Chapter Text
Ryunosuke’s Journal
A heavy blizzard battered the Tabantha Tundra and left us all stuck at the Snowfield Stable for a week. I hope the Goddess Hylia isn’t irritated by the delay in the pilgrimage, but if she is, then perhaps she should have intervened and changed the weather!
As much as I don’t wish to face what comes ahead, I’m grateful that we’re no longer confined inside all day. I think all of us in the stable were getting a bit stir-crazy by the end of it.
Resuming travel also spares me from the simmering wrath growing within Kazuma the more times I beat him at cards. He’s now convinced I’m cheating since he says that long of a win streak can’t be possible, but it’s truly just been luck. I know I shouldn’t keep rubbing it in his face, but I can’t help it when his reactions are always so animated and amusing… Perhaps it’d be wiser to wait to bring it up when he doesn’t have Karuma within grabbing range, though…
Speaking of Kazuma, he really does get up quite early to train—much earlier than I’d ever think a person in their right mind would, anyway. Since he couldn’t go outside, he began to take to practicing his sword katas in our small room. I tried to argue that his sword skills were already up to par and that a week wouldn’t cause him to become rusty. He proceeded to act scandalized and launched into a giant rant about the importance of consistent practice or something or other, so I dropped the issue. There was a close call with a decorative vase and he almost cut the curtain off the window two days in, so that quickly put an end to that. I think he just goes through the motions without Karuma now, but I sure am not waking up when he does to confirm that…
Anyway, it wasn’t long after that first night when we saw Hosonaga again; he was cleaning the front desk area the next morning, in fact. After quite a bit of questioning and prodding, we finally got our answer about why he even was at the stable to begin with. Even days later writing this, I still find myself in shock about what he said: he’s a knight! And not just any knight either—a Castle Town Inspector, at that!
It shocked me for obvious reasons at first, but what was even more surprising for me was the fact that he had to work multiple jobs in addition to his Inspector role… From my understanding, even Patrol Knights were paid enough to live comfortably; an Inspector would have no need to pick up a second (or third? I suppose, if he is also working as a stable hand?) job.
He denied it was for lack of rupees. In fact, he said he’s given these jobs as opportunities to work undercover—the perfect opportunity to get on-the-ground information from people directly, supposedly. He then emphasized that it’s his guiding principle to carry out all investigations flawlessly and, to do that, he’d go to any lengths, including traveling across Hyrule or even taking evidence from a crime scene in order to preserve it. He said this dedication to justice is exactly why his Commander sends him out on all these assignments, despite Castle Town knights largely staying within the town itself.
He didn’t seem bothered when I asked him about the fact he was taking evidence; he actually seemed quite proud, declaring that he “doesn’t care about being called a crime scene thief,” since he does it all for justice’s sake. Utterly baffling… To me, it seems as though maybe the reason they’re forcing him to do these odd jobs is to get him away from the crime scenes instead…
Either way, all this talk has me thinking of sweet potatoes again… And the knot in my stomach at the thought of it all. I just don’t know if
The news of who I was spread throughout the stable a lot quicker than I had hoped (though, I suppose it’s not that surprising—very little could be kept hidden with how in close quarters we were) and while most of the people did become a bit stiffer whenever they were around Kazuma and me, it thankfully didn’t make things too awkward. One of the women from Lurelin Village said something about how different I looked in person compared to the portraits distributed in their local newspapers; whether that was in a good or bad way, I haven’t a clue… Kazuma just laughed at me later about it.
It turned out all the people there were quite nice and charming in all their different and unique ways. I will miss them dearly.
A loud yell cuts through the stillness of the snow-dusted mountains, sending a thick spray of powder into the air in its wake as the source of the sound careens down the slope.
“Cheater!” is screamed from another whizzing figure far behind them. “Gliders aren’t allowed!”
Ryunosuke rubs his sleeve across his eyes, blinks away the burning glisten of sun reflecting off fresh snow. He watches the person in the lead shred down the slope out past where Kazuma and him stopped to rest and spots them tucking a red contraption under their arm.
The person’s responding cackle echoes quieter when they zip into the distance. The trailer rides past several seconds later.
“What are they doing?” Ryunosuke asks as their figures are erased by white trails.
“Shield surfing,” Kazuma replies. “It’s gained quite the competitive following recently, as I’ve understood it.”
Kazuma explains. East of Tabantha Village sits a lodge atop a mountain: Hebra Lodge. More forgiving than the harsh heart of the Tabantha Tundra, the location is appealing for its consistent snow cover and mix of gradual and steep inclines along its mountains. With Tabantha Village at its base and Rito Village in close proximity to the West, it’s become a popular tourist spot for snow sports enthusiasts. Shield surfing, once only known as a fun pastime for children, has begun gaining recent traction as a classic sports offering of the region—competitions where experts put their practiced jumps and flips on prime display being one of the biggest attractions.
The three women from Lurelin said it was their main destination.
Ryunosuke watches as a child further away attempts down the less severe path with a far more precarious balance than the previous two. Something stirs within him: the thought that it looks terrifying—but also some amount of nagging interest? Is that a ridiculous thought?
A stiff breeze picks up, sending the ends of Kazuma’s headband into the air and—for not nearly the first time and he’s sure it will be far from the last—slapping Ryunosuke dead on in the face. He swats away the fabric, but even when the wind dies down, it continues its barrage with a vengeance. Ryunosuke can swear it has a mind of its own sometimes—and his face has some magnetic field attracting it directly to it.
“Is—Pbtff—” Ryunosuke finally is freed from Kazuma’s headband’s wrath when Kazuma shifts position with a look of confusion. Ryunosuke slumps down, continuing, “I was trying to say: is it hard to do?”
“I’ve only attempted it a few times, but… At first, it’s tricky to gain your balance,” Kazuma says, “but after a few rounds of practice, you start to get a hang of it.”
Ryunosuke puts a hand to his chin and gives him a dubious look. “Is that a you ‘you’ or a me ‘you’ that you’re referring to?”
Kazuma laughs—so brightly, even he has to close his eyes. “I think you could pick it up just fine.” He shoots Ryunosuke a knife-like grin. Mischievous. “Why? Would you like to try it?”
Ryunosuke opens his mouth then closes it. “N-No! Not at all!” His eyes dart wide.
Wanting to stand on a shield on top of slippery snow with no handles or anything to guide you? It’s ridiculous! He much prefers to have two feet on the ground at all times—it’s much safer that way. And even when he’s on the back of a horse, their feet are like an extension of his feet, and horses have four feet. It’s double the feet, so double the safety! Sure, the horse may bolt off and he gets thrown, but he’s already established that was a failure on his part with Vanilla, so it’s clearly a different situation.
A shield is just a shield—it’ll do whatever it wants downhill and then he’ll die. Kazuma will have to bring his dead body back to the castle and present it to his father and he’ll have to say that the Prince of Hyrule slipped down some snow and hit a tree or something and shattered all his bones instantly and then died. Embarrassing.
But, the thing that he can’t get out of his mind is, it sure looks fun. Absolutely ridiculous.
Ryunosuke purses his lips. “I mean,” he continues. “If I’m to be perfectly honest, I kind of would like to give it a try…” He watches the beginner shield surfer totter down slowly with a nervous stare. “Is it dangerous?”
Kazuma gives a thoughtful noise. “Well, I wouldn’t say it’s not dangerous…”
Ryunosuke shoots him an exasperated glare. “That’s not answering the question.”
Kazuma crosses his arms and shifts his weight to one foot. “I’d say it’s less dangerous than riding a horse. Besides, if you go on the beginners’ slopes, the worst thing is you lose your balance and fall, maybe slide down a bit. The inclines aren’t that steep and you have a big enough shield—you can always just sit down like you’re sledding.”
The battle in his mind between wanting to try and being too afraid to have claimed thousands in casualties. It’s at a stalemate—no end in sight. It can’t continue like this.
Ryunosuke watches as the child falls down on their rear and he grimaces. After a pause, they get back up, shake the snow off, and try again. They look untroubled; he spots a smile on their rosy face.
“Kazuma, there’s a fierce war raging inside of me,” Ryunosuke says with utter solemnity.
“…What?”
Later, after when they’ve made it to the lodge and stabled their horses for the meantime, Kazuma pulls out a perfectly circular shield that’s so large, Ryunosuke can only imagine it was made for a Goron to use originally—though for what reason a Goron would need additional armor, he isn’t quite sure. Kazuma’s gone over the basics: stance, balance, how to fall safely.
“You won’t let go, right?” Ryunosuke says as his legs wobble under him, holding onto Kazuma’s forearms in a death grip.
Kazuma lets out a quick chuckle. “You’ll be fine, I promise.”
Ryunosuke gives him a horrified look. “You won’t let go, right?!” he presses again at Kazuma’s non-answer, more forceful.
“Didn’t you want to actually shield surf?” Kazuma looks annoyed. “You’re not even moving. I can’t hold your hand as you go down the hill.”
Ryunosuke doesn’t seem to understand why not. If the incline really isn’t that steep, why couldn’t he just run down it next to him the whole time? He’d have a better chance of staying standing that way than by himself.
“But I—” Ryunosuke cuts himself off when he really takes a look at the slope of the hill in front of him. “I’m not sure if I—”
“Ryunosuke, you’re leaning forward,” Kazuma says quickly as the shield begins to slip beneath Ryunosuke. “Let go and ride it down. You’ll be fine, trust me.”
Ryunosuke doesn’t let go, even when he starts drifting forward. He clamps his mouth shut into a tight scowl and shakes his head back and forth vigorously.
The shield slides forward, faster. “Ryunosuke—!” Kazuma’s steps begin to accelerate. Ryunosuke grips onto him even tighter, though it seems like it’s an impossibility. “Let go!”
“Are you out of your mind?!” Ryunosuke manages to cry out. His heartbeat is a hundred hammer strikes in his ears.
Kazuma’s running now, and more and more rapidly losing ground. Ryunosuke refuses to relent his grasp. “Shit!” Kazuma hisses out and leaps onto the shield before it can drag him down the hill.
The shield lurches with the sudden weight distribution change and it speeds quicker down the hill. The momentum spins the shield, whirling across some wicked rogue patch of ice that sends them shooting off.
It’s a blur in Ryunosuke’s mind: Kazuma yells something about getting lower to gain balance, though him falling down on the shield wasn’t a conscious choice of his, he’s pretty sure; he at some point finally let go of Kazuma’s arms and instead began clinging to his body in terror; he’s sure he began screaming, though he has no recollection of it all.
Kazuma sticks his feet out in an attempt to brake. The shield careens over a small bump, sending a spray of powder awash over them. They finally spin out at the flat bottom and come to a dizzying stop.
When the world stops rotating around him, Ryunosuke unburrows his face from out of the safety of Kazuma’s shoulder. He’s lying flat on his back with Kazuma on top of him, Kazuma’s hand protectively cradling the back of his head.
The adrenaline messes with his head—makes him think an appropriate reaction is to laugh out like a Faron Kookaburra, though what he really wants to do is cry. Somehow, it spreads to Kazuma in some sort of delirious laughing plague, because he hears his deep laugh directly in his ear, feels his chest shake against him.
Kazuma’s bangs brush up against his forehead with each tremble and it makes the sensation worse. “S-Stop!” Ryunosuke laughs. “Your hair—it tickles!” He peels his grip off of Kazuma’s back and pushes his bangs up off his face. And despite it all—despite the near-shield-surfing-death and the fear and the embarrassment and the damp coldness of melting snow across his too-warm cheeks—the thought that Kazuma’s hair is a lot softer than he ever imagined it to be tumbles down his brain like a rupee tossed into a well: it’s there with an intensity, it echoes, and then it’s gone.
A final, lingering laugh bubbles out from him when he finally opens his eyes. And Kazuma’s staring down at him like a deer caught in torch light—wide, shining eyes that much clearer with the hair still tangled between Ryunosuke’s fingers out of his face. Ryunosuke’s smile drops; he stills.
“Wh-What’s wrong…?” Ryunosuke croaks out, throat scratchy. His head spins again like he’s still back sliding down that hill. If Kazuma got hurt because of him…
Kazuma blinks and flinches, and then he’s back to the present. His mouth quirks up into a smirk, then he pushes himself up to his feet with a final barking laugh. “What did I say? You’re fine.” He offers Ryunosuke his hand. “Though, I do have to say, Ryunosuke, having someone go down with you is a much more vivifying experience. But, I told you I’d protect you, didn’t I?”
Relief. Kazuma’s fine, he’s fine—neither of them have all their bones broken and neither of them are dead and neither of them have to tell the king that Hyrule is in danger because the prince or the knight was killed in a freak accident involving a children’s hobby. It’s fine. Never again.
“Yes, thank you,” Ryunosuke says as he reaches for Kazuma’s hand, and he’s pulled up. He pats the snow off his clothes. “Truly, I did think it was a fun experience. I believe it’ll be my last, though… The abject terror spoils it just a bit, I think.”
Kazuma releases a booming laugh as he pats Ryunosuke’s back with such force, it makes Ryunosuke stumble forward. “Where’s your sense of adventure, partner?” He wraps his arm around Ryunosuke’s shoulder, pulls him close in a crushing side hug.
Ryunosuke gives him a skeptical look, watching Kazuma’s wide grin dazzle as bright as the sun cutting through the wispy clouds above. “Partner?”
“Yes, of course,” Kazuma replies smoothly. “We survived a brush with death together down that harrowing bunny hill fit for children, did we not? Destiny or not—we’re bonded for life now!” He laughs out again.
Ryunosuke’s shoulders slump slightly, though a smile forms on his face. “Haah…”
Partner, huh? he muses. He’s quite alright with that.
Up in the central mountains of Hebra houses the solemn Talonto Temple. It’s a modest affair—built for stability and enlightenment, renouncing excessive worldly possessions for the basics of survival. Its smooth, pearl-white stone columns and walls reach high to the heavens, are touched by the cupped hands of lenticular clouds and, sometimes, even Hylia’s sun rays at its high elevation.
One does not wander into Talonto Temple—at least not accidentally, they say, though you may not realize it yourself at the time. It’s believed that if you find yourself at its entrance, you will soon realize it’s been your destination from the very beginning.
Its transient visitors comprise two sorts of folk. First, the most pious of Hylia’s followers: the ones that make the pilgrimage to cleanse themselves under the frozen waterfalls of Hebra Falls, that participate in the rituals to strip themselves bare and expose their souls to the Goddess for her blessing. The others: the displaced, seeking refuge from harsh conditions into even harsher ones, yet the latter allowing for integration with welcome arms that render the spartan living arrangements and fierce weather and strict prayer routines nothing but a trifle compared to where they fled from.
Yeto and Yeta, the two older, towering Goron that maintain the abbey, are renowned by the clergy for their seemingly unending capacity for love—for Hylia, for all those who fall under their guardianship, for each other. But their love is like antiseptic applied to a wound—prickly and severe, but a form of care nonetheless. Less warmth, more practical. They would take you in, feed and clothe you, accept you no matter your background, but the rules of the temple are inflexible. A silk veil draped over immovable boulders.
Stringency and discipline are virtues extolled by Hylia’s teachings. It’s wise to follow them. Ryunosuke’s stomach had tied itself into knots the very moment he saw the temple on the horizon.
Ryunosuke and Kazuma aren’t the only ones currently lodging at Talonto Temple. When they arrive at the threshold of the temple’s grounds, Yeta introduces them to two heavily-built Zora and an adolescent Rito. They seem to come as a tight-knit pack—when the Rito moves, the two Zora follow nearby, hovering protectively. Held tightly to the Rito’s chest is a kitten with short, thick, blueish-slate fur; her vivid, emerald eyes are a stark contrast to her dark coat, only eclipsed by the bright purple-pink glass bell attached to her collar. A green-striped snake sits lazily wrapped around one of the Zora’s shoulders.
Three things are immediately noticeable when Ryunosuke sees the Rito. The most obvious: she is striking in her beauty. Pale yellow and blues make up her awkward, juvenile plumage—feathers still too fluffy and dull to be fully adult—yet she holds a certain elegance that seems befitting a Rito much older. Ryunosuke realizes this image is due in part to her pristine posture: spine held straight and movements with a disciplined grace to them. She stands with her feet together, perpetually pointing outward—much more defined than other Rito he’s met.
Nikolina, her name is, and it sparks recognition in Kazuma instantly. Yeta tells them she was a ballerina in a traveling troupe that incorporated aerial dancing with traditional ballet. She was extremely skilled—“an angel descending from the heavens,” they had supposedly called her. Kazuma corroborates the claim; just last year, he saw her performance in Castle Town and was deeply moved by the artistry of it all.
Yeta explains that she was put under grueling conditions as they traveled across Hyrule, with food and water withheld to maintain strict weight expectations and the psychological manipulation of instructors too much to bear. She fled to the sanctuary of the temple, alongside her Zora companions, Bif and Tchikin. She’s to live here for a few years until adulthood, where she will change her name and her new plumage will make her more difficult to recognize. A clean slate for the beginning of her new life.
Kazuma expresses outrage at her treatment. Ryunosuke feels a deep sadness in his chest that makes his entire body feel like lead—she’s so young, and yet she’s already faced with such heavy responsibility and adversity. With as little political sway he has, he could attempt to call for an investigation into the troupe when they get back to the castle, but he gets the feeling the system’s built that way for a reason—that no matter how much lobbying for improved conditions happens, it will fall on deaf ears, much too set in their ways. He’ll try, if only to see if he can spare the other performers the suffering. But he holds little hope of change.
The preamble is brief—the cleansing rituals of the first day are lengthy, and must be started as soon as possible to finish before sunset. The horses are stabled; Ryunosuke and Kazuma drop off their belongings in the small, sequestered room of the antechamber where those who have not yet been properly purified are allowed; and they change into the provided robes to begin the process.
Ryunosuke was only ten the first time he had stayed there, but the memory of those first three days left an imprint in his mind etched so deep, he could never forget it, no matter how hard he tried. He remembers the hunger, the exhaustion, the shock.
None of the guards he had traveled with communicated to him beforehand—whether out of disregard or genuine ignorance, he’s still not sure—that as soon as you entered the grounds, you agreed to a commitment of placidity and asceticism for three sunfalls. Until you properly cleansed yourself, you made a vow to stillness: a still soul, a still mind, a still body. Forfeiting food was stilling the body—energy spent digesting was energy that could be used to connect with the Goddess Hylia wasted. To abstain from certain things creates the space to accept others; one’s self becomes a willing and empty vessel for Hylia’s blessings to fill.
The trip to Talonto Temple would be a miserable enough affair for any adult, but for a ten-year-old, the perpetual travel ground him down until he was nothing but specks of dirt tossed by Hebra Mountains’ lashing winds. At the time, the six previous sacred springs had yielded no results; King Naruhodo had grown increasingly impatient with each letter. Inclimate weather, even in the middle of summer, delayed them.
Ryunosuke had been woken up before dawn had even started its ascent—flickering stars still smattering the dark sky like a warning signal. Breakfast will be skipped, members of his retinue had told him while his eyes were still bleary and adjusting to the darkness. Arriving at the temple as soon as possible is the highest priority. Food will be provided when we get there.
It was untrue: the three days of purification and fasting were to be completed first, with only a bowl of thin broth provided for sustenance after sunset. He remembers the pain of hunger and the weakness in his body that made each dragging day a struggle to overcome. He remembers the slow introduction of foods that accompanied the third sunset and the relief of it all.
(And he remembers, too, the companion he was unlucky enough to have through it all: Iyesa Nosa, a Sheikah fighter that would often emphasize his position as a Royal Guardsmember with constant military jargon filling his speech, even though none of the other members of the Royal Guard within Ryunosuke’s traveling retinue ever spoke in the same way. Only one guard was allowed to enter the temple with him and he was Ryunosuke’s last choice of them all—the man was difficult to understand and he never seemed to particularly like him all that much.)
Ryunosuke wouldn’t be caught unprepared this time. He made sure both of them ate a heavy breakfast, loaded with proteins and fats. Food may be prohibited when they enter, but there’s no rule about prepping to stave off hunger a bit longer.
Those three days pass in a contradictory mix of slow stretches that feel like they last lifetimes and a reeling blur that, with a blink, conjures the deep, tawny hues of twilight. They’re filled with droning supplication, with chants that leave their throats scratchy by the end of them. With alternating between icy pools filled with rock salt and scalding hot springs, all to reach balance—for wisdom required equilibrium, level-headedness in the face of extremes.
For all the rejection that comes from silence and the discomfort from austerity, Ryunosuke finds it to not be as bitter as years past with Kazuma there. A partner in suffering seems to lessen the torture, just a bit. (Though, Ryunosuke continues to apologize for dragging Kazuma into it all, no matter how many times Kazuma refutes his worry.)
So, after the sun dips low and vanishes against the rolling hills and mountains and they retire to their shared room, possessions still temporarily stowed away, they talk from their respective beds. And they talk and talk. They bring up the wildlife they’ve seen around the temple, and Ryunosuke yearns for when he can capture them on the Sheikah Slate. They share commiserations over the hunger pains, repeating the remaining days countdown like a prayer its own. Kazuma sends off a wish that when their meals resume, it won’t include chicken; Ryunosuke takes the opportunity to jeer at that—he’d gladly take his portion if he’s that willing to forfeit it.
Ryunosuke recites the latest tongue twister he memorized, words flowing as smooth as water off his tongue, and Kazuma stumbles over it only two words in, the mattress letting out a ferocious groan when he slams his fist down in frustration and flips hard onto his back with a curse that makes Ryunosuke shake with laughter. Kazuma recounts the plot of a novel he recently read (a romance, this time, of two people left adrift in time and forced to reconcile the differences in how they’ve both changed because of it) and Ryunosuke lazes about, soaking up every detail that rings out in his soothing voice until his eyelids grow heavy and he effortlessly drifts off to sleep.
The days are difficult, but more and more, the temple begins to feel less like a place of punishment and more of one of solace.
“Look at this,” Ryunosuke says with an excited lilt as he slides the Sheikah Slate across the table, landing next to a nearly-cleaned-out plate of Salt-Grilled Greens. He taps the taupe bezel.
They’ve been at Talonto Temple for a week and a half—halfway through their stay. Between the ongoing prayer rituals, Ryunosuke has been diligently cataloging photos into the Hyrule Compendium.
“Snowcoat Fox,” Kazuma reads off the provided description. “‘Its fur turned white as a means of adapting to snowy weather, serving as a natural camouflage. Because of this, spotting one in the snow takes a keen eye.’” His eyes lift, brows arching high, and his mouth quirks into an easy grin. “And you were able to not only see it there in the snow, but also managed to take a photo of it? That’s quite impressive, Ryunosuke.”
Ryunosuke coughs into his fist, nearly choking on a Hyrule Herb. The compliment comes as a surprise—much like when he saw the Snowcoat Fox emerge from its half-burrowed state out of the snowfield past the one gnarled S-shaped tree on the boundary of the grounds, its behind wiggling high in the air in a way that made Ryunosuke fear Snow Octoroks somehow evolved furry tails on top of their heads to lure in unsuspecting prey. He can feel the sting of blood rushing to his cheeks in an instant.
“That’s—It’s truly not that big of an accomplishment…” Ryunosuke manages out, voice low and eyes swimming. Kazuma rests his head in his hand, raises a skeptical eyebrow—clearly not convinced. “I just meant to say: look at the color of its coat—it’s quite the pretty shade of blue, don’t you think?”
“Mhmm, yes, quite,” Kazuma replies distractedly.
“And then”—Ryunosuke swipes the screen to the next picture—“this one here—oh!” On the display: Kazuma, ankle-deep in pine tree branches and needles scattered like green fans splayed at his boots, with Karuma in mid-swing. At the exact moment captured, Kazuma’s face is screwed in irritation, a clump of snow piling on top of his head. Ryunosuke scrambles to swipe away from it.
Kazuma’s smile falls instantly, like a rock succumbing to gravity; his face smooshes deeper into his palm. “And, please enlighten me, when exactly did your incredible perceptive ability illuminate this one?” he practically growls, knocking his boot against Ryunosuke’s under the table.
Ryunosuke gulps. He meant to delete that photo. “When you, um, said you were able to completely clear a tree of its branches in ten seconds flat with Karuma…” Which you then proceeded to demonstrate despite no one asking you to…, he thinks.
Kazuma drops his arm onto the table and leans forward. “Because you didn’t believe me!” He hooks his foot around Ryunosuke’s ankle, yanking it towards him.
Ryunosuke lifts both of his hands up in front of him and swats at the air. “It’s not that I didn’t believe you; I was just shocked to hear because it seemed so impossibl—”
Kazuma slams his fist on the table. “Which is exactly why I had to show you it was no impossibility at all!” He accentuates it with another tug of his foot; Ryunosuke can’t even muster the fortitude to pull back against it. “Ryunosuke, do not, for a single moment, underestimate the Asogi Sword-Drawing Technique! In a second with one swing, it can strike all in its path from twenty-three feet away. That leaves a full nine more seconds to—”
“Um, excuse me?” A soft voice, hesitant and delicate like wind chimes against a gentle breeze.
They both look up to the sound. Standing in front of them: Nikolina, wings held tight up to her chest. She wears a bandage wrapped around her right wing. Her expression is twisted in anguish; she doesn’t make eye contact as she shrinks in on herself.
“You…” Her voice falters, scratched and raw and fit to break. Something’s wrong. “You are the prince, yes?”
Kazuma’s foot slinks off the back of Ryunosuke’s. “Um, yes, that’s correct,” Ryunosuke says, cautious.
Something subtle flickers in her eyes—a spark like flint being struck, despite how muted the response. She leans forward, wings still clutched close to herself. “My dear friend—my best friend in the whole world—my little kitten, Darka, she—” Nikolina sucks in a shaky breath. “This morning, after I gave her her food, she scratched my wing and then ran outside. I flew off to find her and followed her towards the Coldsnap Hollow, but she was fast. She had disappeared into the snow somewhere.” When she blinks and casts her gaze away, her eyes sparkle against the light of the chandelier. “Darka…” she mumbles. “She is so naughty…”
“…And she hasn’t returned?” Ryunosuke asks with a gentle solemnity. The temple grounds sees wild animals, but it’s generally a safe haven from monsters. The northern cirque, on the other hand, is as dangerous with its inhabitants and it is with its precarious geography.
Nikolina shakes her head vigorously. “No. She has run off a couple times now, but she always returns for lunch. I put out her food and yet—” She chokes out a gasp, body trembling with the weight of it. “I prayed to the Goddess Hylia that she would return all day, but I worry Her Grace has not heard me…” Ryunosuke bites down the bitter sting of empathy—he knows all too well the feeling of prayers gone ignored. “She is still out there. Please, can you help search for her?”
The way that Ryunosuke’s stomach drops is like missing a step at the top of a grand staircase. His wide eyes shoot towards the window, its panes thick with ice and its view an ocean of white—the blizzard entered with a fury in an instant and has only grown stronger as the minutes pass. “I…” The word forced out withers—Ryunosuke’s mouth gone dry as if it’s been stuffed with cotton. The storm’s much too ferocious for him to be outside, let alone a small kitten fending for itself out there. His cheeks grow hot; he feels his palms become slick under his gloves. “I’m sorry, but…” He looks towards Kazuma, pleading for assistance.
Kazuma’s mouth flattens into a tight frown under Ryunosuke’s gaze. His sight shifts back up to Nikolina. “I sincerely apologize,” Kazuma says quickly, voice taut with authority as he dons that knightly mask in an instant, “but the conditions are much too dangerous to warrant a search outside at the moment. The prince and I would be more than happy to help look within the temple after dinner, and if she’s still absent, then we can go out tomorrow morning after the storm has passed. Isn’t that right, Your Highness?”
Ryunosuke knows if the cat is out there, she’s losing time to return safely. Yet, he can hear the howl of the wind and the rap of the trees against the temple’s walls like rattling prisoner chains and he knows the very real risk attempting to look for her would bring to them all. “Y-Yes, that’s correct… I’m sorry…”
Something darker twists deep within his gut as his mind races with the possibilities. It’s a passing thought, graver and more transient than the rest: a seemingly earnest plea for help, all for the express purpose of leading him into another trap.
Is it fair of him to accuse her of such dire charges, especially without any evidence?
“But…!” Nikolina cries out. The tears in her eyes are like basins filled to the brim. “She will never make it to tomorrow outside! I know she is not inside the temple—I searched everywhere and even used her favorite whistle to call her! Please…”
Kazuma ducks his head, averting his gaze. His voice is low, apologetic: “I’m sorry, but it’s just not possible. With the way the storm is, it’s too perilous for the prince to risk being outside.”
“But, but that is exactly why I asked!” Nikolina tilts forward with a defiant shake of her head. “They, they said the Goddess Hylia has blessed the prince with her power.” Her eyes are fully on Ryunosuke now—desperate. “Her magics will protect you, yes? Then, you can save Darka no matter the storm!”
“That’s…” Ryunosuke swallows, and it burns like downing alcohol. It’s a soft, strained mumble when he continues, “I apologize, but I’m afraid I don’t have those powers at all…” He clasps his hands together on his lap and thumbs over his arm guard. “You see, the very reason why I came to this temple was to pray to the goddess in hopes of awakening that magic.”
“Oh…” It wrenches out from her like a suffocation.
He stares down at the plate on the table. He doesn’t want to see whatever expression she’s making. “So, I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.”
There’s silence. “I, I see…” Nikolina finally says, barely over a whisper. The vowels croak—glass shattering when she speaks. He glances over; her feathers have flattened—left so compact, she seems to shrink even smaller than she already is. “I am sorry to have bothered you…”
Ryunosuke watches out of the corner of his eye, her shadow retreating away from the table. He hears the light footfalls grow ever more distant, until she collapses down on a chair across the room.
“The cat…” Ryunosuke mumbles, hollow. He doesn’t dare look over to her table.
“Yes…” Kazuma replies, ruthful in tone. He drums his fingers on the table. “We’ll conduct a search of the temple after we finish here. Animals are perceptive—perhaps she recognized the storm coming and made her way back without Nikolina’s knowledge. But first, you have to eat. Between last week’s fasts and the daily physical exertion, you need all the energy.”
Ryunosuke’s brows draw tight together. “Yes, Elder Impa,” he drawls. They share a light, transient laugh—though, it’s quick to fall when Kazuma gets up and heads to the kitchen area.
A deafening sob rings through the room—so loud, it’s like knives in Ryunosuke’s ears and he cringes in his seat. On instinct, he looks over to Nikolina, hunched over with her head in her wings, each tremor of a cry its own earthquake. Bif has a look of wide-mouthed horror on his face and he turns to look in Ryunosuke’s direction. Ryunosuke ducks his head back down; the bile in his stomach curdles something foul. He hears her cry and cry.
He rakes his hand through his hair. No, he was a fool to ever doubt her intentions—to ever think that she was like McGilded, faking sympathy as a means to ambush him. She always had Darka with her since he entered Talonto Temple; they were inseparable. He curses himself for ever entertaining the thought.
He pulls back the Sheikah Slate and taps through the menus. Predictably, the map isn’t filled in near the Coldsnap Hollow. It’s a glimmer of a far-fetched idea, what comes to mind, yet he pursues it: he taps through the Compendium, lands on the entry for a cat, and sets the dowsing ability. He sucks in a deep breath and the searching circle sweeps across the map’s incomplete display.
And there’s a faint beep to the north.
Kazuma places the two bowls of Yeto’s Superb Soup on the table and Ryunosuke slams his hands down, leveraging himself up in a swift motion. The soup swirls in their bowls; silverware clatters.
Ryunosuke grabs the Slate and, before Kazuma can react, says, “We can’t be wasting time sitting here!” And he dashes off, crashing through the doors, and out into the white expanse.
“Ryunosuke?!” Kazuma calls out to him, thrown and planted behind the table. “Wait—shit!” is the last thing Ryunosuke hears as the heavy doors slam behind him.
Ryunosuke trudges towards the direction of the blinking indicator on the display. Between the exposure to the waterfalls and the kindling of adrenaline set alight in his belly, the howling winds and spray of snow feel like almost a triviality to his system as he exits the temple’s grounds. Visibility is low, but he carves through the marked trails slowly illuminated by the Sheikah Slate—all towards that singular target that causes its beeps to grow faster. It truly is an incredible piece of technology.
It’s an odd sensation that thrums right behind the base of his sternum. A revving energy—attraction akin to a magnet, but instead of being pulled by it, it’s a mere announcement of its existence. A sensor like that on the Slate. It has been a while since he last felt it, in that cursed mansion. They haven’t been separated far enough for the feeling to trigger since. He knows where Kazuma is; he can feel him. Coming closer, faster. Ryunosuke continues plodding through the snow.
“Ryunosuke!” Kazuma’s yell is muffled as he approaches. Despite knowing just how quickly he was approaching, he catches up quicker than Ryunosuke expected. “What—What in the goddess’s name are you thinking?!”
He shoves a mass of clothes into Ryunosuke’s arms: jackets insulated with Rito feathers and a hat with a heat-retaining ruby stitched into it—everything he had shucked off and left on the coat racks inside the Talonto Temple’s mess hall. It’s just in time, too: the chill has begun to catch up to Ryunosuke at this point, and he can’t help but feel the weight of gratitude for his partner’s pragmatism.
“Nikolina was right: the way the storm is, Darka will never last the night stuck out there,” Ryunosuke speaks over the roar of the gusts. He gracelessly dons the outer layers, though the frost clings to his clothes. His face is set—dark eyes and determined draw of his brows. “We both know this is true, Kazuma.”
Kazuma grits his teeth. “And what I said was also true, Ryunosuke! I want Darka safe as much as you do, but this blizzard is too dangerous to risk your life over for a cat!”
“It’s not just a cat to her! You heard her, she’s her best friend, she—” Ryunosuke clenches his fists at his side, squeezing his eyes shut and tucking his chin to his chest. “I’m tired of it—” The words catch, raw and tinny, and he shakes for reasons unrelated to the cold. “I’m tired of being useless! I can’t access my powers, I messed up with McGilded… I’m sick of it all! Tell me, what kind of a prince am I—what kind of a person am I, if I can’t help anyone?!” He heaves breaths that burn deep in his lungs. Kazuma gapes at him, brows pinched high.
“But the Sheikah Slate”—he holds it up, flashing the display with its dowsing beeping softly—“it has a read on a cat, right in the direction of the Coldsnap Hollow!” He sets his jaw and draws himself to his full height, back as straight as an arrow. “…You said I should trust my instincts. Well, everything inside me is telling me I have to at least try to help her. I want to help her.” He pulls his mouth into a firm scowl. “So please, Kazuma, trust me.”
Kazuma continues to stare at him, headband frenzied behind him. “Your resolve, then?” he mumbles softly, and it’s drowned out by the wind. Ryunosuke tilts his head slightly. Kazuma’s eyes grow gentler, lips pulling into a small smile. “Of course I trust you.” He steps forward as Ryunosuke’s eyes grow wide; he reaches out to place a hand on his shoulder. An incredulous laugh, then: “But, you could’ve just told me the Sheikah Sensor picked up where she was before running off.”
Ryunosuke blinks up at him. “I—uh—”
Another laugh escapes from Kazuma. He slides his arm around Ryunosuke’s shoulders and grips his upper arm with his other hand, ushering them both forward. “Come now, let’s hurry.” He shoots Ryunosuke a measured look, expression quickly hardening. “But, the second the weather gets any worse, we’re turning back, alright? I only have one more Spicy Elixir in my pouch in case things go south.”
Something catches in Ryunosuke’s throat as the smile growing on his face quivers. He wills himself to not tear up in these conditions. “Kazuma… Thank you.” And they push towards the signal.
The Sheikah Sensor leads them to the direct center of the spiral descent of the Coldsnap Hollow, canopied by the massive rocky outcroppings above—though the milky whiteout conditions make it hard to distinguish where exactly stone ends and frost begins. They spot, curled up next to an ore deposit atop a mound of ice, the glimpse of blue-slate fur peeking out from a coating of rime.
Ryunosuke shields his face with the Sheikah Slate from the barrage of wind funneling down the path. “There!” He points with a wince, then hooks the Slate back to his belt.
Ryunosuke climbs onto the first level of ice, the surface slick even with the added traction of his snow boots. He clicks his tongue to draw her attention, but she doesn’t move; his heart sinks. “I’m going to try to get her,” he calls out to Kazuma, then steps onto the next level up. It’s a split second, but he feels the gush of wind rip below him, weightless as his feet slide out from under him. Then, the secure pressure of a hand pressed to the small of his back and another around his wrist. He blinks over at Kazuma, heart leapt in his throat, when Kazuma rights him back up from the step below.
“Careful,” Kazuma says—strict with concern, but not with true reprimand.
Ryunosuke nods. A nervous smile as he regains his footing. “Thank you.”
He clambers up to the highest level and an intense shiver shocks him to his core. His palms burn, even through the gloves insulated with the finest Rito feather craftwork. His skin tingles, vibrating under the layers. It’s as though, in an instant, the temperature has bottomed.
“I-It g-got c-c-colder,” Ryunosuke manages through the chattering of his teeth.
“Y-Yes, let’s get h-her quickly.” Kazuma climbs up behind him.
Ryunosuke rips off his hat and presses it to Darka’s body. She’s still, covered in ice, with her head buried beneath her paws and out of the windchill. Barely conscious. Her purple bell is broken on her collar. Relief floods within him when he sees her body rise and fall with shallow breaths—they still have a chance to rescue her. The ruby inlaid into his hat begins to defrost her frozen fur and she stirs to the warmth. Kazuma’s there a second later, tipping a Hearty Elixir into her lolled open mouth.
As fast as the temperature changed, as soon as the ice melted off her and the elixir inoculated her system, Darka shakily leaps up, hissing when her paws touch the ice. Kazuma leans forward with a blanket from his pouch and she bolts. Through his legs, she lunges, leaping off the ice into the snow.
A blink, and one second Kazuma’s standing there, and the next, he’s falling. A contradiction in itself: time slows like swimming through sludge, yet Ryunosuke’s moving faster than he even acknowledges. An arm wrapped around the ore deposit, a hand clutching onto Kazuma’s forearm—he holds Kazuma suspended on the edge.
Ryunosuke grits his teeth, lowering his head in an attempt to bolster himself, to will himself the strength to hold on. His limbs shake. “C-Careful,” he exhales, the word escaping as loose as the puff of breath that dissipates in front of him. With terrified eyes, Kazuma clasps his hands around Ryunosuke’s arm, digging in his heels and lifting himself back onto the ice; Kazuma’s face has drained of color.
“Th-Thanks.” Kazuma’s voice is shaky.
The ice below them tremors as they slide down each level. Kazuma reaches the bottom first.
“A-Are t-there earthquakes h-happening in H-Hebra n-now?” Ryunosuke asks. Kazuma offers out his hand; Ryunosuke grabs it and jumps off into the snow. It feels warmer.
“I-I’m not sure,” Kazuma replies. Ryunosuke pulls the Slate out again: Darka has hidden behind a boulder a few steps away. “To my knowledge, t-there hasn’t been anything of the sort, but—”
The ground shakes violent, dropping Ryunosuke to his knees. Behind him, he hears rumbles—rock cracking, scraping. On all fours, he watches with a bewildered daze as the icy structure they were once standing on moves, rising up like a creature being animated, though it’s a colossal of ice: a massive body, two sizable arms, and two small feet to stabilize it. The thing rears back an ice-boulder-arm. Ryunosuke scrambles.
Kazuma’s quicker. He grabs Ryunosuke by the belt and the collar and unceremoniously tosses him into a snowbank like a sack of potatoes before leaping forward himself. When Ryunosuke wipes the snow off his face, he sees the ice crystals evaporating in the air where the arm had exploded.
“Get the cat and hide!” Kazuma yells. The ice beast has lost balance with its single arm, leaning its weight against the one remaining. Kazuma drives Karuma against its surface, but the effort seems unavailing.
“Y-Yes!” Ryunosuke clambers behind the rock and sees Darka crouched low, ears pinned back. He extends a trembling hand. “Come now, Darka,” he tries to coo, though the words are warbled and shrill. He hears his blood rushing in his ears. She takes a tentative sniff of his gloves, but whatever apprehensions she has, she moves past them as she rubs her head against the warmth of his palm. “Yes, good girl,” he says with a smile. He tucks her into the front of his jacket.
Kazuma leaps over the rock and lands next to Ryunosuke seconds before a hunk of ice flies past their hiding spot and smashes into a tree. Ryunosuke yelps. Kazuma’s chest heaves.
“Wh-What is that thing?!” Ryunosuke cries out.
Back to the rock, Kazuma’s head swivels from peeking around it back to Ryunosuke. His eyes are intense, frazzled. “I don’t know.”
If it weren’t for his gear, the sweat beading on Ryunosuke’s forehead would have begun to freeze. “What, what do you mean you don’t know?!”
Another block of ice goes careening over them. “I mean I don’t know,” Kazuma snaps. “I’ve never seen a monster like this before! I would kill to have Royal Advisor Susato’s book right about now—Wait, it’s regenerating its arms?!” They both peer around to see it, sure enough, standing with two sparkling ice arms. Kazuma rummages through his bag when he says, “Karuma didn’t work against it at all. And I don’t have any bombs.” He pulls out a Fire Fruit and lobs it at the creature; the ice sizzles and steams when it hits, but the effect it has seems negligible.
Kazuma yanks out a bow and an arrow—its arrowhead is dipped and molded into a ruby red curl, shining like a candy-coated apple. “Just three fire arrows left,” he mutters. “It’s a hunch, but…” His brow furrows in concentration, then nocks the arrow. He motions with his head and says, “Stay low,” before running out from cover.
“R-Right—Gah!” Ryunosuke ducks lower when ice crashes against the surface of the rock, sending a spray of mist showering over his head. Darka mewls when his chin presses against the top of her head. He stares into her green eyes, blinking ferociously. “Lady Susato’s book, huh…?”
When he looks over, he sees that Kazuma’s fire arrow melted down the ice of one of the creature’s arms; naked rock is exposed underneath. He leaps onto the arm and jams Karuma into the connecting section where the arm and torso meet.
Ryunosuke pulls out the Sheikah Slate and fixes the camera on the monster. With any luck, perhaps this thing had a presence known to the ancient Sheikah. He holds a breath as the camera scans it—and then flickers a blue box around its figure.
Frost Talus, the description displays when he catalogs it into the Compendium. “‘This enormous monster is naturally camouflaged as a frozen rock formation,’” Ryunosuke mutters as he scans the text. “‘Neither sword nor arrow can pierce its frigid form. Shattering its stony heart is a surefire path to treasure.’” He squints at it. “…Huh?” His eyes lift to see Kazuma dislodge Karuma and spring off the stone right before a hurling ball of ice crashes into its other arm. The Talus seems unscathed, like it was merely swatting at a bug.
Ryunosuke holds his hand to his chin, tapping along his jaw. He inspects the Frost Talus—all ice and rock below, nothing too notable. “Stony heart…?” he repeats. It launches another ice shot at Kazuma, and he dodges. When the Frost Talus turns towards Kazuma, something glitters: bright and shiny and golden upon an obsidian backdrop. Ryunosuke’s eyes widen.
Ryunosuke stands and slams his hands on the rock. “Kazuma!” he calls. He pulls back an arm to his opposite shoulder and flings it forward, extended pointer finger a lightning rod. “Aim at the ore deposit on its back!”
“What?” Kazuma asks, sucking in a labored breath, but he nocks an arrow anyway.
“The Slate—I believe it’s saying the ore is its weak point!”
The arrow soars and clinks off the ore deposit. Flint on ore, and sparks spray on impact; the Talus shudders, just a bit. Kazuma lines up another arrow, but it slams down an arm and he skids behind the rock cover before firing.
Kazuma breathes heavily—a cloud of breath thick in front of him. “Good catch back there. The thing is so big, it’s difficult to tell where the next attack is coming from standing below it. I’ll need you to be my eyes”—he flashes him a grin—“alright, partner?”
Ryunosuke’s mouth falls open. He’s on his hands and knees. “W-Wait, you want me to be what?!” The words are barely out when Kazuma rushes out from cover and looses an arrow into the ore deposit.
The Frost Talus rears back its right arm, Ryunosuke warns of it coming to Kazuma’s left, Kazuma maneuvers accordingly. When the Talus shakes and is about to slam its body down, Ryunosuke advises Kazuma to move in time. Counsel to Kazuma’s movements, Ryunosuke guides him away from danger—heart pounding and adrenaline coursing through his veins.
And something wells up inside him—something novel and fierce. A conviction he’s never felt before burning bright and true. With each successful directive, it grows hotter, more intense. Making a difference—the thought like a furnace. Is this how Kazuma feels? Guiding Kazuma, protecting Darka, comforting Nikolina—kindle to a flame.
“It’s off balance!” Ryunosuke calls out. “Make a pathway up its left arm!”
“Got it!” Kazuma answers and shoots a fire arrow into its left arm. The Talus staggers, dropping its exposed rock limb into the earth. Kazuma pulls out his last arrow and it strikes into its torso. Steam fills the space and Kazuma rushes into it, grip tight around his sword. Up its arm, up its body. And he drives Karuma across the heart of ore and gemstones—once, twice, over and over again.
The Talus shudders and quakes. With each hit: another crumbling of ore, another shower of sparks like stars shooting across the firmament. It trembles more violently—a volcano before an eruption. Ryunosuke feels sweat fall down his cheek, feels it chill like frostbite on his skin.
“Kazuma, i-it’s acting odd… I think you should get off!” Ryunosuke shouts.
“No!” Kazuma cleaves at the dwindling rock, breaths labored. “There’s only a bit left! I can do it, just one more—”
In a blink, the Frost Talus slams its body straight to the ground and Kazuma lurches off it. He skids across the snowy ground, black hair sticking out against a mound of white. For a split second, Ryunosuke curses his overconfidence—Icarian tendency wont to surface, hubristic wax dripping hot over his eyes and blinding his senses—but it’s replaced just as quickly with only terror, concern.
“Kazuma!” he cries as he bolts towards him, securing Darka close to his chest inside his jacket.
Kazuma groans. A hand to his head. Ryunosuke can see a cut across the side of his face, the trickle of blood spilling down to his chin. Ryunosuke places a hand on his arm, worry a mess on his face. They’re vulnerable like this, out in the open. If the Talus attacks, he has no defense, but the furnace inside him roils and blazes.
He pledged that he would help them all. He’s done running away.
Ryunosuke slings Kazuma’s arm over his shoulder and attempts to lift him enough to get him to his feet and drag him forward. Kazuma proves to be just as solid as he’s presumed; it’s a struggle for him to balance under his weight. Kazuma on his back, Darka on his chest—he trudges forward.
“I’m fine,” Kazuma mutters close to Ryunosuke’s ear, though it’s strained. “Just had the wind knocked out of me. Let go, I can—” His feet give out under him with another groan and they stumble.
“I’m—” Ryunosuke presses his hand tighter to Kazuma’s waist and tries to hike him back up. Through grit teeth: “I’m not leaving you out here!”
Ryunosuke hears the crackings of ice on ice and his head shoots up, mouth agape. When the Frost Talus raises its arm, it’s like time slows. A ball of ice is lobbed towards them—a lazy arc like a lethal balloon tossed in the air by a child. He squeezes his eyes shut, extends his arm, left index finger pointed as sharp as any legendary sword.
He hears Kazuma gasp. He hears ice crystals clattering to the ground, fluttering like chimes on the wind. He hears it all, but not the sound of ice colliding with bodies, of screams of pain—just tranquil silence.
When Ryunosuke pries his eyes open, he sees waning light—a slim arch of golden light suspended over them flickering away. Even the snow now lightly falling from above is suspended before it reaches them.
Kazuma slips out from his loosened grasp and he strikes the exposed nub of ore in a flash. The monster’s icy body cracks and splits apart as loud as an avalanche, sending gems and flint clattering down into the packed snow.
Ryunosuke stares at the back of his hand like it’s a limb completely foreign to him. Kazuma’s saying something to him; it registers like a single note played during an orchestra. He watches the equilateral triangles fully fade away into the back of his arm guard and it’s like they were never there at all.
What stands out to him the most isn’t the feeling of the powers, but the utter lack of it at all. There was no rapturous revelation. No key finally fitting into a divine lock, and the click of resolution, of understanding. No Hylia appearing to him in a vision, clapping her slender hands together in celebration, saying, “Congratulations! You’ve done it; you’ve found it at last!” He didn’t even hear her there—just that same silence he’s grown accustomed to. The powers were merely there, and then they weren’t.
He flexes his hand, extends a finger out. It’s the same back of his hand he’s known all these years—nothing different. The powers were there, and now they’re gone. How fickle.
“…Ryunosuke?” Ryunosuke nearly leaps out of his boots when Kazuma says his name and places his hands gently on his upper arms. Kazuma has a smile stretched wide on his face, eyes softening when Ryunosuke snaps to attention. “That was it, wasn’t it? The powers?” Kazuma squeezes his hold. “You finally pulled it off, just like I knew you would!”
Ryunosuke’s dazed, head feeling like it’s as blank as a snow-covered field. “Y-Yes, I suppose so…”
“And?” Kazuma leans closer in. “You must tell me: how did you do it?”
Ryunosuke blinks. “I don’t know. It just sort of…happened. I, um—”
His breath catches in the back of his throat at the sight of Kazuma’s bright face, glowing with pride. Pink nose and cheeks and ears; frost caked on his shoulders, tangled within his scarf; his wild hair dusted white with powder. Kazuma’s hat is gone—where is it? He scans the area, sees the black cap peeking out from where he landed when he was tossed off the Talus, ruby inset catching a reflection along its scarlet detailing.
Ryunosuke retrieves it and presses it into Kazuma’s hands. “…Thank you,” Kazuma says and he dons it. It's then that the cold catches up to Ryunosuke, adrenaline burned away, so he’s left shivering. Despite the temporary lull in the snowstorm, the chill still cuts deep. Kazuma notices, saying, “Here, take this,” as he unwraps his blue scarf from around his neck.
Ryunosuke’s eyebrows shoot up. “N-No, I can’t possibly—”
Kazuma shakes his head. “Say no more. I’m fine without it.”
He closes the distance, toes of their boots bumping as he drapes the scarf around Ryunosuke. Ryunosuke watches him as his gaze softens and focuses down on the task at hand, half-lidded as his long eyelashes sweep downward like fine brush strokes. His touch is delicate—measured, with a deft intentionality to each twist of the wrist as though he’s crafting a fragile glasswork decorated with tenuous filigree—when he secures the wool around Ryunosuke’s neck. It’s warm against Ryunosuke’s exposed skin, and it rests close enough to his face that it’s unmistakable how it smells of him.
Kazuma’s hands linger at the ends, fabric pinched between thumb and fingers. When he speaks again, his voice has dropped low, a chiding lilt dyeing his tone: “It’s my mistake for failing to grab your scarf when you decided running straight into a blizzard with no gear was a good idea.” His eyes lift to meet Ryunosuke’s with a keen smirk.
Ryunosuke swallows hard as his cheeks flare. “Y-Yes… Sorry about that…” Kazuma finally releases his hold on the scarf and as he pulls back, Ryunosuke stops him with a, “Wait!” He reaches into his pocket and fishes out a handkerchief. “Your face, it’s—” His hands move before he realizes it: one hand cupping along Kazuma’s jaw, the other wiping the blood from the cut on his cheek and putting pressure on the wound. Kazuma stills with a hitch in his breath, staring down at him; he feels him grow tense under his touch. “It’s, um…” The words shrivel in the back of his throat.
“How bad does it look?” Kazuma breathes out, voice gone hoarse, as he leans closer once again. His hand snakes around the arm Ryunosuke has lifted up to hold his face. Darka’s paw shoots up from out of Ryunosuke’s coat to bat at the ends of Kazuma’s headband dipping down.
Ryunosuke pulls back the cloth. He clears his throat, then says with a reedy voice, “It’s, it’s not that deep of a cut. It’s stopped bleeding for now, I think.” His eyes are back on Kazuma and he’s held there like a magnet. “But, you should get Yeta to look at it when we get back.”
Something twists, ever so slightly, in Kazuma’s face, in the minute pinch between his brows—a micro-expression Ryunosuke can’t quite pinpoint the meaning of. He gives Ryunosuke’s forearm a squeeze. “...It’s not your duty to look after me,” Kazuma whispers. Creaky like broken glass underfoot, and just as reflective.
“Then whose is it?” Ryunosuke asks in the same reciprocal murmur. It’s a simple concept: put your trust in me and I’ll put my trust in you. Isn’t that how it should be?
The taken aback, amused laugh-scoff that spills from Kazuma propels warm breath against Ryunosuke’s face. Through a honeyed smile: “You truly never fail to surprise me, Ryunosuke.” He squeezes Ryunosuke’s arm one last time before drawing back and pulling his face away from Ryunosuke’s grasp. “Never mind all that. Now that Darka is safe, we should make our way back before the storm resumes.”
Even behind the barrier of the fabric, Ryunosuke’s palm tingles under the presence of Kazuma’s touch—of the absence of it now. He curls his fingers in, presses that lingering warmth to trap it there. Darka shifts in his coat, letting out a soft meow at the call of her name. “Yes, let’s.”
“You have the directions back?” Kazuma asks, inclining his head back as Ryunosuke catches up with him.
Ryunosuke unhooks the Slate and taps on the display. “Yes, the map has filled itself in wherever I’ve taken it. See?” He shows the screen to Kazuma. “I still find it a bit hard to believe such a thing even exists. It’s quite a marvelous invention.”
“Indeed,” Kazuma agrees. “Without both it and your adroit command of its capabilities, I fear the little one might’ve suffered a much more ghastly fate.”
Ryunosuke mashes his lips. It must’ve gotten colder, because his cheeks burn so much that they sting. Frostbite, surely, nipping at exposed skin; they must hurry before the chill does even more damage. And it’s nothing to say of the way his heart pounds. “I, I didn’t do anything that much of note—I merely followed the path it carved out. Truly, we should be thanking Iris and Champion Sholmes’s quick work to make it operational more than anything!”
Kazuma snickers. “Yes, without their contributions we wouldn’t be here right now, but you shouldn’t erase your own efforts either.” He turns to him, eyes aglow and smirk like a mischievous cat. “‘Didn’t do much of note’—ah yes, speak nothing of your powers manifesting for the first time!” The booming laughs spill out of him like rushing water; he slaps Ryunosuke’s back with a mirthful vigor. “When we get back, you must tell me everything! And, of course, your invaluable help with defeating the Talus…” Kazuma hums to himself. “I would say we make quite the team, partner.”
Ryunosuke’s seeing stars as his back cries out; they dance along the descending darkness as night encroaches. “Y-Yes, of course.”
A growl rumbles out of Ryunosuke’s stomach, as loud as the ice settling and cracking around them, and he grimaces when Kazuma shoots him an amused look. “...When we get back to Castle Town,” Ryunosuke says when he composes himself, “I’d very much like to get some of Soseki’s sweet potatoes again.”
And Kazuma laughs, saying, “Yes, I’d like that, too.”
The cat is safe; the knight is safe; the prince is safe. Somehow, it feels like no miracle at all.
“I’m just relieved to see Nikolina so happy and that Darka only sustained minor injuries,” Ryunosuke says as he flips through the menus on the Sheikah Slate, lying in bed.
“Yes, and Darka seemed quite overjoyed to be reunited with her owner,” Kazuma replies, stowing away the remainder of his clothes into the dresser. He has a gauze bandage stuck on the right side of his face, with another wrapping on his left hand. “Perhaps she’ll be less likely to run off in the future now.”
Ryunosuke smiles at the screen. “I think for all our peace of mind that would be best.”
Kazuma stretches his arm across his chest, then the other. “Nikolina’s emotional reaction was to be expected, but I was much more surprised to see how it moved you to tears as well.”
Heat laps at Ryunosuke’s cheeks; he gapes up at him. “Th-That’s…! You saw that?!” Kazuma nods with a teasing little grin, before stretching to touch down to his feet. “Seeing Nikolina crying with joy, all on top of finally materializing my sealing powers—you can’t possibly blame me for being overwhelmed at it all!”
There’s a pause, until Kazuma straightens up and the keen edge to his eyes has been burnished into something soft and glossy. “No,” he says with a gentle smile. “No, I suppose I can’t.” He holds that gaze until the urge to move impels him to act, rotating the trunk of his body. “It shows that you have a kind heart… But, that’s exactly what I like about you.”
Ryunosuke swallows down the embarrassment, and the ensuing smile that breaches feels just that easy to wear. He lands on the Compendium and when Kazuma begins to pad towards his own bed, Ryunosuke draws the covers back beside him. “Here, come look, I didn’t get to finish showing you the pictures I took earlier.”
Kazuma gives him a quizzical look, but slides under the sheets beside anyway when Ryunosuke shuffles over to make space. It’s a small victory this time: no argument from Kazuma accusing Ryunosuke of using him as his own personal radiator, with fingers pointed and lips curled in only semi-serious affronted balks. (Ryunosuke won’t admit it and allow Kazuma the satisfaction of an easy victory, but Kazuma’s right: he is, in fact, using him as a heater—Kazuma warms his bed much faster than he can himself and it’s a small bliss to the start of the biting night.)
And Ryunosuke goes through the catalog of all the new findings he captured on the grounds the past few days, dictating the descriptions generated alongside them: the haughty White Pigeon caught mid-flight, the imposing Tabantha Moose eating small branches fallen from trees, the Great-Horned Rhinoceros little more than a blue blur in an instance of Ryunosuke’s not-quite-the-best-work as he quickly ducked out of its sightline—and its gigantic protruding horn. Kazuma’s commentary grows more lax and scarce as Ryunosuke goes deeper down the list.
“And this cute Hebra Hare here—I think Lady Susato and Iris would enjoy seeing it, don’t you think?” There’s no response. Ryunosuke pauses, then a roguish grin creeps across his face. “The rabbit inhibits its habits when its ears hear the blear jeer of a veering deer,” he says rapidly, taking special attention to fully enunciate each winding syllable. No response again. Ryunosuke smiles to himself, thinking that Kazuma must be beside himself, waiting to explode at any second. The fireplace sputters and pops like a dragon’s roar, much too violent for the tranquil silence.
“How about trying that one, or are you yet again too speechless to…” His words trail off when he finally looks over. Kazuma’s asleep beside him, curled up as comfortable as a cat lazing under the sun. And Ryunosuke can’t help but marvel as he traces the length of his face with his gaze: up the sharp line of his jaw, over to the dignified slope of his nose, across those full eyelashes much too long for his own good. Even in his most relaxed moments, there was always some tension held between those eyes, yet it’s completely absent here—unguarded and sleep-worn, perfectly earned. His heroic veneer is stripped back, until only the simple vulnerability of just a person remains below its surface. “…Kazuma?”
And he can’t stop himself from contemplating how silly he is, still wearing the scarlet headband even in sleep. Ryunosuke has half a mind to rid him of it right then and there, but he remembers Kazuma’s words, red-hot with passion, and that asinine impulse scurries back to whatever ridiculous place in his brain it crawled out of.
(“Ryunosuke, I will never remove it!” Kazuma had maintained when Ryunosuke asked why he slept with it on, as if the answer was obvious in itself. “No, not until I conquer this trial and prove myself worthy of relinquishing it! Any discomfort is merely a testament to my resolve. I promise this to you.” He had held himself there with that flint in his eyes, broad shoulders set back, body held with pristine posture—the very epitome of self-discipline. When Ryunosuke pressed further, asking how he’ll know he’s accomplished it, something flickered in Kazuma’s expression, ever so slightly and so quick Ryunosuke almost missed it: a contradictory mixture of determination and sadness and fondness, all at once. He peered at Ryunosuke with that enigmatic look in his eyes, saying, “I just will. Like a Red Sparrow knows to fly south for the winter—it’s innate to my being.”
It felt a bit like a non-answer at the time, but Kazuma always had a way of speaking in such self-assured finality that Ryunosuke couldn’t help but believe him.)
He doesn’t want to dare to disturb that serenity—of Kazuma or of the noble red that shines like a beacon through fog.
Ryunosuke stills his hand, his tongue, his breath. Then, he inhales deep through his nose, soaks in that vulnerable fondness until it coats his lungs with something saccharine and crisp—wholly novel yet not at all alarming in its unfamiliarity, as if it was meant to be this whole time, just waiting to reveal itself.
He exhales and swipes through the album once again.