Chapter Text
Ryunosuke’s Journal
After that disagreement with Father and the dinner after, things between Champion Kazuma and I just seemed to ease over these past weeks, like sugar dissolving into a hot cup of tea. Conversation seemed to flow: about favorite foods, about socioeconomics (though, to be fair, this was much more of a one-sided affair…), about comedy theater, about the Guardians, about everything.
It’s like a fire ignited in a dark cave—the light illuminating things once completely obscured from my view—and I now seem to find myself craving his company more often than not. It’s odd; I had never seen just how bleak it all felt previously—how lonely it was before, stuck in the castle or forced on pilgrimages, before companionship. I feel truly blessed that someone like him is the wielder of the Triforce of Courage.
On the note of blessings…we’ve been graced with quite the opportune luck!
Following the report of the remaining records found in the Kakariko Library Lady Susato’s friend, Lady Rei, supplied us with last week (the contents of which I still am stunned by—to think the small Guardian was a prototype of the larger Guardians!), the exploration of the spider web of tunnels below the castle yielded not one but two of those blue stones we think are depicted in the drawings. One was taken to the Ancient Tech Research Institute for the research teams to examine and the other was entrusted to Champion Sholmes and Iris’s care.
There’s still the pressing issue of how to make it operational, but the drawings in those old records tie these stones, now named “Guidance Stones”, directly to the Sheikah Slate. If whatever these Guidance Stones are can truly power-on the Sheikah Slate, it will be a huge breakthrough—I can’t shake the feeling that tablet will be instrumental in the future. In fact, Champion Sholmes has a suspicion that the Slate may act as a way to grant access to the Divine Beasts, based on the size of the pedestal indents found inside the Beasts. Efforts to investigate the site where the Guidance Stones were discovered continue—hopefully they can find something that gives us a clue on how to proceed.
Champion Sholmes said that when he visited Divine Beast Vah Medoh, a raging blizzard descended upon Rito Village. Thankfully, it subsided within the day and no one was substantially hurt, but the residents there were left shaken and some facilities were damaged, including some of the storage areas of the Rito Stable. Of course Hebra is no stranger to snowstorms, but no one had ever seen a storm that ferocious tear through that region before, especially not before the start of winter. It makes me nervous.
…I admit, I’ve been avoiding writing recently, if only for this simple fact: I am now twenty-two. There’s less than a year before the foretold awakening of Calamity Stronghart and I’ve yet to make any progress with the sealing powers. I can only pray that the Divine Beasts and Guardians can be activated soon.
There was a period of Ryunosuke’s life while he was much younger—young enough that his mother was still alive and the threat of calamity was but a distant, abstract concept—where he went through a knight phase.
Between lessons with Elder Impa, he would much more studiously sit and look out the window at the knights training below, watching with enrapt attention as they went through their daily drills. Sword fighting, archery, shield training, weightlifting—all of it was like looking into another world, something of wonder and amusement, so far off from the drone of daily castle life.
He decided, at the tender age of four and a half, that he would one day become a knight as well. He could make it work—Elder Impa had told him a story about an old queen who commanded her kingdom alongside a rapier and a golden bow, after all. It was a rosy blur of noncommitment: the training would be rigorous and the drill sergeants would be unremitting, but that was just a small price to pay for the glamor of the role; he would take it all in stride easily.
It took less than a year for that dream to disperse with the wind—a fickle reverie run its course in his imagination.
As non-serious as the notion was at the time, Ryunosuke is now glad he never sincerely pursued that path. He would never survive it. The agony of being commanded by Kazuma during archery training was already enough to almost bring him to tears.
“Remember: imagine a string pulling you from above,” Kazuma instructs, voice reverberating against the trees within the small, secluded grove he set a target up at. “Stay straight; don’t let your head move when you pull back. Draw the string to you, not you moving towards it.”
Ryunosuke releases a frustrated huff, fatigued, then focuses on keeping his head still. He fixes his position with his bow arm and carefully draws back the string, resting his finger on the side of his mouth.
It was apparent before, but Ryunosuke has come to truly understand now that Kazuma is a quick learner—sharp, shrewd, deceptively sly, like a cat on the hunt. That scrupulous observance has led him to discern one of Ryunosuke’s biggest weaknesses quite fast: the proposal of food can often override any of his indolent protests.
It’s not a bribe, Kazuma had explained to him when he showed up with a warm bag of freshly-baked somethings, it’s a motivator. A proverbial carrot suspended from a stick—the breakfast pastries or whatever sort Kazuma brought with him dangling in front of his nose like a donkey being steered forward, or maybe a mouse being led directly to a trap. At this moment, Ryunosuke is inclined to believe it’s the latter.
Kazuma sits on a rock parallel to Ryunosuke dictating orders with those enticing baked goods (of which variety Ryunosuke can still only speculate, as Kazuma insisted on keeping it a secret, but he can smell the whiff of irresistible cream cheese and flaky dough prickling at his nose) set beside him. It may have worked to get him motivated to go train, but it’s proving to be much more of a distraction as his rumbling stomach begs for attention.
“T-posture,” Kazuma barks. “Your elbow’s too high again.” Ryunosuke adjusts. “No, lower—yes, now pull back again to your anchor—no—” Ryunosuke restarts and drops his arm lower. “Alright, there.” It’s like swimming with his eyes closed.
Ryunosuke’s heard these same refrains so much, they’re beginning to slur in his head: T-posture, string pulling your head up, don’t lock your elbow, anchor, consistency. Too much talk about fundamentals, not enough about cheese.
The arrow swivels off its rest.
“You’re pinching the arrow too hard. Relax your grip. Keep the back of your hand flat, not flexed.”
Ryunosuke inhales and re-aligns the arrow back on the string, tries again. He stares down the target and lines the arrow up with its center. He exhales. Then, the release.
“Ow!” Ryunosuke recoils, gripping at his nose. The arrow flies high, sailing over the target. His face contorts with a sigh, defeated. “The string keeps scraping the tip of my nose,” he grumbles as Kazuma comes closer.
Kazuma hums, hand on his chin. He studies Ryunosuke for a second, then the target, the chaotic array of arrows scattered high on its surface. “And where are you aiming, exactly?”
Ryunosuke sniffs. “Well, at the bullseye, of course.”
He’s met with a grunt of dissatisfaction. “No, lower.” Kazuma makes a grabby motion with his hand.
“Sorry?” Ryunosuke hands him the bow.
“You’re aiming too high. It needs to be lower. See?” Kazuma nocks an arrow and draws back in a fluid motion. “It seems unintuitive at first, but look at the distance between my eye level and where the arrow is at.” Ryunosuke affirms with a sound of acknowledgement. “You need to account for that. Aim more towards the bottom of the target.” He loosens the tension and gives the bow back to Ryunosuke. “Go again.”
Ryunosuke draws back once more, trying to sort out all the steps in his mind one by one. His back yells, just begging for a reprieve.
“Hold it!” Kazuma exclaims. “This needs to be lower”—he grabs the side of the bow and tugs it down—“and so does this.” He takes a hold of Ryunosuke’s elbow and shifts it into position. “And this here.” Kazuma leans in, so close Ryunosuke can feel the static tickling his skin; his breath ghosts along his jaw. Ryunosuke can smell it on him: the unmistakable scent of cream cheese and baked goods. Traitor. He pulls Ryunosuke’s bow arm slightly. “Don’t hyperextend.”
Ryunosuke’s eyes dart from arrow to Kazuma to target to Kazuma as Kazuma revolves around him, inspecting his form. Kazuma reaches out a hand and cradles Ryunosuke’s chin between his fingers. Ryunosuke startles, sucking in a sharp breath. Kazuma’s hand is just as warm as the air around him—pinpoints of heat clamping down on Ryunosuke’s face. With an ever so slight pressure he nudges Ryunosuke’s head to tilt, like an artist manipulating a clay sculpture. Ryunosuke’s eyes have stopped swimming now—attention focused solely on the man next to him, awaiting his final verdict.
Kazuma nods, letting out a small approving noise. “Don’t be afraid of the string touching your face. It shouldn’t catch your nose if you lean your head like this. Release loose; don’t rotate your hand,” he says as he removes his grasp and stands back.
Ryunosuke tears his gaze away, back towards the target. It feels particularly cool beside him in Kazuma’s absence.
“Alright, let go.”
Ryunosuke releases his fingers and the arrow soars through the air. It plunges into the target with authority—missing the center, but it’s the closest attempt he’s had by far. The string spares his nose. A large smile blooms on his face as he spins to face Kazuma.
Kazuma stills for a moment, as if lost in some sort of daze, and then his expression snaps in a mirror of Ryunosuke’s: wide smile and glinting eyes. “Much better shot, Your Highness!” he says, tenor bright. “Remember exactly that.”
Drunk with triumph, Ryunosuke slumps down to the ground with a heaving sigh. It’s overwhelming, the physical exertion—his arms feel like gelatin and his back is screaming at him to take a break. Consequences of the rather sedentary life in the castle—at least the horseback riding and walking when visiting the springs has somewhat spared him from complete exhaustion.
“Tired already?” Kazuma asks, amusement plain on his features.
“Yes,” Ryunosuke sighs out, heavy. He swipes the back of his hand across the sweat beading on his forehead. “My back was already sore enough from yesterday. Any more and I feel like I’m going to die right here on the spot.”
Kazuma releases a quick laugh through his nose. “Sore? This is nothing. Just wait until you see what I have in mind for you, then you’ll truly be crying about being sore!” He throws back his head and laughs; his headband flaps frenetically behind him.
“Haah…” Ryunosuke exhales, slumping forward where he sits. He mutters, “Please, don’t let me stop you from getting too excited about it…” He shifts, bearing his weight on his hands behind him, and lolls his head back, eyes shut. The crisp breeze feels refreshing on his damp skin.
After a placid moment, he feels a light tap on his cheek, followed by the rushing scent of cream cheese along the wind. His eyes snap open to attention.
“Take that,” Kazuma says with an easy grin, dangling the pastry above Ryunosuke. “Excellent work today, Prince Ryunosuke.”
It’s like Ryunosuke has finally been visited by Goddess Hylia herself. He snatches the pastry from Kazuma’s hands and takes a bite with all the tact of a ravenous animal with its first meal in days laid out for it. His sense of smell didn’t betray him—it’s a cream cheese breakfast pastry, likely bought from the bakery on the North Side of Castle Town with the decorated Blupee statue outside and the Wildberry Crepes that are even better than the Royal Cooks’ attempts. It’s flaky and rich, with the remaining fresh fruit of the previous season sweet on top, and despite having been sitting out in a bag for the extent of their outing, there’s warmth that still lingers to it.
The arduous training was worth it for this moment.
“Two dango, please,” Ryunosuke says to the older Hylian woman running the stall. The establishment is a small one—recently opened and tucked away down one of the Castle Town’s less frequented roads. Ryunosuke happened to see the banner announcing its opening earlier in the week and has been itching to try its offerings. He seems to not be the only one enticed by it, for despite the normally thin foot traffic of the area, the stall has garnered a respectable line of customers. He digs through his pouch and proffers the necessary rupees.
The merchant’s eyes grow wide as she furiously shakes her head, the colorful ribbons adorning her tightly pulled-back bun of hair swaying every which way in the motion. She holds out a hand in a halting motion. “No, please, Your Highness, you’re too kind. But, please, I must insist you enjoy these, compliments of the house. It’s the least we can do to show our gratitude for Your Highness blessing our humble shop with his patronage.” Her words are fast, teetering on breathlessness—nervous.
Ryunosuke squirms. “O-Oh, well, thank you very much, ma’am.” He isn’t surprised when his attempts to pay are refused, but he always tries to offer anyway. He gives her a smile.
She returns a smile of her own. “Please wait one moment while we bring that for you. Thank you, Your Highness.” She bows, then busies herself, attending to the other customers.
Ryunosuke spots two pairs of big eyes tracking him from a bench a little ways away down the path. Their clothes are tattered and worn; in their hands, they hold a small sign asking for rupees in a messy scrawl. His heart twists—guilt and sympathy wringing him to pieces. It’s the stark reality of life in Castle Town. He walks over and deposits the scant amount of rupees he had taken with him—Elder Impa always stressed it was unwise for him to travel with too many rupees, for he already was a glaring target as is—into the children’s small hands. He has a mind to give the dango he’s ordered to them, but they shuffle off before he can get a word in, hurriedly chittering their thank yous as they leave with large, toothy smiles. He returns to Kazuma, who regards him with a gentle grin of his own—soft, crinkled at the eyes, knowing in recognition. They wait off to the side of the stall.
“Hear ye, hear ye!” a town crier shouts further down the path, closer to a central intersection. “Divine Dragon Farosh observed to have blinked thrice—portends a wet winter ahead!”
Ryunosuke drums the side of his face with his finger. “Did you hear that?” he asks, frowning. “I hope it’s not true… Traveling to the springs in sleet is horrid.”
Kazuma stands beside him, arms folded. “Do you truly believe in the forecasts by the dragons?” He raises an eyebrow. “I mean, what duration of time are they even using to measure the ‘number of eye blinks’? And furthermore, haven’t all the eyewitness accounts of the legendary dragons been from children? I have to question the authenticity of it all.”
Ryunosuke hums. “I agree, it’s quite dubious. I don’t take too much stock in those kinds of things, but it is still interesting to think about… I mean, I was named after them, after all—hard not to give it all some credence, you know?”
Kazuma makes a thoughtful noise. “‘Ryu’, hm? I mean no disrespect, but it’s hard to envision you as a mighty dragon.”
Ryunosuke slumps over. “What’s that supposed to mean…?”
“Hear ye, hear ye! Nobleman exposed for extortion as loan shark found slain outside Mabe Prairie—”
“H-Here you are, Your Highness,” comes a softer voice from the stall. A younger woman—the merchant’s daughter, it can only be assumed, as she shares a striking resemblance to the older woman before her—holds out the two skewers. When Ryunosuke turns around, she lets out a small gasp. “Are you—are you alright, Your Highness? Your nose…”
He freezes when he grabs ahold of the skewers. “Um, yes? Is something the matter?”
The color drains from her face, horrified. “Oh—n-no, I apologize! I just—I merely saw how red your nose was and I—I’m sorry, that was terribly rude of me!” She bows quickly with a “Please enjoy!” before retreating back to work.
Ryunosuke blinks, turning to Kazuma with a perplexed expression. Kazuma leans forward to examine the red nose in question.
“Ah,” Kazuma muses, “I stopped noticing it since it’s been that way for a bit now, but she must be referring to the irritation from the bow string catching your nose.”
“Is it—is it that bad?” Self-consciousness heats his cheeks, surely disguising whatever red shade tints the tip of his nose.
“Hear ye, hear ye! Magistrate Van Zieks’s return to the bench after four year hiatus a warning to would-be criminals!”
Kazuma shakes his head. “No, but I can see why she was alarmed by it. It just sort of looks like you have a cold, is all.” Ryunosuke grumbles at this and offers him one of the dango skewers. Kazuma pauses. “…I assumed you ordered those both for yourself.”
“Hey,” Ryunosuke mumbles through a stuffed mouth, “I’m not that selfish! They’re good, try it.” He pushes the dango out to Kazuma again.
Kazuma stares at him for a beat before the corner of his mouth twitches, peals of laughter cascading out afterwards. Ryunosuke gives him a confused look. “Sorry, Your Highness,” he snickers, taking the dango, “just with that red nose and full cheeks, you truly do resemble some sort of mouse. Far from a dragon.”
Ryunosuke forces down his mouthful. “W-What?!”
“Hear ye, hear ye! Elusive Cucco claims fifth victim in a string of hostile pecking incidents! Keep vigilant!”
They file through the throngs of people bustling within the Central Square to head east. The destination: a remote little hill near Hyrule Cathedral with a great view of Hyrule Forest Park’s autumn leaves in full display. This sight is a fleeting one—a final parting gift before the leaves fall and winter begins to take root.
“It’s an egregious flaunting of greed is what it is,” Kazuma snarls. As they approach the shop in question, he stares daggers at it—never relenting in his silent war with the cheesery playfully called The Speakcheesey. “Charging one hundred rupees for one wheel of Hateno Cheese?! It’s preposterous! Back home, it costs twenty rupees maximum!”
“G-Goodness… That, that’s outrageous!” Ryunosuke watches him out of the corner of his eye with enrapt attention, awaiting the incoming hurricane of a tirade that’s no doubt approaching at catastrophic speeds.
Kazuma stews and stews, his face scrunching up further in frustration. If his scowl grows any more severe, Ryunosuke fears that it might just pop off his face entirely. His headband whips erratic behind him; it’s crumpled in on itself in tight zigzags, similar to the pressed bellows of an accordion. Ryunosuke’s forehead grows sweaty at the ghastly sight of it all.
Kazuma’s fingers claw into his arms. His eyes are nothing but narrow little slits of fury at the cheery face of the wooden cartoon cow mascot hung outside the entrance—taunting his indignation with large, beady eyes. “They do up the shop to look quaint and dress their employees in those awful folksy outfits—no one really dresses like that in Hateno, I’ll have you know—all to project this persona of authenticity, yet there isn’t a single drop of profits being shared with the actual Hateno farmers who supply the product!”
Ryunosuke’s eyebrows lift. “Wait, really? But Hateno Cheese has become so popular around Castle Town recently—surely, some of those rupees must make it back to the farmers?”
Kazuma scoffs. “That’s exactly the issue! The people that run this shop? They’re rupee-grubbing entrepreneurs who take advantage of the fact that Hateno Village is so far away that those living there are ignorant to what’s going on.” He grips his sword. “All the farmers of Hateno know is that they’re being asked to produce more cheese and then they sell them to these grifters for twenty rupees like always—with no knowledge about the fads of Castle Town or the fact that they’re being sold for a markup!” He grits his teeth, fangs bared to the world. “‘Administrative and transport costs’”—the words roll off his tongue in a mocking tone—“they try to justify when asked about the price, but it doesn’t cost eighty rupees per wheel to carry cheese on the same number of wagons that normally conveys across the trading route!”
“O-Oh, wow,” is all that Ryunosuke can eke out, stunned.
“And with the distinct flavor and texture of Hateno Cheese compared to the local cheeses produced around here, the residents of Castle Town are more than willing to burn their wallets into dry crisps to purchase it. Not that they know they’re being swindled, mind, but with how things are going, I’m sure if they raise prices further, most of the consumers won’t change their spending habits.” He rolls his eyes. “At least the local dairy farmers here can sell directly without relying on a middleman.”
Ryunosuke brings his hand up to his chin, eyes cast downward in thought. “But how would one go about solving the problem?” he muses. “It’s deficient in morals, certainly, but I don’t think they’re really doing anything illicit in the eyes of the law. As I understand, the Crown doesn’t really want to impose influence on markets and having the Royal Champion calling for boycotts doesn’t really seem like it’d go over too well…”
Kazuma lets out an extended groan and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Yes, well, I’m already on your father’s bad side as it is and I don’t particularly wish to incense him further if it can be helped…”
A swell of people traveling the opposite direction approaches. Kazuma sidles close to Ryunosuke and puts a hand on his shoulder to avoid separation against the incoming crowd.
“My previous attempts to send letters addressing the issue have gone in vain,” Kazuma continues. “People in Hateno are…resistant to change, to put it mildly—many of the residents celebrate tradition and routine.” He runs a hand through his bangs, eyebrows pinched in thought. “I can imagine that when some hotshot businessperson from Castle Town arrived brokering a deal, the mayor was pleased with the prospect of additional business, but wanted the transaction to go through with as little resistance as possible. Even equipped with the knowledge of what’s going on, I doubt the farmers themselves would even know how to proceed—if they even desired to in the first place.”
Ryunosuke frowns—he’s out of his depth with these concerns, though they trouble him nonetheless. “I see…” he mumbles as they navigate through the busy streets, bumping and jostling against quick moving bodies.
Once they emerge from the worst of it, Ryunosuke releases a sigh of relief. Kazuma’s hand slides off his shoulder as he relinquishes proximity. His wound up energy seems to ease with it.
“I think the most elegant solution would be for someone—or a collective group, even—who’s actually from Hateno Village to open up their own shop here,” Kazuma says as he crosses his arms. “As it is, these vultures here are running what amounts to a monopoly—they can set whatever price they wish and the customers can either abstain from buying altogether or submit to their whims. Bring in competition without an intermediary surging up prices to exorbitant levels, not only would the Hateno villagers see the profits directly, but the consumers would pay less as well.”
Ryunosuke hums. “Yes, that does seem effective… But if the residents are as resistant to change as you say, would anyone be willing to do that, though? I mean, moving from Hateno Village to Castle Town is quite the feat, as I’m sure you already know.” When he looks over to Kazuma, he’s already staring at him—face drawn in contemplation.
“I fear that to be an issue, yes.” Kazuma tilts his head back and sighs. “Hateno is also a very…insular place. People who grow up there tend to stay there the rest of their lives. The focus on agriculture and small family businesses to operate the village make it difficult to leave. Of course, that acts as the perfect place for a retired-from-active-duty knight to set roots down in, but even the most ambitious young people would find it a struggle fighting the pressure to stay settled and continue on family tradition. I’m not sure anyone would be willing or able to make that jump, unfortunately.”
Ryunosuke purses his lips. “...Well, at any rate, you seem quite cheesed off about the entire situation.”
Kazuma laughs. “If we’re ever in the area, we can visit Hateno Village. Unlike the aged cheeses produced around here, Hateno Cheese is actually even better fresh. There’s many local recipes you can’t find anywhere else too—I’ve always been quite partial to the Hylian Tomato Pizza in particular.”
Predictably, Ryunosuke perks up at that image. “Yes, I’d love to visit!” Kazuma’s smile widens.
“Phenomenal, Plucky, Protector Prince!” a familiar enthusiastic voice calls out from one of the many little storefronts as they pass. When Ryunosuke turns, he’s met with a sight he knows all too well now: Soseki’s Second-hand Stories, a cramped bookstore filled floor-to-ceiling with various used novels and miscellaneous sundries. And, perhaps most importantly of all, the location of the most delicious roasted sweet potatoes in all of Castle Town—despite the fire hazard.
The merchant, Soseki himself, urges him closer with a spasm of exaggerated, fully-body, sweeping movements and he obliges after nodding to Kazuma, ducking into the homely shop. Soseki’s surrounded by a halo of portraits of his beloved calico cat, Wagahai, on the wall behind him. The very cat in question on the counter flicks his tail idly, half asleep.
“Good morning, Soseki, Hosonaga,” Ryunosuke greets the Sheikah duo behind the counter with a smile as Hosonaga fiddles with something behind the counter.
Hosonaga plops a small brown bag onto the counter with a smile, circular glasses flashing against the light. “Freshly out of the oven for you, Your Highness. Soseki’s treat, as always.”
“Yes… Yes!” Soseki shouts, swinging his arms wildly about. Hosonaga ducks out of the way of a flying fist. “A small price to repay the very prince who came to my rescue during my darkest hour… My Sanguine, Sagacious, Saintly Savior!”
Nervous laughter from Soseki’s fervent display aside, Ryunosuke can’t even attempt to stop his mouth from watering before it begins. “Ah, thank you! The sweet potatoes are always wonderful.” He sees Wagahai sniffing Kazuma’s outstretched hand in his periphery.
“...Should you be eating all this food offered to you like that?” Kazuma asks when they’ve exited the shop and continued along the path. Ryunosuke’s tongue pokes out of his mouth as he concentrates on splitting the piping hot sweet potato in half between two napkins without burning himself. “Perhaps a little more caution would be advisable in your position, Your Highness?”
“Ow!” Ryunosuke hisses. The steam emanating off the sweet potato spirals into the sky. He’s stuck the rest of the bag inside his own pack to cool, but the allure of the snack is too much to resist. “I think—ow—I believe I can trust Soseki. Why would he tamper with the food?”
The thought of death by sweet potato doesn’t sound too unpleasant to him. If he can’t end up drawing out his sealing powers in the end, then maybe…
“What was that?”
He knows he didn’t say that out loud—Kazuma must have mind reading powers, he’s sure of it. “O-Oh, nothing!”
Kazuma lets out a small sigh. “I just mean to say to be more careful accepting these things. You never know who has a secret vendetta.”
The path leads them through the newly renovated McGilded Park. A lofty, gaudy statue depicting its benefactor has been erected within, encircled by an elaborate fountain installation. The earthy hues of the trees here are lovely, but nothing can beat seeing the view of massive Hyrule Forest Park from afar.
“I-I suppose…” The sweet potato successfully splits apart in Ryunosuke’s hands and he makes a small noise of triumph. “I just can’t imagine it, though.” With a hum, he extends the other half to Kazuma, who shoots him a skeptical look. “Soseki’s quite the character, but he’s a nice person.
“A while back, a woman got struck in the head with some knickknack and fell temporarily unconscious. Soseki happened to be passing by her right as the object hit her and a Patrol Knight mistakenly accused him of assault. But, I saw the whole thing unfold and was able to clear up the whole ordeal.” He blows at the sweet potato. “Turns out, there was a married couple squabbling at a stall and the wife threw it at her husband, but hit the woman instead.” His face twists. “…Talk about a turbulent marriage… Anyway, any time he sees me around this area, he always gives me these. I promise they’re safe.”
Before any further objection, he takes a bite into his portion. He quickly exhales out rapid breaths, rolling the bits of blazing sweet potato in his open mouth—punished for his impatience. Safe from poison, perhaps, but not from searing the roof of his mouth.
Kazuma cracks a jeering smirk at his suffering. “If you say so.” He takes the other half of the sweet potato, cradling the warmth between his hands, but not foolish enough to attempt to bite into it just yet.
Ryunosuke lets out a contented hum. “It may have burned my mouth, but these sweet potatoes are really—Ack!”
His shoulder collides with another person—a tornado of green and off-white rushing in the opposite direction. The impact is so forceful, he loses his balance. Kazuma catches him by the elbow before he can unceremoniously tumble into the pavement. The sweet potato flips out of his hands, but he’s somehow able to snatch it back out of the air.
“Oi, watch where you’re goin’!”
Ryunosuke winces. “‘S-‘Scuse me—Gina?!”
Gina, Iris’s friend that he met during his previous trip to Champion Sholmes’s lab. A biracial-Gerudo teenage girl with strawberry blonde curls braided back and tucked under a green cap. Her clothes are well-worn—a patchwork of fabrics adorning her faded attire—with a red checkered scarf tied around her neck. A self-sufficient orphan that lives on the streets of Castle Town, Iris had explained to him, and despite multiple offers of assistance, turned down the help each time.
For as apolitical as he is, he isn’t blind to the state of destitution within the kingdom, but the systemic rot that allows poverty to happen reaches far outside of his scope of influence. If he could give some of the wealth the Royal Family accumulated to those in need, he would gladly—even a fraction of the rupees they keep just within the vaults would be nothing more than a small dent to their fortune, but a massive quality of life increase to those struggling on the streets. Gina had her own reasons to deny aid, he supposed, and prying into it at the time didn’t seem beneficial, especially with her vehement insistence to drop the issue.
She crosses her arms in a defiant motion, eyes flinty and calculating, like she’s trying to size him up. “Oh, it’s you. The prince, Your Highness Narrow-‘Oddo.”
“P-Please, just call me Prince Ryunosuke…” Ryunosuke rubs the back of his neck.
Her gaze flicks to Kazuma. “And your silent lackey with the big ol’ sword. D’ya even speak or have they cut out your tongue, too?”
It’s an odd twist of fate. For so many years, Ryunosuke had thought similarly, constantly uneasy at his seemingly judgmental quietness. It hasn’t even been that long—not really—and yet, he’s had the pleasure of being in Kazuma’s company for enough time to still somehow forget this: the taciturn disposition Kazuma exhibits whenever he’s no longer behind closed doors. Stony face and pose statue-straight, with the silence to match it. It’s the stance of a well-trained knight, ordered to be invisible and indistinct along a line of their fellow compatriots. A beacon of stoicism and strength, another cog in the machine—drawing too much attention to one’s self would reflect badly on the institution, after all.
“Pleasure,” Kazuma replies, voice flat. Gina responds back with an unimpressed hrumph and a further pout.
“Um, what are you doing around here, Gina?” Ryunosuke asks. “And in such a hurry, at that.”
She plants her hands on her hips and scowls. “None of your business,” she bites out. “Came to walk through the park to get to the town square. That a problem now, is it?” She tugs the strap of her bag.
Ryunosuke deflates, his face falling with it. “Just trying to make polite conversation…” he mumbles, exasperated. She continues to stare at him, eyebrows pulling deeper and deeper, as if particularly deep in thought. He squirms under it. “What, what is it?”
“Ah, I just…” She pauses and leans back, relaxing her posture. Sometime within that motion, she’s procured a red rupee, which she now weaves effortlessly between her fingers. “Y’know, back with Iris, I thought you looked familiar, was all. Not the ol’ prince stuff, mind, but I remember now.” She doesn’t elaborate—just spinning that rupee around and around.
A spike of dread stabs into Ryunosuke. He feels his heart race in the uncertainty. “Oh, and?”
She tosses the rupee in the air and with a swift flick of the wrist, catches it. “In the Chief’s room. She has a bunch of little portraits of you two together on her wall.” She lifts a palm up, rolling her head and closing her eyes. “Thought it was weird an’ all ‘cause I didn’t think she had a kid. Didn’t realize her son was the prince.” She lifts a finger to her forehead, expression twisting in confusion. “…I think she could do better than that dusty ol’ king, though.”
“T-That’s not—” Ryunosuke sputters, face growing hot. “I’m not her son. My mother and her were best friends—she’s like my aunt…” Realization dawns on him, then, and his eyes narrow. “Wait, you snuck into Ursavra’s room? Why?”
Gina crosses her arms again with a huff, the pout drawn on her lips tugging down. “Look, growin’ up on the streets like I have means you gotta get crafty. Figured the Chief would have the best stuff to swipe, was all, so I let myself in. The guards didn’t say I couldn’t come in, so no harm done, eh?”
“Haah…” He doubts they said she could come in, either. “I wouldn’t say stealing is ‘no harm done’ exactly—”
“Nah,” she cuts him off, shaking her head, “I didn’t end up stealin’ nuffin’.” She shrugs. “The Chief always caught me. Even when I was sure she weren’t around, she always seemed to just show up. Like that.” She snaps her fingers. “I take a lot of pride in divin’, y’know? I still don’t know how she did that.”
The implication that it was a multiple time occurrence bewilders Ryunosuke—like it was some sort of childish game they played, except it was Ursavra’s possessions put on the line. “And how mad was she when she discovered you?” He knows Ursavra’s fury can be like the very lightning she wields in combat—fast to arrive and utterly explosive.
“She always just laughed it off.” Gina thumbs the rupee in her hand, eyes trained on it. “Thought I was a goner that first time, I did. But then she’d just gimme some rupees an’ some leftover food and send me off, laughing like a wildwoman.” She furrows her brow, troubled. “I didn’t trust her at all—givin’ me all that stuff for free like that… She even gave me my very own sand seal, Toby, to come to Castle Town. Said that I’d be happy here, that I could do great things an’ well…” She gives an acrid laugh. “I hate grown-ups. Buncha liars, the lot of ‘em. Nuffin’s ever given to you no strings attached, I tell ya now.”
The bitterness in her voice makes Ryunosuke feel heavy. “I-I’m sorry, Gina… Please, the offer still stands that if you ever need help, I could try—”
“Give it a rest, will ya?” she bites out, slamming her arms down to her sides. “I don’t trust no one, got it? I don’t go trusting no grown-ups an’ I ‘specially don’t go trusting no princes! That’s how I work: believe no one, get hurt by no one. I don’t need nobody’s help, ya hear?” She levels him with a searing glower before tugging on the strap of her bag and turning away, jerking her head up with nose to the sky and eyes shut tight.
“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“I got things to do,” Gina interrupts him again. “Thanks for the grub. Bye.”
“What…?”
And without waiting for a response, she’s back on her way, speed walking down the pathway like she’ll level anyone in her way. In her hand: a sweet potato.
Ryunosuke’s wide eyes flick to his bag and, sure enough, there’s one less than previously. “When did she…?!” He releases an exhale that empties the entirety of his body, dejected and thrown. He exchanges a wary look with Kazuma, who shrugs.
“She’s a pleasure,” Kazuma repeats again with a half-lidded frown of exasperation.
The expanse of rich, earthy colors of the foliage down across the moat is like a painting upon the world itself: a stippling of buttery yellows and burnt oranges and striking scarlets across an ever-browning canvas. A breath of life in the wild despite the dying leaves—a contradiction of nature itself.
There’s something freeing here: it’s an itch of solace along the scratch of grass under Ryunosuke’s palms and boots. The crisp air is rejuvenating, unlike the biting chill of the freezing waters of the sacred springs; the colors of the world around him are saturated and robust, not dreary and muted like the confinement within the castle’s endless halls. Something living, moving, receptive. Ryunosuke breathes deep, lets the air fill his lungs, and lies back, eyes shut in contentment. The sunlight cutting through the clouds feels comforting, like a warm blanket draped over him.
“Prince Ryunosuke, may I ask you a question?” It’s Kazuma’s voice beside him.
Ryunosuke cracks open an eye to see him sitting there, watching straight ahead towards the swaying leaf canopies. His back is held up straight, even while seated—pristine posture. “Of course. What is it?”
“This is quite out of the blue, sorry, but have you…” Kazuma trails off, clears his throat. There’s a tight tremor to his voice: “A few days ago, I was browsing through the Castle Town Archives and a particular old news story caught my interest… Have you ever heard of The Professor Killings before?”
Ryunosuke hums a denial, fiddling with the brittle grass between his fingers. His head lolls over to the side towards Kazuma. “No, I don’t believe so? What is it?”
“It was from a while back, around ten years ago,” Kazuma explains. “There was a string of murders of high-ranking knights across Hyrule by a purported serial killer, deemed ‘The Professor’. His identity was never revealed to the public, it seems, but the Castle Town Guard found a culprit and the killings ceased.” He draws in a sharp breath. “…Does that sound familiar at all?”
From this angle, Ryunosuke can’t make out the expression on his face. “Um, no, I’m sorry. I can’t say I’ve ever heard of it… It sounds quite disturbing, in any case.” His eyes flick to the rippling waters of the moat, concerned. “Why were you looking at such harrowing stories like that, though?”
Kazuma exhales. “Well, as I said, I was looking at the archives when I had some free time and I stumbled upon an old newspaper clipping about it. My…guardian’s daughter is quite fond of these sorts of old cases—murder mysteries and like—so, I suppose I also have an inclination towards these things capturing my intrigue.”
“Oh?” That piques Ryunosuke’s interest—Kazuma had lost both his parents while still pretty young, that much he knew, but this bit of information is novel. It was rare to hear anything regarding his outside personal life; even rarer for him to be the one sharing it out of the blue. “And you said they found the one responsible and put a stop to it?”
The easy smile on Kazuma’s face flattens, compressing into a taut line, as he regards Ryunosuke. “That’s the thing that bothers me the most, actually. They said that they had a witness, that they found conclusive evidence on the victim that tied the accused to the last murder, but—” His voice falters—suddenly gone uneven, strained. “All the other murders followed a specific pattern: they were all coordinated Wolfos attacks. All except the very last, which was murder by a blade.”
Ryunosuke watches him, taken aback. “That’s… That’s very odd, indeed.” His eyes grow wider once he realizes. “And you, you don’t think they had the wrong person, do you?! That detail would be enough to call into question the veracity of the one accused, surely?!”
Kazuma rips his gaze away from Ryunosuke, out towards the castle—faraway, distant. “…I do. The man supposedly even confessed to it, but I—” He shakes his head. “None of it makes sense. I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something wrong with that case.”
“…I can understand why you were so drawn to knowing more about it.” Ryunosuke frowns, releasing a defeated sigh. “Ten years ago… I suppose nothing can be done now, though.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” Kazuma says, terse. His fist is balled up into the ground—grass and soil sullying his exposed fingertips. There’s a simmering rage there in his expression, in his tone: the regret of powerlessness, the anger of injustice, the resolve to make a change in the world. He had spoken before of abuses, of dreams of rectifying them. It’s a noble goal. Ryunosuke hopes, after the Calamity is quelled, he can contribute in some way, no matter how small.
The violent rush of wind soughs across the hills and through the trees. It sends Kazuma’s hair and red ties flying in disarray. That fury of his is swept away with the gust just as fast as its inception—suffusing out into the wilds beyond. A calm after a storm. He relaxes his grip and dusts off his hand on his pants.
“Anyway, I recognized the name and my interest spiraled from there,” Kazuma says. “I remember the news of it reaching even Hateno Village back when the Royal General was killed…” He leans back on a forearm, looking at Ryunosuke. “It caused quite a furor at the time across the kingdom. I’m surprised you’ve never heard of it.” He pauses, then flashes a chiding smile. “Well, actually, maybe not too surprised. I assume your father probably didn’t wish to worry you with that sort of news.”
Ryunosuke should feel embarrassed, and he does, but there’s something airy in the way Kazuma said those words that lightens any humiliation. He shifts a bit in his reclined position, his fingers drumming against his stomach. “Yes, I suppose so…”
He watches the birds circle overhead. His thoughts drift, wispy like the clouds floating above. “Hateno…” he murmurs. “Do you… Do you resent it all—being here like this?”
Kazuma knits his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”
“Here, with the Triforce.” Ryunosuke’s gaze swims. “Do you miss the way your life used to be?” He purses his lips, trying to slow the flurry of words. “Your old life in Hateno Village—before all this?”
With a sigh, Kazuma rolls back and leans his weight on his forearms behind him. “Even without everything involving the Triforce, there was never going to be a return to my old life after my father died.” It’s said matter of fact, even keeled—not irritated at Ryunosuke for unintentionally bringing the subject up. He tilts his head to look at Ryunosuke from the corner of his eye, black hair spilling across the red strip of fabric on his forehead. “But being put in this position has opened up avenues for me to achieve my ambitions I never would’ve had access to without it. So, I can’t truly be resentful of it all, I guess.”
“Yes, I suppose you did say something to that effect earlier… But you’re expected to be the one to fight Calamity Stronghart head on,” Ryunosuke insists. “How do you so casually manage the stress of it all so easily—the weight of responsibility?” His fists ball up on his stomach. There’s urgency underpinning the words there—desperation tugging at the edges.
A laugh. “Do I?” Kazuma asks, unconvinced. “It’s not that easy, I assure you. I—” His head jerks towards the sky. “Well, it’s true that so many people are relying on me to succeed… I have no choice but to be perfect. I’m sure you’re well aware of the feeling.”
“Terribly so,” Ryunosuke concurs. His voice has an edge to it—gravelly and uneven.
The breeze lifts Kazuma’s bangs off his face, exposing his pinched expression in plain view. “In order to truly keep the peace—to foster hope for the future—a hero is only as good as the people’s faith in them. And I believe that ultimately comes down to how much faith they have in themselves first.” Ryunosuke recognizes it: a mirror to what he had told him before, after they had visited The Temple of Time.
“If everyone sees that the hero who is fated to duel with Calamity Stronghart is outwardly struggling,” Kazuma continues, “then they’d lose all confidence. And if the public’s confidence is lost, the entire fight is lost as well. In any battle, there can be no victory without faith.” He presses his lips together, forming a line as rigid as his resolve. “So, I must believe that I can rise to the challenge. With so many eyes upon me, I need to maintain that unshakable exterior and bear the burden. I have to—there’s no other option otherwise.”
The light haloes around Kazuma—so blindingly violent, Ryunosuke has to cover his face with his arm. “I’m, I’m sorry,” he mumbles into his sleeve. The stoicism, the silence, the rigidness earlier with Gina begins to make even more sense, and it leaves a sinking pit in his stomach. “To have that much pressure on your shoulders… It’s an awful feeling.” One he knows all too well.
The heaviness of destiny: was one person made to hold that much weight themself?
“It goes without saying: preventing another calamity is my primary focus and the most pressing of all,” Kazuma says after a moment has passed. “But there are so many crucial matters I desire to pursue as well. And I’ll sacrifice anything to make them happen. Assuming the role of the hero has afforded me these indispensable opportunities. I’d take hundreds of lifetimes of carrying this heavy responsibility just to be able to have these chances.”
Ryunosuke squeezes his hands into fists. He lets out a weak exhalation of a laugh—less joyful and more incredulous. “It’s incredible, truly—how you can find something worthwhile in something so suffocating.” He swallows, thick. He presses his arm tighter to his eyes. “…I, I apologize. If you weren’t stuck guarding me all the time, then you’d be free to follow all your goals. I’m sorry, really.” He peeks out from under his arm—the little flashes of light like stars in his vision—only to see Kazuma staring at him, face somber.
“There you go apologizing again for something that isn’t your fault,” Kazuma responds, doleful. A pause—only the chirping of the birds filling the expanse of the stillness. “I don’t mind it. I feel…fortunate to have a friend, for once.” A small smile. There’s hesitation present there: nervous about crossing that line between them, despite all his previous boldness. Yet still courage to voice it, despite it all.
A friend. For everything the Goddess has put Ryunosuke through, maybe she is still benevolent enough to impart some small blessings to him. Perhaps that weight of destiny was never meant to be carried in solitude; companionship could help alleviate the burden. A friend—that’s a concept he can welcome.
Relief washes over Ryunosuke like the warm waters of the Goron Hot Springs—a soothing balm for a cut he wasn’t aware of. His eyes grow wide, mouth falling open. “O-Of course—I, I feel the same! Being kept up in the castle all the time before, I rarely got to be around people outside of official duties, much less talk with someone my own age, so I…” He swallows, tries to wrangle back composure and stop rambling. “I’m glad to be friends, truly.”
Kazuma gives him a smile like the flicker of firelight against the auburn backdrop. Ryunosuke finds it beyond easy to return it.
“Oh!” Kazuma lets out. He shifts to his side, fishing out something from a pack on his hip: a small box made of deep mahogany, intricate details carved into its lacquered surface. Facing there on the front: a dragon’s head. “Happy belated birthday, Your Highness.”
“What—” Ryunosuke stops himself as he marvels at the detailing on the box. “This isn’t—You, you didn’t have to…” With large eyes, his sight darts between Kazuma and the present, an embarrassed warmth filling his cheeks.
Kazuma nudges his elbow. “Just open it.”
Ryunosuke gains his bearings enough to pry open the lid. Even after just a crack, a soft glow emanates from inside. The turquoise light radiating from the small, jagged stone inside spills out from its shaded dwelling, resplendent and striking.
“A Luminous Stone…?” His voice grows pitched with exhilaration, with bafflement. “But weren’t all the Luminous Stone deposits around Castle Town completely mined centuries ago—how did you possibly…?”
“Hence why it was so late.” Kazuma gives a quick laugh as he rolls onto his back with a thump, red headband ties sent flying. “When I was called to assist escorting the Guidance Stone to the Ancient Tech Research Institute a few nights back, there was a tiny deposit hidden inside a cave at the base of Salari Hill—never would’ve been visible in the day.”
Ryunosuke holds it up to the light and watches as its luster dissipates—the deep greens and blues of its surface fading to dull grays, as unassuming as any limestone found in any cave. He shields it behind his palms, watches its vibrancy return in shimmering splendor.
“This is…amazing. Truly, thank you, Champion Kazuma.” The grin on his face stretches wide.
“I had a feeling you’d like it,” Kazuma says, face turned towards Ryunosuke on the grass. “Pardon my saying this, but a single look at the state of your chambers and your study, it’s apparent you enjoy such oddities…” His mouth is quirked up in a smirk—wicked. “One could argue to an almost alarming degree.”
“That’s—!” Ryunosuke sputters, affronted. “There’s nothing odd about collecting interesting things!”
A laugh. “If that’s what you call it, Your Highness.”
With a huff, Ryunosuke goes back to examining the Luminous Stone under his hand. “Did you know, some call these the ‘Stones of the Goddess’?” he muses, low. “There was a legend I read once about highly-sophisticated, ancient civilizations that made their homes on thousands of islands floating high up in the sky. Supposedly, there were entire islands filled with Luminous Stones”—he sweeps his arm out, up towards the sky—“lighting up the entire night sky just as brightly as the stars above.”
Ryunosuke’s arm freezes abruptly and his entire body goes rigid. His expression sours, face draining of color. “And th-those that l-lived on those f-floating islands w-were said to be c-creatures from outer space… And e-even more, that the reason the s-stones glow is b-because they’re filled with s-souls of the d-dead!” His head swivels to the side towards Kazuma with a panic in his eyes, Kazuma’s own skeptical face only inches away. “D-Do you…s-suppose this stone c-could’ve been the s-soul of a dead e-extraterrestrial being?!”
“Not at all,” Kazuma replies flatly.