's command, shortly coming to resemble a human pincushion. The king, for his part, while somewhat disoriented, quickly recovered his shield and deftly blocked the incoming projectiles.

Already rather annoyed by the situation, the king, recalling his training as an impudent youth, focused his mind intensely, drawing magical energy into his weapon which he hurled at the stone outcropping above the snipers. With a great crash, the gravel buried the snipers for the most part, giving the king the much-needed chance to catch his breath for a second. If he were to live to fight another day- let alone learn just what the hell was going on- he would surely have to reunite with his right-hand men.

Proceeding into the nearby clearing to try to get a better sense of his situation, in spite of all the chaos around him, the king could somehow not shake the inexplicable feeling of being watched. And this was very apparent, even before the ring of flame surrounded him.

"Your heathen kingdom ends today, King Ikana- as well as your life!"

From one of the stone outcroppings, voice's owner, spirited itself behind the king, who turned around abruptly, only to scarcely block the flaming sabers directed at him, cursing to himself at one of the blades grazing his exposed forearm.

Almost as abruptly as the purple-robed warrior had appeared, he vanished once again- his instincts having served him faithfully all these years, the king still knew fully well he was being watched. Once more, only barely blocking the blades from his vitals. For all his might and training, it was very stressful and very frustrating how there seemed to be no rhyme or reason to the attacks; even more so how his defenses were nigh-impenetrable.

But atop another outcropping opposite the encounter, the king's two faithful servants noticed his distress and were taking every effort to weaken the assassin's guard.

"By the gods, Enkidu!" squawked Gilgamesh, jamming his blade into the face of one of the fanatics attempting to access their position. "You're going to strike the king!"

"I know what I'm doing, you blustering bonehead!" his companion insisted. "You may be the greatest swordsman in the land, but my aim is without parallel."

And this was no idle boast, either; in spite of the madness surrounding him- the chaos of the battle below, the shadow warriors and beasts alike attempting to scale the rock face, and their purple-robed master's erratic, unpredictable movements- Enkidu did manage to land a hit, dead center to the back of his shoulders. Whether it wounded him or not, or if he even felt the blow scarcely mattered- it was enough to distract him and compromise his defenses. And even his speed did gave him little recourse against the sheer power the now-reinvigorated king was bringing to bear against him, inflicting wounds from which even the strongest man would be hard pressed to recover.

The field of flames dissipating with the expiration of its conjurer's magical energy and life force, the king took notice of his saviors, nodding in silent approval. But not everyone was exactly in their element- namely, the composer who may have been a musical genius, but was utterly useless on a battlefield. "Oh, gods, help me!" he exclaimed. "Brother was right! I should have-"

The king was not exactly pleased with this display, making said displeasure known with a light slap to the man's face. "Get a hold of yourself!" he insisted.

"A-at once, my king!"

"If you want to run, run northeast and inform Keeta we're under attack; any reinforcements he can spare are urgently needed. Do you understand, Flat?"

"Y-yes, of course, milord!"

Somehow, his two right-hand men had gotten back to the ground without the enemy killing them or they each other, fighting off any attackers, beast or man, as they met up with their king.

"The two of you saved my life against that...thing." the king commended. "Well done."

Clashing with one of the enemy's skeleton warriors before felling it, Gilgamesh turned to the king and bowed his head slightly. "It was nothing, milord!"

"Yeah, it really was nothing." interrupted Enkidu. "I was the one who made the shots!"

"Well, who was it that had to clear all of those beasts and fanatics away from the outcropping?"

"Always the glory hound, aren't you, Gilgamesh?!"

The king sighed in frustration- the same kind of frustration one experiences at a drought or a rainstorm- they really DID bicker like an old married couple. "Enough of this, you fools! Form up, now!"

At once, the two warriors dropped their friendly feud, forming up in the triangular formation which they had finely attuned to their specific fighting styles, strengths, and weaknesses alike. While there were still a good many of the kingdom's soldiers still standing and fighting for their lives, it was clear the ambush had proved devastating to the unit's cohesion and morale. What was even worse, that the enemy showed little sign of abating, armed statues and heavily armored knights joining the fray along with the beasts and the cult's elite warriors.

"Well, what now, milord?" inquired Enkidu, grip tensing on his blade.

The king scoffed dismissively. "Let them come if they dare! They've clearly never tangled with Igos du Ikana!"

In all honestly, the city may have been from another time- another planet for how removed it was from Nohr. Of course, for Leonard, his company made the location completely irrelevant for him. That familiar whitish-blonde hair, piercing red eyes, and gorgeous long legs were extraordinarily appealing- very befitting of a queen for the most powerful man ever to walk this earth. While not exactly brazen in her dress, Corrine was never exactly a prude either. And here, she was even less so- with her strange, revealing (yet very, very appealing) dress in the strange city in strange vehicles- she could barely keep her lips and hands off of him, frequently leaving faint traces of her bright red lipstick on his neck, collarbone, and so on. Hell, Corrine's lips even had their owner's way with him with the couple soaking wet in the rain!

The king of Nohr was a man who prided himself on having few, if any addictions. Despite whatever relationship they shared previously as (adopted) brother and sister, this woman was his addiction- exuding a sensual beauty and primal power which captivated him just as much as her legendary kindness and beauty.

Even as stunning as the woman whose touch eventually roused him from his slumber was, a certain king was still rather...disappointed at the true identity of his bedmate once he'd come to. "Milord?" inquired Charlotte. "Something wrong, milord?"

"Oh, Charlotte." he remarked boredly, shifting his weight off to the bedside. "It's nothing."

Sulking over to the washbasin, Leonard splashed his face with cold water, still rather hot and bothered by the contents of his wild and passionate dream. If Charlotte was a matchstick to set his lust ablaze, Corrine may as well have been (appropriately enough) a firestorm for how he desired her. "I still don't see why you have to take her- er, Lady Corrine with you instead of me." the blonde whined. "I get that I'm not exactly an upper-crust sort of girl, but-"

"Because I promised her already." he interrupted, a hint of danger in his tone. "Besides, I need you to keep an eye on things for me. Camilla and Gunter are still away, Desdemona always has an angle, and I sure as hell don't trust her husband in the slightest."

Charlotte winced in discomfort. "Ugh, I HATE her!" she complained. "What's her problem?! She's just so creepy! I hate how she stares at me too!"

The king gave a certain sort of vaguely-predatory smile of approval. "Who wouldn't want to look at you, Charlotte?" he began. "Besides, even the other ladies in my court can appreciate your beauty."

"Soooo...about Lady Desdemona...What exactly IS her problem, anyway? I mean, the duke can't really approve of how she behaves, can he?"

Leonard gave Charlotte an are-you-absolutely-stupid sort of expression. "You realize she likes women too, right?" the king inquired, his tone very matter-of-fact.

Shuddering reflexively and as tired as she was, Charlotte could not help but feel a sense of revulsion- not so much about how the duchess herself was, but what Desdemona's liking to her said about her. "Oh, fine!" the blonde conceded. "But I'm not doing anything with her! She's your bed wench- I'm not being hers!"

Gripping Charlotte's chin with some force, the king smirked confidently. "I'd never dream of forcing you, my sweet." he consoled. "As compensation, upon my return, I shall bring you the finest ruby necklace the southern provinces have to offer."

"Well, that makes it a LITTLE better, I guess."

***Elsewhere in the castle, at that same point in time, one of its normally calm, collected, cool-headed occupants paced about the cavernous corridors anxiously, as if expecting to be attacked at any moment. Reviewing to himself about how not just one or two, but all three of his fellow ex-regents had managed to get themselves killed by the savages, Matteo swore to himself once again. Sure, he'd had little schemes of his go not exactly according to plan- he was of course, generally flexible enough adapt after mild setbacks and he still had plenty of minions- however, he'd known these three men well enough- their foibles, strengths, and weaknesses to effectively manipulate them most of the time- and other nobles outside of his direct subordinates would not likely be so amiable to carrying out tasks for him, no doubt requiring some combination of convincing, blackmail, and active threats.***

Then again, there was always another route for accomplishing his goals, and that was through the king himself; effective, yes, but the potential consequences could be severe should something not go entirely according to plan and this was a very real, perhaps even likely, possibility, only made even more apparent once he approached the throne in his audience chamber.

****"Oh, look, it's Matteo." the king scowled irritably, his shoulder-length blond hair seeming somehow disheveled. "I'm honestly surprised you had the courage to show your conniving, ratlike face in front of me given what UTTER failures your schemes with the savages have turned out. To say nothing of your fellows."

"P-perhaps, milord." stammered Matteo, most uncharacteristically for a man as arrogant as him. "B-but the given the circumstances, I feel that-"

Leonard held up a gloved hand as if to silence the duke, counting off the three previous incidents. "Let's see; first Durante literally has his cock cut off and his throat slit by some heathen harlot, Albrecht dies in the woods like some scared, wounded animal thanks to his 'ranch,' and Guillaume, in his quest for 'merchandise,' I'm told is killed by everything from a stray tree branch to the face to some sort of demon. WHAT is it I may ask, is the common denominator with these men?"

"Th-they're highborn...?"

"They paid for their failures with their sorry LIVES! And yet somehow, you still seem to be stealing air from us, Duke Toscana. What sense does THAT make?! And how is it just?"

For once in his life, the silver-tongued Duke Matteo of Toscana had nothing to say, either in his own defense or to turn the conversation somewhere- anywhere near- to his own advantage. Ever since he was a small child, he had always relied upon his oratory skills to gain the upper hand over those he considered his lesser- namely, essentially every soul he encountered. But his dealings with King Leonard were another beast altogether; he did not hold the king in esteem so much as he feared him, his vast magical powers, and increasingly-explosive temper, two things which could very easily end his physical existence very quickly.

Leonard continued, scarcely happier with his minion. "I am honestly beyond caring what you do at this point, Matteo." he growled. "You can be a general, you can be a source of income, or you can be dinner for my mount, as long as you cease fouling up the war effort any further."

"A-as you wish, m-milord."

"I have something to attend to for the next few weeks and I will be absent. But don't think for one second that you're not being watched and watched closely. And if you do fuck up any more than you already have...not even that whore of a wife of yours will be able to save your pathetic hide. Have I made myself understood, Matteo?"

"Yes, o-of course, milord!"

"Good! Now get out of my sight before I have second thoughts about how merciful I've been."

Matteo took his leave of the throne room in a rather odd, but not-unsurprising manner; loathe to physically turn his back to the king, the duke walked awkwardly backward, issuing simpering platitudes and declarations of his complete and unflinching loyalty to both crown and country.**** As soon as he had exited the throne room and was reasonably certain he was not being pursued, Duke Toscana, sweat covering his brow and face, depressed himself behind an alcove and let out a great sigh of relief. Terrifying as the encounter was, the king was, fundamentally correct- he had been careless this whole time, there being literally no degrees of separation between him and his fellow regents. He would have to be far more cautious from this point onward, he told himself, his sharp, utterly-amoral mind grasping for some sort- any sort of a plan.

***He was the duke of one of the largest, most prosperous territories in the entirety of Nohr! A man whose family had (more or less) faithfully served the crown for ages! Whenever he or a member of his family made a statement, the other bluebloods listened, dammnit! Surely, he did not have to resort simply hiring out the lowest, degenerate dregs of society?!

"Lowest, degenerate dregs of society, eh...?" thought Matteo, recalling the rumors of horrific screams and smells coming from the castle's dungeons, as well as assorted facilities in the area of the capital. Of course! Finally, Matteo had come up with a (relatively) foolproof plan to get back in the king's good graces by contributing to the war effort AND keep his own hands clean- well, clean by his standards anyway.

Elsewhere in the castle, Corrine had finally sealed away the last of her effects in one of the trunks designated for her use, giving a gentle smile to the other young woman. "We should return in a month's time." she said with a gentle smile. "I'll be sure to write you everyday, Azura."

The water maiden, for whatever reason, kissed Corrine as though she expected never to see her again. "I'll look forward to it, my love." Azura reminded.

In fact, Azura had accompanied the princess out to the carriage she shared with the king- faced with both the soft, gentle expression of the woman she loved most and the harsh, hateful one of the monarch, it was actually somehow poetic. Nonetheless, Azura could not exactly shake the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, let alone identify its exact source.***

*****One of the distinct advantages of having one's stronghold- a holy stronghold, in fact- located atop a great plateau with amazing visibility in every direction was the near-impossibility of being ambushed. However, this amazing visibility could also give the inkling to a tactically-minded soul such as Eniwa- guardian of the temple- of the complete (barring some miracle or another) hopelessness of their situation.

"Any news from the front, Nozuka?" the sentinel inquired of the head scout. "Or home for that matter? I must have sent a bird to the chief- what- two months ago? I would really appreciate those reinforcements.

"Little is certain, but even less is good, Lady Eniwa." he reported dutifully. "As you of course know, we repelled the incursions last month. But, well-"

"But what?"

"The other companies have noted several camps of enemies- clearly Nohrians this time- to our south, west, and east. Obviously preparing for some kind of assault."

The sentinel scowled contemptuously. "So what, Moshuku are Nohr's bitches now? I thought they had more pride than that."

Nozuka grimaced. "Apparently not, ma'am." he responded dutifully. "But aren't the chief and his men still tied up dealing with those Ice Tribe bandits?"

"Yes, they are. Godsdamnit."

Beginning to pace about the width of the open-air enclosure that was the Wind Tribe's holiest altar, the guardian of the temple began cursing to herself. Barely over thirty, Eniwa could correctly assume her magical ability was almost without equal among her tribe's members. But that skill would only do so much good on its own; while not much of a braggart, Eniwa liked to claim before Chief Fuga that one of her warriors was worth ten of the enemy. But what if the enemy outnumbered them eleven-to-one at the very least? With how few reinforcements were coming from the interior, this was looking like more and more of a possibility. "How much building material do we have left?" she inquired of her right-hand, a gaunt-looking young lady of eighteen or so.

"Not much, ma'am." she said direly. "Not that we had a lot to begin with."

"Distribute what remains of it among the construction teams and tell them to start building observation posts on some of the smaller rock formations. It's not much, but it should buy us SOME time- possibly enough for the chief to send reinforcements."

While the site's guardian retained her stony countenance, but both Nozuka and the adjutant knew the sentinel well enough to see that there were a number of things troubling her about the situation.*****

******Sheltered as she was, it had been little surprise that this was Corrine's first high society event. She'd had varying reactions to the few Nohrian nobles she'd encountered; most fell somewhere between the horrible in Duke Toscana to the actually rather pleasant, ingratiating encounters with his wife Desdemona (Naive as Corrine may have been, the duchess was not exactly subtle- Corrine knew exactly what she wanted with her, if for no other reason than the gossip surrounding her).

But for the nobles- those of Nohr and the neighbors who did not avoid the kingdom like a particularly deadly plague- were rather enamored with Corrine. Not to the degree of her host, but very reverent still:

"This is the war heroine princess? What a charmer she is!" remarked a middle-aged nobleman.

"Oh, the princess? You must be the luckiest young lady in the world! Having the king himself courting you!" gushed a noblewoman somewhere in her fifties.

"Ah, it's such an honor, Lady Corrine." greeted an elderly gentleman. "I dare say my sons could do with a bit more of your gumption!"

"Lady Corrine, you worked with my brother- gods rest his soul- in the army, no?" inquired a rather tired-looking nobleman. "I've been trying to get some of his affairs in order."

"I'm overjoyed that damnable country hadn't devoured you, milady." remarked a nobleman, barely in his thirties. "I've half a mind to ask for your own hand- but I'm no fool or traitor."

Corrine took scarce notice of the expression of murderous fury the king had directed at the young noble's jest. "So this is what nobles are like?" she inquired. "At best, I'd expected them to be like Desdemona- Matteo at worst."

Leonard scoffed contemptuously. "Very few of them have his brains, Corrine. His vanity, his spine or lack thereof, but not his brains. No, just like the rest of the world, they need a king with a very firm hand to keep them in line."

Likewise, Corrine took little notice of the potential sinister implications of this line; she was far too busy with the nobles and assorted socialites clamoring to be introduced to her. She'd heard (and sometimes chafed at) the common people's valorization of her high body counts inflicted upon the non-Nohrian nations, but it was only now beginning to sink in for Corrine that she had become a genuine celebrity. And this was only compounded upon by her king insisting she join him on the balcony overlooking the ballroom, an address for which there was considerable excitement and curiosity concerning the woman in the slinky black dress at his side.

"Hail King Leonard!" cried one particularly excitable noble in a particularly excitable crowd. "Our morning star shimmering in the darkness!"

The crowd gave an overjoyed, enraptured cheer as he and Corrine appeared on the balcony, the princess being somewhat flustered by all the attention and very, very grateful for the lack of an updraft. "Thank you, thank you all for having me." began the king. "I want to thank Duke Holmgard in particular for organizing the festivities. But I did not appear simply to make pleasantries- ruling a kingdom is an arduous task and Nohr still has many dangerous enemies plotting our demise."

The crowd gossiped and murmured among themselves for several seconds before the chatter died down, in no small part to the (also formally-suited) royal guards stationed at all entrances glancing harshly in their general direction. "No," Leonard resumed, the first hint of a smile she'd seen on his face in months. "I came out here to introduce you all to a very special woman- You may know of her, you may not- of our interesting relationship. But I would like to formally introduce you all to Lady Corrine, princess by adoption, war hero, and probably the most important person in my life."

Apart from a select few young noblewomen fleeing either to corners of the room or from the ballroom in tears, the noble crowd broke out in even more raucous, adoring cheers. Having spent most of her life forcibly secluded and in contrast to the (arguably justified) hatred she'd received from the Hoshidans and Flame Tribe especially, Corrine could not lie to herself- being the object of this sort of affection felt good. It felt damned good. For the first time in months, she was actually starting to feel like something resembling a hero. "Alright, that's enough of my rambling." concluded Leonard, still obviously none too easy with humor. "It is time to celebrate, you lot!"

And the band took this as their king's cue to start methodically playing a waltzing tune, the nobles, whether relishing the opportunity to show off their newly-acquired skills, attire, get closer to a certain someone, or a combination of motives, took the opportunity. Back in the ballroom, Corrine, while never exactly one for dancing herself, was starting to feel somewhat smothered by all the attention she was receiving. Until of course, one soul returned to her. "May I have this dance?" the king inquired, extending his hand.

Pupils dilating, Corrine could feel her heart racing. Oh, gods, this is exactly like the dream! "Yes, yes you may." she replied, a false confidence in her tone. "In fact, I would love to dance."

It was just a waltz- nothing too quick. Corrine couldn't really see herself regretting the impulse decision not to wear underwear. In contrast to Corrine's dream, while still brimming with sexual energy, the dance was rather subdued. Nonetheless, perhaps it was the music, the dance steps, feeling the king's heartbeat against her, but there was just something...hypnotic about the whole situation.

"I wasn't sure about this," she admitted. "but I'm having a wonderful night. Thank you, Leo."

The king momentarily resting his head on her shoulder, chuckled in contentment. "I am too. It's like a dream, isn't it?"

Yes, yes it was like a dream, Corrine couldn't help but agree. For all the good times she'd had with her comrades, for the past year, much of her life had been quite a nightmare. But perhaps, maybe- just maybe- a happy ending was in sight for her twisted fairy tale.

She'd not had anything to drink, but by the time she and her king had lead each other from the ballroom, both were rather high on the magic of their experience- caught up in a world all their own- no scheming nobles, no cruel commanders ordering murderously-sadistic treatment of neighboring populations, and best of all for Leonard, no meddling, uppity princesses or do-gooder, busybody nobles. Walking aimlessly about the hall, merely enjoying each other's company, the pair eventually came to a balcony on the third floor. The night air was chilly, sure, but the pitch-black sky full of stars beckoned the pair.

"Nice night, huh?" the king inquired.

"Gods, this is so beautiful." marveled Corrine. "It almost makes you forget- everything that's going on."

"You're more beautiful though."

Turning to face each other, Corrine, still very aware of that fateful day in the garden, was a woman with her self-restraint hanging by a rapidly-fraying thread. Perhaps it was his more toned physique, his confidence, or simply the inexplicable powerful aura his new persona had given off, but something about the man standing next to her, gazing into her eyes, made her want nothing more than to give herself to him right then and there- consequences- or Azura- be damned.

What happened next, needed as little explanation as the sun rising in the east; Leonard's lips finally meeting hers at long last, Corrine allowed herself to be pulled into the heady, lustful kiss he'd long fantasized about, Corrine, no wallflower herself, gave as good as she got, using her own considerable strength to push back.

As they momentarily pulled back, Corrine saw the face of a man- who prided himself on almost never smiling- lit up with a delirious happiness. "I never stopped loving you- not for one second."

The king's lips now turning hungrily to her cheek and face, as well as a free hand inching towards her skirt, Corrine had not thrown caution to the wind completely. "Not here." she insisted breathily. "Someone could see us."

Lips and hands still occupied with the other, master and servant guided themselves back within the confines of the hall and only barely. Overcome with pent-up lust and driving one of his hands down to her skirt, Leonard went down on one knee to please his beloved in a manner very unusual for a Nohrian man- let alone one of high standing.

Corrine gave an undisguised sigh of pleasure, arching her back into the wall behind her. How did he get so good at this, she wondered. He might even be better at this than Azura! "You must have done this before!" she remarked.

Pulling back from the crotch of her dress, the king gave a confident smirk. "No, just you, only for you." he insisted. "That Desdemona is good for something, it turns out."

Whining orgasmically as Leonard removed his fingers from her and returned to her lips, Corrine leaned into her king just as eagerly as more than one part of his was straining against her. "I need you..." she whispered breathily into his ear. "I need to feel you inside me, Leo..."

Corrine moaning against his continued ministrations, the expression on his face remained. "Your wish is my command, Corrine, my love."******

Truth be told, the next couple of hours were largely a blur for Corrine. Apparently, the hall, for whatever reason, had rooms if needed. Or they could have been back at the inn. She didn't really give a damn- all Corrine knew was that she was lying in bed with the absolutely gorgeous man she'd lusted over for months, his arm draped around her protectively. Even little details like where exactly she was, that man was her adopted brother, or the fact that she was technically already involved with someone remained just that- little details. For now, she didn't have a care in the godsdamned world.

When she finally did get to sleep- after the lovers managed to tire each other out sufficiently for her to do so- her sleep was not exactly restful, if for no other reason than her extraordinarily strange dream. She'd found herself in an utterly black void, but before she could get her bearings, Corrine was approached by a ball of light which moved very oddly- almost as though it was agitated. When the sphere of light flashed in front of her face, the void turned completely white, but that was not the oddest part of the dream. At this point, it was though as if Corrine's head was filled with the none-too-happy voice of a young man screaming at her at the top of his lungs, said voice cracked and dry with disuse. It almost felt as if someone was grasping at her hair by the roots, tiny feet impotently stomping over every inch of her head. Needless to say, once she was awakened by her (other) lover shifting in his sleep, Corrine found herself with the worst headache she'd ever had in her life.

*******For all the blood that had been shed in the course of the kingdom's last stand- including the blood of its king- no animal, no scavenger, not even the cries of vultures, could be observed or even noticed surrounded what had once been this battlefield. Of course, the great purple, story-and-a-half tall demon inspecting the carnage, its prehensile appendages on arms soaking in the human bloodshed and taking power from it, probably had something to do with this fact.

"It was a hard-fought victory," the demon spoke at last. "but you have done well, my servants."

The attending priest prostrated himself in awe. "Th-thank you, L-Lady Majora..."

The wicked entity turned its terrifying glare upon the prostrated servant, as if to express some severe disapproval- holding the glare for a good five seconds, the demon, the beating of its servant's heart very audible- seemed to lose interest in the lowly priest, having located a more substantial target. "And so ends the insufferable Kingdom of Ikana." opined the demon, contemptuously kicking the fallen king in his armored chest. "How utterly pathetic. With this, nothing stands in the way of crushing this world under my heel."

"Of c-course, Chaotic One!" stammered the chief priest. "What shall I t-tell the faithful?"

"Allow them to rest, but make clear they're to march east and south shortly; those apostates are the gravest problem, after all."

"Your wish is my command."*******

For various reasons, for the faithful, the activities of their deity on earth was somehow associated with assorted natural disasters. Floods, blizzards in the north, and violent earthquakes particularly. For the demon itself, this was little concern, seeing as these were the least of its terrible powers. But its human devotees were, more often than not, not so dismissive. "Lord Majora!" said one of the acolytes breathlessly. "Our w-warriors have been expressing concerns-"

"About what?" the demon scoffed.

"These earthquakes- they're not normal quakes or aftershocks! We should remain on guard."

"There's no need, you fool! The land of Ikana has been scoured clean of life! There are no reinforcements, no secret weapons- nothing!"

"But milord, I beseech you- -ugh-!"

At the purple monstrosity's command, a great, razor-sharp spike, easily taller than three men, erupted from the earth and impaled the acolyte under his ribs, condemning him to a slow, torturous death. "I tire of this nonsense." their deity remarked upon the obvious. "Are there any other foolish questions?

********Apparently, this satisfied the remainder of the gathered devotees into silence- far be it from them to question the dictates of their wicked deity, especially with its mercurial attitudes towards punishment for infractions. But perhaps the demon should not have been so flippant about the warning. Immediately after this outburst was concluded, the quakes were no longer deniable in their existence. But these were no earthquakes- no, they were far too uniform for that- these were footsteps! At this realization, each of the gathered priests felt a twinge of existential dread. But how? They all thought. This is impossible! Could those mask-worshiping apostates have been ultimately correct? All of them, their fathers, and grandfathers had been certain that they were a myth- a delusion!

Even Majora itself seemed to be taken a bit aback by the appearance of the the source of the footfall; a great pink giant with wild green hair, long legs, and large black eyes betraying a particular benevolence- usually. However, at this spectacle inflicted upon the land- inflicted upon his people- they possessed a certain sorrow and wrath to them in this occasion, its wailing language conveying its fury, sorrow, and pain.

"You...demon...!" translated the terrified head priest. "What...have you done...to...this land? What...have you done...to...my people...?!"

The demon gave a cruel, bellowing laugh. "I think it's only fair for their part in sealing me in that tower for centuries. That is so very...impolite."

The giant emitted a war cry, its rage and sorrow even audible to the deaf. For their part, the priests, readying their ceremonial weapons for all the good they would do in the fight to come, the head priest translating once again. "Demon!" he translated, heart sinking into his stomach. "I'll...tear you...to shreds for this!"********

Morning Star:
Description: A suit of armor designed specifically for King Leonard of Nohr, strengthened further by his vast arcane powers. Nonetheless seems somehow out of place.