

### DEMON QUEEN

a Legend of Zelda tale

Christine E. Schulze

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Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2018

Cover Art by Aeli © 2017

Edited by Christine E. Schulze

Interior Layout by Laura Shinn Designs

http://laurashinn.yolasite.com

This work is a fanfiction inspired by Nintendo's _The Legend of Zelda_ gaming series and universe. _The Legend of Zelda_ series and universe is the property of Nintendo and is not my intellectual property. I do not own rights to any of Nintendo's property. This book is available only for free to my readers and fans. It is for entertainment purposes only and may not be distributed for any monetary gain.

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Prologue

Ghirahim stood in the endlessly stretching quiet of the Dark Realm. He scoffed its serene emptiness, what some might call "peace." To him, it was death, it was mad torture—it was his prison. He had been created to explore, to conquer, to do, not to sit in shadow and languish. No opportunity for victory dwelled here. This place squandered his awesome skills in magic, as well his unparalleled beauty; his silvery skin and hair shimmered ghostlike in the eternal dark, making him appear as one of the pathetic lost spirits that wandered this realm, instead of the fearsome demon lord he was born to be.

His master, Demise, the Demon King, stood mere yards away. The flames waving from his head in long, red-gold tendrils provided the only light, giving him the appearance of a mighty lion with a mane formed of fire. As he drew his sword, it glinted in the firelight with the same cool malice emanating from his entire body. Fresh rage sparked in his narrowed gaze. He raised his sword ever so slightly yet with clear purpose.

Ghirahim flinched.

The Demon King watched him.

"Ghirahim," Demise said at last, "my sword spirit. Chosen by the gods to serve me faithfully in all things. And yet you have proven once more to be a childish, disappointing aid, intent only on seeking your own glory. Ever have I applauded your fierce determination. But now, as before, you have failed me, in pursuing your own thirst for triumph. So the cycle repeats itself. You are too beautiful. You are too passionate. You are too extravagant. What sort of servant have the gods cursed me with? Even the chosen hero's servant was more useful."

The flames surrounding the Demon King flared high. The fire gleaming inside his gaze reflected the hatred burning steadily in his heart. He stood perfectly still, unblinking, unmoving, watching.

Ghirahim knew his master spoke truth and let his silence speak his shameless agreement. He had cared too much for himself, had reached too high, as always. Such was not a sword spirit's purpose.

"Perhaps you can explain," Demise continued, "one last time, why you failed me so miserably? The girl was handed to you. The boy was no threat, had you disposed of him so early on. Yet you allowed the girl to beguile you. You focused on your dreams of what you could become instead of seeking to raise up your master who would have awarded you with a hundred such women. And even then, you fought not as a demon, but as a child. The plan should have been seamless, for one of your power."

"Of what power do you speak, Master?" Ghirahim said, a bite in his voice as his anger began to simmer, bubbling up over his fear. "I am a mere servant. A weapon. To be wielded in your hands."

The Demon King clenched his sword even tighter. His knuckles turned a ghostly white. Muscles pulsed visibly along his thick arms.

"Do not blame your master for your failures. Do not blame the great king whose existence is your existence. You have no more chances or excuses, Ghirahim. The girl was handed to you, and the boy—you had no right to either of them go. That was not your master's will."

"But it was mine. I was not created to kill needlessly, not even in your service. How could I have known the boy would pose such a threat? How could I know my single mercy—?"

"You were not created to show mercy!" the Demon King thundered. "You were not created to follow the devices of your own will! It is your single mercy that turned all of my efforts to ash. You had him in your grasp, and you let him go. Before he even knew what a powerful threat he would become, you could have destroyed him. Instead, as before, you showed weakness unbefitting the sword spirit of the Lord Demon King."

"But the girl," Ghirahim persisted. "She was no more a natural creature than either of us. There was truly an...an unnatural force within her. She bewitched me in a way I thought not possible..."

A snarl ripped from the Demon King's throat. "An unnatural force?" he seethed, his blazing eyes devoid now of the small shred of patience he had reserved for his servant a moment ago. "Of course she was helped by an unnatural force. The spirit of the hero resided within her, and you failed in doing the one thing you were meant to—to stop her from passing that on! You could have broken the line. I could now be king for all eternity instead of being yet imprisoned in this pit of tainted light and fire and emptiness!"

"My lord," Ghirahim pleaded, though his hope rapidly diminished. He understood he had failed. He understood he had failed irrevocably this time. He understood everything too well. "There is still the other child. Did you not say he would prove a worthy vessel—"

"It is not the way I would have things done! I would not have chosen to lower myself, to empty my spirit into some weak mortal vessel of flesh and bone, save that you leave me no choice!"

"The goddess once did the same. It seemed to work well enough for her."

Demise stared, seemingly caught off guard at Ghirahim's boldness. Ghirahim stared back; he knew now that he taunted his master, but it was of no consequence. The pure malice in the Demon King's eyes assured Ghirahim that he could no longer hope to save himself. If these were his last moments to be free, to be himself, he may as well let his thoughts roll off his tongue.

"Useless, pathetic servant," Demise hissed. "The gods made a mistake in fashioning you. You've been given everything you could ever desire. You've been lavished with every extravagance, treated like the 'lord' you so fancy yourself. You've been spoiled like a suckling child—but no more.

"You remain my only connection to the outside world. But that means I must teach you. You must know pain. You must know suffering. You must know torment and longing and failure. Perhaps then, you will take your purpose seriously. Perhaps then, you will show gratitude to the one to whom you owe your existence."

Ghirahim knew what his master intended. The truth hit him like a wave, and for the first time, Ghirahim, lord of demons, wanted to weep, if only to bewail the imminent fall of his beauty, grace, and utter brilliance. The Dark Realm had never given birth to another like him, nor would it. He wanted to bewail the sorry fate of the world being stripped of such a gorgeous perfection as himself. But no tears would come to him.

He was not made to weep.

He knew that, before the end, he would go mad, that his brilliant mind would shatter under the torment dragging him in so many opposite directions. He didn't want to go mad. He wanted to die before that happened.

But he could not die.

He was not born to die.

He was created to prevail, for one purpose, and one alone. He was made to serve one master. It was hard to tell whether he hated his master or hated himself, whether he hated or loved anything at all, or whether he was even capable of love. The only thing he knew for certain was a burning hunger, a torturous need, a never-sleeping, compelling drive. Once his master did what he prepared to do, Ghirahim would never be satiated, could never rest, never so much as glimpse the meaning of "free," until that hideous irony came to pass and Demise was free once more to set up his reign for all eternity.

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Chapter 1

Some weeks earlier...

Bright, golden-white light blinded Ghirahim. He raised his arm, shielding his face till his eyes adjusted to the unusual glow. In the blink of an eye, his master's power had transported him from the pits of the Dark Realm, where shadow and flame ever reigned; there, the heavens were ruled by a twilight that never grew brighter than the silver hue of his eyes. Thus he had forgotten the natural brilliance that dominated the Surface—or the "Above," as he and his kind now called it.

Ghirahim blinked a few more times, and at last his surroundings came into focus. He stood in a cavernous room. Gray walls towered high on all sides. Arched windows allowed the white sunlight to pour in. Silence shrouded the place, though not the silence he was accustomed to. The Dark Realm was a place of aloneness. No friends dwelled there; one was lucky to find an ally or two to ward off the undead who sought constantly to frighten the many poor, trapped souls. Ghirahim had always found their presence irritating more than anything. After all, he was a demon lord. He feared nothing.

No, this place was shrouded in a different kind of silence. One he couldn't quite place a finger on. As he whirled about, his long, gold-and-purple cape glittered and swished, breaking the calm in a way that made him freeze in place. He was momentarily amused that the subtle sound should catch him so off guard. Then, his glance fell upon a long stone altar at the far end of the room. Three stones gilded in gold—one red, one blue, and one green—hovered above the altar. Beyond, stone doors towered high, and above them rested a familiar symbol—three golden triangles. The Triforce. Ghirahim would never forget its shape, just as he would never forget the spirit maiden and chosen hero who had stolen it from his master, along with Demise's glory...

And along with Ghirahim's glory.

Ghirahim had been sent to the Above for the same purpose as before—to prepare the way for his master's return to power. His master, Demise, the great Demon King of the Dark Realm, had once tried to take the Triforce, the gift of the gods, for his own. Ghirahim had helped him, had practically delivered the spirit maiden for sacrifice into his hands. Demise had thrown it all away by allowing the chosen hero—that insipid, blonde-haired fool of a boy—to defeat him in battle. What a mockery. What a slap in the face. All the work Ghirahim put into making things as easy as possible for his master, months of toil and chasing and battling, all thrown away in a matter of moments.

What had cut Ghirahim deepest of all was the fact that not only had Demise not shown a shred of gratitude for his efforts, but now, his master would accuse him of being the cause of his fall. He had sent Ghirahim here, to the Above, to "correct his mistakes," to get things right the second time around. Ghirahim had agreed, playing the part of doting servant as per the usual.

But this time, he had other plans. Especially in that moment, as he realized where he stood.

He stood inside a temple. The Triforce crest and the altar with the magic stones promised as much. Suddenly, he understood why even the smallest sound seemed to shake the place's entire spirit. This place was filled with power—hidden power, just waiting to be unleashed by the right touch. This place demanded reverence.

Ghirahim crept forward toward the altar. If only he could get his hands on the shining stones, surely they would hold powers he had only ever dreamed of obtaining—powers that would let him take Hyrule for his own. Indeed, they might even open the stone doors and lead him to the Triforce. After all, was he not a great demon lord, commander over many armies of the undead, evil spirits, and beasts of the Dark Realm? Why should his focus be on making the way ready for Demise? Why not seek to make his own way? Why should he be bound all his life to an ungrateful master who had already proven himself incompetent?

He could be his own master, have his own power and kingdom and glory. In doing so, not only could he set himself up as a proper lord—as he was well entitled to after his hard work the first time around—but he could enact his own sweet revenge on the demon who called himself "king." King, indeed. What a laugh. If Demise had done things right, Hyrule could be his right now, and all the demon lords of the Dark Realm could be getting fat and drunk on the plenty of the Above.

Ghirahim pulled closer to the altar and walked up the stone steps ever so carefully, expecting some beast or guard or other trap to spring at him. When nothing happened, he sped his pace. Perhaps he had caught a break at last. Perhaps the Hylians had grown careless in their security over the past several hundred years. Then again, even if he met with guards or other obstacles outside, his magic could surely handle them. Out of practice as he was, he was still far superior to any mortal. He reached out his hand toward the ruby red stone. His fingertips grazed its surface—

A blazing pain shot up his arm, and he was sent spiraling backward through the air, as though an invisible fist punched him away from the stones. He landed hard and slid across the floor. Drawing his rapier, he caught it on the ground and used it to slow himself, just preventing a crash into the wall behind him. For a moment, he lay breathless. Then, he pried himself from the floor and sheathed his blade. Drawing up into his proud and graceful stance, he glared at the magic stones. Their tempting shimmer seemed to mock him. What foolery on his part. He should have known it wouldn't be that simple.

Never mind. He would simply have to find his rise to power by other means, whether that meant coming back once he had learned how to harness the power of the stones, or whether that meant trying another tactic altogether. The first order of business should be stepping outside and gathering his bearings. When last he had visited the Above, this temple hadn't even existed. It was likely the terrain had also been much changed in other ways over the centuries.

Ghirahim turned back toward the way he had come. Directly across from him, two large double doors loomed. One of the doors was swung open wide, allowing the sunlight to dazzle upon a golden crest on the floor—again, the Triforce. Ghirahim recognized the slightly raised platform as the place he had first appeared in the Above. Should he ever have need to transport back to the Dark Realm, perhaps this place held the proper magic in which to do so.

Upon exiting the temple, strains of lively music faintly reached his ears. A wall rose beyond the trees surrounding the temple. Just above the wall, rooftops could be made out, and in the farther distance, flags waved atop towers of a massive building built on the crest of a hill. Ghirahim scaled the wall to get a better view of the building and found that it too was enclosed by a thick stone wall. Walls were of no obstacle to someone with his prowess for climbing and leaping. But walls likely meant something resided within that was meant to be kept safe, and that meant a possibility for guards. While humans posed no real threat, he didn't yet know what kind of magical powers or beasts these humans might use. The ruby's burning magic reminded him that, despite his itch for action, it was best to maintain some air of caution.

He veered instead toward the music. A gate stood open in the wall. He passed through into the bustling town beyond and paused for a moment to soak in the spectacle. Men and women of all ages and colors and sizes hurried to and fro, between the various houses and shops. Children chased after a dog who barked and danced through the crowds. The music flowed from a group of musicians playing flutes, drums, shakers, and harps across the square. Merchants rolled carts through the streets, shouting their wares. Whether or not they had grown in strength, the Hylians had certainly grown in number since Ghirahim had last set foot in the Above.

Ghirahim drew his cloak about his shoulders and glided into the square, meshing perfectly with its busy flow. He wandered toward the musicians, taking a moment to glance down one of the streets; between the houses, the great building with the flags rose into view. Its shape more distinct now, he recognized it as a castle. Why, Demise's spell had led him right to the seat of royalty. Perhaps his quest for glory lay not in the temple, but in abducting power directly from this kingdom's monarchs.

Upon reaching the musicians, Ghirahim joined the throngs that gathered around them. He stayed on the outskirts, listening. Some of the people danced about, while others clapped and laughed merrily. Ghirahim listened to the music for a few moments before allowing his ear to wander. He kept his gaze focused on the musician, but that was as far as his attention focused on them. He tuned into the conversations surrounding him, until one in particular peaked his interest:

"...I wasn't thrilled to come here and make the trade," a woman said, "what with the raids going on, but my husband insisted...."

"Never fear, my good woman," said one of the men standing beside her. "The Sheikah Guard are the strongest protectors Hyrule has ever seen. They will not fail us, should we come under siege again."

"There have been some close calls already," said another of the men. "You must admit it. The Gerudo are ruthless...."

"Who are they?" the woman asked. "And from whence do they hail? My husband says they're a band of female thieves. That hardly sounds like something the Sheikah should have a problem with, if they're as strong as the stories about them claim...."

"The Gerudo are female thieves, yes. But more than thieves, they are warriors. Very skilled in the arts of sword play, archery—and very full of cunning. They come to town and make off with our men and women like thieves in the night—"

"What?" the woman gasped. "So they are kidnappers yet too?"

"Yes. No one is certain what they do with those they capture—but no one who was stolen away has ever returned to town either. Their hearts are fueled by bitterness; they yet loathe the king for banishing them to the desert."

"Certainly they were banished for good reason. They should not have betrayed his majesty's trust in the first place!"

"Pfft. They still deny betraying his majesty at all. But what do you expect from thieves? Of course, they will be liars as well..."

"If his majesty doesn't do something soon...They're getting out of control."

"Talk of war is on the horizon..."

Their conversation soon drifted to less intriguing topics, but Ghirahim was content. He had learned enough. The kingdom lay in a state of unrest. Discord bred weakness. Now would be a perfect time to plan an attack on the throne—

A hand on Ghirahim's shoulder made him whirl.

"You there. Yes—yes, you, in the jester's garb."

Ghirahim stared with disgust at the entourage addressing him. How dare they lay hands on him? How dare they throw such insults at him? It's not like they had room to talk. The host of mortals studying him with their suspicious stares looked truly ridiculous in their short, dark purple cloaks and hoods, silver breastplates with a bright red eye painted across their chests, and tattoos etched across their faces, necks, hands—Ghirahim guessed most of their skin was destroyed by the inky designs.

"I am no court jester," he sneered. He tossed his cape over one shoulder then threw his arms wide with dramatic flair. "I am a great lord. I wear this diamond pattern as a symbol of the wealth, renown, and respect due to me."

"What kind of lord?" the front-most mortal, a man with a deep voice, demanded, looking unimpressed in the least. "You are unfamiliar to us."

"I sense a power in him," said a woman standing just behind him. "A dark magic."

"Shadow magic?"

"No. Not of our kind. Something deeper, much more ancient. Something darker."

"Explain yourself," the man demanded. "Who are you, from whence do you hail, and what business have you in his majesty's city?"

Ghirahim took a step forward. The man was tall for a mortal, but Ghirahim's shadow stretched even over him. "I am a guest in this city. I arrived mere moments ago. You might work on your manners of hospitality. I find them, at present, most unrefined. For example, instead of making me feel like I am under attack, you might properly introduce yourself."

The man narrowed his gaze and seemed to ponder a few moments.

Ghirahim basked in the silence dousing the square. A smirk pulled at the corners of his lips as he soaked up the attention of so many eyes suddenly turned upon him. Even the musicians had quieted their din to watch how the scene would play out.

"I am Itzal, leader of the Sheikah," the man said at last. "We are Shadow Guardians, sworn to protect his majesty and his family. There has been some unrest in these parts as of late. If you refuse to answer my questions, we will not be opposed to taking you prisoner until it is decided whether you are friend or foe."

"Let me question him here and now," the woman said. A scarf concealed the lower half of her face, but a fierceness leapt visibly in her dark crimson eyes. She stepped forward and placed a hand on Itzal's shoulder. "Let me use my power. We are Sheikah. I do not know why we bother with such formalities when we can easily persuade the truth from him—"

"Peace, Impa," Itzel said, shrugging his shoulder away. He glanced back at her, an obvious tenderness in his gaze. She looked frustrated, but he only said, "We are also sworn to obey his majesty."

"Not when doing so places his majesty's safety in jeopardy."

"No one's safety is compromised here." Itzal turned back to Ghirahim. "Isn't that true, stranger? Who are you, and what is your business in these parts? Explain yourself immediately, or we will be forced to take you in for questioning."

Ghirahim's gaze strayed to Impa. The name rang with a bitter familiarity, and he cringed as though it had actual power to cause him pain. The servant of the goddess for whom this creature was named had thwarted many of his attempts to capture the goddess. In a past age, she had proven an unexpectedly powerful foe. If these Shadow Folk possessed any of her skill, they were not to be trifled with—not even by a demon lord. Of course, he could not reveal himself without a fight, but if that was the only path, then he would gladly walk it. He had come here to be feared, to be reverenced. He would gain no respect by hiding behind the mask of something he was not.

Eyes continued to watch him all around the square. Many Hylians seemed to hold their breath in anticipation. Itzal narrowed his gaze at Ghirahim, scrutinizing him; his limited patience was thinning, counting down on an invisible timer that would run out any moment.

Pathetic humans, Ghirahim thought. Perhaps, if they cannot recognize my obvious beauty and terror, they will at least appreciate a good show.

"I am Ghirahim, Lord of Demons. And soon, I shall be lord over all you mortals as well, when I take your kingdom—the one that was so rudely ripped from my old master's hands—for my own!"

Ghirahim threw his hands in front of him and blasted Itzal back with a wave of energy. Itzal spiraled through the air, slammed against one of the shops, and fell to the ground as limp as one of the dead fish in the cart next to him. Gasps and screams rippled through the crowds. Elation flitted through Ghirahim at the sight of Itzal lying motionless, whereas before he had thrown his authority about so carelessly. Another of the Sheikah rushed to Itzal's side while some of the Hylians fled into the nearby shops or alleyways. Others stayed and watched Ghirahim, frozen in place by their own fear and new awe as they realized what he was.

The Sheikah who had gone to Itzal's aid glanced up, his face devoid of anything but sorrow and lost hope "He's dead."

A wave of pain flooded Impa's face. Excitement coursed through Ghirahim, filling every part of him as he watched her heart break before his very eyes.

Her spirit, however, remained undaunted. Anger replaced sadness as she took her place in front of the other Sheikah, and as they realigned themselves behind her as their new leader.

"Killing a Sheikah," she said. "For such a crime there can only be one suitable means of vengeance—"

Ghirahim threw a wave of energy at her, but with a loud cry of rage, Impa slammed her fist into the ground. The ground trembled, and a shimmering purple shield sprang up, dispelling the attack. In the same breath, the other Sheikah drew bows and shot arrows at Ghirahim. He deflected with a twirl of his cape before casting fiery darts back at them. Impa cast another shield and hurled a mass of shadow at Ghirahim. Ghirahim dodged, leaping high in the air and soaring up to stand tall on one of the rooftops.

"Fools!" he declared, glaring down at them. "You really think your mortal magic can best that of a true demon?"

"We may be mortals," Impa shouted, "but our magic is not! It is a gift from the goddess, granted so that we might protect the royal family from the likes of you. Sheikah—assemble!"

Sheikah leapt atop the roofs until Ghirahim was surrounded on all sides by purple-cloaked warriors, some with bows cocked, others with swords drawn or magic hovering at the ready in cupped palms. An irritated snarl ripped through his throat. He didn't have time for such nonsense, and he certainly didn't want to waste his energy on it.

"We banish you from this city!" Impa declared. "Leave now and return to whatever hell you came from, or face the wrath of our vengeance!"

"I will not leave till you take me to his majesty," Ghirahim declared. "He owes me a throne—or at least, his descendants do—"

Arrows and shadow magic bombarded Ghirahim on all sides, but he was ready. He flung his cape about till it was illuminated with a bright flame that burned the arrows to cinders. He caught the shadowy attacks in his hands and hurled them back at their masters.

"Now!" another woman shouted at the top of her lungs.

Ghirahim braced himself for another attack, but instead, as screams flooded the town, the Sheikah began leaping down from the rooftops into the streets below, chasing after the new dozens of mortals that had suddenly appeared. They also wore purple, and at first Ghirahim wondered if they were allies or reinforcements. But as they drew long, curved swords, waging battle on the Sheikah, he was instantly intrigued. A diversion. This was his chance to flee. He ran down the length of the rooftop and prepared to dive off, over the wall into the field beyond—

A bright light blinded him, and a noise like the crack of a whip made his ears bleed. He shielded his face, cursing beneath his breath. Then, when he looked up, Impa suddenly stood before him, balanced on the edge of the roof, her eyes pure fire. She crouched, ready to spring at him with the long, thin sword clutched in one hand.

"Don't you dare dream of it," Impa sneered.

"I was taking my leave, as you wished," Ghirahim returned. "Would you now go back on your word?"

"You murdered Itzal when he lay not a finger of harm against you."

"On the contrary—he sought to wound my pride, my intelligence, my reputation. He refused to recognize me, and such an insult is greater than any mortal wound."

"We'll see if that's true when I return you to the Dark Realm!"

Impa flew at him. Ghirahim had just enough time to draw his blade and counter her strike which landed with such power against his that he staggered back, nearly tumbling off the roof. Quickly catching his footing, he blocked blow after blow that the Sheikah woman flung at him.

"I should have known you were some new trick of the Gerudo!" she shouted, her voice dripping venom as she pushed all of her strength into each attack. "I sensed a darkness in you from the moment I laid eyes on you. What are you, some servant the witches created for sport?"

"I am no creation, save by the goddess herself—hand-made, unlike yourself, I'll guess, from your shoddy construction." Ghirahim blocked several more sword blows with one hand and flung fiery darts with the other. Impa swerved, dodged, and leapt over them with impressive ease. Ghirahim would have been amused at her skill, but he remembered how the chosen hero had bested him with similar unexpected skills. He wouldn't allow himself to repeat such a mistake.

"Insolent fool," Impa hissed. "What about you? I ask you again: are you some new creation of the sorceresses?"

"What sorceresses?" Ghirahim sneered. "I told you I am as much a creation of the goddesses as you would claim—"

"Don't lie to me! The origin of your invention is plain. Those witches have no control over their magic—they are ever dabbling in arts they should leave alone. And now they cannot even control their latest creation—but I shall see to it they do not have to—!"

She thrust her sword into the rooftop which quivered and splintered. The splinters rippled toward Ghirahim like an ocean wave, and he danced backward until he was forced to jump to a neighboring roof. Impa flew toward him through the air, and he showered her with a host of fiery darts. She began throwing up a shield—but not before one of the darts struck her leg, making her cry out in pain and tumble awkwardly through the air, flailing. Panic sprang to life on her otherwise determined face as she reached out and caught herself on the edge of the roof. She struggled to pull herself up, and Ghirahim smirked as her fingers slipped and confusion filled her face; his fire's poison was spreading even more quickly than he would have hoped.

A scream snagged his attention. He crept to the edge of the roof and peered over. The purple-clad mortals who had infiltrated the town with their curved swords appeared to all be women—women with dark auburn hair, skin made golden from the sun, and slim figures lined with muscle. While most of them fought, both against the Sheikah and the Hylian guards who had appeared in silver armor, a few darted through the streets, throwing food, clothing, and other wares into large sacks. Others wrestled men and women to the ground, binding them with ropes and carrying them through the streets out of sight. For mere mortal thieves, one had to appreciate their efficiency.

The same scream drew Ghirahim's attention again. As a blast of ice shot into the air, he leapt from roof to roof, pursuing it till at last his gaze rested on the source of the screams and the chaos causing them.

One of the red-haired women, dressed in blue and silver instead of purple like her comrades, cast barrage after barrage of icy attacks. The magic spiraled from her hands in sporadic tendrils, almost like branches of lightning. Some of the ice met its targets, freezing them into statues. Others were only partially frozen and fell to the ground howling in pain. At least two dozen Sheikah bounded after the sorceress, leaping from the rooftops and through the streets, throwing shadow after shadow until at last, one of their attacks found her.

Shadowy coils wrapped around her ankles, making her crash to the ground. She continued to cast her ice magic, but her panic lessened the focus of her attacks; ice rebounded off walls and windows, attacking everything except her captors. The Sheikah who had caught her pulled his shadowy reigns tight, drawing her toward him. Other Sheikah threw out more shadowy ropes, binding her wrists, her waist, her neck. Ice darted from her fingertips, but the Sheikah easily dodged while their shadows held her in place.

"Sister!" she shrieked at the top of her lungs. She squirmed, fighting against her bonds, but could barely move as the Sheikah tightened them.

Another of the Sheikah walked toward the girl, sword drawn. Ghirahim flung a wild glance at the castle, his mind spinning to formulate the best plan. He could attack now, while the Sheikah were distracted with this new foe, but more Sheikah would surely assail him at the castle. He had escaped Impa easily because one of his darts had found their mark, but its poison would wear off any moment, sending her back after him with just as much power and twice as much anger as before. This ice sorceress—and by Impa's words, she was not the only one—could prove a threat to his plans to take the throne. He hadn't counted on magicians standing in his way...

But so he hadn't counted on the Sheikah and their magic. These Gerudo were the women the townsfolk had gossiped about, the ones creating disorder and chaos. They clearly had no respect for the throne. Their sorceress was powerful but still could not stand up to the Sheikah on her own; despite his superior powers, Ghirahim would be a fool to do so himself. Even the greatest lords had servants to do their bidding, armies to do their fighting. After all, that was what he had once been—a servant. The sorceress could perhaps prove an ally, if he could show her that, with their powers combined, they might stand a chance at taking the throne that had so wrongly mistreated her and her kind—

Ghirahim leapt down from the roof, spearing his sword through the Sheikah before he could spear his sword through the sorceress. Shadows assailed Ghirahim from all sides, but he raised his hand, drawing their power inside him before unleashing it in a volley of shadow and fire that boomeranged all around the street, knocking many Sheikah off their feet. Their concentration severed, the sorceress' bonds were loosened or destroyed altogether. Ghirahim pulled her to her feet, sliced through the rest of the shadowy ropes with his sword, and then pushed her ahead of him, commanding her to flee. She ran, flinging a wild glance over her shoulder. Ghirahim followed, throwing fire and shadow at the Sheikah as they recovered and charged after him.

As Ghirahim burst into the square after the sorceress, chaos reigned on all sides. Sheikah, Gerudo, guards, townsfolk—all fought against each other. A few lay stunned or injured, or possibly dead. Ghirahim joined the fray, all the while lingering near the sorceress who froze the feet of many a guard in their tracks.

"Fall back!" a commanding voice pierced the raging symphony of battle noises. "Back to the gate! We have what we need; fall back to the gate!"

Someone flew across the square, and the Gerudo followed her, rallying around her like some magnet they could not help but be drawn to. Like the ice sorceress, she too wore a color different from the rest, a rosy pink. Ghirahim guessed she must be a leader of sorts, and as she blasted a horde of Sheikah away with streamers of fire, he knew that, at the least, she was another sorceress.

They had nearly reached the gates when someone leapt in front of Ghirahim, pounding the ground and knocking him off his feet—Impa. She surged at him, sword raised high. In the next breath, a pillar of ice arched through the air, knocking the sword from Impa's hands and trapping it in a solid block of ice. The ice-encased sword slid across the ground and landed against a wall, but the ice was too thick to shatter. Impa glared after it, then at Ghirahim as he whisked past. As the ice sorceress rushed past him, he met her gaze and nodded in a sign of gratitude.

A creaking noise brought Ghirahim's attention to the main gate. The drawbridge was being raised. They would be trapped inside, forced to finish the battle or die trying.

Gerudo ran and climbed up the drawbridge, jumping over into the moat. Even once it was raised and sealed altogether, the fire sorceress stretched out her hands and blasted jets of flame till a hole was burned straight through. Gerudo dove through the hole, into the moat, and scrambled onto the shore beyond. The fire sorceress stood beside the drawbridge, encouraging them through and fending off guards and Sheikah with balls of flame. Just as Ghirahim prepared to duck through, she grabbed his arm and roughly spun him aside.

"Sister!" the ice sorceress cried. "He saved my life—he is clearly not one of them!"

"He is a demon," the fire sorceress said, glaring sharply at her sister. "Were you more attentive to your studies, you'd have recognized this immediately."

"I am a demon," Ghirahim said, "but I do not serve these people. Your foes and mine—they are the same. Give me a chance to prove myself an ally, and I will help rid you of their tyranny for good."

The fire sorceress narrowed her gaze at Ghirahim. Not a single glimmer of trust shone within her golden eyes. A scar stretched from her ear down to her chin, so faded that only the keenest eyes would have been able to detect it; rather than marring her face, the scar beautified it in a way, giving her the appearance of a true warrior's ferocity. With a glance at the fresh hordes of Sheikah pouring toward them, she nodded and said, "Very well. You may come with us. For now."

Ghirahim squeezed through the opening in the bridge. The ice sorceress was right on his heels. Just as he prepared to leap over the moat, she took his hand, froze a strip of water with her free hand, and led him to slide across.

The fire sorceress was last to leave. Finally, the Gerudo all stood beyond the moat, staring back at the town. Smoke rose beyond the wall where fires had been struck. Many of the Sheikah stood atop the wall, arrows poised. Impa stood in their midst, right above the drawbridge.

"Return the Hylians, or the battle does not end here," Impa commanded.

The fire sorceress snapped her fingers. Several Gerudo hurried forward, dragging the Hylian men and women who had been bound and gagged and forcing them to their knees. The Gerudo drew their swords and rested the sharp blades at their captives' necks. The Hylians fidgeted, their screams dampened by the thick cloths stuffed inside their mouths, and their gaze clearly pleaded Impa.

"The battle ends here, or their lives do," the fire sorceress said. "The choice is yours."

Impa took a deep breath. As she glanced upon the Hylians' faces, she could not conceal her desperation to save them. She glanced then with question at the faces of her fellow Sheikah.

"What's the matter?" Ghirahim called up, smirking with glee. "You're their leader now. Yet it seems you possess neither the patience nor prowess of your predecessor. Not that his skill was much to speak of, considering the ease with which I took his life."

Impa darted forward, but four other of the Sheikah rushed forward, grabbing and holding her back. She strained against them, gaze lit with fury. The Gerudo pressed their blades against the necks of the Hylians; muffled screams sliced the air as thin trails of blood trickled down their skin and stained the ground below. Impa drew still, though her kin did not release their hold on her as she shouted, "Go then! Be free—if only under the promise not to harm any of those you have taken today."

The fire sorceress nodded. "You know I am nothing if not a woman of my word. They will not be harmed." She snapped her fingers again. The Gerudo sheathed their blades and dropped the Hylians who fell to the ground, gasping and crying.

"But do not think to come here again!" Impa shouted. "We have shown you more than enough mercy in the past. Next time you assail our gates, we will be ready. We will be a thousand times less merciful than what we showed you today. Today was a mere taste of what awaits you, should you dare to attack our peaceful town again!"

"Then spend this time well. I'd say you've a good month or so to prepare before we get bored and need to acquire new entertainment—wouldn't you say, ladies?" The fire sorceress swept a glance across the Gerudo who snickered and nodded, some elbowing one another and whispering jokes about the incompetence of Hylian men.

"It's been a beautiful fight, Impa, as ever," she continued. "Exhilarating, actually—the best fight you've given us in some time. But now we must take our leave, till next time."

She raised her hands and clapped them twice. The Gerudo turned and started trekking across the broad field, dragging their Hylian captives with them.

Ghirahim cast a final challenging glance over his shoulder at Impa before turning to follow suit.

The ice sorceress hurried up beside him and said, "Thank you. For saving me back there."

"I would have had it," the fire sorceress said, coming up on Ghirahim's other side and bumping roughly into him as she walked past. "I was on my way...." She took the lead, shouting orders.

"You mustn't mind my sister," the ice sorceress muttered.

"Is she the leader of your tribe?" Ghirahim asked.

The ice sorceress shook her head. "We are meant to rule as equals. As twins and direct descendants of our previous master, may his spirit rest in peace."

"His spirit?" Ghirahim said. "So there are males amongst you? I didn't see any."

"Only one is born to us every hundred years," she said. "He is meant to be our true master and leader. I suppose we're a bit overdue, after the unexpected death of our last...."

As she prattled on, Ghirahim's gaze strayed to watch the fire sorceress. The enticing sway of her hips, the crescent moon and stars tattooed on her left shoulder, her slender yet strong figure—

She whirled, granting him a warning glare, and he glanced away, tuning into the ice sorceress' words once more.

"...it's why we take the Hylian men. For sport, for amusement. We Gerudo may be warriors, but we are still women first and foremost, and women have needs. We come here often enough, as we tire quickly of the men we choose for sport...But that's only because none are ever so alluring or refined as a great demon like yourself..." She touched his arm and tilted her head, gazing up at him with a playful but intent gaze.

Ghirahim cringed at how obvious already was her spellbound state. His natural allure was made to entice mortals, but he would have expected more resolve from a sorceress. He glanced again at her sister who looked back with a glare containing all the intensity of her fire magic. Now there was a specimen who might be worthy of conquering.

He turned back to the ice sorceress who pouted in her sister's direction and placed a hand on her shoulder, instantly snapping her attention back to him. "Even so," he said, "I hardly ever come across such a rare beauty as you in the Dark Realm. Saving you was hardly a duty—it was a pleasure."

A grin spread across her face. "I hope I shall have more opportunity to bring you pleasure, my lord."

Ghirahim smirked. "No doubt. But perhaps you might first tell me where we're traveling to?" He glanced out across the green fields that spanned for miles in all directions. Cliffs rose up in the far east, and in the opposite direction, he could just make out the outline of a thick wood.

"See those cliffs there?" She pointed. "Beyond them lies our destination—our fortress, our home, and now yours too."

"If he passes the test," the fire sorceress threw over her shoulder.

"Sister, I think he's more than proven himself—"

"I make no special allowances for men—not even those of the immortal variety." She cast another sharp glance back at them to declare the matter settled and the argument ended.

"She doesn't trust you with much authority for that you are meant to be equals," Ghirahim said quietly, brushing back a stray lock of her hair.

She inhaled sharply but drew her composure the next moment and said, "She was ever more given to skills of leadership than myself."

"We shall have to remedy that. Perhaps I can teach you a thing or two on leadership, if you can grant me a tip on this test I am meant to pass?"

"Not a word, sister," the fire sorceress snapped.

The ice sorceress glared at the back of her sister's head, looking livid.

"I feel you watching me, Kotake," the fire sorceress said.

The ice sorceress sighed deeply.

"Kotake," Ghirahim said. "That is what I should call you?"

"You may call me what you like," she said with a grin. "But yes, that is my name. My sister here is Koume—"

"I would have been more than capable of introducing myself, when the time came."

Kotake made a face at her sister's back before continuing, "As for the test, I wouldn't worry about it. After the way you tackled those Sheikah fools, passing our test will prove a cinch."

Ghirahim nodded slowly. He had no fears about passing any tests the Gerudo twins might throw his way. The truest test and greatest challenge would lie in his ability to persuade Koume to trust him. If he was to carry out his plans, he had a feeling that, with her powers and the level of command and respect she held over the other Gerudo, he would need her as an ally far more than he would need Kotake.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Chapter 2

Sunset cloaked the land in a woven splendor of golds, oranges, pinks, and crimsons when Ghirahim at last followed the Gerudo between the tall eastern cliffs. A little ways further, a long wooden bridge stretched over a wide ravine. A waterfall thundered to their right, creating the rapids that thrashed below. As the party made their way across, a couple of the Gerudo jabbed at their captives, making them nearly fall into the raging waters, only to pull them back at the last second, all the while snickering at the Hylians' terror.

Beyond the bridge, their path wound once more between the cliffs. A sign displaying stars nestled within the curve of a crescent moon stretched high between the rocky precipices—the same symbol etched on Koume's smooth, tanned skin. Up a hill and around a bend, stone buildings began to rise into view. Then, as they reached the crest of the hill, the entirety of the Gerudo Fortress spanned before them.

Stone buildings built several stories high nestled against the cliffs. Gerudo sat outside, building bonfires, cooking, talking, and eating. Guards patrolled the perimeter of the sandy ground, spears in hand, or stood posted at the multiple entryways to the fortress. To the left, a massive gate many stories high barricaded the fortress from the desert beyond.

As Koume led the way toward the fortress, the Gerudo rushed over to greet those who had just returned. After a few moments of excited talk and laughter, the fire sorceress held up her hand to silence them. All eyes drew to hers, full of command, and she said, "Today marks another successful conquest. The Sheikah put up quite the fight, but that only made for a more interesting challenge. We proved to them the power of our threat. Today I grant to you 'boyfriends' and new slaves, enough to go around for everyone, I should think—though if I know my ladies, you won't mind sharing some of the gentlemen if need be, and I doubt they'll mind either. Men are men. Slaves ever to their petty addictions...."

Snickers rippled through the crowd. A few cast curious glances in Ghirahim's direction, and he glared back, disgusted. He was no man. He could not be given over to mortal temptations. He had a mission to focus on.

Koume waved her hand in the air. "Away with them. Take them to their new quarters and prepare them for their new duties."

The Hylian men and women were led toward the fortress. One man resisted; he had managed to loosen his gag so that it hung loosely around his neck, and he cried at the top of his lungs, "No—please, no! I have a wife—I have a wife—!"

"I doubt your wife's skills meet those of any of my women," Koume called after him. "You'll likely thank me for the experience. Just as she'll likely thank me for what you'll have learned, should I be so merciful as to allow you to return to her."

The man's yells diminished as he was dragged inside the fortress. Laughter ensued from the remaining Gerudo, and Koume said, "He'll change his mind. They always do. As I said: men are men."

"Except when they are demons," Kotake said with a proud nod and grin at Ghirahim.

"Indeed," Koume said, with a reluctant glance in his direction. "Also on our conquest, we acquired this demon who would claim to be a lord. Kotake would have him join us as an ally, and he would claim also a desire to enact vengeance upon the Hylians who have wronged us—"

"And myself," Ghirahim said, ignoring her glare as he interrupted. "My grievances with the Hylians surpass both space and time. They have wronged me both in the present and in past ages—and no doubt seek to do so in the future, if that Shadow wench's threats ring true. With my powers and those of your leaders here, I think we could create an unstoppable force."

"The Sheikah did stand strong against us," Koume said. "We would be fools to infiltrate the town again on our own—attempting to break inside the castle especially would be suicide."

"Which is why we would go prepared. I have the ability to summon armies—armies of undead, of spirits and powerful beasts from the Dark Realm. With your aid...."

"Tempting as that sounds," Koume said, "there is still the matter of whether or not you are worthy to join with us at all. I stand by my word. You will pass the test just like everyone before you."

"Sister," Kotake said. "But the Training Grounds—they will be no match for him—"

"No, but we will." She turned a challenging gaze to Ghirahim. "Fight us. Prove your worth to Koume and Kotake, lords of the Gerudo Fortress. If you can bring us to our knees to where we can no longer fight or both beg to surrender, then we shall consider you our equals. If you fail, you become our slave."

"I will be no one's slave ever again," Ghirahim said. "Beings such as us—beautiful, majestic, full of magic finesse—we should not be bound to anyone or anything. If we are, the results often lead to disuse and madness."

"Very well then," Koume said. "If we win, you must leave our fortress and never return, or else endure as we chase you away, if indeed it must come to that."

"No need," Ghirahim said with a wave of his hand. "These terms I can agree to. I too always keep my word."

Koume nodded. "Let it be so—"

"Sister!" Kotake ran up to her sister and gripped her arm. "This isn't how things are meant to be done. This isn't the ordinary test—"

"And, as you just pointed out, he is no ordinary guest." She pulled her arm away. "Now, are you ready to fight? Or do you need some time to yourself to work out this childish tantrum?"

Kotake's stormy gaze might have frozen her sister in place, were she able, especially as smirks and snickers chorused amongst the other Gerudo.

Undaunted by her sister's icy stare, Koume seemed to accept her silence as confirmation and announced loudly, "My fellow Gerudo, please stand back! Ghirahim has agreed to test his worthiness to join us in a duel. He too was cast from Hyrule Town Market by those arrogant, ignorant Sheikah. He fights now to see if he may have a place in our ranks instead."

"But he is a man!" someone called from the crowds. "Men can never be our equals—save for our leader himself, and he is not yet born to us!"

"I am no man." Ghirahim swept a sharp look across the crowds of Gerudo who had begun to step back, creating a wide expanse of sandy ground that would serve as a makeshift battle arena. "I am no mortal. I am, as your leader declares, a demon. An ancient spirit born from an even more ancient magic."

"If he proves his worth," Koume said, "he may prove a useful ally. He may serve to aid my magic, and that of my sister. But all such talk is premature. First, the battle...."

Koume moved to stand in the midst of the space that had been cleared. Kotake stood at her side. Ghirahim faced them, some feet away.

"The battle carries on until one team can no longer fight or else forfeits. Are you ready, demon?"

Ghirahim cringed at the way she spat the title. He almost reminded her of his lordship but then held silent. Action always spoke volumes where words fell short. He would prove his lordship soon enough. With a smirk, he nodded his readiness.

"Sister?"

Kotake nodded.

"Then let us bow to one another and begin."

The two sisters folded their hands and bowed low. Ghirahim mirrored in a long, sweeping bow, spreading his cape wide like a peacock displaying its glory.

They stood straight again, Koume's gaze focused fiercely on Ghirahim, and the two began circling one another. Kotake stood in place, watching carefully. Koume sent her a questioning glare, but Kotake only continued to watch Ghirahim. He caught Kotake's glance, and a smirk seemed to tug at the corners of her lips, but then he returned his gaze to Koume full-fold.

"Kotake," Koume commanded fiercely. Ghirahim kept his gaze locked with Koume's; from the corner of his eye, he noticed as Kotake finally began to circle as well. They danced around one another this way for some time, with Ghirahim in the middle, Koume and Kotake an equal distance from one another on either side, all slowly rotating, as though Ghirahim was the hub of a mighty wheel and the sisters were the spokes. In passing, Koume's gaze was ever ferocious as a wildfire. Kotake's was cool, but while she concealed her smile, a hint of one always dazzled beyond the attempted iciness of her gaze.

Ghirahim felt nothing but a steady patience. He would not make his full powers yet known to them, nor would he be the first to attack. He sensed that there was perhaps more to these witches than met the eye. The mistake of underestimating had thwarted him in the past; he would not allow himself to make such a mistake a second time. Thus he waited and braced himself, especially when the sisters would rotate out of his view for a few moments—

A pillar of fire and another of ice blasted at him from either side. He flung his cape wide, deflecting the elemental attacks that dispersed into thin air. With another flip of his cape, Ghirahim spun around, sending a host of fiery darts flying in all directions. Kotake dove and somersaulted, narrowly dodging the darts as they pursued her. Once Ghirahim's glance caught on Koume, he stopped to see why she stood so still, letting the fire wash over her.

Koume spread her arms wide, lifted her chin, and glared down her nose at Ghirahim. A proud smirk tugged at the corners of her lips as her body absorbed the fiery darts, making faint, golden-red shimmers dance across her skin like sand dazzled in the sun. With a wave of her arms, fire poured from her fingertips, spiraling at Ghirahim like tendrils of lightning. Ghirahim raised his cloak to deflect them; they spun through the air and vanished in puffs of smoke—

"Ah!"

Kotake fell to one knee, clutching at her other where a hole had been burned straight through her pants. Her skin shone red and raw. She touched the tender wound with one finger and emitted a blue mist. The redness diminished, but not entirely. As she staggered to her feet, pain lingered in her golden-brown eyes.

Ghirahim smiled to himself as a theory formed in his genius mind. If all went well, he need not display a shred of his own powers after all; he could merely use their own power against them. His gaze darted between the two witches. He watched them closely, waiting to see who would make the next move. Demon and sorceresses began to circle once again, like lions waiting to pounce and triumph and obtain their right to the throne.

The witches pounced first. More fire and ice flew, this time in sporadic sprays. Instead of deflecting with his cape, Ghirahim threw out his hands, absorbing ice into one palm and fire into another. He muttered a spell beneath his breath to create a whirlwind that sucked the magic faster inside his skin. His body burned all over, one half from flame, the other from frostbite, the latter of which was so intense he wanted nothing more than to roar in pain, but he would show no hint of weakness in front of these inferior beings. He trembled head to toe as the magic threatened to rip him in half. Then, in the last moment when he could no longer contain his newly stored powers, he released them, whipping around so that the blast of fire poured at Kotake and the blast of ice poured at Koume.

Kotake leapt, dodged, and somersaulted as the fire chased her. Koume ran, her strong legs making her fly across the sands in an almost solid golden blur, but her backward glance was lit with panic as the ice drew near on her heels. She flung a desperate glance at her sister who seemed to have no problem weaving in and out of the fire as it began to arch up and down like an ocean wave—

Suddenly, a blast of ice threw Koume off her feet, knocking her breath away mid-scream. She tumbled hard to the ground. Scrambling to her knees, she watched with wide-eyed horror as jagged stalagmites of ice ripped across the sand toward her. She held out one hand, and her lips moved as if she sought to chant a counter-spell, but she could only quiver head to toe as her bronzed skin paled to a sickly ice blue. She glanced wildly at Kotake and screamed her name, but Kotake paid no heed, only continued to dodge the fire attacks with a look of determination and glee.

The icy wall reached Koume, and she shouted a shaky command. The ice poured into her raised palm which began to glow a faint red-gold. Bits of flame danced along her hand, as if she transformed the ice into fire. A thick sweat drenched her, and her shaking grew so violent that Ghirahim wondered if she might explode from the pressure. As Kotake circled around, still dodging the fire, Koume again flung her a pleading glance, but her sister ignored her, flying by and continuing to defend only herself. Koume reached out with her other hand and began drawing some of Ghirahim's fire to her—

Her knees gave way, and she collapsed to the ground. Her feeble fire defenses extinguished, the icy blast poured right into her. She lay on the ground, writhing like a maddened serpent.

"Sister!"

At last, Kotake rushed toward her, but Ghirahim slammed her aside with a blast of flame, all the while holding his ice attack steady, pouring wave after wave inside Koume's weak, thrashing body. Koume's screams split the air. Kotake scrambled to her feet and rushed at her again, but Ghirahim flung fiery darts at her, impaling her to the ground.

"I—I—!" Koume's words reached her screams, barely decipherable, but Ghirahim's ears could detect them.

"Yes? You need only say the words, need only concede, and the pain will end."

"Sister," Kotake gasped, pushing herself up with one arm and plucking the fiery darts from her skin with the other. She flung the last of them aside and reached toward Koume. A bright light began to glow in the palm of her hand, but a blast of fire soon slammed her back to the earth where she lay panting and coughing from the stench of her own burning flesh.

"Say the words," Ghirahim crooned, stepping slowly toward Koume, keeping his ice fully concentrated on her. A few of the Gerudo yelled out and called him names, darting forward, but others held them back. "That's all you have to do. Just say the words..."

Ghirahim stopped directly over Koume, his feet planted on either side of her. As she squirmed and flip-flopped against his legs, he felt the threatening coldness of her skin against his. Her voice began to crack, her screams to soften. Her jerking grew less intense. She glared up at him, her gaze mingling a stubborn will to persist and a pleading for him to stop. Gradually, her eyes began to glaze over. How pathetic she would have looked, had she been any other mortal being. How pathetic they always looked this way. And yet she had put up such a fight and, even now, hanging onto life by a mere thread, so clearly defied him every moment her mind regained enough clarity that he couldn't help but admire her.

"He's killing her!" someone cried out. "Make him stop!"

"This is our lady's fight!" called another. "She would never forgive us—"

Something slammed Ghirahim from the side, knocking him off his feet and sending him sliding across the sand. His concentration severed, ice spiraled wildly in all directions. A determined cry made him look up to see Kotake standing over him, absorbing the ice back into her skin. She slammed her fist into his side, making icy tendrils rip through his skin like lightning. She skipped off, and he lay stunned, the breath knocked from him for a moment. He smirked. The witch had more guts than he had given her credit for.

He drew himself to his feet. Kotake had fallen at her sister's side. A bright light poured from her palm into her sister, illuminating her bronze skin so that it shimmered like rubies. Koume's breathing calmed, and the bluish tint began to melt away. A healing spell. Ghirahim's smile faded. He was eager for this battle to end. He tired of wasting his time on child's play. Though the witches were admittedly the most worthy contenders he had fought in a long while, there were bigger plans to set in motion.

Rushing across the sand, he flung a ball of flame at Kotake. Without so much as glancing away from her sister, she lifted her free hand, also aglow with a white shimmering shield, and deflected it. Blow after blow Ghirahim sent, and blow after blow the ice sorceress blocked, all the while filling her sister with her healing balm. At last, Ghirahim stood directly over them. He reached beneath his cloak, muttering the spell to draw his shadow blade to him—

"I surrender," Koume croaked, as loudly as she could in her broken voice. Shakily pushing herself up from the ground, she looked Ghirahim steadily in the eye and said again, more firmly, "I surrender. I concede you are our equal. You will be welcome to roam our fortress freely and serve as one of us."

"A wise choice," Ghirahim said with a nod. "But will your sister decide the same? The battle is not yet truly ended until both of you concede."

Koume glared fiercely at her sister. Kotake glanced between Koume and Ghirahim. A gleam of disappointment shone clearly in her gaze, yet as she looked back at Koume, she decided, "I surrender as well."

Kotake finished healing her sister, and the burns on her own skin gradually dissipated till the skin shone good as new.

Kotake helped Koume to her feet. Koume nodded at her sister, a small gesture of thanks. Then, she declared to all, "My dear Gerudo! Today my sister and I have fought a most skilled warrior and magician—certainly the most skilled we have ever come across. I concede his powers are worthy of allowing him to live among us as one of us. He will have the freedom to come and go as he pleases. Everyone welcome Ghirahim, lord of demons, as our newest member of the Gerudo tribe!"

Cheers rose from the Gerudo, not with as much enthusiasm as he would have hoped for, but then again, he couldn't blame them. He had almost murdered one of their leaders. And what a lovely addition her strong spirit would have made to his underworld army....

"Come," Koume said. "I will show you around your new home."

Koume led the way. Kotake followed with a wink at Ghirahim, who trailed behind. The Gerudo closed in, following with rapt interest. Some looked distrustful, while others stared at him hungrily. A few pawed at his cape, or subtly brushed shoulders in passing, whispering about his beauty and strength. Ghirahim smirked. Ordinarily, such common human weakness would annoy him, but he was so elated from his victory that he allowed himself to be flattered for once, silently forgiving their pitiful lack of will. After all, it wasn't their fault. A demon's beauty was a beauty most rare to behold, and of the most intoxicating nature. Even Koume could hardly resist him; obviously, it was why she chose to hate him so vehemently instead.

The sun now slumbered completely, and as they headed toward the fortress, many of the Gerudo set more bonfires across the sandy expanse of land. Some roasted meat on sticks while others lazed about, laughing and telling stories.

"Many of the girls sleep beneath the stars," Koume said. "The nights are cool here, so they make fires for warmth. Besides, they are Gerudo—they are raised to be tough, to not let feeble complaints like heat or cold rule them. But Kotake and I, and some of the other elite, have our own chambers inside the fortress. To be more exact, inside the cliffs. Hidden dwelling quarters that also house our magic texts and potions and treasures. You too will be granted a room. Come. I will escort you there."

The fortress had no doors, only wide open entryways flanked by guards. They passed inside one of these, into a stony corridor. Torches lined each hall they passed through, along with windows that allowed the full moon's bright glow to shine inside.

In some of the rooms they passed, Gerudo dueled each other with long curved swords, others with broadswords, while others practiced archery and dagger-throwing on large targets. A few small, red-headed children scampered down the halls, pretending to sword-play with sticks or sometimes nothing at all. Women with fair skin and blonde or brunette hair rushed after them—more Hylian servants, no doubt. Another room contained a host of Hylian women all nursing tanned, red-headed infants.

As they scaled higher and deeper into the fortress, no more windows lined the walls. Torchlight replaced moonlight entirely. Ghirahim expected a damp cold to settle in, but instead, cozy warmth wafted through these buried passages.

At last, Koume stopped Ghirahim before a door painted with ornate crimson and gold designs and said, "One of our finest rooms. You will find my quarters and those of my sister two halls down, should you need anything."

Ghirahim nodded. "Thank you. You are ever so gracious. Though I will admit, I am not entirely as exhausted after our duel as I might expect myself to be. Perhaps before bed we could talk of our plans?"

"What plans? And I am rather tired—a point I'm sure you can understand, considering. But quickly, speak your mind before my sister and I retire."

"Now that I've proven myself a worthy leader," Ghirahim said, "perhaps we can commence plans in regards to building an army against his majesty?"

Koume frowned up at him, but as he danced forward just a half step, closing the narrow gap between them just a little further, her chest rose and fell quickly. Her lips parted ever so slightly, and he could taste her breath—sweet, spicy. Keeping her solemn gaze steady, she said, "What makes you think I really have any interest in such a mad plan?"

"Your people are wrongfully banished to this gods-forsaken desert," Ghirahim said, "as am I. Humbled and truly grateful as I may be to have joined your ranks, I too was treated as an outsider from the moment I set foot in this world. We should band together. Take the freedom that is rightfully ours. Between the two of us—" A subtle clearing of the throat made him glance up and remember Kotake's existence. "—the three of us, with your help, our magic combined could summon a great army. An army to be feared by any mortal. An army of undead, of demons and beasts, of—"

"Yes, you are a demon," Koume interrupted harshly. "Which might give me and my sister leave to wonder—why are you here? Where do you come from? Demons rarely visit the realm of mortals without some purpose or cause for doing so."

"I came here to carry out my master's orders. He would seek to take this land for himself. But he betrayed me by showing a lack of appreciation for my noble past efforts to see him thrive and rise to power. All of my hard work, he threw away. Now, he would expect me to start anew, to do all of the work over again so that he can prosper. I've decided instead to make my own way, to become a great lord and make a great name for myself...."

Ghirahim raised one of his hands and allowed his long, slender fingers to trail down her cheek—smooth and soft as sunlight to the touch—ever so gently. Her breath paused in a quiet gasp, and for a moment, desire glimmered beyond the steadfast resolve in her eyes. Caressing her cheek again, he lowered his voice and continued, "Just like you, I have been mistreated, betrayed by those who have sought to protect me. Just like you, I have rebelled, doing what I must to survive. But imagine how powerful we could be, if you would but let me lead you in a war against his majesty. He would be forced to bow before my wrath. Then I would be king, and you could be a queen, if you liked—"

Koume wrenched his hand from her cheek shoved him back with the other, pinning him against the wall. Flames smoldered in her gaze, her fierceness returned tenfold. She pointed a finger straight at his chest where his heart should have been had he possessed one, and a tiny burst of flame danced from her fingertip. "You have proven yourself an equal, which does qualify you as a leader. But not a leader over me or my sister. You cannot control us or tell us what we will do. You would do well to remember this. Equal or no, the eyes and ears of this fortress are watching you. Always."

She extinguished the flame, turned, and hurried down the hall.

Ghirahim watched after her a few moments, entranced by the sway of her body, almost as though she danced rather than walked. He imagined his body entwined with hers in a seductive waltz beneath fine satin sheets. Imagined curling his hands in her long fire-red hair, removing the gems shielding her delicate neck and biting at it, holding her down and showing his truth strength and her true place, proving to her that they were equals in more ways than she gave him credit for—

Something touched his shoulder, snapping him from his reverie. Whirling, he glared fiercely at Kotake who jumped a little but then drew her composure and said, "I'm sorry, my lord. I see the way you watch after her with such an intense fire. But please, you must forgive my sister..." She rested a hand on his arm, and he stiffened but did not draw away; nor did she. Looking at him intently, she said, "My sister does not appreciate the true extent of your powers, nor the cleverness of your plan. I see what you have the power to become. I see what we could be together...." She let her fingers trail down his arm and take his hand; there her fingers laced with his. Leaning close to his ear, she whispered, "You were brilliant today, my lord. Let me reward you. Let me show you everything we could become together."

Ghirahim hesitated. He wasn't prone to giving into another's wishes. If he took a woman to bed, it was purely to satisfy his own needs. He hated, above all, being used and exploited—even if for his great beauty. He was, rather, a being to be admired and worshiped from afar.

But perhaps it need not be him who was exploited.

Grabbing Kotake by the waist, he threw her back against the wall, knocking her breath away. He hovered close to her, trapping her, so that he could feel every tremor gripping her small frame, the warmth spreading like wildfire throughout her body. As her breath quavered, he tasted its sweetness. Then he took her face in his hands and kissed her, devouring that sweetness for his own. He kissed her deeply, and she soon trembled with delight. She wrapped her arms around his neck, twined them in his hair and tried to pull him closer. Ghirahim smirked. Mortals were too easy at times. As a sorceress, she ought to have more willpower—except that she was still pure. He could always tell by the smell of them. Oh, how he would enjoy deflowering this one.

Moments later, their clothes were on the floor and Ghirahim took her. He took her fervently, ignoring her screams of protest, knowing that they would, as ever, morph into screams of ecstasy. Once certain she had been defeated once, he led her over to the door, opened it, and swooped her into his arms. She was limp and drenched with sweat, but she kept kissing him. Clay in his hands—that's what she was, and like others before her, he would mold her into exactly what he needed her to become.

Locking the door behind them, he threw her onto the large bed clothed in satin and silk. Throwing the pile of pillows aside, he grabbed her and yanked her toward him. The torches lining the room made her reddened hair and skin glisten like sunrise. There was a certain beauty to her after all, especially in the dazed, defeated stare of her eyes that begged him both to stop and continue.

Climbing on top of her, he ravished her again and again.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Chapter 3

Ghirahim had lain on his back for hours, watching as the torchlight made patterns of firelight and shadows dance across the ceiling. The shapes were never quite the same and seemed to shift as restlessly as the wanderings of his contemplations.

After a time, Kotake had finally collapsed beside him, too breathless even to plead him to stop. And so he hadn't, not for a while longer. A demon's lust was insatiable. It could be dampened and well controlled by willpower, but just like a vampire's thirst for blood, once unleashed, it was ever-present. Lucky for him, this fortress was filled with women who would fall over one another to fall into his bed, when the need arose.

Even still, he would have appreciated a challenge for once. As Kotake snuggled close against him, he thought of Koume. Physically, she was a mirror image of her sister. Yet her strength and resistance against his charms made her appear to him as some sort of unattainable goddess. Somehow, she looked more beautiful, even though he knew she ought to look the same.

But she must not be his focus. Not yet. Not till he could sway her to trust him. Kotake had fallen into his arms a virgin and could no longer leave him as one. The virgins were always easiest to mold. She would be his gateway to everything else.

Ghirahim pried himself from Kotake's arms and sat up, surveying the room. It was spacious, with a writing desk and table on one side. A door led to an adjoining room, perhaps a washroom.

His gaze drew to the door through which they had entered. A curtain hung beside the door, stretching from ceiling to floor and shimmering faintly in the torchlight. Ghirahim could almost imagine eyes watching him from beyond the curtain. Indeed, the more he stared, the more he could feel someone staring back. Rising from the bed, he crept over, studying the curtain. Certainly, a face seemed to gaze at him through the dark, sheer fabric. Reaching out one hand, he drew the curtain aside—

No face watched him. But a girl did sleep in the small alcove carved in the stone wall. She had bent her body in half, curled into a tight ball to fit inside the cramped hole. A single, tattered blanket sheathed her thin frame. Long, pointed ears peeked from between her long, golden hair; she was a Hylian.

"My lord?"

Ghirahim let the curtain fall and turned back to Kotake who had propped herself up on one elbow. As his gaze met hers, a sleepy half-smile curled on her lips.

With a sly grin of his own, Ghirahim pranced toward the bed and fell in beside her, grabbing and holding her close. She released a high, girlish laugh, but the silly sound soon transformed into moans of delight as he kissed her fiercely and massaged her breasts.

When at last he gave her a moment to breathe, she smiled up at him and said, "Truly, you are a most fascinating lover to duel with—in bed as well as during your trial last night..." She let her fingertips trail down his chest, and he shivered as her skin produced the slightest frost. The cold grazing his skin both pained and electrified; the witch had some good tricks after all. "Your prowess and magic are unmatched by anything I've ever seen. Still, I'm surprised at how quickly my sister fell."

"Perhaps because she faced the danger head-on," Ghirahim said, "whereas you ran from it."

Kotake frowned, and her hand lay still on his chest. "There can be wisdom in running. Sometimes that is the best way to handle danger."

"But not the best way to overcome it. One can only conquer something by facing and pushing through it. And yet...the goal that day was simpler for you—to merely stop me from becoming your equal."

Kotake sniffed. "Koume still doesn't see it that way. I can always tell with her. She refuses to really call you our 'equal,' despite your obvious brilliance."

As her hand rested in place, a bitter coldness poured into Ghirahim, like wolves clawing away at his skin, until he was forced to grab her wrist and tear her hand away. She looked alarmed, but he only said, "I have a plan that may put me in her better graces—put both of us there, should it work out. Which it undoubtedly will. I've a certain gift for creating flawless plans."

"Do tell." Kotake's eyes illuminated brightly. She began making frosty patterns on his skin once more. "As your magic skill is unmatched, so certainly your cunning. I should like a chance to prove myself to my sister. You are not the only one she has ever underestimated...."

"I know," Ghirahim said. "And my plan is simple. I council that we wage war directly on the Hylian royal family themselves—too long have they unjustly treated you, your sister, and your people, as they have unjustly treated me—and not only from the moment I set foot in this time, but in centuries long past as well. It is fair to say we have ever been mortal enemies, from the dawn of my existence. If we destroy their throne, then the Gerudo would be free to rebuild it and make themselves lords of Hyrule."

Kotake shook her head. "But how would this be possible? My sister and I do have our magic, but our numbers are few in comparison with the Hylian guard, and the Sheikah—you saw how their shadow magic would have torn us apart. Even with you aiding us in the fight, we barely escaped. You mentioned summoning an army—can you really...?"

"Yes. I would not mean for us to fight alone. I have the power to summon great armies—armies of demons who would fight under me, and the undead, and great beasts of the underworld. The beings I could summon are limitless in number and power, and all would be forced to bow to my commands—and yours, if I willed it. Together, we could lead this great army and easily overcome the Hylians, the Sheikah, and anyone else who opposed us."

Kotake's eyes gleamed with excitement, and she propped herself up a little straighter. "I say we go to my sister immediately, insist all of this to her again till she concedes to help us. With such an army, we could have taken the city by sunset!"

Ghirahim smirked. "I must admire your ambition. Yes, indeed we could—had we access to the army. That is where I will need the aid of your sister. I cannot summon such an army on a whim. I must have a portal to the underworld. I know such portals exist between this world and others. But the land is so changed since last I walked its surface that I could not begin to know how or where to find them. Your sister—do you think she might have such knowledge? Being a great scholar of magic?"

Kotake frowned. "You forget I too am a magician—though I admit I have no knowledge on the subject. Koume, however...She might. She does spend much time studying ancient texts..."

"Good. Then I charge you with the task of speaking to her and setting up a time for the three of us to discuss such plans." Ghirahim rose from bed and began slipping on the silk trousers and blouse that had been provided him. Fire provided the only light this deep in the fortress so that, much as with his home in the underworld, the passage of time was impossible to gauge and had seemed to stop altogether. Such a phenomenon had a maddening effect after a time. Some sun and air would help him refresh both his body and mind.

Kotake watched him for a moment, her face pulled into a disappointed frown. Then, she too began dressing. She swept her long, wild red hair back from her face and tied it back with a strip of leather. As she studied him, a hungry gleam lingering in her gaze, she looked more like one of the many common whores Ghirahim had bedded than a powerful sorceress. If her sister had envied him last night, at least she had showed restraint.

"I will talk to my sister and report back to you," Kotake said. "I bid you have a good morning, my lord. Someone should bring breakfast shortly. And of course, feel free to roam the grounds and explore your new domain to your heart's content."

She watched him a moment more, as if expecting some final parting gesture—a kiss on the hand or cheek perhaps. Irritation rippled through Ghirahim. Presumptuous fools, mortal lovers. He owed nothing to a woman with whom he had shared but a simple night of pleasure.

At last, she bowed and took her leave.

Ghirahim released a long sigh. For some time, he stood soaking in the serenity of the thick silence. He donned his cloak and admired his appearance in the ornate mirror hanging on one wall. The crimson velvet and gold and purple checkered design matched well the silks the Gerudo had given him. Colors fit for a king.

A subtle thump alerted his attention, and he turned, his magic at the ready. Nothing appeared out of place, but then his gaze drew to the curtain where he had found the sleeping girl. Creeping over, he drew back the curtain—

The girl had vanished.

"My lord."

Ghirahim whirled once more and found himself staring in surprise—a novel feeling for him; its realization surprised him even further. The girl stood inside the doorway, holding a tray heaped with bread—fresh and hot by the smell of it—bright fruits, some kind of meat, and a goblet of wine. Setting the tray on the desk, she began stripping the sheets from his bed.

"Wait," Ghirahim said. "Who are you? And why were you sleeping behind the curtain last night?"

The girl stopped what she was doing and curtsied low. Instead of keeping her head bowed as others would have done—and as was customary in the presence of a great lord like himself—her green-eyed gaze met his directly. In anyone else, he might have found it a defiant gesture, but her gaze was steady, indecipherable of anything, save a certain tranquility.

"I am now your servant, my lord. If there's anything I can do for you, for your comfort or well-being, please tell me, and I will get it for you. Forgive me for falling asleep last night. I was meant to stay vigilant, in case you and your lover were in want of anything."

Ghirahim stared at the girl. He found himself drawn to this quiet creature, an idea that further surprised him. Not only was she a mere mortal, possessing not a hint of magic, but she was rather plain looking, though the sheen of her long, golden hair and the flush of her cheeks showed she was in good health. The calmness in her voice and the steadiness in her gaze allured him. She didn't look at him hungrily like others had done—nor did she shy away from him. She gazed him boldly in the eye, yet he did not feel disrespected, despite her being his servant. Somehow, everything felt perfectly in place between the two of them.

"Thank you," Ghirahim said at last, too exhausted to reason out his bewildered state. Likely, he was just very tired and thus relieved to find someone who didn't expect anything out of him at the moment. "I will let you know. For now, I desire simply to go out and grab a breath of fresh air."

"As you wish, my lord. My quarters are right beside yours. Should you need anything, call for me. Should I not answer, knock at my door. Should I not answer still, come in and shake me till I awaken. Your comfort is now my sole task in this place. Do not hesitate to make me fulfill that task, in whatever way." She looked him in the eye a moment more. Then, with a curtsy, she resumed her task of stripping the bed.

When she had finished, she made for a small plain door Ghirahim had not noticed before—the passage to her quarters, he assumed. Just before she disappeared, he said, "Wait. Once more, please."

She paused in the doorway and looked at him. "Yes, my lord?"

"Your name. I would require your name."

"Sakura, my lord."

"Sakura."

She studied him calmly, waiting for further command.

When he realized this, he said, "That is all, Sakura. You may take your leave and go about your tasks for the day."

With a final curtsy, she slipped through the door and out of sight.

Ghirahim watched the closed door for a moment, dumbfounded. He wanted to be upset with himself, that some mere mortal girl could enchant him to such a strong and sudden degree. He fleetingly thought what a much more satisfying conquest she would have made than Kotake. Then he thought that, more than exploring her body, he wished he could have glimpsed one shred of her closely guarded mind. With most mortals, he could at least tap into their feelings, if not their most private thoughts. She, however, had remained unreadable as stone.

Shaking the foolish notion aside, he grabbed a piece of fruit from the tray and exited the room. There were much more important matters to ponder. Much more important matters indeed. Never mind common servants. He had a sorceress to persuade, and if his instincts served him correctly, which they always did, she would not be as easy to sway to his side as her sister had been to sway into his bed.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Chapter 4

Shadows and firelight surrounded Ghirahim as he, Koume, and Kotake joined within the depths of the witches' private chambers. Ghirahim had spent the morning in the sun, soaking up its heat and light, exploring the grounds, wooing many a Gerudo maid, and practicing his hand at their favorite sports. He had especially excelled in horseback archery. What a thrill to command the regal horse granted him, a great, black, muscled beast called "Prince," which was a most appropriate name for a creature whose master would soon enough become the new king of Hyrule.

"Lord Ghirahim..." Koume's fingertips rapped on the round stone table they stood about. Maps and various other parchments were strewn across. Shelves filled with books, potions, powders, and other odds and ends familiar to a sorceress' chamber surrounded them. "...My sister has told me you're quite insistent on your plans to usurp the Hylian throne. I will admit some skepticism on such an idea, but between yours and her persistence, I am willing, at the least, to hear you out." She studied him closely. Just like Sakura, if Koume possessed any desire toward him, he could not detect it, though she chose to mask her feelings with fierceness, as opposed to the servant girl's tranquility.

"My Lady Koume," Ghirahim said with a long, sweeping bow. "First of all, may I say how radiant I find you this afternoon and how delighted I am to make your acquaintance once more."

Koume did not look impressed. "I can hardly return the same sentiments, seeing as how you nearly slaughtered me yesterday."

"Sister!" Kotake gasped. "That was all part of your trial, if you recall."

"And if you recall, sister, it was your idea to encourage him to join our ranks at all—much as it is your idea now to encourage him in this new scheme."

"This 'scheme' to which you refer will be for the benefit of us all," Ghirahim said. "Not only can I summon great masses of beasts and undead to fight for me, but I can teach you and Kotake to do the same, if you like."

"My sister and I will continue our training in private, as we prefer." Koume shot a sharp glare at Kotake as she started to protest. "Even still, the matter of a portal remains. Portals are needed to open travel between worlds. There is a place by our temple, rumored to be an old portal. It now lies dormant, and we've no knowledge on how to open it. Even with all my years of studying, I could not yet tell you. And so, all the knowledge in the world of how to summon an army will do us no good if the army does not have a place wherewith to be summoned."

"I understand," Ghirahim said. "But we have a place, as you say, and that is a start. Perhaps I might see this supposed portal with my own eyes? Perhaps then, I might figure out a way?"

"If you wish," Koume said. "It's about an hour's journey northeast from here, across the desert."

"Then we had best be off so as not to waste this glorious day. If all goes well, I may have our army and we may have taken the royal city by sundown." He winked at Kotake who grinned in return; Koume smiled and nodded curtly.

Bursting back into sunlight once more, Ghirahim could feel a new, erratic energy dancing through him. Soon, the three of them would stand at the cusp of the means to his victory. If anyone could resurrect a portal to the underworld, surely he could. He would have his army and his throne by nightfall. If he had possessed a heart, it would have raced with ecstasy until it leapt right out of his chest.

They made their way to the gates towering beside the Gerudo Fortress, acting as a barricade between it and the desert beyond. Many Gerudo glanced up curiously, nodding or bowing as their leaders and newfound curiosity passed by; especially, their eyes fell upon the latter, a fact Ghirahim duly noted. He had already decided that his boredom with Kotake would come swiftly to pass, but no matter. It seemed he had a host of willing subjects, enough to keep his need for amusement renewed for some time.

Koume stopped them and shouted some command in a strange tongue to the Gerudo who stood atop one of the towers flanking the gate. Moments later, the gate began to rise. Its loud creaking declared its age and the magnitude of the mission they prepared to embark upon. Koume shouted something else to the guard and started forward, waving Kotake and Ghirahim after her. Kotake gave Ghirahim an expectant yet nervous glance. With a bow, he motioned for her to go ahead. A blush crept subtly into her cheeks as she obeyed. Ghirahim followed behind, and the moment his feet crossed beyond the gate, it began to close behind them.

They had traversed the sandy plain only a few yards when the first obstacle rose into view—a great sea of ever-shifting sands. A bird's carcass was carried across on the surface until, suddenly, the sands sucked it under, devouring it like the great waves of an ocean storm might devour a sinking ship.

"The Spirit temple," Koume said, "is a sacred place. It guards ancient secrets, holds strong magic, and is a place of spiritual worship and training. We keep it well guarded. Placed in the care of the wrong hands, its ancient magic could be easily abused. In the past, it served as a hiding place for traitors, and the most vicious rebellion arose within our fortress. Such we cannot allow ever again; hence our keeping it under such close guard. Kotake—will you do the honors of clearing the first trial?"

Kotake nodded at her sister, eyes bright with excitement. Raising her hands toward the great sea of sand, she concentrated until icy blasts of air gusted from her palms. Ghirahim stepped closer, relishing their chill in contrast to the sun's merciless heat. The icy winds soon solidified into an icy bridge that arched over the surface of the sand sea.

Kotake lowered her hands, and Koume said, "Well done, sister."

They crossed over the bridge. For a while, their trek proved otherwise eventless, but the clear skies gave the sun a clear path to scorch them so that the journey seemed endlessly long. Koume appeared unaffected by the heat, and a subtle blue tint shimmering from Kotake's skin suggested she had placed some shield around herself. Ghirahim pressed on with no complaint, wishing to display no hint of weakness. He was a master at wielding fire, but the sun had always held a special sway over him that was harder to guard against than other flames.

After some time, a sand storm arose, blinding their path. Ghirahim was grateful for its cover from the sun. But then Koume stopped and spread her arms wide, and he realized the storm must be another barrier between them and the temple. Koume focused so fiercely on the raging sandstorm that Ghirahim half expected the grains of sand to burst into tiny flames and disintegrate, leaving a desert of ash in their wake. Instead, the wind calmed, gradually, until the sands lay completely still. The sun reflected upon their ripples as though a golden lake spanned before them.

"Come on then," Koume said. "The only way to make it is to push through to the other side."

The sun's heat magnified in the absence of the wind, and they traversed the ocean of sand for what seemed like hours more. Ghirahim began to resent Koume for saying the trek was but an hour long. Perhaps this was some trick of hers. Perhaps she meant to lose him in the desert in hopes of his being consumed by the sun till he went mad or burst into flames. With each sandy hill they climbed, he hoped to see some glimpse of a wall or towers or whatever comprised the temple looming into view, but every time, his eyes were grazed only with more images of sand.

Then, after what seemed another age, as they stepped over what seemed their millionth sandy ridge, the temple was suddenly there, built within the surface of a massive chunk of rock. A few steps more, and a great weight seemed to lift from their shoulders even as another cloaked them—the sun no longer beat so intensely, but magic hung so thickly that Ghirahim could have reached out and almost grasped it in his hands. They had crossed some final, protective barrier.

They paused beneath a ring of palm trees and took refreshment in the small oasis nestled within. After drinking their fill from the spring, Koume led them toward the towering cliffs.

"Behold," she declared, "the great Spirit temple, where our sisters before us and their sisters before them worshipped, trained, and served as protectors of our people. The magical line has almost died out, as we are forced to mate with mortals. My sister and I are all who remain. But the Gerudo were once a most noble race skilled in many a magical art. The temple may look dull from the outside, but within is gilded with fine gold and silks. But come—our business does not lie within the temple, not today. Our business lies over here..."

As they passed beneath the shadow of the cliffs, Kotake flung an envious glance at the temple. Ghirahim also watched with some curiosity. Magic flowed strongly from it—ancient magic, buried deep....

A stronger sense of magic drew his attention from the temple to the spot Koume led them toward—a large flat octagon made of gray stone. The image etched upon it was much weathered by wind and sand, but its faint traces could be made out: the Triforce crest, symbolizing the ancient power of the gods. As they drew closer, its magic pulsed with an even greater intensity, as though the stone had an actual heartbeat. Its magic was very much alive, and very much tangible—and yet, hidden just beyond Ghirahim's grasp. But were he to grasp it—the power of the gods themselves—why, he could make himself a god. He could be the first demon to rise above and become a commander of the heavens. He could be Ghirahim, God of Demons.

"This is the portal," he said. "This is our threshold to victory, from whence I will build my great army."

"Your great army?" Koume said, studying him sharply.

"To use for the benefit of us all, of course...." Ghirahim took a deep breath, attempting to stave the exhilaration wanting to take full control of him.

"Well, at any rate, you can see for yourself that the gate between worlds is closed tight."

"Yes...but just begging to be opened...." Ghirahim circled the portal, glancing at the runes etched all along its edges. "These runes—what do they say?" He glanced up at Koume.

Koume shrugged. "I don't know. I assume, of course, that they're some kind of code, that tell the way to open the portal. But I can't read them. My sister can't read them. Reading runes is an ancient art lost to my people along with many other magics, destined—or doomed, some may say—to remain forever lost in secret and memory."

Ghirahim narrowed his gaze at her. "So you brought us all this way only to tell us there is no way in."

"Of course there is a way," Koume said, "even if no one knows it. I did warn you before we made the trek that I hadn't found a way in myself. You wanted to see the portal. This I promised, and thus I have kept my word."

Ghirahim's gaze drifted once more to the portal. He began chanting spells—summoning spells, luring charms, awakening incantations, every type of spell that might remotely form some connection with the portal. The portal answered to none of his attempts, ignoring him as though it didn't so much as even sense his presence.

"Surely, there must be a way to decipher the runes," he said.

"Of course there must be. But again, I wouldn't be able to tell you how to go about finding that way."

Ghirahim glared up at the smug expression on her face; Kotake looked equally irritated with her sister.

"Shall we head back?" Koume glanced up at the sun. "The day grows long, and I've duties to attend back at the fortress."

Kotake placed a hand on Ghirahim's arm. "We can perhaps practice our archery together. You can show me a trick or two with your fire darts—"

"My sister also has duties to attend, if she would remember from time to time."

Kotake pouted. "There is more to life than duties."

"Not for you. If you would remember your position for once, I might give you more responsibility. As it is, you can't handle those tasks I do appoint you. Come on then. We won't get anything done by standing about arguing."

The trek back across the desert felt even more grueling than the first, so that by the time they had reentered the fortress, Ghirahim's frustrations had mounted tenfold. Kotake bid him a good afternoon, while Koume disappeared into the fortress without a word.

Ghirahim spent the remainder of the day venting his frustrations at the archery grounds—till his temper got the best of him and he burned half the targets to cinders. He turned his attention then to the training grounds, a separate fortress that housed monsters to duel and puzzles to solve. The battles and puzzles alike were petty to one of his intelligence and skill, but they amused enough to keep him distracted till the sun began to set.

As on the night before, the Gerudo set bonfires ablaze. Some played music while others began to dance around the fires. Ghirahim had no desire for such festivities that evening. Time was of the essence. Demise could awaken to his schemes at any moment. The entire day had been wasted, leaving Ghirahim no closer to his goal of summoning his army than he had been before. As he passed the bonfires, the mere energy radiating from his body sent them flaring high and dancing with blue and purple hues. The Gerudo cried out and then laughed in delight. Ghirahim hastened his pace; he did not need their happiness to remind him of his own misery.

At last, he reached the solitude of his chambers, but even they could not comfort. Rather, the walls confined. No hint of stars or the sun or the outside world. Just him, trapped within these walls, waiting for his master to ascend and drag him down to the depths of the underworld and imprison him there once more for his defiance. He began to pace, hoping that the acknowledgment of space and movement would remind him that he was, indeed, yet free. But he couldn't feel his freedom; it felt as close and yet as hidden from him as had the gates of the desert portal. Just within his grasp, moments away from his fingertips, yet so far at the same time—

"My lord?"

Ghirahim paused and looked up. Sakura had just entered the room and stood watching him. Beyond her serene gaze, he thought he caught a glimpse of something like curiosity or concern.

"My lord, you seem anxious this evening. May I get you anything to ease your discomfort?"

"Can you grant to me the ancient magic of the gods?"

Sakura stood silent.

"Then no," Ghirahim said. "No, there is nothing."

"If I may," she said, "I am here to serve you and you alone, my lord. If there is anything you would wish to confide in me...Perhaps I cannot help except to let you unburden your troubled spirit, but if that would provide any consolation to my master, then I would gladly listen."

Ghirahim watched her carefully. Again, her words reflected sincerity. Difficult as she was to decipher, he sensed no falseness in her.

"I have ever possessed a gift for detecting a liar," Ghirahim said. "With you...I feel as though I can trust you. You vow not to speak a word of anything I share with you to a single soul—not even the sisters whom you serve? On pain of death?"

"As I said, my lord, I serve you. The sisters may have appointed me, but I am loyal now to your service."

"And wisely so. If any harm were to befall you, I above all others would be able to defend you."

Sakura bowed her head and waited humbly for further command.

"The sisters showed me something today..." The moment he began to speak, he felt the words flowing from him like poison drained from a wound. He wondered for a moment if she truly did cast some spell on him, but then he didn't care; if she did, strangely, he yet trusted her, which made her either the pure spirit he suspected, or else a very cunning witch indeed. "...They showed me a portal that would allow me to open the path to the underworld and summon a great army. From there, I could use my army to take the Hylian throne and become lord of my own realm. I could perhaps even harness the power of the gods so that my master could never seek to enslave me ever again. The portal was right at my fingertips, as was my every plan and ambition. But the way is closed. The way is closed, and there is no one to decipher the runes that would unlock its secret."

"The sisters did not know how to open it?"

Ghirahim studied her. "You are very curious for a servant."

Sakura bowed her head once more. "If I have overstepped my bounds, I do humbly beg your pardon. I did say my part was to listen, not to grant opinions or counsel—"

"No," Ghirahim said, walking toward her; she glanced up and met his gaze. "No, your counsel is welcome. As my confidante, I will value your opinions, though I do not have need to agree with them."

"Yes, my lord. I only find it curious that the sisters have no knowledge of how to use such a powerful magic. It seems irresponsible really. If they don't know how the portal operates, then they don't know how to protect it. Which means anyone who discovers its secrets might open and use it against them. I know perhaps you admire the Gerudo for their ambition and would seek to use it for your own gain. But I would give this warning: that their same ambition could be as dangerous to you as yours could be to them...."

Ghirahim slipped behind her and wrapped his arms around her. Lightly touching her waist, he rested his head close to her delicate neck and inhaled deeply, savoring her sweet scent.

"What are you doing, my lord?" she asked quietly.

"Your counsel pleases me, as does your concern for the safekeeping of my ambitions...." He let one hand creep up her arm and then her shoulder, to rest just above her breast. "You are yet pure. Without touch of men."

She nodded. "Yes, my lord." Her voice was steady as ever, but its softness gave away what her heart, racing wildly against his palm, could not hide.

"You have served me well," he said. "I trust you above all others here. And so I would have you trust me. I am a demon lord. I may take whatever I desire. But if you continue to serve me as you have, I will vow to let you keep your purity—unless you should decide otherwise...."

She trembled then melted against him. His lips brushed her neck, and he swayed gently. As they danced, she reached one hand up to touch his cheek. How easily they always succumbed. Even a stalwart maiden like herself could not resist much longer. Within moments, he would have her, his most thrilling conquest in quite some time—

In one quick movement she whirled about and pushed away from him. She stood breathless, wide-eyed for some moments, surprised at her own boldness, or her passion, or perhaps both. She looked utterly overwhelmed, and Ghirahim advanced. His prey was cornered; he could easily persuade her still—

She took a step back and, veiling herself in her calm demeanor once more, said, "Thank you, my lord. I am most humbly grateful to you for your respect toward my purity."

Ghirahim's gaze lingered on her a moment more. He wanted to lunge and resume his hunt, but he restrained himself. With a bow, he said, "You are most welcome, my lady. You have kept your word to me, and so I shall keep mine—but to do so, I must dismiss you from my service for the evening."

A gentle blush touched her cheeks. "Yes, my lord," she said, and with a curtsy, stole quietly from the room.

With a snarl, Ghirahim collapsed back on his bed. He was now far more awake than he had been, and twice as frustrated. Her loyalty created in her a beauty unlike that he had ever beheld in any mortal—or in any other being for that matter. He could not pinpoint exactly what allured him so strongly to her, and a part of him worried she might be some trick of the sorceresses—even as another part of him cared far less than it should if that happened to be the case.

He would possess her fully before his time here was through. Such was as necessary a goal as unraveling the secret of how to bring the ancient portal back to life.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Chapter 5

Ghirahim sprang up as the knock on his door persisted. He had used a charm to secure the door in hopes that he might be afforded a few hours of rest. Sleep had finally found him, but with it, a host of nightmares. As the thunder that had accompanied the storm in his dreams was now mirrored in the knocking on his door, he leapt up with a growl, walked over, undid the charm, and threw the door open wide—

"Kotake," he snarled. "Why in the gods' names are you making such a racket out here? Surely, if a demon locks his door, he intends for it to remain that way."

"Forgive me, my lord..." Kotake slinked past him into his room.

He glared, taken aback for a moment by her boldness—or stupidity, whichever was the case—but then shut the door, certain he would get no further sleep whether he kept her or sent her away.

"Forgive me, but I could not rest, I was so excited by our adventure today...." She fell back on his bed, sweeping her arms across the silken sheets like one making fairy shapes in the snow. Then, propping herself up on one side, she grinned lazily at him and said, "Come here, my lord. You look anxious. Let me comfort you."

"I would not look half as anxious had you not woken me in the middle of the night," Ghirahim said. "Though, I suppose the damage being done, I may as well let you fix it..."

He lay back in the bed with her. Kotake curled up close to him, nuzzling her head against his arm till he relented and let her lay her head on his chest.

"What a day..." She sighed deeply and began tracing her icy patterns across his chest; the burn irritated more than excited him. "The magic of that place charged me with such an incredible energy. I know you felt it too—can still feel it. I know it's part of what has you so on edge. It's been ages since Koume allowed me access to the temple. I can clear the first trial on my own, but without her, the sandstorm is yet impossible for me to navigate. It gives me such a thrill, to be able to use my powers—especially to show you, my lord, what I am capable of. I hope I do not disappoint you. I hope you see my worth and value to you as your most loyal servant—and, perhaps someday, your most loyal queen."

Ghirahim arched a brow. "Queen?" He had to admire her ambition, even if her presumption was ever an embarrassment to her.

"Well, it's just I've been thinking—if you were to take the Hyrule throne and, say, become king, you would require an heir."

Ghirahim scoffed. "Whatever for? Demons are immortal."

"By most standards, yes. They do not fall by illness or age. But there are ways in which a demon may be destroyed. I have not studied broadly on the subject. But I've studied enough to know that there is a way to destroy any creature; even the most powerful has some weak point. Even a great and powerful lord such as yourself would want an heir to protect your line and kingdom."

"What is your point in all this talk of heirs?" Ghirahim asked, though he saw through her game more plainly than one sees the bottom of a clear lake, down to every last piece of rubble, every grain of sand. "What would you suggest?"

Kotake turned over onto her belly and looked up into his face. The usual lust lingered in her gaze, but this time it was different. Softer, in a way. "For the longest time now, I have had a great yearning to bear a child. After all, is that not the greatest gift and consolation and power a woman can wield in this world? Koume is so particular with her lovers and would have me be the same. I feel as though she will never marry or produce any children, nor even know a man's touch—"

"She is a virgin then?"

Kotake frowned a little at his intrigue but said, "Yes—at least, I am almost certain."

Ghirahim smirked. "Could explain why she's wound so tight all the time."

"Yes, well, anyway. Were you to become king, and seeing as how we are already lovers, I would be pleased to give you an heir, whether you saw fit to take me as queen or not."

"Should you not be rather supporting your sister? Encouraging her to take the throne rather than myself? I'm surprised that you should set your sights on someone you've just met rather than your own flesh and blood. Such is usually the way with mortals, far as I have seen. They serve their families, even to the death, no matter how that flesh and blood may have treated or mistreated them."

Kotake pouted. "I love my sister. But she has ever belittled my magical abilities. I do not feel as though she has faith in me. I do not feel that she would utilize my powers to the fullest, as I trust you to do. She doesn't even train me in certain magics because she feels a need to protect me from them. Me. Protect me, her twin and thus her equal in every way. Truth be told, I do not even believe she has faith in your plan. I think she showed you the portal simply to appease you, knowing full well that its gates were closed. But..." Her fingers danced along his chest; the icy sparks set his body on edge. "...you and I, together—we could show her. We could become great together and show her just how much she has underestimated us both. If, of course, you saw fit to bear an heir with me..."

Her fingers trailed down his chest, danced on his stomach for a moment, then slipped beneath his trousers. Ghirahim released a deep sigh that soon transformed into a growl as she touched him. His passions unleashed, he grabbed her, threw himself on top of her, and took her.

After a while, when Kotake's passions were obviously spent, Ghirahim showed mercy and let her rest. Lust still ripped through him. He seemed more hard-pressed than usual to be satiated. His thirst was never fully quenched, but tonight he felt as though he had been granted not a single drop of relief. Perhaps because another's face had lit his imagination as he had used the pathetic wench who cuddled close to him now. Then again, since when had he ever been given to sentimentality? Why should it matter who satisfied his desires?

Of course, therein lay the problem. He was no mortal man, easily pleased by a mere romp. He needed a challenge. Especially a mental one. The matter of the portal would suffice, but how even to begin unraveling its secrets when none seemed to exist who could decipher the ancient runes?

"My lord seems distracted," Kotake said, tracing her frosty patterns across his chest once more.

Ghirahim shifted, hoping she would get the hint. Her sweat-drenched body, pressed close to his, disgusted him tonight.

"Just irritated," Ghirahim muttered. "Disappointed. Frustrated. Even outraged might describe it...." He shifted again; she drew only closer still, and he had to refrain from slapping her away. Not that he didn't have any right, but he yet had need of her good graces. He already teetered on the edge of grace in terms of her overprotective sister, so it was best not to burn his bridges just yet.

"About the portal?" Kotake said. "The mystery of the runes?"

"Yes..."

"I might have a secret that would help."

Ghirahim pushed her away this time, just enough so that he could glare down at her. "What secret? And why did you not speak of this before?"

"I have already given my lord a great secret..." She took his hand and pressed it beneath her thighs. "I would be pleased to share with him another. But perhaps after he has divulged a secret of his own?"

Ghirahim opened his mouth to reprimand her. The sheer insolence, demanding anything from him—him, a great demon who would soon be lord over all Hyrule—

But he was not lord yet, and he must use her to attain that title.

"Very well," he said. "I will tell you a secret. Do you know the tales they tell, about the Hero and the Sage and the great Demon King? I have heard the other Gerudo telling such tales, sometimes to each other, sometimes to their children at bedtime...."

Kotake nodded. "Yes, my lord."

"My life and power are so ancient that I was there to witness that tale unfold. The Hero, the Sage, the Demon King—I saw them, met them, spoke with them. It may be hundreds of years past, but I remember that time as though it were a moment that passed just yesterday."

Kotake's eyes widened. "Is this true? The great Hero of legend? And you were there for it all?"

Ghirahim nodded.

"How? What were they like? The battle between the Hero and the Demon King—surely that must have been quite the spectacle to behold."

Pain crackled through Ghirahim as he remembered being imprisoned inside Demise's blade, forced to feel the Master Sword's magic clash with his, blow after blow after blow....

"Yes," Ghirahim muttered. "It was quite the sight."

"What of the Sage? Was she as beautiful as the legends say? Her music as enchanting?"

"I have told you my secret," Ghirahim said. "No more questions. And you must swear to me not to breathe a word of my secret to a single soul. Not even your sister. It would alarm her, to know how ancient my magic runs. Despite my promises to aid the two of you as your most humble equal, I don't think she trusts me."

"She will trust you less still if you accept the secret I have for you," Kotake said. "As she will trust me less, should she discover I granted it to you. But I think it may be for the good of your plan."

"Tell me," Ghirahim demanded, squeezing her thigh tightly. She moaned, then whimpered as he squeezed tighter still. "On your life, tell me this secret."

"I will show you instead," she whispered, her voice shaking. She grabbed his hand, moved it further up her thigh—

He snatched her wrist. "No. No more until you show me. If your secret is worth the trouble, I will reward you. But till then, no more."

Kotake's face fell. Then, with a smile she said, "Follow me, my lord. I promise you will not be disappointed."

Ghirahim and Kotake dressed and she led him from the fortress, into the crisp night air. Stars shone brilliantly in the clear sky. They seemed to dance and sparkle a little more boldly than usual, and Ghirahim took this as a good omen. Tonight, he would finally taste sweet success for his mission.

Kotake led him to the entrance of the Training Grounds. A guard stood aside, bowing to both her mistress and the demon lord, all the while glancing curiously between them.

Kotake winked, and a smirk tugged at the corners of her lips. "Lord Ghirahim and I wish to get in some extra training this evening."

The guard's eyes lit with mischief. As Kotake and Ghirahim passed through the gates, her gaze followed Ghirahim's every step with envy.

Inside the fortress, Kotake led Ghirahim through the leftmost of the three doorways situated within the great lion head statues. Upon entering, stalfos and dinos monsters assailed them, but with a flick of her wrist, she turned them to solid ice.

"The beasts here are more an annoyance than anything," Kotake said. "At least for official Gerudo; there are protective charms that spare us from actually getting injured while we train here."

The next room housed a maze, with great round stones rolling about; one had either to dodge them or be crushed flat by them. Of course, magical charms shrouded the grounds, so that a trainee could not truly "die," merely fail and be sent back to the beginning to start anew. Kotake leapt lithely around the rolling stones, sometimes balancing on top of them. Ghirahim right soared over with his unmatched grace and speed.

At one end of the room, the stones rolled away into a huge fissure rent in the stone floor. Its jagged edges made it look like a giant Goron had literally stretched and ripped the floor apart with his bare hands.

"Down there," Kotake said. "We must jump down there."

Ghirahim said nothing, only watched as the next series of stones hurdled toward the abyss and then disappeared into its black depths. As soon as they had passed, he jumped in, and Kotake followed.

Darkness swallowed them. Ghirahim slowed his free-fall, still floating down swiftly but not so fast that he would take damage upon touching the bottom. An age seemed to drift by. Ghirahim could see nothing. His night vision was stifled by some sort of charm. He sensed Kotake but did not see her. He began to begrudge her and wonder if Koume had put her up to playing some ill trick on him.

Then, at long last, a golden point of light appeared beneath his feet. It grew and grew until it expanded into a great ring of golden-orange glow. The semblance of a room came into focus—a large, circular stone room, surrounded by bookshelves. The giant rolling stones were no where in sight.

As their feet touched down, Ghirahim said, "That wasn't a bad journey after all. I'm surprised Koume doesn't keep this place more well-hidden. It seems all too easy to drop in here."

"We had our magic to slow the fall," Kotake said. "Besides, who would dare to jump in what seems an endless abyss, especially at the danger of those giant stones following you and crushing you? And as for those who did find a way in..." She motioned toward one bookshelf. Several skeletons hunched against it, a few feeble tatters of clothing yet clinging to their bones. "...they were not so fortunate to find a way out. The only way out is the way in. There are no secret doors. Were my sister or I to lose control of our magic down here, we too would be as these doomed folk..."

Ghirahim nodded. He spun slowly, surveying the stone walls lined with flaming torches, the shelves upon shelves of books and stacks of parchment, the table in the room's center also overflowing with parchment. He glanced up; the room above was indecipherable. "A simple yet clever design. Was it your sister's?"

Kotake seemed to pout a little. "It was both of ours. Koume wanted doors down here; she's always so overly paranoid. But I said without doors, our secrets are less in danger. For who could follow us down here that we wouldn't be capable of dispatching?"

"No one," Ghirahim said. "Aside, perhaps, from a horde of Sheikah—or an over-zealous demon lord..." As he walked around the table, a glimpse of writing caught his eye. Pulling the parchment closer to him, he glanced across the runes then looked up at Kotake. "These are similar to those on the portal. Do you think Koume is studying them herself?"

Kotake shook her head. "I don't know. I hardly come down here. I only know that she keeps this place from you, knowing it would aid you. She doesn't trust you and fears what you would capable of if you unlocked the ancient magic stored within these texts. She doesn't say this, but I know her."

"And how can we be certain she won't follow us down here?" Ghirahim said.

"She won't." A grin filled Kotake's face. "She is not the only one full of clever charms. She's been complaining of not being able to sleep lately, moreso than usual. She often comes to me, asks me to make her a tonic. I might have made the new potion extra strong, but not so strong that she will awaken groggy or suspect anything in the morning. Just strong enough to assure that she won't wake up till we want her to."

Ghirahim grinned back at her. "I admit I'm impressed. Good work. And now, as for work—shall we set to?"

"We shall, my lord."

Together, they began wading through stacks of parchment and delving through books. Ghirahim sat at the table while Kotake sat on the floor, cross-legged and sifting through parchment after parchment, face filled with deep concentration. For once, Ghirahim felt a sort of camaraderie between them.

"Do you happen to recall exactly what the runes looked like?" he asked.

"Hmm?" Kotake glanced up. "Yes. Yes, I could draw them for you, if you like. That way we'll each have a copy—yours on parchment and mine in my memory. So that we both know what we're searching for as we do so..." She stood and walked over to the table, her feet making soft shuffling noises on the seas of parchment beneath her. She ripped off a blank piece of parchment. Then, she took a quill from one of the bottles of ink and began to scribble the runes from memory.

Ghirahim watched her with mild interest. She wrote quickly, but with a precise elegance in each stroke. He glanced about the room, which looked as though a whirlwind had swept through.

"Won't your sister wonder who's been in here? She'll see our work. She'll see this—" He placed a hand on the parchment, and Kotake paused, glancing up at him. "—and guess our secret easily enough."

The mischievous grin once more curled on Kotake's lips and lit her eyes. "As I said, I have my fair share of tricks up my sleeve. Besides that, the room itself is charmed. It remembers the state it was in last a person was there..." She returned to writing the runes. "...So, my sister will return to this room as she found it, and I will return to the room as I found it. Same for you. She knows I come here now and then to study, so even should she find anything amiss, I'd be the first to blame..." She stood straight and admired her work. "There. There they are."

Ghirahim studied the paper. Not only had she written out the runes; she had drawn the entire portal, including its every detail, from its octagonal shape to the runes' weathered appearance. "It's so much the same I feel as though I could dive inside the parchment and be transported there. You've a skill for both memory and art."

"Thank you, my lord. Though..." She came up behind him, wrapped her arms around him, and slid her hands up and down his chest. "...I should not like to think it is my greatest skill. Nor my favorite..." She kissed his cheek, his neck, and moved her hand down toward his trousers—

Ghirahim slapped her hand away. "Not now."

Kotake crossed her arms. "You said you would reward me."

Ghirahim stared at her. "I'm entirely uncertain, in this moment, whether to label you a fool, insane, or just plainly a whore. Clearly, we've work to get done."

Kotake stared back, obviously stunned by his words—too much so to even be hurt, it seemed. Quietly, she returned to her spot on the floor and resumed her search.

After a couple more hours' work, they had found nothing, and Kotake announced the coming of dawn, by which time her sister would awaken.

Frustrated anew—by their lack of discovery, by Kotake's lack of respect or regard for their work—Ghirahim marched quietly back to his chambers. Kotake trailed him and, at his door, reached out to touch his arm. He pulled roughly away and shut the door behind him without a word.

With a deep sigh, he glanced at his bed. What sweet comfort its luxurious solitude would afford him. He started forward, but then his glance landed on the curtain. He pulled it back—

Sakura was no where in sight.

Then, remembering her words, he crept over to the door across from the one leading into his room. He reached out to open it, but his glance caught the shimmer of something golden-bright. A small hole was carved in the door. Its jagged edges made Ghirahim wonder if some lord who had owned the room before him and had made the hole, desperate to catch a glimpse of the maiden beyond.

Ghirahim was not desperate now. He had never had need for such weak human emotions as desperation, except when his master's plans had lain on the edge of peril. Rather, curiosity struck him. Curiosity, and the hunger that Kotake's irritating presence had not only left unfulfilled but seemed to stoke anew, creating an even stronger hunger. Ghirahim stooped a little and peered inside the hole.

Her room was small—not as small as the hole in the wall behind the curtain, but not much bigger either. A single torch lit the space, casting a soft orange glow on the maiden who slept on a thin mattress. The light seemed to ring her head almost like a queen's crown. She breathed deeply, reflecting the peacefulness of her sleep. She had thrown off her covers, and her thin frock outlined the lovely shape of her body, of her firm new breasts and thighs and petite waist. Her neck especially enticed, long and fair and perfect for sinking his teeth into...

Ghirahim drew back from the door. Throwing himself on the bed, he uttered a spell to make sleep come as quickly as possible.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Chapter 6

Over the next few nights, Ghirahim lost himself in studying the ancient texts, searching for any clues on how to decipher the runes. He found a few pieces of the puzzle here and there, but they were disorganized, scattered so that he had to fit them together. What a frustrating affair, to try and piece together a puzzle while having utterly no guide on how to do so.

At times, Kotake would come to help him. Mostly, she would come over and kiss him, rub his shoulders, or attempt some other advance, all of which he threw off. After a while, she did not come to him at all, which suited him quite well.

Through studying the ancient texts, some of which were yet recorded in the common tongue, Ghirahim confirmed that the way to summon the undead was, indeed, through the portal bearing Hyrule's crest; in fact, any such portal could be utilized for the same purpose. Meaning that, once Ghirahim had procured his army from the desert and took Hyrule's castle town, he could harness the power of the portal inside the temple there to draw an even greater army from its depths.

He found also a picture depicting the three stones from the Hyrule temple—the ruby, sapphire, and emerald gilded in gold. The "spiritual stones," they were called. But of their origins and powers, again only the runes spoke in their mysterious tongue, thus keeping any secrets that might aid him locked away. On he searched for anything that might help him translate the runes, but to no avail.

One morning, he had lingered a little longer than he usually did in the Training Grounds. He hurried back to the fortress, wanting no suspicion to be thrust on him should Koume see him coming from the grounds' direction. He made it inside without event and was half-way to his room when she appeared from around a corner. Ghirahim slowed his pace and met her in the middle of the corridor. She watched him, her steady gaze unreadable save for a hint of loathing, as though he was as foul a creature as those he might resurrect from the underworld.

"My Lord Ghirahim," she said with a curt bow of her head.

"Lady Koume," Ghirahim said, "I have not seen you in some days now. Your absence is missed by your sister and me."

Koume smiled, but the expression was not sincere. "I am sure your presence is not missed—at least not by the rumors I've heard. Amongst my women, it would seem you are the most envied lover here."

"You make it sound like I've corrupted the entire fortress."

Koume crossed her arms and arched a brow. A bit of playfulness lit her gaze. "Have you?"

"Maybe I have, and maybe I haven't..." He danced toward her, but she stepped back, her body language breeding anything but warmth or invitation.

"Any progress on discovering how to open the portal?"

Ghirahim studied her closely. As ever, she was cool and indecipherable as stone—except for a slight, vengeful smirk in her gaze.

"No, not yet. I'm still puzzling out the mystery of the runes. But I'm certain I will soon crack their code so that I may lead us to victory."

"Of course. Well, as you know, you are free to use the libraries next to my chambers for your research."

"Yes. Thank you."

"As it seems I must also thank you," Koume said. "It seems my sister has, in your company, become more studious. A feat I have been trying to accomplish for many years now."

"Oh?"

"Mm. My sister...She has always been given moreover to pleasure."

"Perhaps she simply needed some release and finds herself now more capable of studying, with a clearer mind."

"Perhaps," Koume said. "Though, too much pleasure can also distract one from one's purpose. Speaking of, if my lord can puzzle out the runes soon, we may have an opening in which to attack."

"Is that so?" Ghirahim wondered if she bluffed or meant sincerely to help.

"Any day now," Koume said, "the queen of Hyrule will give birth to her child. The entire kingdom will be in an uproar of celebration. While they are thoroughly distracted in their joy, we could strike. I will not say entirely in secret—the Sheikah guard are yet likely to be about. And the defenses around the castle itself will likely be raised. And yet, what is that to us, with a great demon army on our side? The entire city will be gathered in one place. They will be forced either to surrender to us or else be slaughtered." She paused and tilted her head coyly. "All this is, of course, if you are able to open the portal and obtain our armies by then, my Lord Ghirahim."

Her smile and the innocent turn of her head more than challenged him. Rather, she mocked him. An urge to pounce and put her in her place flitted through him, but he suppressed it. As a demon, he had every right to do so, but as a lord he must also maintain some air of dignity and composure. Besides, Koume's cleverness far outweighed that of her sister's. He had no desire to challenge her until certain he had the means to overthrow her.

"I assure you I am well on the road to success," he said. "I vow to have our army by the time the new prince or princess is born. The brat will hardly have the chance to give its first cry before its throat is ripped from its tiny body."

Koume studied him a few moments longer, unflinching. Then, with a bow of her head, she said, "Good morning to you, Lord Ghirahim," and continued past him down the hall.

Ghirahim started back toward his chambers.

"Oh," she called. "One other thing."

He paused but did not look back.

"Give my regards to my sister. If she misses my company, as you say, she has done little in the way of seeking it out lately. Try not to keep her too occupied. Our studies are important—especially now, in the pinnacle of our magical growth."

Silence told Ghirahim she had left the hall.

He stormed up to his chambers, half-expecting to see Kotake waiting for him there. A part of him wanted to use her to take out his frustrations. Another part of him knew the sight of her right now would send his rage flying over the edge.

Bursting into his room, he flung a spell at the girl who ducked just in time as it exploded into the wall, sending small bits of rock crumbling away. He prepared another spell when he realized who she was:

"Sakura! Forgive me. I thought you were another."

She remained cloaked in her usual serenity but watched him closely.

"There is nothing to forgive, my lord. The spell missed me, at any rate. Come, eat and refresh yourself. You look weary and anxious." She motioned to the tray of food she had set on the table beside the bed.

Freshly roasted meat, fresh fruit, and a goblet of wine all tempted Ghirahim. He glided to the bed, sat down, and devoured some of the sweet berries. While he ripped a piece of tender meat from the bone, he glanced up at her. She stood with hands folded, watching him. Always watching him. Her gaze neither applauded nor demanded and, though she should not watch him as his servant, as ever he could not feel a shred of insult toward her. He yet wondered if she was a secret sorceress who cast some calming spell on him. Then again, if she was, that made her more his equal than anyone else he had encountered here, including the sisters.

"Please, sit," he said, motioning to the chair at the desk.

With a polite curtsy, she obeyed. "Would my lord care to unburden his tired spirit? I would gladly listen, and offer any comfort that I can."

Ghirahim studied her back. His frustrations boiled to the surface, as if her tranquility once more drew them like poison from a wound: "It's the sisters, the self-proclaimed masters of this gods-forsaken desert. One sister thinks me an incapable fool; the other uses me only for the release of her whorish passions. Neither recognizes my true brilliance."

"Then they are the fools," Sakura said. "Less than that even. For even the basest fool could see that you are a being of intelligence, cunning, and great magical skill. They should be honored to have you as an ally, instead of wasting your talents as they do."

Ghirahim studied her more closely still. More than flattered by her words, he felt captivated. "Do you truly believe I am as you say?"

She nodded. "I do. And I assure you I am too poor a liar even to try. I've admired you, my lord, from the moment you first came here. I watched you from one of the high windows, when you dueled the sisters. No one has ever bested them, and least of all so very quickly and with such prowess. In fact, I'm surprised that Koume, at the least, does not treat you more fairly, having seen what you are capable of."

"She doesn't believe in my mission," Ghirahim said, "or else she doesn't approve, or perhaps even fears it. She offers her libraries for research because she knows the true answers don't lie there. She only pretends they do. I think a part of her wants to see me succeed, lusts after the kind of power I could summon. But she lets fear constrain her. It's so frustrating. We are this close from being able to raise my army and enact my plan. But the runes—they are the most complex and indecipherable language. Cleverly made, but not so cleverly unmade for those not born with the eye."

A curious frown filled Sakura's face. "Forgive me. I know that as your servant it is not my place to ask, but did you say 'runes'? Of what runes do you speak?"

"There is a portal, across the desert near the Spirit temple. A portal that would allow me to summon my army. Runes are etched all around, most likely showing the way to open it. But they are in a tongue so ancient, not even the witches seem to hold the key to riddling them out. I have searched several nights now in Koume's secret chambers and have found nothing....

"But I do not wish to talk of these frustrating matters right now. As for you being my servant, whatever you are, you have proven yourself more than that to me. Come. Come closer."

Sakura stood and walked to stand before him. Once more, he admired the shape of her fresh, young body. He could be the first to claim it for his own. But he wanted more than that. For the first time, he wanted to possess someone body, mind, and soul. Never had anyone, man, woman, or beast, watched him the way she did, without fear and with reverence. It wasn't lust that filled her as she looked at him. It was something else altogether, something he couldn't quite place yet hungered for more than anything else he had ever hungered after.

"Come, lay beside me," he said. "You serve too diligently to be reduced to this hole in the wall, or the filth of that tiny, cramped room beyond. Come to my bed. I swear not to lay a hand on you."

Sakura curtsied low, the movement graceful and perfectly poised. Her gaze met his with its usual calm, showing no signs of excitement or curiosity. If she felt anything beyond her serene demeanor, she hid it so well that he could not sense it.

"Thank you for your generosity, my lord," she said, "and for your respect toward my purity. Though, as my master, I would humbly submit to you, were you to wish it."

The words were spoken with no intention of seduction. She didn't sway or dance or bat her eyelids. As she lay down on one side of the bed, she didn't show any flare of passion, as on that night when he touched her. All the same, her every movement electrified his entire body. He reached out and almost touched one of her breasts, their young, firm shape clearly defined beneath her thin frock.

Remembering his promise and ever a demon of his word, he instead grabbed the edge of the satin sheets and laid them over her. Then, drawing his cloak from around his shoulders, he hung it on one of the four posters and slipped into bed beside her.

"Good night, Sakura."

"Good night, my lord."

She turned over, snuggled beneath the covers, and within moments, slept as peacefully as a fresh born babe without a care in the world. Ghirahim watched her, lulled by the music of her steady breathing and the tranquility radiating from her, a quiet yet powerful force that seemed almost as tangible as her body lying close to his and just as tempting. After some time, the sight and sound of her finally soothed him into a deep slumber.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Chapter 7

Fire raged all around Ghirahim. His master's face loomed like an approaching storm, filling his vision till he could see nothing else no matter which way he turned. A giant, flaming sword pierced the air then sliced his body into a million pieces. He roared in pain as his body shattered like glass. Somehow, his soul and consciousness remained intact, allowing him to feel every tendril of unimaginable pain ripping through the scattered pieces of himself—

Ghirahim woke.

Panting hard, he tried to sit up but a heaviness weighed him down. He flung the heaviness off of him and drew one of his daggers, but the next moment, his blind fear melted into clarity as he recognized the girl laying beside him. Despite his panicked reaction, she remained asleep. A moan escaped her lips, along with some indecipherable murmurings. He covered her back up with the blanket he'd just cast aside and lay close to her, rubbing her shoulder until she drew completely still, lost once more in her realm of peaceful slumber. He wondered how she did it, in this place, treated as she was. He admired her strength and resilence...

He admired her too much. Desire electrified his body, awakening him even more than had his racing mind. With a snarl, he pushed away from her and leapt from the bed. No matter how the difficulty mounted, he was determined to keep his word to her. Not because he couldn't find some reason or make up some new rule that would make breaking his word perfectly sound, but because she had been the only being in this place thus far to look upon him without fear and, especially, without expectation.

Still, the only way to spare her in this moment was to flee the room and pour all of his frustrations into his work instead of another meaningless encounter. The dream was an omen. A warning of his approaching doom. He had spent the past couple of days romping about in pleasure, as though his master wouldn't find out exactly what his disloyal servant was about and come to enact revenge. Time was slipping away faster than the sands in an hourglass. He could feel its irrevocable passing like a rope sliding through his fingers, and his grasp was not strong enough to hold on, no matter how hard he tried.

Ghirahim made his way from the fortress and toward the Training Grounds. He delved deep into the underground passages and into the great library. With a snap of his fingers, the torches blazed to life all around, illuminating the room with its ancient, golden glow. The stacks of parchment still scattered across the table from where he had studied earlier. Sitting at the table, he began wading through the parchments and searching through the books meant to decipher the runes. Not only did his search to open the portal continue, but he would find anything he could about the spiritual stones as well, for a time may come when he would need any extra aid he could find to defy his master and thus prevent his recapture.

After what seemed hours upon hours, he had translated the runes for "portal," "open," and "spell," but anything associated with the spiritual stones remained veiled in thick mystery. With a snarl, Ghirahim shoved the book from the table before flipping it over and collapsing to the ground. He held his head between his hands. A throbbing pulsed in his temple, and snatches of fire and pain flashed in his memory. No. No, that would not be his fate. Failure would not be his fate a second time. He would find the path to victory. He must. Snatching up the nearest parchment, he drew the book toward him to begin again—

Soft footsteps alerted him. He jumped up and whirled all about. Nothing. He raised his arm, letting the dark energy flow and form in his curled hand. If this was Koume playing some trick on him or one of Kotake's childish games to seduce him—

Sakura stepped from the shadows into his view.

Ghirahim stood stunned for a moment. Then, he extinguished the dark power and let his hand drop. He wanted to be irritated at how much her presence calmed him, but her serenity cast its usual spell on him. Feigning irritation, he snapped, "Sakura. What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at your post, waiting upon your master's needs when he returns?"

"I had a dream," she said. "It led me here. It told me my master's needs were here."

"And how did you get here? The guards?"

"I'm not entirely sure, my lord. I was in the dream...and then, as soon as I stepped into the light and saw you, I was here."

Ghirahim studied her carefully. No lie hid within her. She was just as perplexed as he was about how she stood before him.

"Has this sort of thing happened before?"

Sakura nodded. "One other time. Again, when I was dreaming."

"There may be more to you than meets the eye after all," Ghirahim muttered. Then, more loudly, he declared, "I would appreciate your coming to aid me, but I don't know of what use you could be. These runes are impossible."

"Are you still trying to unravel the mystery behind the portal?"

Ghirahim nodded.

"May I see?" she asked.

He glared at her skeptically.

"May I see?" she repeated. "My lord?"

With a sigh, Ghirahim handed her the parchment. She glanced with question between him and the floor, and when he nodded, they sat beside one another. He pushed the book toward her, but she seemed to pay no heed. Her gaze skipped across the parchment, and her brows dipped in what he was sure must be the same confusion he had felt all night.

He picked up the book. "You'll need this. You won't get far without it—or perhaps even with it, as my case has been thus far—"

"'...the key to opening the portal is to harness the spirits of the goddesses who created Hyrule: power, wisdom, and courage. Call upon these spirits, and the goddesses themselves, and the way will be opened.' It also says there are chants needed to open the portals, and that these are inscribed on the portals themselves..."

"What are you doing?" Ghirahim demanded.

"Reading," she said. "Hmm...it seems that once the portal is open, there is another chant that can open a pathway between realms—one that would allow you to summon demons and beasts from the underworld. Isn't that what you were wanting—?"

"Sakura, what are you doing? What are you blathering on about?"

"I'm reading." She glanced up at him at last, and a confused frown filled her face. "Isn't that what you wanted?"

"Are you deceiving me?" He knew it wasn't true, and yet what she implied couldn't possibly be either. "If this is some trick to win my favor, I swear the punishment for you will be greater than anything I might rain down upon those insipid sisters or Sheikah fools..."

"What reason have I to lie to you, my lord?" Beyond her composed exterior, insult read clearly in her gaze. "Have I not faithfully served you, and only you, thus far?"

Ghirahim almost thought to apologize but then shook the idea aside. He must not let this strange being make him forget who he was. He owed no one an apology, least of all a mortal.

"You can read them then?" he said. "You can actually read the runes?"

Sakura nodded. She looked at him for a moment then turned her gaze to the scattered parchments. She pointed at each of the mystical runes and named them in turn: "This one is 'tree.' Here's 'wind' and 'sun' and 'children' and 'dream' and—"

Ghirahim grabbed her wrist, and with a gasp, she ceased reading. She studied him, silently awaiting his next command.

"How?" he demanded.

"I don't know, my lord," Sakura said. "I've just always been able."

Ghirahim narrowed his gaze and scrutinized her. As always, she spoke truth and seemed to hold no qualms about doing so. Jumping up, he pulled her up with him and placed an arm around her. "Come. Come with me. I need to show you something. You may be the key to my plan, the piece that has been missing from this infuriating puzzle."

In one giant leap, Ghirahim shot them up from the hidden chambers and into the main part of the Training Grounds. He hurried her from the Grounds and toward the giant gate leading to the desert and his sweet, sweet victory just beyond. The stars spanned brilliantly in the clear sky, glittering like millions of fire demons in worship of his great magic and power. Perhaps, with Sakura's help, he might even summon the stars themselves to his aid. He would thrill to hold such an army at his side.

Ghirahim swept Sakura in his arms and leapt to the top of one of the towers flanking the gate. The guard there nearly toppled off in surprise as they suddenly stood before her.

"We need to get through," Ghirahim said. "I must visit the temple. It's on urgent business, for the Lady Koume."

The Gerudo glanced Ghirahim and Sakura up and down. "What need do you have to take the servant girl with you?"

"She has knowledge that is invaluable to me. I need her, to study something at the temple."

The Gerudo frowned. "Koume wouldn't like anyone attending the temple without her. I'm afraid you'll have to wait till morning, till she can accompany you."

"Oh, will I?" Ghirahim set Sakura gently on her feet. In one graceful glide, he towered over the Gerudo; she did her best to stand tall and bold but visibly flinched and wanted to cower. "Did you see how I got up here? I can get down the other side just as easily."

"Even still," the Gerudo said, her voice quiet and quivering, "only Lady Koume knows how to do undo the charms surrounding the desert. You'll be leading both yourself and the girl here to certain death—"

Ghirahim grabbed the Gerudo by the throat and shoved her back till she leaned back off the edge of the tower. Her arms flailed, and she stared desperately at Ghirahim, all sense of bravery fled. Squeezing a little tighter so that she clawed at his hands, he bent low and whispered in her ear, "My pretty little fool, that's where you're wrong. Demons don't die."

He threw her down. She landed on her hands and knees, gasping for breath and rubbing her neck. Without another glance back, Ghirahim swept Sakura in his arms again and leapt down on the other side of the tower.

As they stood at the edge of the sinking sands, Ghirahim noticed the feel of her against his body, her arms wrapped securely around his neck. He imagined her soft hands running through his hair and shivered. Her small frame was like holding nothing, yet its warmth and closeness reminded him that it was far from nothing. Her heart beat wildly against his body, but she made no protest of fear, only continued to hold to him tightly.

Ghirahim ran across the sands and cleared the quicksand in one giant leap.

"That was amazing," Sakura said. "I've often wondered what it was like to fly."

"That was the easy part. It's the sandstorms that will prove the true trial to navigate. I do have a theory. The runes—do they have a spoken equivalent, or are they only a written language?"

"Yes, my lord," Sakura said. "When read properly, they are done so in the original Hyrule tongue—a language so ancient, it is the closest thing to the language of the gods."

"Demons have long known this truth: if you know a thing's name, you have absolute power and control over that thing. Can you tell me the words for 'wind' and 'sand'?"

Sakura nodded. "'Samoona' and 'kamsheen.'"

Ghirahim tilted her chin so that her face looked up into his. Her lips were so close that he need lean forward only ever so slightly to kiss them. But such an act would send him into a frenzy. Here was not the place to devour her, nor was it the time. She gazed into his eyes, ever fearless and ready to do his bidding. Tearing away from that tempting gaze, he rushed with her across the sands.

The winds began to push against them, till at last they stood at the edge of the sandstorm. Ghirahim commanded the wind and sand to cease, first using the common tongue. Nothing happened. But the moment he called the elements by their ancient names, their first and true names, the wind died and the sand fell, creating little mountains of glistening gold. And far on the horizon, the Spirit Temple rose into view, dazzled by the stars who continued to shine and sing his praises.

Ghirahim soared with her across the desert. The sands flew beneath them in a shimmering blur, as though they sped over a great carpet of gold that had been rolled out to show the way to the temple and honor the glorious thing that he would accomplish there. As the crisp night air burned through his lungs, he could nearly taste the sweetness of his victory—just as he could nearly taste the sweetness of the maiden clutching him close, her face buried against his chest to shield it from the wind. Her cheek brushed against his skin, warm as the sun and softer than the silks adorning his bed.

Of a sudden, they were at the temple grounds, standing on the giant octagon slab of stone. The runes engraved all around its perimeter stood no longer as unconquerable foes to be hated, but as friends to be welcomed. She would soon unravel them for him; she was, perhaps, one of the only living beings who could. How the gods had smiled upon him in leading her to him. Together, what an unstoppable force they could become.

"Sakura. Sakura, we're here."

She still held him tight, and Ghirahim struggled to control the waves of energy pulsing through him as his excitement mounted. Finally, he had to pry her arms from around him and set her on the ground. She lay there, looking dazed for some moments. Then, she slowly sat up. In trying to stand, she stumbled, but Ghirahim quickly caught and steadied her.

"Forgive me," Ghirahim said. "Perhaps, for a moment, I forgot you are human. The speed of our journey likely alarmed you. When your head is clear, tell me, so that we may then begin."

"I—I believe my head is clear enough now," Sakura said. "It's my body that hasn't quite adjusted..."

Ghirahim wrapped his arms around her. She pressed her head against his chest again, and he lowered his head, inhaling the sweet scent of her hair. The sensation sent his mind reeling, and he just barely contained his energy from blasting her out of his arms. Instead, he set her back on the ground and sat beside her, though not too close. "Then let us rest a moment till you recover your strength."

Sakura nodded. She sat very still for some moments, glancing at the temple behind them, the expanse of desert stretching its seemingly endless carpet of gold on all sides. Then, running her hands along the stone beneath her, she looked down. Her gaze followed the Triforce carved on its smooth, worn surface to the edge where the runes rested. Ever so carefully, she crawled to the edge. Then, she began slowly circling the perimeter, tracing the runes. Her lips moved, and her brows bent in deep concentration. When she had made her way around, she paused, crawled to a different spot, and began again, circling the platform and muttering the text beneath her breath—

A blue light dazzled the platform. Pillars of blue light shot up, encircling it and stretching to the sky. Ghirahim stood to his feet, wandered over, touched the light—and recoiled. Then, he touched it again and forced himself to hold his hand in its warmth, forced himself to feel its power, pulsing with the strength of a thousand heartbeats—the heartbeats of his warriors just waiting to be summoned.

"You've done it..." Ghirahim looked up at Sakura who also ran her hands through the sapphire light, the same awe written clearly on her face. "You've opened the portal between worlds."

Sakura glanced at him. "Will you summon your army now, my lord?"

Ghirahim continued to wave his hand through the light. He stood but a few simple words away from drawing enough power to himself to overthrow the sisters, the Gerudo, the entire kingdom of Hyrule, even his master—

His master. Should he prove a threat, he would prove the greatest threat of all. Only one thing had ever been able to stop his master before. Ghirahim would be a fool to think he could stop him without it, even with all the armies in the world.

"The temptation is great," Ghirahim said. "Close the portal, before I succumb to it."

Sakura looked at Ghirahim as if to be sure of his command. Then she muttered another spell and the blue light vanished. Its absence could leave only a stale aftertaste of the power Ghirahim had grasped just moments before. The contrast was so stark, it felt as though both the light and its power had been nothing more than a promise given in a dream long ago.

Frustration tore through Ghirahim. He almost yelled at Sakura to reopen the portal, but instead he grabbed her by the arm and pulled her off of the platform.

"What about these?" Ghirahim reached into his cloak, pulled out several folded parchments from his hidden pocket, unfolded and handed them to Sakura.

She studied the runes and traced her fingers along the bright paintings of the ruby, emerald, and sapphire. "These are exceptional. It says they are called 'spiritual stones,' gifts from the goddesses. There's a spell for granting them to a new master. It also says something about the Triforce..." She riffled through the parchment, glancing at each piece in turn. "...but the rest is too heavily smudged and faded for me to make out..."

Ghirahim snatched the parchments back from her and stared at the illustrations of the stones. "They look so bright and bold right now. Almost as if they could leap off the page at the touch of my fingertips and into my palm. And that's all thanks to you. You've delivered into my hand the way to my great victory. These stones, as I suspected, are our link to the Triforce—the gods' ultimate power. I cannot summon great armies from the underworld without my master, the great Demon King, noticing. Because when he sees how I have betrayed him, he will come for me. I need to be ready. I need to have the power to stand against him before summoning my army. Only by the power of the Triforce can I do this thing."

"So you would get the stones and use them to achieve the Triforce," Sakura said. "Then, with its power in your grasp, you would summon your armies, making yourself lord over both Hyrule and its underworld?"

Ghirahim stared at her. She didn't accuse him, didn't show any hints of disapproval. Nor did she seem overwhelmed with any lust for power that the sorceresses might have been. She was still just a servant, confirming her lord's plan and her loyalty to it.

Ghirahim could wait no longer.

"Come. We must get back. In a couple of hours, dawn will come, and Koume will awaken. The least she finds out about our plans on her own, the better."

"Our plans, my lord?"

"Yes. You will continue to help me?"

"Yes, of course. But surely, as your servant, I am not worthy to be considered in any way your equal—"

Ghirahim grabbed her shoulders and leaned in close. "You are more my equal than any of them will ever be. And I promise you, you will be treated as such. No harm shall come against you, and every reward will be yours, when I make myself king."

She stared at him, bewildered. He caught her up in his arms and whisked her away across the desert once more.

He flew more slowly, so by the time they had landed, she steadied on her feet much more readily. He placed one arm around her to guide her through the fortress' shadowy corridors. As they turned the last bend, a low growl ripped through Ghirahim's throat, filling his entire body; Kotake stood leaning against his door. At the sight of him, her face lit up—only to turn cold as ice as her glance fell on Sakura.

Ghirahim shoved Sakura behind him, marched up to Kotake, and towered over her. "What in all the gods' name are you doing here?"

"A better question, my lord..." Kotake stretched on her tip-toes, getting right in his face. "...is where have you been?"

Ghirahim stood taken aback for a moment. Then, he slapped her across the cheek, and she fell to the floor with a gasp. She lay there for a moment, rubbing the red, raw flesh. As she pulled her hand away, her eyes widened at the sight of blood smeared across her fingers. She glared up at him and parted her lips to retort, but he swooped down and pointed his finger in her face. "No. No, you will seek to control me no longer. Time and again I have underestimated your sheer stupidity. But now let me speak plainly, in words that perhaps even you can comprehend: I have no need for you. I have no desire to have you in my bed. And I have no obligation to tell you of my whereabouts."

Kotake's gaze seethed. Her dark eyes lightened with blue hues, and Ghirahim could feel a coolness radiating from her skin. Desire burned in her gaze, and he hardly knew whether she wanted more to throw herself at him or kill him. Quietly, she said, "I know you went to the temple without my sister's permission. That was never part of our deal."

"You're lucky I still serve your sister at all. She has proven this night to be a liar."

Kotake opened her mouth to speak again, but then her gaze drew behind Ghirahim.

"And what are you doing with the likes of her?" Kotake sneered. "She's not even one of us. You won't bed me, yet you would lie with her? What would attract you to lie with a nameless wretch—"

Ghirahim grabbed Kotake by the wrists, yanked her up, and slammed her back against the wall. "She is none of your concern. Do you understand me?"

Hurt poured from Kotake's gaze, a gaze that silently begged him and blamed him at the same time. She glanced at Sakura again, but he slammed her against the wall even harder and repeated, "Do you understand me?"

Kotake looked up at Ghirahim again. With a nod, she wrenched away, and he let her. She fled the hall without a word, though her sobs could soon be heard echoing on the stones like a banshee's wail. The noise set Ghirahim's nerves on edge. With a commanding glance at Sakura, he entered his chambers and, as she followed, shut the door on the terrible sound.

Ghirahim slouched down in the chair at the desk. Taking out the parchments again, he studied the drawings. He tried to recall the feeling of the portal's energy pumping through him, but the feeling was lost to him, leaving only a bitter emptiness in its wake—and magnifying his frustrations tenfold. Or perhaps it was Kotake's meddling foolery that stirred such anger in him now. Whatever its cause, he felt an urge to release it in a whirlwind that could overturn every single stone in the fortress and destroy the narrow walls that seemed to shrink and confine him further still every day. He could do it, if he wished. He could bring the whole place down with a single punch to a single stone. They would all be crushed if he did—even Koume. Wouldn't that be a sight to see, Kotake crouched by the remains of her home, a heap of rubble serving as a graveyard for her pathetic people, including her traitorous liar of a sister—

"You've worked hard tonight, my lord..." Sakura's voice lured his focus back to her. "I'll take my leave so you may finish your work and get some well-deserved rest." Her gaze lingered on him. Then, with a bow of her head, she turned to leave.

"Wait. Stay a moment."

Sakura paused and turned. Confusion passed over her face, but it was quickly replaced by her ever-present readiness to do his bidding.

Ghirahim rose from the desk. He glided toward her, creating a seductive dance as he wove between the pillars supporting the room and trailed his fingertips across their surface. Then he stood before her, leaning casually against the pillar nearest her and caressing its smooth marble. She swallowed, the subtle noise loud in the chamber's vast silence. Her gaze remained steadily on him, though her struggle was obvious.

"It's okay," he said, leaning close and whispering into her ear. "It's okay that you want to watch—watch as I stroke this smooth marble and imagine me touching your sweet, smooth skin..." He let his free hand dance ever so lightly up and down her arm; she shivered, and her breath accelerated. "You have served me faithfully, without expectation or complaint. You don't beg and plead and throw yourself at me, choking me for attention as others do. Nor do you ignore and belittle me. You have helped me get one step closer to achieving my goal, while requiring nothing of me in return. It would please me now to reward you for your services."

He touched her chin and lifted her head, so that her eyes, wide and wild and mesmerized with sincere wonderment, were forced to meet his. As soon as they did, his spell was completed. She did not look away, and he believed that she could not. Looking away would have proven a feat for even a well-controlled demon lord as himself. He did not want to look away. For through her eyes, he gazed into her soul and found her spirit—that free, unbreakable spirit that had drawn him to her from the start—and found too that she wanted the same thing. He kept their locked gaze steady and didn't dare to break it—not until he coiled his hands in her hair and pulled her face toward his, sealing them inside an intoxicating kiss.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Chapter 8

Ghirahim woke to realize that Sakura still slept in his arms, that every sensation, every vice and virtue she had granted him last night, was as real as himself. Pulling her close, he buried his face in her soft hair and the delicate curve of her neck.

He had never before understood how humans could be so addicted to their simple pleasures. He had conquered plenty of women in his time. But to share his physical passion with someone who could understand the passion of his spirit as well—that was a new experience, taking him to heights beyond what surely even the gods themselves had ever experienced. For once, being with a woman had not only satisfied his anger and frustrations, but made him hunger for more of her specifically. He no longer cared that she might cast some enchantment or poison him with some kind of love potion. Nor could he care that he no longer cared....

A knock on the door drew him from his thoughts. The knock quickly grew more violent. Irritated to be drawn from his dream world and back into the hellish reality of the fortress, he rose from the bed and drew on his trousers. Sakura moaned and turned over, grappling at the covers as if, in leaving the bed, he had also left her dreams and she now searched for him here so as to find him there again. He laid his cloak over her, and with a soft smile, she hugged it close and lay still once more.

The knocking on the door soon morphed into a ridiculous banging. Ghirahim zipped over to the door and threw it open.

"What is this noise at such an insulting hour of the morning?"

Koume glared at him, flames literally dancing in her eyes. "It would not seem so early if my lord had slept through the night."

"Koume—"

"Lady Koume. This is my realm. You will address me with the proper respect."

Ghirahim wanted to throw her back into the hall and hear her skull crack on the stone. What further need had he for her, who had lied and betrayed and thought to make an utter fool out of him?

And yet, a powerful servant such as her could not be made a slave if dead. Gripping the door frame, he used every ounce of his will to restrain the energy coursing like an inevitable lightning bolt inside him. With a mockingly dramatic bow, he said, "Yes, my Lady Koume. How may I serve you?"

"My sister told me where you were last night. Where you've been every night. We have much to talk about. Dress and come to my chambers immediately."

Ghirahim hesitated, pushing his magic back inside him. He hadn't had a good fight since first he came here, and while being with Sakura had calmed his nerves, Koume had found a way to fan the flames anew in a single breath. The rage building inside him was not one that love would cure, but war. He gave a single nod at Koume and closed the door.

His thoughts turned first to Sakura. He would have her again, but she seemed content in her sleep. She was as much a prisoner in this wretched place as he, a novelty trapped between stone walls. He had yet to puzzle out how she had not only known the runes, but how she seemed to appear out of nowhere whenever he most needed her. Whatever she was, she was too valuable to be a servant in this place—or any place, save under his rule once he established it. For now, he would leave her to her dreams. No reason one of them couldn't get a few more hours' peace.

Ghirahim dressed and stole quietly from the room. He entered Koume's chambers to find her waiting with arms folded, a look of mingled disgust and intrigue dancing vividly in her fire-lit eyes.

"Well then, look who it is," Koume sneered. "The one I took in, allowed to live side by side with my Gerudo as our equal, without any obligation to serve. The same one who betrayed me last night—the gods only know how many nights—by not only breaking into my personal chambers but infiltrating the sacred grounds of my people and seeking to do, again, only the gods know what. Raise an army against me? Murder me in my sleep? Who can say? This is why we Gerudo never dare to trust the treachery and false promises of men—"

Ghirahim flung a fiery dart at Koume. It expanded into a long flaming lasso that wrapped around her and threw her back into one of the bookshelves. The bookshelf exploded. Splinters of wood and pages rained down like snow. Koume wriggled from her bonds and grabbed on, whipping them around in her hand. She snapped them at Ghirahim, but he caught them, yanked them to draw her to him, and then slammed her against the wall, pinning her there.

"Need I remind you that I am no man? Do not insult me again as such. How dare you, a presumptuous, novice witch, insist on calling me to your chambers so you can scold me like a mother might her son. Especially after lying to me, betraying me."

"Lying to you?" Koume quivered against the wall, though she continued to glare up at him with every ounce of defiance she yet possessed. "What have I lied about? I have given you perfect safety and free reign here, as promised—though you took advantage of these liberties by disobeying me."

Ghirahim scoffed and shook his head. "You sound more and more like your sister—and still I cannot riddle if the two of you are very bold or very stupid. You lied about being able to read the runes—no, don't deny it! How else do you think I made it past your charms?"

"I—I don't know much...." Koume tried to step aside, but Ghirahim placed an arm on either side of her, trapping her against the wall. "I only know enough for my spells, and a little more. As far as the portal goes, if I had found a way to open it, I would have done so long ago myself...." She wiggled to the side again, but he brought his arms in, making her cage smaller still.

"How does it feel?" Ghirahim danced closer so that his body brushed against hers. She shivered, and for once, her desire gleamed in her gaze, like a ray of sun parting a dark cloud. "To be trapped in this small space, in a place that is meant to be a safeguard? To have your authority and power undermined, to be watched like a child who cannot be trusted? Did you really think you could hide your knowledge from me forever?"

"Get away from me," Koume muttered. "You may have power as a demon, but you have no lordship here. Never forget—this is my domain."

"For now—"

A blast of fire slammed Ghirahim back against the opposite bookshelf, but he quickly recovered, leaping up and pinning Koume against the wall once more, this time with his rapier to her throat.

"Find your pathetic sister," he said. "What she may yet have to offer, I am uncertain. But we will have a meeting, to discuss our next plan of attack. Like it or not, we are moving ahead with an attack on the royal family that will serve to my benefit."

"And mine?" she gasped. "My sister's?"

"That would depend on my satisfaction with your cooperation."

Ghirahim pressed the blade to her throat, just enough to create a sliver of crimson that trickled down her copper skin. She did not flinch, but fear shone in her eyes. She moved her hands as if to raise another fiery attack, but he snatched them with his free hand and held them firmly.

"Red becomes you," he whispered in her ear. "I could imagine you in red silks, jewels.... I have always liked you better than your sister, you know. You're the cleverer between the two, the stronger. You don't throw yourself at me like others do. I might even make you my favorite whore, once I am king...."

"I am no one's whore. I belong to no man—"

"Demon, my lady. I am no man." Ghirahim pressed the blade a little deeper; the blood ran more freely, and a small whimper escaped Koume's lips. "I like to consider myself a gentleman, in a certain sense of the word. I don't like it when things turn messy; it simply doesn't look nice for one of my title. But you do have a way of bringing my temper to boil to the surface and well beyond. Do not fool yourself into believing I am not strong enough to act upon that temper. There is the joy of a hunt and challenge, and then there is too much of a challenge. I have been very patient. My patience wanes; summon your sister, and let's get things in order before it disappears altogether."

Ghirahim released her. She fell against the wall, for a moment looking every bit as weak as Kotake. The idea almost saddened him.

"I must get some things from my chambers," he said. "I will meet you and your sister back here momentarily."

Koume had already straightened and redrawn the cloak of coldness and composure about her shoulders. All too late. Ghirahim had seen. He had broken her, just enough to know he now held her under his power. He could rule Sakura with love and loyalty, but if others would not love him, he would rule them with fear.

He turned away and hurried for his chambers. As he approached, he saw that the door stood ajar. Voices from within met his ears:

"Why are you in here?" Kotake snarled.

"I am Lord Ghirahim's humble servant," Sakura answered. "I am always here, ready to serve his every need."

"His every need?"

A loud thump made Ghirahim jump up and soar down the hall. He flew into the room where Kotake stood over Sakura who knelt on the ground, head bent and touching a hand to one cheek.

Ghirahim grabbed Kotake by the hair. Ignoring her cries, he dragged her into the hall and threw her to the ground. Kotake screamed and looked up at him wildly. Scrambling toward him, she reached for his cloak, begging, "Forgive me, my lord. But I could not bear the idea of this common whore bewitching you—"

"She is not the whore!" Ghirahim thundered. "Nor is she the one who would seek to bewitch me and use me for her will. Believe me, my lady—it takes every ounce of my will to resist annihilating you right here and now. Truly, your insolence maddens me even more than that of your sister. Go to her now. Speak not a word of what has just passed between us. Then wait for me to come; we have much to plan and discuss."

Kotake nodded and staggered to her feet. She trembled head to toe, all the while giving Ghirahim the most openly yearning glare.

"Go," he snarled, "and should you ever lay a hand against Sakura again, know it will be the last time you lay a hand on anyone."

Kotake's gaze lingered on him a moment longer, begging and loathing him at once. Then she turned and sped down the hall.

Ghirahim rushed to Sakura's side. A cut bled just above her cheekbone, and she had just finished stemming the last of the blood with a bit of cloth torn from her dress.

Ghirahim lifted her chin and looked into her eyes. "Are you all right? Did she strike you anywhere else, bring you any other harm?"

"No, my lord," Sakura said. "And it was not such a harsh blow. I have dealt with far worse."

Ghirahim smirked. "Not a trace of tears, whereas that witch would weep entire oceans in exchange for a mere handful of disapproving words. Truly, you surpass her in every way. But listen to me..." He placed his hands on her shoulders; her gaze continued to steadily meet his. "...I believe Kotake knows about us. Unless she is fool enough to deny, she knows. At the hands of her jealousy, your safety may be soon placed in jeopardy. I'm going now to make plans with them. As soon as I'm able, I will march on the castle. I will take you with me. And as soon as I take it, I will make you queen. You will have all manner of protections in the world, so that no man or otherworldly beings can harm you. Till then, lay low and keep your guard up. I still hold a power over her, but the moment that power should break, you would be no longer safe."

"We would no longer be safe, you mean."

Ghirahim studied Sakura in confusion. A playful smile tugged at the corners of her lips. She took his hands from her shoulders and brought them to rest on her stomach.

"Impossible," Ghirahim said. "I took you only last night. You couldn't know...."

"I just have a feeling," Sakura said, her eyes dancing. "That's all."

Ghirahim stared at her. "I admit I'm incredulous. Time and again you continue to astound me. You have proven right about other things. If you prove right about this as well, if you give me my heir...."

For once, words evaded him. He pulled her close and kissed her.

His passions soon mounted, till he had taken her once more.

Then, carrying her to the bed, he laid her down, kissed her forehead, and said, "Rest now—both of you." He grinned proudly. "I must go deal with the fools who would claim to rule this fortress and make plans to obtain our army."

Sakura smiled sleepily. "The gods be with you. I eagerly await your return and whatever news you bring."

Ghirahim kissed her forehead again and stole from the room. He sped down the halls, fueled with new excitement. If Sakura truly bore him an heir, his line would be sealed forever. He would be untouchable by anyone....

Upon entering Koume's chambers, he found the sisters standing together at the far side of the table. Both glared at him, one in defiance, the other in visible pain. How petty and feeble their hatred toward him burned.

"I am undaunted by your anger," he said with a glance at Koume, " and even less so by yours." He nodded at Kotake who continued to pout. "We are moving forward with my plans, like it or not—plans that you had originally promised to help set into motion."

"And just how will we take the castle?" Koume said. "We have no armies yet."

"I could summon them tonight," Ghirahim said.

"If you know how. If you don't run into the same problem you did when trying to open the portal in the first place."

"Oh don't trouble over that, sister," Kotake spat. "I'm sure he could get his Hylian dog to help him."

"I warned you not to insult her," Ghirahim growled.

"You warned me not to touch her again."

Koume cast a curious glance at her sister who looked on the verge of spitting venom and breaking down into tears in the same breath.

"At any rate," Ghirahim said, "I am not quite ready to summon my army, and so that is not the tactic we would use."

Koume scoffed. "Then attacking the castle tonight would be foolishness."

"Why is that?"

"Have you not heard the news? A princess has been born to the king and queen. All of Hyrule Town is invited to attend. The guards, the Sheikah—everyone will be at the castle, surrounding the castle, guarding the castle during the celebration. Nothing will be left to chance, in regards to the princess' safety. If we already had an army, it would be perfect; we could surround and slaughter. But on our own, we will simply have to wait—"

"No," Ghirahim said, as the wheels inside his mind sped. "No, this may be a hidden blessing from the gods themselves. We have no great armies yet. But we will not infiltrate the city to take the throne—not yet, not this time. Instead, while everyone is distracted celebrating the princess' birth, we would use the secret passages beneath the city to steal inside the temple and obtain the three spiritual stones. They open their own portal—to the Triforce, the power of the gods. With the Triforce in our grasp, no one could stand against us. Then we would focus on building our army. But for now, we take the stones, and that's it. We retreat back to the fortress immediately afterward."

A hint of greed gleamed in Koume's gaze, but she said coolly, "And what about the stones? I'm sure they will also be under close watch."

"But not as close a watch as the princess. I believe that, given the circumstances, the princess and her royal blood will be considered more vulnerable and thus in more need of protecting. Besides, no one will suspect that, after all this time, someone has discovered the runes needed for the spell that can free the stones and bestow them upon a new master. We may be beset with a few traps, a few Sheikah here and there. But nothing your best swordswomen—as well as our combined magic—can't handle."

"My sister won't be going. Nor will I risk the lives of my Gerudo."

"I am going," Kotake said, all the while glaring at Ghirahim. "I'm old enough to make my own choices. I will help get the stones."

"A wise choice," Ghirahim said. "And I would council you to choose wisely as well, Lady Koume..." He raised his hand and formed several red, purple, and orange flames that waved about on his fingertips. "For either you can lend me your Gerudo and risk their deaths, or refuse me and make certain their deaths the moment I have my army." He closed his fist, crushing the flames to mere wisps of smoke.

Koume's gaze emanated poison at Ghirahim. She seemed to hesitate a few moments, but finally she said, "Very well. The celebration starts in a few hours. If we are to do this thing, we had best to prepare immediately and get it over with as fast as we can."

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Chapter 9

Ghirahim stood at the entrance to the Training Grounds, alongside the host of Gerudo Koume had gathered. While a few of the Gerudo wore the common purple garb, most were clad in a shade of pink that mimicked the blush of sunset just beginning to paint the sky—the Elite, Koume called them. Her most skilled and lethal warriors. None of them wore a single shred of armor save a breastplate covering their heart, but rumor had it that the reach of their sword was so long that further protection was unnecessary and would only slow them down besides. In addition, Koume had chosen several of her best archers. Ghirahim had no recollection of seeing any of them that first day in Hyrule Town Market and wondered why. The Sheikah were arrogant fools, but their skills and prowess with the bow were nothing with which to trifle.

Koume marched toward them, her white and golden silks, golden breastplate, boots, and gauntlets all shimmering in the sun, dazzling as if she was made of flame. The usual sternness shone in her eyes. As she met Ghirahim's gaze, a hint of worry glinted there as well.

"Are we ready to depart?" she asked.

"Your sister," Ghirahim said. "Where is Kotake?"

"She's fallen ill."

"Her magic may be needed. Who knows what tricks the Sheikah have prepared for us? They're no fools. They'll know now is a prime time to attack."

"I understand, my lord," Koume said, a sneer tingeing her voice, "but I would not sacrifice my sister to those Sheikah dogs even to please you. Punish me if you like. Kill me. But she is, at present, too weak to defend herself. I will not send her."

"Can you not heal her?"

Koume's frown deepened, as did the irritation filling her face. "Were you not eager to depart? You know it takes several hours to reach the town—"

"Can you not heal her?"

"No. I am a fire mage, not a healer. The fever must run its course."

"Where did this sudden illness spring from? Are there others ill?"

"You ask many questions for a man who insisted we be on such a hurried mission. I don't know where she contracted the illness. Perhaps you gave it to her. Perhaps it's some sort of curse unique to your kind."

"How dare you, insolent girl!" Ghirahim stepped forward, hand raised back. Energy pulsed through his body, transforming into magic that lingered right beneath his skin. Koume didn't move a muscle, only continued to glare up at him, and the meaning in her gaze spoke truth: he wouldn't harm her. Quarreling with her now would be pointless. If ever he needed allies, it was now. Lowering his hand and heaving a great sigh, he snarled, "Show her to me."

"My lord, the time—"

"I am well aware of the time. Show her to me. And then we may go."

Koume studied him a few moments more. Then, after a single nod at him, she turned to the Gerudo and said, "Wait here. We will return shortly and from there depart to our mission."

Koume led Ghirahim back toward the fortress. As they wove through its shadowed halls, she said, "This had best not take long. I will not place my women in danger because of your delays...."

"The celebration will last more than a mere couple of hours," Ghirahim said. "I think we can both guess that. We've plenty of time."

Koume led him in silence the rest of the way. They finally came to a door a few halls down from Koume's chambers. Koume knocked lightly and then slipped inside, motioning for Ghirahim to do the same.

Within, Kotake lay on her giant canopy bed, muttering, moaning, tossing restlessly. A Hylian maiden pressed a wet cloth to her forehead, while another tended the fire. Fear illuminated Koume's gaze as it fell upon her sister. Ghirahim wandered over and watched Kotake. A thick sweat drenched her body, shining in the firelight like drops of blood on her copper skin. The girl was lost deep in a restless sleep assailed by some sort of nightmare. He pressed his hand to her forehead but quickly recoiled.

"She is on fire," Ghirahim said, glancing up at Koume. "I have no great care for her, but I understand how you humans care for your blood. If you would rather tend her, I can lead the Gerudo—"

"No," Koume said firmly. "I have seen this sort of fever before. Kotake is strong. Her ice magic will help. Gods willing, she will soon heal. I am loathe to leave my sister, yes. But I will not leave the fates of the Elite in your hands either. You made quite the fuss about needing my magic, and you're quite right. Someone needs to be able to defend the Gerudo, should things go awry for us. Come. The sooner we leave, the sooner I may return to her..." She placed a hand on Kotake's shoulder and gave her a tender glance. Then she stole from the room, and Ghirahim followed.

Back at the Training Grounds, they entered and passed through the right-most door. Koume and the Elite walked through what appeared to be a solid wall, but as Ghirahim followed suit, it felt no different than walking through open air. Beyond the secret wall, a series of passages delved down, down, deep beneath the fortress. At first, emblazoned torches led their way. After a time, the torches ceased, and Koume created floating orbs of flame to light their path.

The hours passed like many long days to Ghirahim. If he'd had a heart, it would have thundered more and more with each step they took closer to their goal. As it was, he could feel a magical tension building inside him, flowing through every inch of him down to the tips of his fingers and toes.

After a time, torches lined the walls again, and Koume announced that they now walked beneath the city. A little further on, she stopped their party and said, "Well, Lord Ghirahim, I shall let you do the honors. The town rests directly over us. Peek out and see what we are up against." Koume nodded to the ceiling above her.

Ghirahim stepped close to her and looked up. A square tile in the ceiling was slightly discolored. Reaching up, he pushed and pried till at last the tile slid aside. Then, jumping up, he pulled himself through the opening and peered about at his surroundings.

They had landed right smack dab in the middle of the town square. Not a soul stirred for as far as he could see. Storm clouds approached overhead; a hint of lightning flared in their dark billows. Over the wall and in the distance, fireworks blazed in an array of colors above the castle, glistening and whirling like streamers. Music echoed ever so faintly from that direction. No sound could be detected in the town itself, save the barking of a stray dog.

Jumping back down, Ghirahim said to Koume, "All clear. No signs of life up there whatsoever."

Koume nodded. "Good. Reseal the doorway. We go a little further, right into the temple itself."

Ghirahim closed the secret passage, and on they trekked, till Koume stopped them again and said, "Right above here. Gerudo, arm yourselves—if no battles await us here, then both the Royal Family and the Sheikah are bigger fools than I ever could have imagined."

"I will go first again," Ghirahim said. "Make it seem like I've come alone. That way, if there is an attack, we can surprise them with our retaliation."

Koume nodded. "We will not be far behind to defend you."

Ghirahim glanced up. Exhilaration surged through him like the looming storm's lightning. As ever, he had to repress this thrill to keep it from manifesting as magic that would collapse the entire tunnel. Reaching up, he shoved the heavy stone tile aside with as great an ease as one blows away a feather. Magic at the ready and sword at his side, he leapt up through the secret opening in a single bound.

Silence drowned him on every side. Not just an absence of noise, but a dreadful absence of the precious gems whose secrets he had fought so hard to achieve. He circled the stone altar. He soared up, scanning the stained glass windows for any sign that the gems might have been hidden within their colorful panes.

"Nothing..." He landed before the altar, glaring with hate at its emptiness, still as a grave. "Where are they..?"

"Is it safe, my lord?" Koume called up.

"That would depend. As long as you mean no harm against us, we would mean no harm against you."

Ghirahim whirled and flung a ring of fire at the woman whose familiar, cursed voice broke the silence with all the displeasure of nails scraped across glass—Impa, her determined face fully revealed as she removed the purple veil. His flaming lasso coiled around her, hissing and squeezing the life out of her.

The scream that fell from her lips soon morphed into a determined yell, and the next moment, a bright light shielded her from their view. A loud clap thundered, and Ghirahim almost worried she had found some way to harness the power of the storm clouds brewing outside. Then the light faded, and Impa stood free from her bonds. Her fists clenched, and her breathing came in quick, ragged gasps. A stench rose from the raised, red welts on her arms. Despite the pain shining clearly from her gaze, she lifted her chin and straightened herself proudly.

"I don't know yet whether to praise you or kill you," Ghirahim said. "I might be inclined to do both—in that order. You're certainly one of the most determined rivals I've ever faced. I might be inclined also to spare you your deserved death, if you would kindly tell me where the spiritual stones have disappeared to."

"They were removed," Impa said. "A prophecy was made long ago about the birth of her majesty, Princess Zelda, and what her destiny would hold in store. Many strange happenings have beset the castle as of late. Not to mention your own blood-thirst and power-lust. The stones have been scattered across the land, entrusted to those who can properly care for them and keep their powers safe and secret."

"Zelda," Ghirahim muttered beneath his breath. The insolent brat had been reborn after all. His master had long ago warned this would happen. In his first battle against the sage and her hero, the Demon King had promised that the cycle of good against evil would repeat itself for all eternity. Now, at long last, it started anew.

Uneasiness flitted through Ghirahim. He hadn't expected this turn of events. The coming of a princess of destiny meant a coming of a hero—and of his own master reincarnated. Had his master known all along? Had he known that he sent Ghirahim to an age when he might be reborn? So that, even should Ghirahim fail, he would still have a way to triumph? Or was that why Ghirahim was meant to be here in the first place, to set that cycle in motion? In refusing to resurrect his master, perhaps the cycle could be broken before it was given roots to begin anew. Perhaps it might even be broken for good, his master's threat annihilated for all time. There was no way to really know. Now more than ever, time was of the essence. The sooner he secured the stones, the sooner he would at least possess the power to guard against his master's wrath, whatever fate might beset him...

"You seem lost deep in thought, lord demon," Impa said coolly. "Rupees for your thoughts?"

Ghirahim narrowed his gaze at the arrogant warrior woman. "Where were the stones removed to?"

"Really?" Impa smirked. "For one of your intelligence, I wouldn't expect such a careless question. They were removed so that the likes of you, who would wish Hyrule harm, could not know how to find them. Why then would I tell you their location?"

"I will find them," Ghirahim said. "I will find them and bring all Hyrule to its knees. Hyrule, my master, those meddling sorceresses—all of you will rue the day you underestimated me."

"The gods forbid such a day will come," Impa said. "But should it ever, know that we Sheikah, defenders of his and her majesty, will fight to the death to save them, if indeed it must come to that. But speaking of the sorceresses...where are your friends? It sounded a moment ago as though at least one of them had come to defend you..."

Ghirahim stepped back toward the secret passage. He peered down into the hole; an empty blackness stared back up at him.

"Ah, did they abandon you, lord demon?"

Ghirahim glared at her, wanting nothing more than to strangle the vicious sneer from her face.

"You see," she continued, "I know you don't understand this— perhaps you can't—but for us mortals, the importance of blood and family runs deep. You didn't really think that, in the end, even a power-hungry witch like Koume would risk her life, and those of her people, for you..."

"Power-hungry?" Ghirahim scoffed. "I practically had to beg and drag her into this plan."

"So she wants you to think," Impa said. "Trust me—she hasn't been raiding our town for mere rupees and lovers and slaves all this time..."

Ghirahim studied Impa closely, trying to decipher whether she was bluffing, trying to pit him against Koume by making up lies. It was hard to tell. Neither truth nor lie wrote itself as plainly on her face as it did Sakura's. "I learned long ago that sparing the life of my enemies—even the most seemingly harmless mortal—can prove a fatal thread. I have worked too hard to allow such a thread to unravel my plans by the very seams. And so I must kill you, however unpleasant that may seem."

"You may kill me," Impa said. "A Sheikah does not fear death, especially not a death by honor. But you will first have to catch me—if you can—"

Impa sprang into the air, catapulting herself from wall to wall. Drawing his rapier, Ghirahim flew after her. From wall to wall to ceiling to floor to wall again they pinged like a child's bouncing ball gone berserk. Ghirahim flung fiery darts, whips made of flame, and tendrils of dark energy, while Impa harnessed the power of her shadows, hurling a myriad of magic attacks at him. Both warriors were masters at dodging, but the more their magic impacted with the temple itself, the more its sturdy stones began to crumble and fall away.

Suddenly, a wave of fire from Ghirahim collided with Impa's shadow and slammed into one of the highest corners. The temple rumbled, and rocks shook from the ceiling, raining like massive hail. Ghirahim and Impa flew wildly about the temple, dodging them—

"Argh!"

Ghirahim hovered against one wall and watched as Impa was slammed into the floor, her cloak swaddled around the large chunk of stone that had dragged her down. She pushed herself onto her knees and inhaled sharply. Clutching at a gash on her knee where blood poured freely, she lifted her free hand, creating an umbrella of light; the falling debris bounced off as easily as raindrops bouncing off a rooftop.

When the quaking had ceased, Ghirahim flew down and danced toward Impa as she pulled at her cloak to no avail. Ghirahim flung a boomerang of fire that ripped through the fabric, freeing Impa who looked up, bewildered. Ghirahim raised his rapier, rippling his fingertips along the blade and relishing its cold, merciless steel.

"Draw your sword, Impa, and let's finish this, warrior to warrior."

"I think we both know how it would end. For all my magic, yours is the stronger."

Ghirahim tilted his head. "So you would surrender?"

Impa stared him straight in the eye. "No, lord demon. I will never surrender. Indeed, I have hardly begun to fight." With one hand, she drew her sword. Then, she lifted the other, placed two fingers to her lips, and whistled an eerie melody—

Dozens of bright lights flooded the room, followed by silver and purple streamers, sparkling like the fireworks outside. The lights and colors faded to reveal no less than three dozen Sheikah, lined in ranks behind Impa, poised and ready to fight. Impa herself stood to her feet, sword clutched tightly in one hand.

"See there, lord demon," Impa said, "how strong is the bond of blood? Where is your defense? Have they abandoned you so easily in the threat of defeat?"

Ghirahim kept his gaze locked steadily on hers, resisting his urge to glance wildly about the room for some sign of hope. He hoped that the Gerudo would appear out of thin air, but it was clear that Koume had abandoned him. For all he knew, she had gone so far her deception as to make some deal with the Sheikah to lead him into their grasp.

"Sheikah," she commanded, "this creature would steal the spiritual stones for his own, as well as the royal throne. Join with me, protect the royal family, protect our new princess. Send him back to the Dark Realm from which he came. For the Princess Zelda!"

"For Zelda!"

The Sheikah flew at him from all sides, some with swords at the ready, others throwing beams of both light and shadow. Ghirahim flitted around the temple, soaring from wall to wall, corner to corner, flinging fire. Cries of pain told him when his fire met its mark. He zipped across the temple, never slowing, thanking whatever gods for his keen demon sight. No mortal would have been able to see so many blurs of so many enemies bombarding from all sides, let alone navigate through them.

Ghirahim steered his way through the whirlwind of Sheikah, all the while chanting a spell—an ancient trick his master had taught him. Finally, the chant completed, Ghirahim flung another volley of fire in all directions. The fires transformed mid-air and took shape till a dozen doppelgangers flew about the room, pursuing and dodging the Sheikah. Several Sheikah cried out in alarm or to warn their fellow warriors. While the Shadow Ghirahims flew against the Sheikah, the real Ghirahim flew to one of the corners and braced himself there, searching.

Impa stood on the floor, scanning the whirlwind of Sheikah and demons. She was looking for him too. He could sense her determined malice even from across the room.

"They're not real!" she shouted. "If you spear them with your sword and they don't bleed, they're not real. Use your light magic—"

Ghirahim's fiery whip wrapped around Impa, and he yanked her toward him. He swung his rapier, and she just managed to block with her sword. Cowering on the ground as the flames tore into the tender flesh of her ankle, she blocked his sword blows while muttering something beneath her breath. The blazing whip soon turned to white light before vanishing. The stench of burning flesh lingered, and Impa stumbled to her feet, still engaging their sword duel.

Soon enough, more Sheikah had joined the fray. Thanks to Impa's insight, their light magic dissolved his doppelgangers as easily as if someone pinched the flame of a candle into a wisp of smoke. The Sheikah saw through his trick and now rallied to their leader. In moments, the rest of his Shadows had been snuffed, and the Sheikah caged him, some circling him, others hovering above him to create an impenetrable dome. Shadow magic assailed him from all sides while Impa fought him with the sword.

Suddenly, she spun about, and the tip of her blade cut into his side, sending him to his knees with a yell. Blood oozed between his fingers, and he stumbled to his feet—only to be knocked back to his knees as something thick and black coiled around his leg—a whip of some sort, braided from the Sheikah's shadow magic. More tendrils of shadow shot out, chaining his arms, legs, ankles, wrists; one even wrapped around his neck, choking him. He lunged, pulled, yanked, but the bonds only tightened. His vision blurred as the shadowy noose squeezed. He started to mutter a counter-spell, but another whip stung harshly across his cheek, knocking the words from his mind—

Glass exploded. The window shards sparkled like colorful bits of rain as they fell alongside the flames descending and knocking many of the Sheikah from the air. As more fires streaked through the air, Ghirahim realized they were flaming arrows and looked up—Gerudo archers stood on the sills of the shattered windows, readying another round of arrows. The tips blazed to life with flame just before being released. More Sheikah fell. Impa shouted an order to flee the temple, but as the Sheikah flew up toward the windows, they were knocked down by more of the archers' fire.

The doors to the temple burst open. Koume rushed inside, leading her Elite who had each drawn two curved swords, wielding them as gracefully as though the blades had become extensions of their arms. Koume flung her arms wide, and flames sprang to life along the blades' curves. As the Elite spun through the air, tiny darts of fire flung from their swords in all directions, piercing the Sheikah and sending them reeling.

A loud whistle made Ghirahim turn his sights back to Impa. At her musical command, the Sheikah banned together mid-air, raising a massive shield of light over their heads while continuing to fight. Fire and shadow flew, slamming into the walls and ceiling, making more stones come tumbling down. The magic attacks landed atop the Sheikah's canopy of light, sparing those below from being crushed. While fire and shadow raged between them and the archers in the windows, the Elite battled the remaining Sheikah below.

Ghirahim pulled at the shadowy bonds yet restraining him. Some of the Sheikah holding him captive had fled to join the others above, but many still held him in check. Impa walked toward him, a smirk curling on her lips and filling her triumphant gaze. As she neared him, she raised her blade high, ready to deliver the final blow. Ghirahim strained even harder. He could not be sent back to the Dark Realm, not yet. His master's enraged face could not be the next and last face he saw before being charged with whatever punishment Demise would have created for him—

A whirlwind of flame twisted through the air, knocking Impa off her feet. As it landed, Ghirahim saw Koume standing in the midst of the flames surrounding her. They danced along her skin and waved from her hair without scathing her in the least. She spun about again, and her flaming sword cut through his shadowy bonds one by one till at last he sprang up, free once more, and grabbed his rapier.

Koume surged at Impa, whirling about, her sword spitting fire in all directions. Impa jumped and dove, lithely missing each attack. Impa then raised her hand, and several tendrils of long dark shadow grew from her palm. Clutching them tight, she cracked the whip on Koume's heels as they began a dance of cat and mouse. Ghirahim pursued, sending volleys of fiery darts at Impa who managed to dodge them in between Koume's fire.

Suddenly, one of the darts struck Impa's leg, making her reel forward. As she fell, the whip snapped out and hit Koume who flew back through the air against the wall. Ghirahim glanced in her direction—she was fine; she was already standing to her feet—then leapt over to Impa. She pulled the dart from her leg with a cry and tried to stand, but she quickly collapsed back down. Ghirahim cast more darts that nailed her cloak to the ground. While she strained against them, he grinned and said, "This isn't how I wanted to see you die, cowering and helpless. But now that it comes to it, I find it to be as satisfactory as any other death I would have delivered to you—"

Shadow tendrils burst from Impa's hand, knocking Ghirahim's sword to the ground. He darted for it, but the whip caught his wrist, holding him in check. Impa pulled on the whip, forcing him to his knees beside her.

"You murdered Itzal." Her lethal glare met his straight on, but her breathing grew heavy as the poison from his dart gripped her in its hold. "I cared for him above all others—even the royal family. I would have dishonored myself to save him, had it come to that. You care about her as much as I did Itzal—at least, inasmuch as you are capable of caring for anyone or anything..."

Ghirahim shook his head. "Foolish girl. For that you Sheikah are meant to see beyond, to see the truth in all things, you see little. She means as little to me as any of your Sheikah. She is but a mere pawn."

"I do not refer to the fire sorceress. Nor the ice sorceress. There is another. One you have come to hold dear, despite yourself. Just like Itzal, she is an innocent. And just like Itzal, she will die fighting for what she believes in—and what she believes in, however foolishly, is you. You will be her downfall...."

Sakura's face flashed before Ghirahim. Her lips parted with her final breath. As the life faded from her eyes, he chanted desperately, but even his darkest rituals could not revive her. For all his power, the gift of restoring life from death would never be his to harness, as long as the power of the gods lay hidden—

With a roar, Ghirahim cast a ball of flame that freed him and slammed Impa against the wall in one breath. She slouched down, seemingly stunned. Then she glanced up with a smirk, placed her finger and thumb to her lips, and whistled a different tune than before—

The Sheikah dispersed. Their giant shield of light shattered, and the mass of fire and stone it had been holding back was released. The Gerudos' screams pierced the air one moment, and the next, silence shook the temple as they lay buried beneath the fallen mountain of burning rubble.

Koume released a wail of anger before commanding the remaining Gerudo back toward the secret entrance. Steadily, they made their way back, all the while battling with swords and magic. Ghirahim was last to jump in, just as a final quake brought the rest of the roof crashing down. His last sight was of Impa still slouched against the wall, gasping for air but managing to grin at him, before his vision of her was blinded by tumbling fire and debris. He prayed for the rocks to crush her before delving below ground and shutting the door above them.

Only as darkness engulfed them did the truth of what had just happened dawn on him. They had obtained no spiritual stones, nor any knowledge of where to find them. They were no closer to fulfilling his plan. Indeed, they were leagues further away from it, for the cycle of good and evil prepared to repeat itself. His master could return to this world, with or without his aid, at any given moment.

Ghirahim shoved ahead and led the way, snapping at the Gerudo to hurry up.

"My lord," Koume said, her voice devoid of any feeling, "the Gerudo fought valiantly to save your life. Many are injured and weary. There is no need to rush them—"

Ghirahim whirled, flew through the air, and grabbed Koume by the throat. He pinned her hard against the wall, ignoring the cries of anger as many of Elite surrounded him, swords poised.

"There is every need," he hissed. "Every need. Do you understand?"

For the first time, absolute fear filled her face as she looked at him and saw just how tangible his wrath was in that moment. She nodded slowly.

Ghirahim released her and led the Gerudo back through the underground passages. He marched in silence, focusing on placing one foot in front of the other in front of the other in front of the other...

Such mindless routine was the only thing that could stem the nightmares of his master and pain and punishment and Sakura's lifeless face from leaping into the forefront of his conscious. Even then, they lingered on the fringes, ready to consume him at his first sign of weakness. May the gods curse that bitch Impa for placing them in his mind to begin with. May she die and rot in the Dark Realm and be consumed by the undead for all eternity.

As soon as they breached the fortress corridors, Ghirahim threw a glance over his shoulder, met Koume's gaze, and barked, "Meet me in your chambers. We must make new plans at once."

Koume's lips parted, and the doubt and weariness in her gaze told him she planned to protest, but as her gaze lingered on his, she instead gave orders of her own: "Elite, take the injured to the healers. You fought well. All of you rest now and recover. I grant you a day of rest from your training tomorrow. Lord Ghirahim..." She nodded at him as they came to a fork in the path. He followed her to the right while the rest of the Gerudo delved down the leftmost slope.

Up and up Ghirahim and Koume climbed till they emerged into one of the fortress' more familiar hallways, lined with gold-gilt torches, paintings of the sun goddess, and tapestries of purple and gold thread—the hall leading to Koume's chambers. Whether Koume had sympathy for Ghirahim's plight or just concern for her own life, Ghirahim didn't care. Being a few steps closer to privacy and a chance to make fresh plans set his nerves just a little more at ease.

Once inside her chambers, Koume shut and locked the door behind them.

Immediately, Ghirahim said, "The Sheikah have hidden the stones across the realm. Our next matter of business must be to find them."

Koume met Ghirahim's gaze with one of fire. Her earlier fear vanished, she looked on the brink of exploding in anger, yet she said nothing.

"Now of all times would you show caution in speaking your mind to me?" Ghirahim tempted.

"Pardon, my lord. But speaking my mind only hours ago nearly cost me my life—and that of my sisters."

"Fair enough," Ghirahim said. "I can forgive your insolence, considering your grief. Things did not go as I would have intended either. My temper can get the best of me at times. I did not behave myself in a manner befitting a lord of my title. But now is not the time for such quarrels, such petty disagreements. Time is of the essence. We must find the stones."

"Why?" Koume said bluntly. "Tonight was a near disaster. My Gerudo could have easily been slaughtered—indeed, half of them were—as could have I. Why need we risk our lives for these stones? With the great armies you speak of, the ones you mean to summon, is that not more than enough power to take the king's throne?"

The human king's throne, yes. But my master...

Fresh fear triggered the nightmares to the front and center of his mind. Ghirahim saw his master before his eyes. He felt himself infused inside the giant black metal blade, being thrust at the Hero of Legend over and over again, quaking head to toe with pain as blow against blow was struck against him with the Master Sword. He felt himself trapped inside the cold metal, unable to so much as scream to find some relief, unable to pass out, unable to do anything. His master empowered the blade with a fire that blazed hotter than any flame the witches could produce. Ghirahim again wanted to scream from the pain, but locked inside the blade, he could neither cry out in agony nor for help—

"Lord Ghirahim!"

Kotake's shriek jerked Ghirahim back to the present—as did the loud explosion of splintering wood as she burst through the door and collapsed before him, her long red hair like a wild lion's mane, her clothes disheveled. She grappled at his feet, sobbing violently. Ghirahim flung a wild look at Koume who looked equally bewildered, and then at the door. Kotake had blown the handle clean off, with bits of ice sheathing the hole left in its wake.

"Forgive me," Kotake sobbed. "Forgive me...forgive me, my lord..."

"Kotake, what in the great goddess' name are you blathering on about?"

"I didn't mean it! I didn't mean it, I didn't mean it—"

Kotake sobbed anew. She wailed and blubbered, the words indecipherable.

"Sister, what is going on?" Koume hurried over and fell by Kotake's side. No sooner had she wrapped her arms around her than Kotake collapsed against her shoulder, crying harder.

"Do not coddle her like some newly born babe," Ghirahim snapped. "That's her entire problem to begin with. The source of her weakness—just as the source of yours lies in always choosing to care for and control her." Koume glared up at him, but he only knelt, took Kotake by the arms, and yanked her to her feet. Sweat drenched her body, but her skin was surprisingly cool to the touch.

"This madness can't be from illness," Ghirahim said. "Your fever is broken at any rate. Speak—tell us what has you so horrified so that we may move on to more important matters."

Kotake sobbed a few moments more. Then, gasping for breath, she forced herself to look up at Ghirahim. Mingled hurt and fear filled her gaze as she managed to push out the words, "Sakura...she's gone into labor...The healers don't know if she will survive..."

"Sakura," Ghirahim gasped. His grip on Kotake tightened instinctively as the idea of any harm befalling her tore at his heart—the heart that no longer felt so imaginary. If anything, the idea of harm coming to Sakura made him suddenly have a heart, made it suddenly spring to life inside him and beat with an all-consuming anxiety, rage, and a need to be at her side her as soon as he could—

As soon as he dealt with the pathetic creature cowering in his grasp and trying vainly to pull away. Suddenly, the insanity of her words struck him, making him panic all the more.

"What did you do to her?" Ghirahim snarled. "I lay with her only a night ago. What you suggest is impossible—"

"I—I didn't mean for it to go this way!" Kotake cried. "I meant only to use a revelation spell—"

"Whatever for?"

Kotake whimpered. A few tears fell, and she trembled head to toe. Her knees buckled and she started to crumple, but Ghirahim grabbed and pinned her roughly against the wall.

"You will give me the answer behind your foolery!"

"To see if she was pregnant!" Kotake cried. "I've seen the two of you—" Kotake's body turned limp in Ghirahim's grasp.

Ghirahim released her and let her fall into a heap of useless sobs.

"Pathetic," he snarled. "Where is she now?"

"In—in your bed chamber, my lord."

He threw a commanding glance at Koume who, with a single nod, hurried on his heels as he made for his chambers.

As he turned the corner into the hall housing his chambers, shrieks of pain erupted from his room while servants rushed in and out. Jumping up, he soared down the hall, but just as he reached the door, a gust of cold air blasted him back. Something slick formed beneath his feet, sending him sprawling. He looked up to see Kotake gliding with perfect grace along the carpet of ice she had just created. She slid right up to the door, blocking his path and crying, "Why? Why not just let her and her bastard die? Why will you not lie with me anymore but continue to lie with that whore—"

Ghirahim waved his hand, and Kotake spiraled through the air. She slammed against the wall and slouched down. She tried to stand but moaned and slid back to the ground. Ghirahim rose to his feet, towered over her, and declared, "It is you who are the whore, in every sense of the word. You will not disrespect the woman who will one day be mother to my son and heir..." Kotake gasped; pain resonated deeply in her gaze, whether more so from his words or his attack, it was hard to say. "...Do not look at me as if my choosing her is such a betrayal. Ever you wanted me for your own devices. Not once did you give a damn about my plans—else you would not have betrayed me in telling my secrets to your sister."

"But—but she is my sister..." Kotake wailed, reaching for the edge of his cloak.

Ghirahim yanked the cloak from her grasp and stepped back. "Thus you have chosen. And thus I leave you." He waved his hand over her, healing her wound. Then, he turned and walked toward the door.

She scrambled to her feet, rushing to block the door again and grabbing his arm. He pulled away, but when she snatched at him again, threw her to the ground once more.

"Do you understand nothing?" he thundered. "I am disgusted by you! Your time is through! Do not touch me again. I cannot promise to control my temper, and I will not promise to heal you again, no matter the threat of your sister's wrath. Now, out of my sight." He pushed her aside and reached for the door.

Kotake clutched his arm again. "Ghirahim, I—"

"Out of my sight! Are you that stupid?"

Kotake flinched but did not draw away. Rather, she stood tall, grounding her feet as if she could truly bar him from entering.

"Yes," he said, wrenching his arm away, "stupid and desperate. Out of my sight before I am tempted to kill you. Though in truth, what a pity that would be. You're not even worthy of death. You deserve to live in misery for whatever remains of your pathetic human life. Oh, wait—that's right. You have witch blood in you. I suppose that means you have plenty of time to regret what's been done here—hundreds of years, in fact. I once knew a witch who even lived to see a thousand."

Kotake did not attempt to reach for him again. Instead, she fell into a heap of sobs.

"Pity," Ghirahim said as he touched the door handle. "Your magic has true potential. I think tonight is the cleverest ice trick I've ever seen you use. Had you harnessed its potential instead of wasting your passions on frivolousness, you might have amounted to a decent sorceress—perhaps even more so than your sister. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must attend to my queen and celebrate the coming of my heir into this world."

Sakura's screams erupted from within, overshadowing Kotake's sobs.

Ghirahim braced himself, turned the handle, and stepped inside.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Chapter 10

The sight of blood had never before daunted him. Especially considering the amount he had seen only hours before, exploded all over the walls and windows of the Hylian temple.

Now, however, the blood spread across the bed as an infinite ocean of death in his eyes. Death, death, and more death—this was all he could see; this was the solitary thought flashing through his mind as he watched life drain from Sakura's paling face. Crimson consumed his mind till he saw nothing else, till he snatched at one of the Hylian servants racing madly to and fro, yanked her to him, and demanded, "How is she?"

The woman stared up at him, wide-eyed and trembling. "She—she is tired, my lord. She loses much blood. The baby is strong and does not come easily. But the midwife was able to turn him about—he should come any moment now—"

A loud wail pierced the air, shattering Ghirahim's world of red with a ray of hope as, instead of death, fate countered with a new chant: Life, life, life—you have your heir.

The midwife swaddled the crying infant in fresh linens, while one of the Hylian handmaids took a damp cloth and washed away some of the blood from its skin.

"My lord..." The midwife turned to Ghirahim. "I know you wish to see your mistress and her babe. But it would be best if first we could have a chance to clean them, make her comfortable so that she may properly rest with the new little one. I will bring you in as soon as she is ready."

Ghirahim glanced over at Sakura. A proud grin pulled at the corners of her lips and shone from her exhausted gaze which carefully followed the servants' every move as they set about cleaning the infant. With a nod at the midwife and a muttered thanks, Ghirahim stole from the room.

He paced the hall wildly. He thought to attend the archery grounds, the training grounds, anywhere he might be able to expel the energy rushing through him like a multitude of tidal waves. He ran his hands along the walls, pushing some of the magic pulsing right beneath his skin through the stones, not enough to cause damage—though a few slight tremors did shake the fortress—only enough to divert his magic lest he bring the whole fortress crashing down in a single stroke of overwhelmed excitement. He had an heir. He, Ghirahim, lord of demons, had an heir. He hadn't even bothered yet to ask if it was a daughter or son. That yet remained a mystery—a mystery that set his nerves on even greater edge. He would be proud either way, and yet a son would secure his kingdom, his lineage, his destiny for all eternity. As soon as he took the throne, he would set up his queen and heir, and everything else would naturally follow—

"Lord Ghirahim, how is she?"

Ghirahim's head snapped up. He cleared the space separating him from Koume in a single bound and raised a hand to strike her but quickly diverted his attention to the wall instead. The stones shivered, and a light rain of dust and chipped pebbles fell. Fear glimmered in Koume's eyes, but as ever, she held her ground.

"I hardly know whether to consider you utterly brave or utterly stupid for coming now to confront me," Ghirahim said. "Perhaps that may be decided in your reasons for doing so. Speak. My heir has just been born. I await to see him and my queen. I have no patience for further of your lies and devilry."

"I came first to see how they are," Koume said.

Ghirahim scoffed, but the longer he studied Koume, he sensed some sincerity, however slight, within her. "Sakura is tired and weak but pulls through—by the strength of her spirit, I am sure. The child is also strong, they say."

Koume nodded. "No doubt he inherited his mother's spirit and his father's determination."

Ghirahim studied Koume a while longer. Question burned within her gaze, words just waiting on the tip of her tongue—words she feared to allow herself to breathe life within, and yet her lingering gaze spoke of her desperation to do so.

"What is it?" Ghirahim glanced at the door that yet remained shut painfully tight, then back to her. "Why did you really come? Speak up. I told you my patience tires—and not least of all for you and the likes of your sister."

"My sister meant no harm. She has always been desperate for attention, for affection. She was reckless, yes, but you must understand that a woman's yearning for a child will drive her to do mad things—"

"Her madness nearly cost the life of my queen—and could have easily cost the life of my child and heir."

"It's no different than your desperation to seek freedom from your master and gain your own kingdom. You would do anything. My sister has ached for a child for the longest time, and yet the healers have always told her she is barren. She thought that with you, with your magic, it might be possible. I do not justify her behavior, only beg you to understand—and to forgive her. Please, I do beg you to forgive my sister."

Ghirahim studied her in surprise—both at the words, the person who spoke them, and the pleading that had gripped her usually calm and collected voice. "Why do you insist on defending such a weak and pathetic creature? She draws no strength from herself. She clings to me for approval, and I must assume she does the same to you. She nearly destroyed the one person who has been a useful aid in our plans. Why then? What is she to you?"

"She is my sister."

Ghirahim waited for further reply, even though he recognized the finality with which she had uttered the statement. Slowly, he shook his head. "I will never understand your humans' ties to blood. Just because the two of you were born from the same womb, it seems to give you mortals such an obligation to protect and stand by one another's side. It's unfathomable to me."

"Not so," Koume said. "I think perhaps you begin to understand—with Sakura and her child. You were furious at Kotake's mistake, and why? Because it nearly cost you the lives of people who have come to mean something to you—"

"I do not love her," Ghirahim said sharply. "Be that known—I am incapable of love. I was not created for it."

Surprise waved across Koume's face before she replaced her mask of calm reserve. "I said nothing about love. Only that, in your strong desire to protect Sakura and your heir, you could better understand my own need to protect my sister—"

"It is still different. I am bound to Sakura not by blood, but by spirit. Something in her spirit draws her to me. Different as we are in every way, I feel as though she understands me at my core. Spirit before blood—spirit is what I truly understand, truly value. Mortals all bleed the same blood, but not all are born of the same spirit."

Koume's face pulled into a frown as curiosity danced in her eyes. "Do you sense something in Sakura? A hidden power or destiny? She was able to read the ancient texts."

Ghirahim narrowed his gaze, scrutinizing the fire witch. As usual, she was annoyingly indecipherable. "I don't know. Nor am I certain I would wish to tell you if I did have thoughts on the matter. But go for now. Tend your sister. Tell her whatever lies will ease her suffering. I must tend to my wife and child."

"I will not lie to my sister," Koume said. "Not for comfort or for any other reason."

Ghirahim hesitated. For a fleeting moment, he tried to think of some words that might provide Kotake relief or lure her back into his good graces. But he didn't need her back in his good graces. He no longer even desired it—

The door opened, and Ghirahim's attention shot in its direction as the midwife stepped out and announced, "She is ready, my lord. She is very tired, so I would caution against a long visit. But she has been asking for you and refuses a moment's sleep till she shares in your triumph with you."

Without another glance at Koume, Ghirahim hurried down the hall, pushed past the midwife, and braced himself—

Like magic, the blood had been washed away. Sakura lay on fresh linens, cradling a small bundle that wiggled and squirmed and cooed at her breast.

"A son..." Sakura smiled up at Ghirahim and held the babe toward him. His wisp of blonde hair and bright blue eyes perfectly mirrored those of his mother. "A son. Just as I promised you."

Ghirahim glided over and eased onto the edge of the bed. Sakura carefully transferred the babe into his arms. His bright blue eyes shone round and wide up at Ghirahim. How strange it felt, to hold something so fragile, with no thoughts of crushing it his hands but rather with every urge to protect and defend it to the death. Parental instinct, it must be. It wasn't exactly a novel sensation; even the emotionless beasts possessed it. Perhaps then, it wasn't all that strange for a demon to possess it too.

"He is beautiful like his mother."

"And strong," Sakura said. "I can feel it—he is very strong."

Ghirahim admired him a few moments more before glancing up at her. An icy paleness clung to her skin, and dark circles shadowed her eyes. "What of your own strength? They said you lost much blood."

Sakura nodded. "It was a challenging battle, the most difficult I have ever fought. But the midwife and other of the maidens assure me that with a few weeks' rest, I will regain my full strength."

Ghirahim nodded and turned his sights back to the boy. That meant a few weeks before he could truly attack. He needed to be able to move Sakura, to keep her safe, whenever he was ready for that step. Perhaps, within that time, he could at least locate the spiritual stones. The idea of waiting set him at unease—so much time had been wasted already—but he tried to shake this feeling aside.

"Have you found a name for him yet?" Ghirahim asked.

Sakura glanced at him curiously. "I thought perhaps you..."

Ghirahim shook his head. "I know it is the tradition of your people for women to do the naming. I trust you to grant him a good, solid name befitting one of his birth and station."

Sakura smiled. "I thank you for trusting me with this task. But then I must tell you that it is also tradition that children are not usually named till their first birthing day comes around, once the parents have had time to know the child and see its personality."

"It was not so with the princess just born."

"Because that is a different sort of tradition—one of kings and queens."

"Which we soon shall be."

"Yes..." Her grin widened. "But as king and queen, may we then not make our own rules anyway?"

Ghirahim smiled back at her. "You are ever wise and optimistic and an encouragement toward me above all others. You will prove the most beloved queen Hyrule has ever known. You will give me many sons, and you may name them whatever and whenever you wish."

He leaned in, kissed her cheek, and there let his kiss linger. Every fiber of his being wanted to set their son aside, throw her down, and take her. He had to remind himself several times what was at stake to finally make himself draw away, stand up, and declare, "I have much work to be done. Rest well, my queen. I will send your servants back to you. Should you need anything else, call for me. I will visit you later."

Sakura smiled sweetly at him.

Ghirahim let his gaze linger a moment more before tearing away and stealing from the room. The time would come when he could pour all his passions into his queen once more. For now, it was back to the desert, to pour his energy into the training of his new armies.

* * *

The next few days passed swiftly inasmuch as Ghirahim could never seem to get as much done in a day as he wished. And yet, in the same breath, they passed also with painful slowness. He wished he knew some time portal that could whisk him ahead to the future, when the work was done, the worrying long past, and he and his queen sat on the throne of Hyrule, with their little son playing on the royal purple carpet at their feet.

Ghirahim stole to the desert when he could. Despite the dangers of summoning an army, he had determined that perhaps if he did so a little at a time, Demise would be far less likely to notice. After the witches' betrayal, he could no longer trust that he and his family were safe with them. Amassing smaller armies allowed him to begin their training while also assuring that, should the time come when the witches proved true and complete enemies, he would have armies at the ready to defend him, his queen, and his heir. The beasts and spirits began to grow restless, cooped up in the Spirit Temple day after day, but he promised them that their patience would be well-satiated, that in due time, they would feast on the corpses of many Hylian soldiers and especially on the flesh of the Shadowfolk—save Impa. Ghirahim had not yet devised what, but he would develop a special kind of punishment for her and her descendants that would last throughout the ages.

Ghirahim had since secured far more suitable accommodations for Sakura, and he would often visit her chambers for council. He had not so much as spoken a word to Kotake since the night of his son's birth, and in return, Koume seemed to accept this as the best form of forgiveness toward her sister that he could grant and thus gave him whatever he asked in return.

He sat on Sakura's bed one day as he often did, watching as the babe suckled at her breast. It was still difficult for him to visit and not be able to touch her, but he had learned to restrain himself so that he placed her in no danger. He had tried taking some of the Gerudo and Hylian slaves as mistresses in her stead but found their lack of mental stimulation and conversation left him unfulfilled physically as well, and indeed, even more frustrated than before. Finally, he had settled on suffering in silence till his queen was strong enough to rejoin him in his bed once more.

Sakura smiled down at the babe, proudly as ever, before turning her gaze to Ghirahim. "What is it, my lord? I can tell something burdens your mind."

Ghirahim glanced up at the handmaids stationed about the room, at the ready for whatever command.

"My ladies," Sakura said, "I ask that you leave me and my lord here to privacy. He will call you back in when we are through."

The ladies curtsied and took their leave.

When the door shut on the last of them, Sakura reached with her free hand and touched Ghirahim's face. The electricity of her touch rippled through him, and he shivered. Two weeks had passed since he had been allowed to truly relieve himself through his passions. Though she grew stronger daily, Sakura was yet cautioned to rest as much as possible, conserving any strength for herself and the babe. Ghirahim couldn't risk harming one, for fear of harming the other.

"What is it then?" Sakura asked, drawing his thoughts back to the matter at hand.

"It's everything," Ghirahim muttered. "All our plans. Our army grows strong, but the matter of the spiritual stones remains a mystery. There are rumors of a red, flaming stone in the mountains. It may or may not be a lead. I have dispatched my own personal spies, alongside those Koume has granted me. If I do not use her spies, she will grow suspicious. But I do not trust them, so I must also send my own—and hope their paths do not cross."

"Are you sure you cannot simply use your armies now to take the throne?" Sakura asked. The babe began to fuss, but she shifted him and he quieted again, continuing to feed.

Ghirahim shook his head. "It's too risky. Even summoning them a little at a time as I'm doing now is a gamble. The moment my master notices that someone is opening a path between our worlds, he would suspect me at once. He would wonder why. He may think at first it was for his benefit. Indeed, he may already know what I'm up to, and perhaps his assumption that I do everything for his gain is the only thing sparing us. But the moment he would figure out a way to see that I disobey him, that I take everything for myself..."

"You could simply lie," Sakura said. "You could claim you had taken it all for him, and then seek the stones out when you're ready and use them to overthrow him."

Ghirahim stared at her. "Truly, if I could love you, I would. Your boldness surpasses that of any other mortal I have ever met—even those with magical blood. Your plan is one I would consider—except that I cannot bear the idea of ever being trapped as his slave ever again. Should he decide he is done with me, he will seal me inside his sword again—how then will I be able to find the stones? I need the Triforce's power so that I can be stronger than him before he ever figures things out. And to get the Triforce, I need the stones. At this point, every step is a race against time—only that I have no idea how much time. In that, I work blindly..."

"What if—should Demise come to this realm and take over—what if you told him that you wished to seek the stones for him too, but then, at the last moment, used them to summon the Triforce for yourself? That would bide you more time and prevent him from sealing you inside his sword."

"Such would be the ultimate deceit—and could come with the ultimate punishment."

"Or the ultimate reward. The greater the risk, the greater the reward. Without risk, there can be no reward. Do not think I wasn't frightened when I first came to your bed. But I was also drawn by your brilliance of mind, your cunning, your magic prowess. And see now where I am. My loyalty and faithfulness to you are not all that landed me here. My courage played a part as well. And now I lay talking to you, nursing your heir. And what a powerful heir he will be. He will do many great things; I can sense it. I can sense it as strongly as I first sensed a greatness in you."

Sakura's gaze shifted once more with pride and admiration to their son, and Ghirahim watched them both with wonderment. Sakura still never ceased to impress him—both with her sixth sense and even more so with her unparalleled confidence in him and in all things to come to pass. She hadn't been wrong about anything yet. If she believed everything would work out in the end, then perhaps he should believe it would too.

Sakura looked up at him again. "What of the witches these days? Is Kotake yet distraught? Does Koume's anger yet wax hot against you?"

Ghirahim shook his head. "I have seen little of Koume and less of Kotake, which is exactly as I would prefer things."

Sakura frowned. "Strange, don't you think?"

"Peaceful, I would rather say. I have enough to reckon with, without having to baby-sit those two."

"I would caution against accepting the witches being so complacent," Sakura said. "Kotake may not be as strong in power as her sister, but she is dangerous. She is not in control of herself. She is like a beast that someone once tried to tame but has since gone wild again. I have seen women kill over their desire to have a child."

"You and our son are well guarded." Ghirahim took her hand firmly. "No harm will come to you."

"I don't fear for myself so much, or him, as much as you. I don't doubt your strength of mind or that of your magic; I'm confident that both outshine theirs. But they are clever. Do not underestimate them. They have long been silent. And it is more often in silence that plans are made and men—and demons—unmade, rather than in the din of battle."

"Perhaps. But...you worry too much about my affairs. You should get some rest, for my sake and that of our son." He leaned forward and kissed her forehead, then the babe who reached up to snatch at a wisp of his hair.

"If you recall," Sakura said, "it's my worrying about your affairs that first drew us together."

Ghirahim laughed lightly and rose from the bed. "Indeed. Still, all the same, I believe now should be a time of rest for you. I'll check in on the two of you later."

Sakura granted him a final nod and smile, and he slipped from the room, muttering, "Back to the trenches..."

Time to hit the desert. Summoning a little more of his army and training them remained his solitary option for useful distraction while he awaited news from his spies.

Once outside, Ghirahim watched the guards' patterns, which were shamefully predictable as ever, and zipped easily past. Then, he flew over the gate and across the desert toward the temple. Ever since Sakura's help with the runes, he could fly through the sands without any worry about the witches' pathetic charms. He busted right through the mighty whirlwinds with as much ease as a bird gliding across a sunny sky. And after all, in another time, in another place, whirlwinds had been his specialty.

Alighting on the stone slab etched with the Triforce crest, he set immediately to dancing around its perimeter, chanting the words inscribed in the runes. Dancing was an unnecessary part of the ritual, but it gave the ceremony an extra flair and allowed him to divert his excited energy as he watched the blue glow encircle the platform. The portal grew until rays of blue light danced high like flames all around. Then, a gap opened in the space between, and monsters poured out. Demons like himself, much lesser in power and prestige but still his kin whom he welcomed with open arms. Goblins and moblins, dinos whose sword skills were even more deadly than their fire breath, great spiders and snakes, ghosts, reanimated skulls and corpses.

Ghirahim changed his chant till the portal closed, the blue light vanished once more. The new additions to his army surrounded him, screeching, hissing, and shrieking their raucous cheering as they awaited their new master's commands and promises for blood.

With the whistling of a simple tune, the rest of Ghirahim's army poured from the temple. Many creatures mirrored those he had just summoned; there was also a giant carrying a great club and several sprites made of fire or ice. He chanted on till the crimson glow shining in the eyes of his current army reflected also in the eyes of those he had just summoned; the red glow was a symbol of their loyalty to him, that he had mastered their minds and manipulated them to serve him and him alone.

"My great army!" Ghirahim threw his arms wide, and their din quickly hushed. "The time draws near. Soon, as you deliver my kingdom to me, you shall all taste blood. Only wait a little longer, and the reward will be well worth it. You shall feast on the flesh and blood of Hylians in the greatest war Hyrule has ever seen! You shall feast and fight and watch as I become the greatest king Hyrule has ever known!"

Cheers erupted again from his army, a cacophony of snarls, hisses, screeches, yells, screams. Its deafening roar created a sweet symphony in his ears. He listened proudly till the noise quieted again, and then he said, "In the meanwhile, we must make our plans. Come, my loyal minions. There is much work to be done."

* * *

The night stretched late as Ghirahim crept back into the fortress. Before leaving the temple, he had found a secret cave and moved his armies there. While he needed no permission from the witches to carry out his plans, the less they knew of what he was up to, the better, lest they seek to put a stop to it. Thus, the cave seemed a better hideout than the temple. After all, it was only a matter of time before the sisters might visit the temple on their own business.

Inside his chambers at last, Ghirahim fell back on his bed, exhausted and yet alive with energy in one breath. Training an army of such wild things, getting them to understand plans and even the simplest need for hiding, proved a mentally tiring task. Yet the lack of human warmth in his empty bed beside him reminded him of the energy that had been building inside him like a raging storm for the past couple of weeks.

He tried to turn his thoughts to what Sakura had said, her ideas about going on with the war without worrying about the spiritual stones. A reckless yet bold idea. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps, if need be, he could still deceive his way to both the stones and the crown. And yet, if his master were to become king in that time, what of Sakura and his newborn son? Demise would do whatever he deemed necessary to keep his hold over the crown secure. Whatever he perceived as even the slightest threat, he would instantly destroy. Ghirahim could not let that happen to his heir, nor to Sakura.

Sakura....

His mind wandered to her soft skin, flowing beneath his fingertips like starlight. Her sweet breasts, her thighs, her long golden hair. The perfection of her kiss and touch. Somehow, with her strange intuition, she always knew exactly how to please him at any given moment. The steadiness of her gaze, her fearlessness with him, her unbridled passion and dedication, the feel of him inside her—

A subtle knock rapped on the door, and then it creaked open. Ghirahim sat up. Perhaps this was her. Perhaps she had somehow sensed his thoughts and came to rescue him.

As the door shut behind the person who had entered, he glimpsed the silhouette of a woman by the torch glow illuminating his room. He sat a little straighter and almost called her name, but then the woman turned toward him, and he recoiled, nearly throwing a curse at the Gerudo face. He stopped himself only as he realized it was not Kotake after all. At a glance, she bore similar features, but as he looked closer, this woman was nothing like Kotake or her sister. She was taller and more muscular, and her feminine curves were much more defined beneath her sheer silks patterned with stars and crescent moons. Glistening gems adorned her long neck and dainty wrists and ankles. Her hair was swept back in elegant waves of fire red streaked with silver and blue. Her golden eyes watched him intensely, drawing his desires to the surface. This woman was not passion and sensuality like his Sakura. She was raw, unbridled, carnal lust—exactly what he needed to satiate his overwhelming need.

"Where did you come from?" Ghirahim demanded. No matter how great his need, he would not be made weak from it like so many mortals. "I have never seen you in the fortress before."

"My name is Amiirah. I am one of the ladies from the Gerudos' pleasure house."

"Pleasure house? I have heard of no such place in my stay here."

"Lady Koume likes to keep it a secret to most."

"Lady Koume?"

Perhaps this explained why she had shown no interest in him. If she chose to surround herself with women like this night and day, perhaps her desires were not those considered natural to her kind. For a great leader such as herself, perhaps such interests were best kept secret. Perhaps even Kotake didn't know.

"Sakura sent us as a gift to my lord," Amiirah continued. "She wanted to be certain you were properly entertained in her absence, knowing you are a demon of great passion, who needs some means of releasing those passions..."

Sakura...

Ghirahim tried to imagine if her hand in this made their tale more or less believable. Sakura had never shown herself to be a jealous woman, nor had she ceased yet to surprise him by knowing exactly what he needed at any given moment. He tried to reason that it could still be a trick, but his mind was soon consumed with the woman's voluptuous breasts and lips. Her sun-kissed skin was flawless, save for traces of a faded scar stretched across one cheek; only the keenest of eyes would have been able to detect such a subtle detail.

"Where did you get such fine silks and jewels?" Ghirahim asked. "I have hardly seen such finery even on the sisters who are in charge of this place."

"The sisters of fire and ice graciously granted them for my use."

"Indeed. I am sure they did..."

Perhaps Sakura wasn't in on this after all. Or, even if it had been her idea, perhaps this was the result of the sisters' two-week silence. Kotake was probably desperate to re-establish some sort of connection with him. She had likely convinced Koume to be in on the idea as well. It wasn't as though they couldn't both stand to fight back into his good graces.

Ghirahim waved the woman over. She seemed to glide across the room with a certain grace—not the refined sort that Sakura possessed, but rather a grace born from much experience in seducing men. Ghirahim recognized the type. He had had his share. Whoever had chosen this lover for him, they had chosen well. While she might not possess the novelty of Sakura, she was certain to take him for a wild ride all throughout the night.

Amiirah eased onto the edge of the bed, crawling toward him and swaying like a serpent charming its prey.

Ghirahim grabbed her, threw her down, and went in for the kill.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Chapter 11

Ghirahim marched the corridors of the fortress with renewed spirits.

Bursting into Sakura's chambers, he grinned broadly to see her in a rocking chair, holding their son and singing softly to him.

"I'm glad to see you out of bed, at last," he said.

Sakura looked up with a smile. "I'm glad to be out of bed, at last."

"You look stronger already." Ghirahim drew up the footstool from the end of the bed and sat before her. "There is a bit of color again..." He touched her cheek.

Curiosity shone in Sakura's gaze. "You look rather extra cheerful yourself this morning. Good news, I trust?"

Ghirahim glanced up at her servants. He didn't even need to speak the command before they exited the room, leaving him alone with his family.

"Well?" Sakura looked to him with question.

"I've been thinking," Ghirahim said, "perhaps your idea is best after all—about taking Hyrule while we can, and then, should Demise find out, playing it off as though we did everything for his benefit. Then, we can go after the stones and use them to overthrow him. The thing is, I'm not afraid of this idea for myself, but for you. He could easily harm you, to persuade me to obey him..."

"I have been thinking on this as well," Sakura said. "There may be a way. I have heard talk of a forest to the west. There is a guardian spirit there—an ancient and powerful spirit. Our son and I would be safe there a long time—long enough, gods willing, for you to find and claim the stones."

"You would be willing to make such a trek?"

Sakura nodded. "I will do whatever my lord commands. If it is your wish that we go to this forest, then we will go."

"Not yet. I will summon more armies. I will continue to prepare. Then—in a few more weeks' time, when you are stronger and more healed—then, I will send you to the forest. I will come back for you as soon as the war is won, and you and I and our son will reign over Hyrule together. No one will be able to touch us, harm us, or as much as threaten us ever again. I will be Ghirahim, Demon King of all Hyrule, and you shall be my Demon Queen."

"And our Demon Prince, of course." She held him out to Ghirahim.

Ghirahim kissed the crown of the boy's golden head.

"My son."

"Our son." Sakura smiled proudly.

"Yes. Soon, I promise." He leaned down and kissed her on the forehead. "I must go now. I received a summons from the sisters this morning. They mean to speak to me in Koume's chambers. I hope it's good news. Though, I do believe I'm cheery enough this morning to have patience for one of their melodramatic tantrums, should it come to that."

He stood and started toward the door but stopped himself halfway and grinned at her over his shoulder. "Thank you, by the way. For your gift last night. You know me well."

A frown pulled at Sakura's lips. She opened her mouth to retort, but Ghirahim said, "No need to deny it. Only you could have found such a perfect distraction for me. Rest well, my queen. I will visit later."

Ghirahim glided from the room and made for Koume's chambers.

As he approached, a strange wailing met his ears. At first, the familiar sound did not quite register in his memory. Then, as it echoed nearer, he recognized a baby's cry and zoomed down the hall.

Ghirahim burst into Koume's chambers and stumbled to a halt, rendered speechless by the sight before him. Koume and Kotake lay in the bed together, laughing and smiling over the bundle Kotake held in her arms. His son. The witches had taken his son. Kidnapped him, perhaps with intentions to kill him, perhaps with intentions to raise him for their own dark purposes. And the gods only knew what they had done with Sakura. But how in the world had they managed it, when he had seen Sakura and the babe in her chambers only moments before? What devilry did the witches harness this time?

Ghirahim crept closer. The babe reached up tiny hands to play with Kotake's hair. The babe's tanned skin matched hers, and wisps of red curl crowned its head. Relief flooded Ghirahim as he knew it was not his son.

But whose? And from where?

"Behold, my lord." Kotake grinned up at him, eyes dancing with pride. "Our son. Your true heir. An heir born not from some nameless Hylian whore, but from a true leader and warrior of a great people. I have named him 'Ganon', after the great demon of power of the old legends. Is he not beautiful? Does he not please you?"

"He is no son of mine," Ghirahim scoffed, "nor of yours, I trust. Last I saw you, you weren't pregnant, and that was hardly a few days' past."

"No more pregnant than when you saw Sakura the day before her deliverance?" Kotake arched a brow. She laughed, and Ghirahim wanted to be angry, except that her laugh was like a madwoman's. Ghirahim could hardly pity her. He never had. But disbelief stole any anger he should feel. Her story was sheer insanity, just like her.

"Yes, my lord," Kotake said. "I am cleverer than you think. The acceleration spell I used on Sakura by accident turned out to be quite useful, once I learned how to properly handle it."

"But even if that were so," Ghirahim said, "how? How could the child be mine, if you would claim to be barren?"

Shock flashed across Kotake's face. She glanced with question at Koume whose expression had grown solemn. Then, looking back to Ghirahim, Kotake said, "I am barren. Our many romps proved as much. Which is why I saw fit to borrow my sister's womb. It was most generous of her...."

Koume looked up at him and now smiled, all the while playing with the red-haired babe's fingers; he wrapped them around her thumb, and she said, "His grip is strong. He will be a most powerful ruler someday."

As the sisters continued to look at Ghirahim, their grin was strangely familiar. As was the seductive curve of their bodies as they lay on the bed, sprawled comfortably, without a care in the world. Their gaze beckoned him with an unconcealed laughter, as if mocking or luring him or maybe both. Finally, the image flashed in his mind as the sight of them blurred, and he realized:

"Amiirah. The mysterious lover from a few nights' back."

Koume nodded. "Looks like you're cleverer than we thought as well—though not as much as you should be, had you wanted to avoid all this trouble."

Ghirahim sneered. "What trouble? So you have a son. What threat could he possibly be to me? I will never accept him as my own. You have crossed many boundaries, but in deceiving me yet again, you cross the gravest boundary of all. No one opposes my will, sneaks behind my back like a child taking candy, and gets what they want. No one. I cannot be controlled, coerced, or forced into anything against my will—least of all by two novice witches and their bastard son."

Ghirahim whirled on his heels, but Kotake called after him:

"We will see about that."

He paused, wanting to turn back and blast the sorceress to ashes, not so much for her threat, but for the smug certainty with which she uttered it.

"She's not worth it," he assured himself before tearing from the room.

There were war plans to be made.

* * *

Ghirahim had spread the maps across the floor of his room and now studied the underground routes carefully, trying to decipher what the best course of action would be. He might send some of his armies above ground as a diversion while the rest infiltrated the city from below. Then again, they had tried that once before in their attempt to collect the spiritual stones. That bitch Impa and her Sheikah horde might anticipate another, similar attack. Maybe the solution was to go to the desert, summon the rest of his armies, and descend on the castle in one fell swoop. If he had the guts to draw out the numbers he needed, he could do it. Perhaps it was time to just leap and take that risk, to damn the fates and luck and whatever other ill fortunes might stand in his way, to take no care for how his master might react but instead worry about that obstacle as it arose. After all, he was a master at impromptu acting; he could use the story Sakura had suggested or else make up one of his own...

A knock on the door alerted him. Sakura? No, she had been instructed to rest. Unless something urgent had transpired. He jumped up, hurried over to the door, and flung it open wide—

Koume stood in the doorway, staring up at him solemnly and with surprising boldness. Fire rippled through his body, and he had to harness every ounce of remaining willpower to refrain from blasting her.

"Why have you come here?" he demanded, towering over her in the doorway. "I should rip you to shreds on the spot for your insolence—and then I should go find your sister and do the same. Tell me—you knew, didn't you? About the revelation spell, Sakura's rapid pregnancy and delivery—everything. You helped Kotake with all of it the whole time."

Koume nodded. "I did. Little fool though she is, she is also my sister. Long have I watched her endure the misery of loneliness. I thought only to help her. I meant no harm against the Hylian brat; I have no personal spite against her. I induced Kotake with a fever and left her to create the revelation spell. Whether she messed things up and harmed the servant girl on purpose, I don't know. I doubt it, as I feel like she would never have induced your wrath on purpose. And yet...after she knew the truth about Sakura's pregnancy, I wonder what her intentions truly were then..."

Ghirahim shook his head and sneered. "You humans disgust me. Even you and your sister, with your ancient, magical blood—you would squander it on your pathetic, petty desires. The gods wasted their magic when they spent it on the likes of you."

"And is that how you feel about her?" Koume folded her arms across her chest and looked Ghirahim straight in the eye. "Is Sakura not some pathetic whim that you gave into, as though you were a human helpless to your desires?"

"Sakura is special," Ghirahim said quietly. His fists clenched and unclenched as he felt the magic of his wrath drumming just beneath his skin, ready to be unleashed. "She has a wisdom, power, and courage alien to your kind. Sometimes I misdoubt she is even human at all. It's almost like we are kin to one another, spirits trapped in this flesh but destined for so much more."

"Words of high praise. It would seem she has bewitched you—yes, even you, great demon lord."

"None can bewitch me!" Ghirahim growled. "Least of all you and your sister—and not Sakura either, however important a role she may play. For I will soon be king over a great army and a great land. I will make Sakura my queen, and we shall bear more sons. That is her purpose to me and nothing more."

"Then it would not pain you if my sister meant harm against Sakura? After all, you could take up another queen. If that's all she means to you anyway—a title, a breeding mare to bear you more heirs—"

His anger boiled over, erupting from his skin in tendrils of blazing fire and shadow. Koume leapt back into the hallway, dodging his attacks as easily as a child playing with a skipping rope, at times raising small shields of flame to cancel his out.

Ghirahim stood tall, proud, but breathing hard, dumbfounded at his own anger. True, Koume insulted his queen, made threats against her—why should he not then be angry? But this wrath boiled from somewhere deeper, somewhere he could neither define nor understand—nor fully control, which shook him most of all.

"So the truth comes forth," Koume said, landing gracefully on her feet as the last of Ghirahim's fire receded. "Your actions contradict your words, lord demon. You care for her, whether you would will it or not. And so you understand exactly what I mean when I say I must defend my sister—"

"Silence! No more of your empty words. My armies will soon overrun this land. I will take the Triforce for my own. And then I will no longer have any need to continue the guise of enjoying your pathetic, leeching company. In fact, even now, I have no purpose to keep you or your sister alive—you are both treacherous wenches!"

In a single stroke faster than lightning, he drew his sword and hurled a ball of black flame at Koume.

Koume raised her hand, caught the fire, and crushed it in her hand. Smoke rose from her closed fist, and she said, "We're not wenches—we're witches. Don't look so surprised. We've been practicing—and it's our new magic that will destroy everything you love if you don't listen to me. Much as I hate you, I didn't come here to fight, but to warn you—"

"No one threatens me!" Ghirahim raged. "I am the Demon King!"

Ghirahim surged at Koume who flew up into the air just in time. When she landed again, she wielded two curved blades, one in each hand. Their silver glistened in a show of their razor-sharp quality, and as she muttered a spell, purple-orange flames danced along their half-moon curve. Koume leapt at Ghirahim, spinning mid-air, and the blazing embers sprayed in all directions like tiny darts. Ghirahim batted them back with his sword and danced between them. Koume spun at him again, but this time, he countered with his blade, twisting around and knocking first one, then both swords from her hands. She staggered then stood to her feet, glancing up at him bewildered. Fire formed in the palms of her hands as Ghirahim raced toward her, sword raised. She started to jump out of the way but he flung a lasso of flame that curled around her ankles and brought her crashing to the ground.

Koume cried out in pain, clawing at the lasso. The next moment, her cries subdued as her skin glowed a faint red. She had stayed the fire's burning with her own flames but could not remove the lasso. Ghirahim yanked on her bonds, pulling her closer till he stood right over her, the tip of his sword tip poised right at her heart. Koume raised her hands to shield herself, flames still blazing in her palms. Fear flickered clearly in her gaze.

"You may be the more seasoned in magic," he said, "but when it comes to the sword, you must know: I do not just bear a sword, I am a sword. Created as a weapon for his lordship, Demise, the Demon King. Now, give me one good reason why I shouldn't spear you through on the spot!" He raised his sword back, prepared to strike, intending to give her no room to answer—

"Kotake means to destroy Sakura and her son! They are in danger!"

Ghirahim stopped mid-strike, nearly toppling over as the words hit him with the same intensity as though his magic had backfired at him.

Koume lowered her blazing hands and continued, "It's why I came here. She has been following you in secret, learning how to use the portal to summon armies and bring them under her command. Even now she is summoning armies of the undead to ascertain her task will be carried out and carried out completely. I tried to stop her—"

"Why?" Ghirahim gasped. "Why do you care to save Sakura? Why would you dare oppose your sister that way? I have never understood the bond of blood over spirit, but I know its strength and have seen it in the two of you. So why—?"

"Because Sakura and her son are innocents, and I would not see more innocent blood spilled, on my account, on my sister's account. I have no affection for you. I never did, and even less now when I see the way you've toyed with my sister's heart and how it's ruined her. But it's not too late for Sakura. She didn't ask to be drawn into any of this. She's an innocent—and more than that, a mere mortal, and with a child. They cannot defend themselves. Try to take back your armies; use the same magic that would destroy this world to save her—or don't. That is your choice. I will go and try to reason with my sister. But such a possibility is grim. If I were you, I would do all in my power to get Sakura from here as far and fast as you can."

Ghirahim studied Koume. "It's in moments like these that I wish I could understand the powers of humanity."

"You don't have to understand them to use them," Koume said. "Go. Save your lover—and your son."

Koume turned and fled the hall.

The moment her echoing footsteps died, Ghirahim's trance was broken. He turned and flew the opposite way, toward Sakura's quarters.

Ghirahim ran in a silver blur. His mind spun equally fast, trying desperately to grapple at the strong emotion that had struck him the moment he knew Sakura was in danger. It was like anger, but more than that. Suddenly, he had been...frightened...yes, the great Lord Ghirahim, the demon who feared nothing, who was not created to know true fear, had felt terrified at the idea of losing her. Fear still pounded inside him, coursing through every nerve of his body and spirit and propelling him faster down the hall.

He burst into Sakura's room. She had been pacing and singing to the babe who suckled at her breast, but now she looked up. Surprise shone in her gaze for only a moment before she lowered her head and curtsied, the movement as graceful as if the babe didn't cling to her, begging for more milk.

Ghirahim stood frozen in place as he realized that, for whatever explainable reason, he needed Sakura not to die. He needed her to live. Not just the boy, for his sake of having an heir, but specifically her. He wondered if, after all, this was what the mortals called "love," or something as close to it as he had ever experienced before or ever could.

"My lord," Sakura said quietly. "To what do I owe the honor of another visit so soon? Should you not be with the Ladies Koume and Kotake, making battle plans?"

Her voice, gentle as always with respect, returned him to the present moment—fear stabbed at him again—and he said, "You must flee. Kotake seeks your harm—and that of our child. I don't have time to explain. But you must flee. Come. Come with me."

Sakura hurried to obey. He swept her into his arms, and she gasped, watching him curiously. "You'd never move fast enough," he said quietly, before flying from the room.

Sakura held the babe tight and cradled herself close to Ghirahim as his incredible speed mounted. He clung to Sakura, all the while preparing defensive spells in his mind, expecting Kotake to spring from around the next corner, the next stairwell, with an entire fleet of the undead behind her.

At last, they burst outside, where the desert heat and the blinding glow of the sun greeted them. The sun had begun to set, illuminating the sky with a vibrant red hue. The crimson dazzled on the desert sand as though a sea of blood stretched beneath their feet.

Ghirahim whisked Sakura and her babe to the stables and flung them onto Prince's back.

"Go," Ghirahim said. "Flee this place. Travel due west, into the sun. Keep going till you find the forest you spoke of—the magic forest, with the tree spirit. Go to him for protection. I will grant my speed to the horse and keep you in my vision, so that no matter how many of Kotake's undead assail you, you will outrun them. If Kotake has indeed found a way to place my armies under her command, they will not stop, so you must not stop either, till you reach the forest."

Sakura looked down at Ghirahim, her face filled with question. As usual, she kept her wonderings to herself. A desire to satiate them this once, to tell her how he suddenly felt—even though he didn't fully understand that feeling—reverberated in his heart.

"Sakura, I—"

A loud explosion and blinding white-blue light stole the words from him. The horse reared, and Sakura shielded the babe who screamed. Ghirahim muttered a charm to calm the beast and untied the reigns. Sakura's gaze widened, and Ghirahim jerked his head in the direction of her gaze. The stable doors had been ripped off their hinges. Kotake hovered in the doorway, leading hordes of undead and foul beasts— reanimated corpses, Stalfos, Moblins, Goblins, and nameless, countless others—Ghirahim's armies, all turned to her allegiance. A smirk crossed her lips, and triumph illuminated her maddened gaze. She raised her hand, and with a flick of her wrist, the armies poured inside, surging straight for Sakura.

"Go, now!" Ghirahim yelled, even as Sakura spurred the horse into action. Without a glance back, she urged the horse into a swift gallop, fleeing out the opposite door.

"May the gods grant you all haste," Ghirahim muttered, before turning and flinging a wave of flames at the army fast approaching.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Chapter 12

Ghirahim slammed the approaching wave of undead and beasts with fire and shadow. Some of the hordes fell at his feet, but the rest thundered past, pursuing his queen.

His queen. Sakura. He could not leave her to this fate. She could not outrun them alone, no matter what ancient magic she possessed to aid her. He could contend with Kotake later. He must follow her, shield her from harm at least till she'd breached the fortress borders. From there, he could erect a barrier between the narrow cliffs that should hold off the armies for a while.

He burst from the stable and shouted commands for his armies to stop, but they raged blindly on, a mad hunger illuminating their eyes that glowed a fierce bright blue instead of their usual crimson—Kotake truly had bewitched them into becoming her puppets. Without a counter curse, Ghirahim could not regain his army, nor could he stop it from overrunning Sakura—

A massive wall of ice erupted from the ground, stretching high and thick in a matter of moments. Ghirahim raced down its length and prepared to leap over, but then it turned overhead and to the side. He jumped up again, but the ice wall turned again. He continued to race against the expanding ice, but it kept turning and growing till at last he found himself encased in a massive cage of transparent ice, helpless to do anything but stare out at the legions rushing at Sakura right on her heels.

A proud laughter made Ghirahim wheel about. Kotake stood on the far side of the ice-encased arena. She danced toward him, ice rippling along her blue-tinted fingertips like tiny flames.

"Let her go, Kotake," Ghirahim spat. He dug his fingers into frigid wall, sending wave after wave of flame through his body, but its thickness was impenetrable. Only the slightest sweat dripped where his fire touched. By the time he escaped, it would be too late. His singular chance was to stand and fight. In breaking Kotake, he might break this wall she had erected around them.

"I will fight you," he said, drawing his hands away from the wall and turning to face her straight-on, "and I will destroy you. You have this one, last chance to spare your pathetic human life before I take it."

Kotake laughed. "Do you really expect me to be frightened? When it is I who commands your armies and has you trapped as you are now? There is no hope left for your Sakura, I'm afraid. I have seen it. She will fall. Pity, isn't it? To fight for something you love so much, only to have it all fall by the wayside, forgotten, unredeemable..." She flew closer till she hovered right over him. Staring him straight in the eye, her gaze devoid of anything but vengeance, she whispered, "She has been your weakness. You say you are incapable of love. But whatever you have grown to feel for her has been ruling you, and you've let it, and now it shall lead to your demise, and hers, and that stupid little brat of yours—"

With a roar, Ghirahim flung a wave of fiery darts at Kotake. She zipped back through the air, darting between them with perfect ease and cackling with glee. Ghirahim drew his sword and surged after her. She wielded her two curved blades, dancing and spinning. Tiny ice daggers flew from the blades' sharp curves, cutting into his skin with as great a wrath as any fire, but he pushed through, coming at her again and again. Their swords clashed, but no blows landed. Still, he fought on, hoping to distract her as he struggled to pry her mind open, to find the source of the spell controlling his armies and stop it. But the harder he fought to penetrate her mind, the higher and thicker a wall he seemed to slam up against.

"Fool!" Kotake sneered. "You don't think my sister thought to teach me to guard against every aspect of your magic? I now know the way your magic works perhaps better than you do yourself, sword spirit!"

Ghirahim staggered back mid-air and just managed to catch his footing and block another wave of icy shards. He threw up a temporary fire shield, turning the shards to steam the moment they hit. "How do you know what I am? And how dare you address me as such! I am more than a sword spirit; I am a lord of demons!"

"Call yourself what you will. You are a puppet, a slave to the master you would seek to usurp. You have no power of your own—"

"Kotake!"

Ghirahim glanced up as a brilliant orange-red blazed across the sky. A ring of fire melted part of the ceiling and Koume somersaulted inside, just before the ice reformed and snapped shut behind her.

"Sister, stop this madness!" Koume shouted, rushing up beside her, panic gripping her usually stalwart demeanor. "You may hate Sakura and the demon, but what of the infant? You worked so hard to create a life. How now can you bear to destroy one just as innocent as your own? Call off the armies—"

"I created that life so it may rise and become king above all others! Ghirahim's offspring is not innocent. I will show you what the stars showed me, sister, and then you shall see—"

Sheer horror flooded Koume's face. "You did not really ask the stars? You did not sacrifice part of your soul—?"

"Do not tell me what I have done or will do! Everyone supposes me to be weak, but I will do whatever I must to take what is mine! And not even you will stop that, sister. What now will you do? Will you stand with me or against me?"

Kotake stretched out her hand toward Koume then yanked it back. Koume flew toward her sister as if controlled by invisible puppet strings. Holding her sister close, Kotake began muttering a spell. A wild grin masked her face as she chanted, her gaze alive with fury and glee.

"Let go of me!" Koume gasped, struggling against her sister. She glowed bright red, and flames licked at her skin, but for once Kotake seemed unaffected. "You cannot complete this spell on your own; it is meant to be shared equally! You don't know what damage you might do; you can't perform it on your own—"

"Unless one of us is stronger," Kotake corrected. "And right now, I am stronger, sister. This demon isn't the only one I have been training how to fight against—"

Bright blue and red rays of light shot from Kotake's skin, making her glisten as though armored in rubies and sapphires. Koume emitted a cry of pain that made even Ghirahim shiver. The sisters were consumed by the light one moment, and the next, the light faded to reveal a new yet familiar woman hovering before him.

"Amiirah," Ghirahim breathed.

"No, you will call us by our rightful name!" the hybrid sorceress thundered. "We are Twinrova, the most powerful sorceress to ever tame this land—as even now we will tame you, demon!"

Twinrova spun, shooting flame with one hand, ice with the other. Ghirahim dodged, dancing wildly across the arena. He stayed near the walls, hoping the witch's fire would melt them, but the blasts that collided with the ice created little more than a steamy hiss before it solidified to its full strength once more.

As Ghirahim continued his cat-and-mouse chase, he tried to focus his conscious beyond the wall. If he could reach out and find Sakura, maybe he could help her even from afar. He saw snatches here and there—her riding on the horse, clutching the babe close, the armies pursuing—but nothing solid enough for him to connect with her or grant her any kind of protection—

Pillars of flame and ice surged toward him. Creating another makeshift fire shield, he side-stepped the pillar of ice while absorbing the fire. The ice followed him, but he danced around the arena, avoiding it while consuming the fire until his entire body burned with such vehemence that he felt certain he would explode from its intensity. The impact of the fire soon brought him to his knees. Twinrova laughed viciously. No doubt Kotake thrilled at the sight of seeing him kneel before her. Perhaps Koume did too, but there was no way to tell if Koume maintained her own consciousness or was instead slave to Kotake's very thoughts while trapped inside their joined body.

Just when Ghirahim thought he would collapse entirely, the stored-up fire burst from his shield, slamming Twinrova back against the far wall. Ghirahim leapt to his feet, panting hard, and flew at the stunned beast of a woman, sword lifted high. Twinrova staggered to her feet and flew out of harm's way just in time, but a stench rose from her flesh which was burned and blacked in patches along one half of her body—Kotake's half, he guessed. He remembered the first battle he had ever waged with the sisters. Perhaps that was still key. Perhaps that was still their weakness, to play their own powers against them.

Ghirahim extinguished his shield of fire, created one of shadow, and set to weaving between the tendrils of flame, absorbing the ice into his new shield. Fury lit Twinrova's gaze as she caught on. She fought to knock him down with her fire and break his concentration, but he artfully dodged each time, all the while collecting the icy power till at last it exploded at Twinrova. The great sorceress fell again, only to rise more slowly and with fresh burns patching the other half of her body.

As Twinrova flung more fire and ice, Ghirahim raised both his fire and shadow shields, absorbing both attacks. Her magic grew more erratic as she stumbled about, making for many a narrow escape on Ghirahim's part. Still, the slowness of her movements made collecting the magic easier, till at last, he sent a massive wave of both fire and ice at her.

A vicious scream split the air, and a blinding light flooded the arena. When it faded, the sisters lay separated once more, trembling on the ground and gasping for breath. Ghirahim flung a wild look around the walls of ice, but they seemed strong as ever.

"Traitor!" Kotake screeched, flinging a wild look at her sister. "You let him just rip us apart!"

"Yes, I did." Koume stumbled to her feet and marched toward her sister who still cowered on the ground, trying to rise but falling each time. "I saw my opportunity and seized it. You cannot control me like that, sister. We work as equals or not at all. And I do not support you in this. I cannot—"

Kotake stretched forth her hand and tendrils of ice spun through the air, pinning Koume to the far wall. Just as she opened her lips to protest, one of the icy shards knocked her across the forehead, erasing the look of pleading from her face as her eyes closed and her head fell limp against her chest.

Kotake flung a wave of ice at Ghirahim. He canceled the ice with a round of fiery darts, and their cat and mouse game began anew. Demon and sorceress ricocheted off the ice walls, dueling with fire and ice.

Suddenly, one of Kotake's icy blasts knocked against his sword—and absorbed inside his blade, just as it had with the shields. Ghirahim blocked another blow, only for the same to happen again. Blow after blow he blocked, till at last his sword quivered as though it might detonate from the pent-up power.

And then, as he blocked yet another icy attack, it did.

The ice burst from his sword like fireworks. Some of the shards pierced Kotake who winced before seeming to absorb the ice right back into her skin. Several shards pierced Ghirahim, but he fought through the pain, darting about and absorbing several of the icy bits back into his blade. Kotake flung another round at him, and he absorbed those too. When his sword weighed heavily once more, the ice magic exploded from its blade. Ghirahim swung the sword right at her, and the ice arched toward her like a volley of arrows.

Kotake flung her arms wide, and the volley turned against Ghirahim. He raised his sword to block, but the ice bombarded his sword arm instead. As the frigid blast slammed against his arm, a fiery pain surged through him, knocking him to his knees. There he knelt, panting hard. He struggled to raise his sword, but his arm felt on fire, heavy as iron, and would barely budge.

A flash of red made Ghirahim glance up. Koume's eyes opened slowly. Just over Kotake's shoulder, Ghirahim caught her gaze. Pain stretched clearly across her face, but she nodded at him before muttering a spell.

"Not so lordly now, are we, sword spirit?" Kotake crooned. "Let's finish this now. I will slay you even, as the hordes you so graciously bestowed upon me slay your queen and heir—"

Just as Kotake stood over Ghirahim and raised her sword, Koume's spell reached her and she dropped it with a shriek. She collapsed to her knees, shaking violently even as her skin twisted, her hair grayed, her nose and ears grew, and her face contorted till at last it was not a strong, fair warrior that lay at Ghirahim's side, but an old woman, wailing and clawing at the ground. Ghirahim threw a wild glance at Koume who had also taken the form of an old woman.

"Now is your chance!" she croaked. "We will not regain strength for some time—do it now; save her!"

Ghirahim crawled toward the wailing Kotake. All he need do was delve inside her mind, call his armies off—

An intense pain ripped through his skull, as though someone drove a sword straight through. The pain echoed throughout every inch of him. His master was calling—no, pulling—for him. Ghirahim felt the weight on his chest, as if someone had torn inside him and sought to drag him by his imaginary heart toward them. Ghirahim resisted the call, struggling against the pain. He had to see Sakura. He had to know she lived, and if she was in danger, he must help her. His heir must live on, even where he might fail. Reaching a trembling hand toward Kotake's frail, gray form, he latched onto the top of her head and plunged deep inside her mind...

Sakura cradled the infant close as the horse thundered across the wide open plains of a vast field. A thick forest loomed in the distance. Ghirahim's—or perhaps it was more accurate now to say Kotake's—armies trailed right on her heels, swords, claws, and fangs at the ready. Some of the bokoboblins shot arrows. Ghirahim yelled at them to stop, even as Sakura ducked down, barely missing.

At last, she cleared the threshold of the forest, but suddenly the horse reared; Sakura's cloak caught on the branches, and bat-like keese soon surrounded them, flapping their fire-lit wings and setting her cloak ablaze. The horse reared again but she clung tightly to his neck, pressing her thighs against his flank. She wrestled with the cloak till she had thrown it aside. She whispered comforting words to the horse, but just as they started forward again, something long and sharp pierced her side, making her cry out and clutch at her fresh wound. More moblins poured into the woods. One of them drew his horse close and raised the blade—

Ghirahim shouted a spell to throw the moblin's blade aside.

"No!" Kotake screeched, blocking him out. Ghirahim pushed harder, but the weight of his master's pull forced his mind in the opposite direction, breaking his concentration. Kotake may be weak in magic and body, but her spirit held strong, as did her mind's reserve. He held Kotake fast, grappling at her mind to follow Sakura again. Kotake fought him with every breath, but at last he delved back in—

Sakura was on the move again, but blood heavily stained her clothes and the horse's coat, gushing from fresh wounds. As the horse flew through the forest, it seemed the dark armies no longer pursued. She glanced back to see that the trees had come to life and knit their branches tightly together, not permitting the enemies to enter.

The horse took Sakura to a clearing with a massive tree, a solemn face etched upon its surface. As they stopped before the tree, its face pulled into a frown.

Sakura fell from the beast. She still cradled the babe close to her heart, but blood poured from her side. The sun glistened on the blood like rubies, contrasting with the shadows masking her face.

With a cry, Sakura pushed herself up with one arm till she sat before the great tree, head humbly bowed. With her other arm, she held their son close to her breast and said, "Great Tree Spirit, I have heard of your great powers of protection. Please, I beg you to grant safety to my son and I—or if you will not take me, poor and spoiled maiden that I am, then at least take my son. I see you have other children here—"

"Those children are my own," the tree thundered. "I gave birth to them. I created them, breathed life into them. This child is demon-born—even as you have allowed yourself to be cursed in giving yourself to a demon.

"However...I sense also a great destiny in this child. A true and unbreakable spirit resides within him. He may yet overcome what he is, what he is born from, and become a great warrior. A hero. He may even be the hero who will lay this war crafted by your lover, this war between Realms, to rest. I will keep your son and raise him as one of my Children of the Forest. However, I am afraid there is nothing my magic can do for you; I cannot aid anyone so willingly tainted by a demon's spell."

"Thank you, Great Tree Spirit," Sakura whispered. She gasped sharply then and fell back onto her side. The babe cried again. She held him in her arms, gazed into his blue eyes, and sang. Her voice trembled, but her melody was as pure as if one of the golden goddesses themselves filled her heart and lips.

The sun dipped below the mountains surrounding the forest, veiling the maiden and her son in shadow. Her song faded, and the light of life fled her eyes, leaving a loud emptiness in its wake—

That emptiness was the last Ghirahim saw of her before the vision snapped—and so did he.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Epilogue

Ghirahim stood in the endlessly stretching quiet of the Dark Realm. He scoffed its serene emptiness, what some might call "peace." To him, it was death, it was mad torture—it was his prison. He had been created to explore, to conquer, to do, not to sit in shadow and languish. No opportunity for victory dwelled here. This place squandered his awesome skills in magic, as well his unparalleled beauty; his silvery skin and hair shimmered ghostlike in the eternal dark, making him appear as one of the pathetic lost spirits that wandered this realm, instead of the fearsome demon lord he was born to be.

His master, Demise, the Demon King, stood mere yards away. The flames waving from his head in long, red-gold tendrils provided the only light, giving him the appearance of a mighty lion with a mane formed of fire. As he drew his sword, it glinted in the firelight with the same cool malice emanating from his entire body. Fresh rage sparked in his narrowed gaze. He raised his sword ever so slightly yet with clear purpose.

Ghirahim flinched.

The Demon King watched him.

"Ghirahim," Demise said at last, "my sword spirit. Chosen by the gods to serve me faithfully in all things. And yet you have proven once more to be a childish, disappointing aid, intent only on seeking your own glory. Ever have I applauded your fierce determination. But now, as before, you have failed me, in pursuing your own thirst for triumph. So the cycle repeats itself. You are too beautiful. You are too passionate. You are too extravagant. What sort of servant have the gods cursed me with? Even the chosen hero's servant was more useful."

The flames surrounding the Demon King flared high. The fire gleaming inside his gaze reflected the hatred burning steadily in his heart. He stood perfectly still, unblinking, unmoving, watching.

Ghirahim knew his master spoke truth and let his silence speak his shameless agreement. He had cared too much for himself, had reached too high, as always. Such was not a sword spirit's purpose.

"Perhaps you can explain," Demise continued, "one last time, why you failed me so miserably? The girl was handed to you. The boy was no threat, had you disposed of him so early on. Yet you allowed the girl to beguile you. You focused on your dreams of what you could become instead of seeking to raise up your master who would have awarded you with a hundred such women. And even then, you fought not as a demon, but as a child. The plan should have been seamless, for one of your power."

"Of what power do you speak, Master?" Ghirahim said, a bite in his voice as his anger began to simmer, bubbling up over his fear. "I am a mere servant. A weapon. To be wielded in your hands."

The Demon King clenched his sword even tighter. His knuckles turned a ghostly white. Muscles pulsed visibly along his thick arms.

"Do not blame your master for your failures. Do not blame the great king whose existence is your existence. You have no more chances or excuses, Ghirahim. The girl was handed to you, and the boy—you had no right to either of them go. That was not your master's will."

"But it was mine. I was not created to kill needlessly, not even in your service. How could I have known the boy would pose such a threat? How could I know my single mercy—?"

"You were not created to show mercy!" the Demon King thundered. "You were not created to follow the devices of your own will! It is your single mercy that turned all of my efforts to ash. You had him in your grasp, and you let him go. Before he even knew what a powerful threat he would become, you could have destroyed him. Instead, as before, you showed weakness unbefitting the sword spirit of the Lord Demon King."

"But the girl," Ghirahim persisted. "She was no more a natural creature than either of us. There was truly an...an unnatural force within her. She bewitched me in a way I thought not possible..."

A snarl ripped from the Demon King's throat. "An unnatural force?" he seethed, his blazing eyes devoid now of the small shred of patience he had reserved for his servant a moment ago. "Of course she was helped by an unnatural force. The spirit of the hero resided within her, and you failed in doing the one thing you were meant to—to stop her from passing that on! You could have broken the line. I could now be king for all eternity instead of being yet imprisoned in this pit of tainted light and fire and emptiness!"

"My lord," Ghirahim pleaded, though his hope rapidly diminished. He understood he had failed. He understood he had failed irrevocably this time. He understood everything too well. "There is still the other child. Did you not say he would prove a worthy vessel—"

"It is not the way I would have things done! I would not have chosen to lower myself, to empty my spirit into some weak mortal vessel of flesh and bone, save that you leave me no choice!"

"The goddess once did the same. It seemed to work well enough for her."

Demise stared, seemingly caught off guard at Ghirahim's boldness. Ghirahim stared back; he knew now that he taunted his master, but it was of no consequence. The pure malice in the Demon King's eyes assured Ghirahim that he could no longer hope to save himself. If these were his last moments to be free, to be himself, he may as well let his thoughts roll off his tongue.

"Useless, pathetic servant," Demise hissed. "The gods made a mistake in fashioning you. You've been given everything you could ever desire. You've been lavished with every extravagance, treated like the 'lord' you so fancy yourself. You've been spoiled like a suckling child—but no more.

"You remain my only connection to the outside world. But that means I must teach you. You must know pain. You must know suffering. You must know torment and longing and failure. Perhaps then, you will take your purpose seriously. Perhaps then, you will show gratitude to the one to whom you owe your existence."

Ghirahim knew what his master intended. The truth hit him like a wave, and for the first time, Ghirahim, lord of demons, wanted to weep, if only to bewail the imminent fall of his beauty, grace, and utter brilliance. The Dark Realm had never given birth to another like him, nor would it. He wanted to bewail the sorry fate of the world being stripped of such a gorgeous perfection as himself. But no tears would come to him.

He was not made to weep.

He knew that, before the end, he would go mad, that his brilliant mind would shatter under the torment dragging him in so many opposite directions. He didn't want to go mad. He wanted to die before that happened.

But he could not die.

He was not born to die.

He was created to prevail, for one purpose, and one alone. He was made to serve one master. It was hard to tell whether he hated his master or hated himself, whether he hated or loved anything at all, or whether he was even capable of love. The only thing he knew for certain was a burning hunger, a torturous need, a never-sleeping, compelling drive. Once his master did what he prepared to do, Ghirahim would never be satiated, could never rest, never so much as glimpse the meaning of "free," until that hideous irony came to pass and Demise was free once more to set up his reign for all eternity.

Demise swung the blade and pierced it straight through Ghirahim, who felt the essence of his spirit shattering. He roared as pain ripped through him. The pieces of his spirit were scattered Above, and his conscious began to fade.

Before the pain destroyed his senses and thoughts entirely, a single truth flitted through Ghirahim, the one saving grace that might pull him through insanity and torture and pain to the other side at least somewhat intact: his son was safe. Somewhere, in a forest where children never died, the boy that Demise so adamantly despised was protected by a great tree spirit. That spirit had seen a great destiny in his son, and Ghirahim knew what that destiny was, even as he knew what power had lain inside Sakura.

Ghirahim's son would rise as the next hero. And when Demise finally took the throne, Ghirahim would be free once more to witness his rise—just as he would be free to witness his fall as his son took his place in the cycle as the chosen hero and, by the power of the gods, threw him down from his throne once again.

Perhaps Ghirahim would never be a king. He saw that now. Demise would never permit him, nor would the gods permit their eternal, sacred cycle to be broken. But how much sweeter his vengeance would be when he watched his own flesh and blood destroy the Demon King who sought now to annihilate him. Because of that sacred cycle and his son's place in it, now Ghirahim could never truly be destroyed, but would live on forever.

That was the sweetest revenge a demon could ever hope to see. And he would see it all in just a few short years, as soon as the boy—his boy—grew up and, just like his mother, wielded the unyielding and unbreakable spirit of a hero.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

About the Author

Christine E. Schulze has been living in castles, exploring magical worlds, and creating fantastical romances and adventures since she was too young to even write such stories. Her collection of YA fantasy, children's fantasy, and Christian fantasy books, The Amielian Legacy, is comprised of series and stand-alone novels and novellas. While the books can all be read separately, they ultimately weave together to create a single, overarching fantasy.

One of her main aspirations for The Amielian Legacy is to create grand fantasy adventures with characters that connect with readers from many different backgrounds; right now, Schulze is focused on including racially diverse characters and characters with disabilities. The latter is inspired by her work with adults who have autism and other developmental disabilities at Trinity Services in Southern Illinois. She also donates 25% of all royalties to ALFA, a local charity that supports many of Trinity's programs.

Her exciting ventures include her award-winning YA fantasy novel, Bloodmaiden. She will be publishing new editions of her YA Christian fantasy books, The Stregoni Sequence and The Chronicles of the Mira with Writers-Exchange. She is also a proud author at Book By You, a publisher specializing in personalized books, and is happy to release Song Quest, Black Lace, and Dark Embrace with them. Her most recent projects include the professional re-writing of two YA Fantasy series, The Gailean Quartet and The Hero Chronicles, the latter of which will be released under the new name, A Shadow Beyond Time. For this series, she is also including an amazing new co-author, Kira Lerner.

Christine currently lives in Belleville, IL, but you can visit her on Facebook, Instagram, or on her blog: http://christineschulze.com/.

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The Amielian Legacy

The Amielian Legacy is a vast fantasy comprised of both stand-alone books and series for ages ranging from children to young adult. The Amielian Legacy creates a fantastical history for North America in much the same way that Tolkien's Middle Earth created a mythology for Europe. While it's not necessary to read any particular book or series to read the others, they do ultimately weave together to create a single overarching mythology.

Stand-Alone Books

Bloodmaiden (Second Edition)

Lily in the Snow (Second Edition)

Time Dancers and Other Fantastical Tales

One Starry Knight

One Starry Knight: Special Illustrated Edition

The Chronicles of the Mira

The Crystal Rings (Second Edition)

Song Quest

Black Lace/Dark Embrace

The Adventures of William the Brownie (Children's)

In the Land of Giants (Children's)

The Amazing K (Children's)

The Puzzle of the Two-Headed Dragon (Children's)

Puca (Children's)

The Pirates of Meleeon

The Last Star (No release date yet)

Carousel in the Clouds (No release date yet)

Series

The Stregoni Sequence

Golden Healer, Dark Enchantress

Memory Charmer

Wish Granter

A Shadow Beyond Time (with co-author Kira Lerner)

The Undying Portal (No release date yet)

The Awakening Army (No release date yet)

The Mourning Birds (No release date yet)

The Darkling Shadow (No release date yet)

The Bleeding Veil (No release date yet)

The Gailean Quartet (Second Editions; first expected release 2019)

The Legends of Surprisers

The Legends of Surprisers, Book I (No release date yet)

The Legends of Surprisers, Book II (No release date yet)

The Legends of Surprisers, Book III: The Vision (No release date yet)

The D.N.A. Sequence (No release date yet)

