of the door leading into the featureless, grey block of a building. Lowering their spears, the women mumble a greeting as the expressionless man passes by. Painful as it may be, he has returned without glory.
The grey, inconspicuously drab design of the large throne room exterior does nothing to advertise the lavish interior. Rugs and drapes of vibrant red decorate the room, full of only the most attractive Gerudo women. Lazily dowsing along the path to the throne, the scarcely dressed women greet their king with tired smiles as they continue to lounge comfortably. Grapes and oranges acquired by scouts are casually dined upon while the king of thieves angrily tosses his helm to the floor, then sits on his iron throne uncomfortably. Leaning forward, he stares at the golden blight upon his hand, incomplete once again. Scouring his mind, he cannot understand what went wrong. How the balance of elements was knocked askew. The power had fused with his soul completely, and he wielded it with little difficulty, but some unknown factor tore his entire plan to pieces. Deep in thought, he doesn’t notice his mistress emerge from the bedroom behind the throne. Wearing the finest silk, her outfit only differs from the plethora of women in the room in that it is slightly more respectable. Her calloused fingers rub against his tense neck, before she begins to remove his armor.
“What good are you,” she bellows at the women lying throughout the room. “Your king returns and you lie about?” Quickly finding their feet, several of the women proceed toward the throne, eager to please their king. Waving a dismissive hand, Ganondorf expresses his disapproval.
“Not tonight, Aveil. I’m of a mood,” he grumbles, slapping his mistress’ hand away to angrily remove his armor himself. Tossing his cloak aside, he pulls off his heavy chest piece, throwing it to the ground as well. Generally startled, the multitude of women awkwardly stand about before returning to their beds and trays of fruit.
“Clearly,” Aveil sighs, rolling her eyes and collecting the cloak. “You are injured?” She gasps with widening eyes, noting the large slash through the center of the cloth.
“It’s nothing,” he grunts, obviously not enjoying the conversation.
“Very well,” she absently responds through narrow eyes. “I will dress your wounds when you fancy the notion.” With that, she leaves the room, failing to catch her king’s eye despite her alluring mannerisms. An uncomfortable silence hangs over everyone’s head as Ganondorf continues to ponder the meaning of the recently transpired events. He possesses the Triforce of Power once again. Though he is uncertain what he will do with its strength, he knows he will not repeat the same mistakes. Sensing the mood in the room, one of his favorite girls shyly approaches, hoping to put minds at ease.
“Is there nothing I could do to pull your mind from troubling thoughts?” She asks, attempting to sound sensual, but ultimately sounding extremely nervous.
“Take hold of your tongue and evade my gaze,” he promptly retorts, painting the girl white with fear. Meekly backing away, she thoroughly regrets her decision to speak out before a slightly kinder voice sounds from the throne. “Know that I am frustrated with failure. I harbor no hatred for any of you.”
“We do,” Aveil interrupts, returning to his side. “I would like to know the fate of those who would interfere with my king’s ambition.”
“It is of little consequence now,” he sighs, dismissing the thought. “My treasure was divided once again. The fused shadow was not enough to keep it intact,” he reveals, shooting the dark helm a disapproving gaze.
“If it is not enough, then what possibly could be?” She asks, plunging into thought herself.
“I know not,” he mumbles, his eyes locking onto his hand once again. Moving closer, Aveil places a loving hand on his shoulder.
“What will we do now?”
“Something to be determined another day,” he nods, scooping a hand around her waist playfully. Breathing an amused giggle in his embrace, she fails to notice someone has entered the room.
“I beg pardon for my intrusion,” a young woman insists, her immaturity masked well in her confidence. Taking a knee and bowing her head, she is clearly loyal, but her appearance without being summoned is something strictly forbidden. Shockingly unique in her appearance, her skin is noticeably lighter than the other women. Stranger still, her tightly braided hair, fashioned into an off-center disc at the rear of her scalp, is a vivid blonde. An oddball amongst the Gerudo women, she wears tightly fitting grey pants as well as an unremarkable grey brassiere unintentionally showing off her athletic form. Attached to her thighs and waist are a multitude of throwing knives, and upon her forehead rests a black jewel. Climbing off of her king’s tired form, Aveil is forced to take a more diplomatic stance to the side now that a warrior is addressing the throne. “I would only ask the yield of your mission,” she declares, hoping for a clear and rapid answer.
“He will address the ranks at his leisure,” Aveil sternly interjects, appalled by the girl’s brazen request. Raising a hand for silence, Ganondorf leans forward in his seat with an understanding grimace.
“Less, is it?” He gruffly asks.
“Yes, my king.”
“I understand you’re one of my finest scouts, but know this, disrespect of any magnitude will not be tolerated. The mission was unsuccessful. I give you leave to inform the others,” he declares, turning his gaze back to Aveil.
“And what of my sister, Moora?” Less inquires, remaining still as a statue on her knee.
“You press far beyond your position!” Aveil shouts, fed up with the girl’s continued defiance. Rising from his throne, the king of thieves slowly marches over to the girl’s position.
“Rise,” he commands, eclipsing her in shadow beneath his massive frame. Promptly standing, her posture can only be described as fearless. Her yellow eyes stare emotionlessly into his, betraying no secrets or intentions.
“None returned but your king,” he conveys, lightly taking hold of her chin. “Moora fought well, but fell to the damnable Sheikah,” he reveals, gauging her response. An almost imperceptible twitch would have gone unnoticed if they weren’t standing face to face, the young woman’s emotions betraying her for the briefest of instances. “I know those eyes well. They are eyes burning with vengeance. Let this violence drive your training, and your day of reckoning will come soon enough,” he concludes, staring into her eyes a moment longer. He knows the eyes of vengeance well, but hatred isn’t the only thing familiar about them. Fatigue begins to overshadow him like an approaching wave, and he leaves the girl where she stands for his bed. Aveil shoots her one last threatening glance before retiring as well. The dazzling chandelier grows dim as a desert wind pushes through the open doors of the room. Something in the corner of her eye, an object begging to be noticed tilts her head gingerly, and Less spots the discarded entity of dark power. A single tear caresses her cheek as thoughts of her sister quickly overtake her usual cold, calculating logic. A clenched fist tightens as she decides her vengeance becomes certain upon acquiring the relic.
Guiding Light:
Distant Dreams and Simple Shadows
Hyrule field glows with an aura of possibility in the midmorning sun. She played out the goodbyes in her head long before they could occur. He would insist he go with her. She would refuse. He would offer her a ride to the castle gates at least. Again, she would prove stubborn. Finally, he would depart for Ordon to the south with a reluctance she admired. Sharing a brief kiss, the young man in green is atop his trusty steed and galloping into the distance with a rugged grace moments later. She could not make such a scene upon entering Castle Town. The people would resent her escapades while they are left to suffer through the drought and failing economy. An ancient incantation is murmured in her mind, summoning a whirlwind of light, engulfing her form entirely. Once the spell has subsided, the gorgeous young princess has been replaced by a formless beggar wearing an inconspicuous, brown cowl. Her sky blue eyes drift past the massive plains and fix upon th
e castle, overlooking the heartland of the kingdom. Her instincts plead for her to visit Kakariko Village, but necessity dictates she return home first. Setting a brisk pace, she departs the tree-shrouded entrance of the forest, finding the dirt path stretching across the mammoth field toward the castle.
Morning has faded into afternoon when she finally sets foot on the wooden drawbridge. The lone sentry eyes her suspiciously as she advances into town. A large gathering in the market square grabs her attention, the noisy group bantering angrily around the guard captain. Malune, leader of the castle guard for several years, seems to be in over his head dealing with the rabble. Her father had taken a liking to him many years ago, despite his youth and inexperience. He is a handsome young man who was always eager to assist in any manner of calamity involving the town, even as a boy. Now he is failing to keep the peace with his overworked, skeleton crew of a squadron. Drawing closer to the group, concaved around the fountain featuring a sculpture of a familiar hero, the princess keeps a low profile while listening in.
“Please, listen to me!” Malune shouts, attempting to throw a hush over the crowd. “The city gate must be closed at night. There can be no exceptions.”
“Tell