Chapter Text
Ryunosuke’s Journal
Members of some clergy arrived at the castle a day before our departure. Their names were unfamiliar and so was the abbey they hailed from, located somewhere sequestered on top of Angel Peak. They had heard from some channel—though, I don’t know where, as I thought Father had kept the information confidential—that my sealing powers had materialized the once and were eager to lend their assistance. Despite how much of a surprise their visit was, Father seemed unfazed through it all and welcomed them in.
Ugh, I shiver just thinking about how they would leer. It is a terrible, humiliating feeling to be seen as a vessel instead of a person. It’s even worse to be seen as a failure of a vessel. It’s as if whenever they looked at me, they didn’t see me, only through me—searching for the Goddess Hylia standing in my place, yet coming up unsuccessful.
…I don’t quite know whether I would’ve preferred them to have just outrightly referred to me as a failure, instead of the silent, judgmental implication of it. At least that way, they would have had to have acknowledged me as more than a walking, dried husk of an effigy.
Whatever they felt, they weren’t overly protective of their goddess (or, perhaps, I had let them down so thoroughly, they couldn’t reconcile their view of me enough to care). I recounted the situation where I felt her power and they came to the conclusion it was a sense of danger that spurred her protection. I tried to argue that this line of logic had been tested for years, through freezing spring waters and controlled starvation tactics. Still, they maintained this was different. It was not only dangerous, but a sudden moment of high stress and adrenaline—an instantaneous response to stimuli when lives are put on the line, nothing more to it.
I have no answer for why the powers materialized when they did and the theory seemed sound enough on its face (after all, how many stories are told about heroes gaining a mysterious boost of power in the eleventh hour when all hope seemed lost? Not that I’d ever describe myself as a hero, of course…), but I can’t help doubting it. Why then and there? Why not when the Lizalfos attacked back when we retrieved Eggy or when the Yiga had left me cornered and alone within McGilded’s mansion—I had certainly felt that all-consuming fear of death then. But, I have no alternate explanation and no decisive evidence to contradict it, so I couldn’t effectively dispute any further speculation.
The clergy members possessed a mordant viciousness to them and they weren’t hesitant at all when it came to suggesting I fling myself into danger to prove their hypothesis. First, they roped Lady Susato into engaging in a surprise “Susato Ambush”—how that differs from a Susato Toss, I can’t explain, for one second I was staring down a platter of Hot Buttered Apples and the next, seeing stars while splayed across the ground. She laid out an extensive string of apologies, but the distinct glint in her eye was unmistakable in revealing just how much she must’ve enjoyed it all… Next, they convinced Kazuma into shooting an arrow at a small apple sitting atop my head. He refused initially, but one of the members dared to question his skill and any reservations he had about potentially shooting his best friend in the face seemed to instantly vanish… (He hit the apple perfectly, but took some of the years off my life along with it.)
Finally, they thought it’d be best to escalate it by recreating the inciting situation more closely: finding a monster out in Hyrule Field and putting me to its mercy, unprotected. Thankfully, Father had enough benevolence to put a stop to it all at that point. I suppose risking critical injury from hypothermia in the sacred springs is safe enough, but throwing me out to the Wolfos is crossing a line…
We leave for the Spring of Courage tomorrow. The divine power still evades me.
A shaky breath. A sandaled foot plunges into the water, then another. One step forward, then two, then three, then four.
To the general public, the primordial sacred springs, eponymous of the three Triforce virtues, are sites that fill each visitor that enters their hallowed grounds with awe and a fearful sort of reverence. Nestled under dense canopies of sprawling jungle, the giant Goddess Statue housed within the Spring of Courage looms with the same scrutinizing eye she no doubt watched the fabled ancient hero with as he purportedly forged his sword in consecrated flame. Here, however, it’s not the weight of lofty divinity that leaves Ryunosuke heavy with wariness, but the complete absence of it all entirely.
He’s not ignorant to the magic that drenches the Damel Forest like the humidity heavy in the air—far from it. Whether Farore continues to be venerated or not, her influence still impacts the area as though she rules it herself to this day: warm, torrential rains and the crack of thunderstorms, vicious winds and encroaching vegetation. Down to the swarms of relentless bugs that inhabit it, the forest is alive, and wholly unwelcoming to those who dare to tame it.
Even Ryunosuke knows the story of the abbey erected decades ago—how construction efforts were restarted in almost Sisyphean fashion and delayed for years as high winds and lightning strikes made for unsafe working conditions, how structures built one day would be toppled and covered in vines the next. How even after the construction crew succeeded in finishing the abbey, the jungle’s spirit continued to fight, laying waste to the building section by section, until its inhabitants were finally driven out and the site was reclaimed by the earth, no traces of its existence remaining.
The valorous forest accepts no permanent residents that may disrupt its nature; only the bravest of travelers and researchers setting up temporary camps are allowed to stay in their transience. That dragon-hearted resistance is Farore’s will—or perhaps, that of the ancient Zonai whose intricate ruins cover the forest in a symbiotic harmony.
The forest is alive, and the way the wind whizzes sharp through the trees and how the animals screech deep within the lush is as much of a testament to it as the sweat clinging to Ryunosuke’s skin, even as the sun has disappeared far below the horizon. The spring water that reaches up to his hips is a respite, just this once. Yet despite the din surrounding him, it is still too silent. If only he could share the experience of those who once felt Hylia at the base of her statue long ago.
Almost two months since he felt her power. A flash in the pan, fizzled out and its very existence left in question. King Naruhodo had hounded him again before leaving, driving home the critical importance of him reawakening his powers at the Spring of Courage, of making it clear beyond question how the success of the entire world rests on his shoulders—as if he wasn’t already acutely aware of it all. Was it all a cosmic fluke? What good was it for his powers to awaken, only for them to fall dormant once again?
Ryunosuke shakes his head before dipping his head in supplication and his hands clasp in front of his chest. “O, divine Goddess Hylia, apotheosis of wisdom, holy sovereign of light and time.” The words are air—breezy without resistance, with just as little emotional substance comprising them. “I am Ryunosuke Naruhodo, the one who harbors your spirit. I humbly beseech you for your audience.”
The incessant chirping of the Restless Crickets is the only answer he receives. He continues, sinking his head lower: “I come seeking help regarding the divine powers that have been handed down over time. I have pledged my piety”—something wells up inside him that veers him off script, something fanged and unexpectedly animalistic—“placating you with prayer in order to provoke my power into presenting itself.”
A deep breath. He shifts in the water, letting his hands slip to fall slowly next to his sides. The moon hanging behind the Goddess Statue’s shoulder casts dark shadows across the grooved stone, haloed in backlit moonlight.
“Grandmother was said to have heard the voices from deep within the realm of spirits, as did Mother… My whole life, everyone has told me that prayer will awaken those same powers—that prayer would allow me to harness the power to seal Calamity Stronghart away…
“I thought—” The words catch bitter in his throat, burning there. “I naïvely thought that things were different after Talonto Temple—that things had finally changed…” His nails dig into the soft flesh of his palms when he balls his fists. “That I had done something correctly for once, that I had finally become someone seen worthy of your time and your consideration.”
The growing heat fizzles into a rasped whisper: “And yet, here I am again, utterly empty handed…” He raises his palms as the water slips off them, dripping back into the spring. He can see his reflection against the moonlight watching him, rippling and distorted—is that even really him staring back at himself?
“All of this prayer…and for what?” He can’t continue looking at that deformed simulacrum of himself, draped in that gaudy white; he squeezes his eyes shut, turns his face away with gritted teeth. “Nothing has changed. I still don’t hear…or feel anything! What good is it all?!”
Something escapes him—a whimper, a gasp that pulls a weak, sad sound out of him. “After all the progress with the Guardians and the relics… If I still am unable to awaken to my power…” His clenched fists shake despite himself. The Guardians and Divine Beasts are invaluable to their success, he’s sure of it, but their usefulness ends with buying them time—a weakened calamity is just as disastrous to the world as long as it’s allowed to exist. “Everything will have been in vain.” He shudders.
“Father still berates me, despite it all. He tells me time and time again that I’m abandoning my duty and trying to run away from our agreement… That I’m still spending too much of my energy on the relic research instead. Even after everything, he still believes I’m merely playing at being a scholar!”
He sucks in a breath when his gaze lifts up to the hazy statue. “Curse you…” When his sight falls back down, the unfamiliar, warped reflection continues to peer back at him from the dark water, then it’s obscured in an instant, left even more cloudy when the tears prick at his eyes.
A ghastly visage framed in white, like smeared oil paints on canvas. That’s not who he is—
Who is he?
The sound of his fists smashing into the water is like cannon fire, how it echoes against the surrounding rock and moss-covered pillars. His head hangs low; it feels like a lead weight too difficult to continue to prop up. “After all the sacrifice…” His voice strains, pulled taut and fragile. “After all the pain… How can you possibly say I’ve done anything else but dedicate my life to prayer?”
Shaky, his arms snake around each other. He folds over himself. “Everyone else…is carrying out their duties with such grace…” He thinks of Sholmes and Iris, with their advancements into the relic research. He thinks of Susato, and her steadfast assistance to that research, even if it comes at a price to herself. He thinks of Kazuma, how the goddess gave him her blessing while they were merely teenagers—how he’s continued to rise to the challenge of that weight on his shoulders every day since, though Ryunosuke knows how heavy the burden is on him. “I am the only one…” his voice croaks out. “Who can’t seem to live up…to what’s expected of him…
“I’ve pleaded to the spirits tied to the ancient gods. I’ve bruised my knees in supplication; I’ve spilt the blood. And yet, still, the holy powers have proven deaf to my devotion!” Hot tears stain his cheeks and fall, intermingling with water that feels both too warm and yet far too cold. His nails dig into his exposed arms. “What have I done wrong? What have I not found yet for you to dangle hope in front of me before so cruelly snatching it away again?”
He sways in place, head swiveling around, as if searching for something that will give him answers hiding in the darkness—as if even if there was something there, that he’d be able to make any sense of it. His eyes dart about uncontrollably. “Please, just tell me! What is it…? What’s wrong with me?!”
He collapses, arms still hugged tight around himself as he folds over, nose skimming the surface of the disturbed spring like a tree rotted and bent. He sobs and each heaving breath burns as if inhaling water. It’s a tsunami bursting out of his chest: he’s allowed this grief to well up inside him for so long, it’s become uncontrollable once given the slightest opening.
There’s no use fighting against it anymore; the time for that has passed. He lets it out, and out, and out.
He feels that magnetic pull inside him grow stronger before he hears Kazuma’s approaching footsteps against marble, muffled under the roar of his heart beating in his ears. “…Nosu…” The sound is far-away, fuzzy and smothered. Syllables that don’t cohere.
“Please,” he murmurs, though it’s thick and wet, “I need this. We need this. Please, please…”
“Ryunosuke, stop.”
Ryunosuke sucks in a breath when Kazuma’s hand presses over his shoulder. When did he even get into the water? Ryunosuke stares at him, wide-eyed and pleading. Each blink makes everything around him look like a smeared, frosted mosaic. “I can’t,” he croaks. His mouth is dry, his throat raw. “I have to keep going. If I don’t—”
Kazuma’s hazy silhouette shakes his head; the red fabric catches the moonlight with the motion. “Please,” he says softly. “That’s enough.” He moves closer and the hand on Ryunosuke’s shoulder makes a gentle arc around his back, until Kazuma’s arm wraps around him. “There’s no point in pressing it further; the goddess isn’t going to give any answers tonight. Let’s get going.”
Ryunosuke’s body feels like a lead weight. He attempts to nod his head and snivel out an affirmative, but both actions are feeble—he hopes Kazuma can understand him. The shame of it all feels like a furnace pressed up to his face.
Kazuma’s answer comes only a moment later, when he lifts Ryunosuke to his feet and then off the ground entirely, ever-steady arms under his knees and supporting his back. Despite it all, it doesn’t make Ryunosuke feel any lighter. Kazuma wades back to the shallow edge of the spring.
“I’m sorry,” Ryunosuke mumbles into his own arm wrapped around Kazuma’s shoulders, face pressed squarely into the slick groove of his shoulder. It’s terrible, how he’s to blame for Kazuma’s soaked clothes.
“Hold your head high, Ryunosuke.” Even under the whirr between his ears, Kazuma’s voice cuts through as clear as castle bells. “Don’t count yourself out just yet. I believe in you, unequivocally.”
Ryunosuke weeps, and it’s like a dry cloth being wrung.
Ryunosuke cracks an eye open when he resigns himself to the fact that falling asleep is a losing battle. For a moment, he watches the fire crackle, casting dancing light and shadow in a partnered duet against Kazuma’s back. He sits there across the fire, facing the expanse of darkness ahead of him, as straight and unmoving as a guardian lion-dog statue. Karuma is laid to his side.
The breeze sweeping over the Guchini Plain sets a chill in Ryunosuke’s bones when he rises from his bedroll. He can’t help but find it a wonder—how being only a few hours away from the overbearing mugginess of the Damel Forest and into open plains can cause such a difference. He tugs the blanket over his shoulders.
“What’s wrong?” Kazuma doesn’t have to look back to know it’s him; he no doubt felt him approaching. That pull, again.
Ryunosuke shrugs. “Couldn’t sleep.” He gestures with a tilt of his head. “May I…?”
Kazuma lets out a small laugh, before turning himself around to face him. “You know you never need to ask me that.”
Ryunosuke responds with a laugh of his own, plopping down next to Kazuma. “Yes, sorry. Old habits and all…” He shifts, looking at Kazuma out of the corner of his eye. “Are you cold?”
Kazuma considers it for a moment, before replying, “A bit, I suppose.” And he gives his thanks when Ryunosuke shuffles closer and drapes the other end of the blanket around him to envelope them both.
It had gotten too late to make the rest of the trek to Highland Stable. They’ve been lucky: there hasn’t been any monster activity near them the whole night so far. Though, Ryunosuke doubts he’d be able to see any in the distance if there was. He trusts Kazuma’s judgment on the matter.
Ryunosuke’s eyes drop down, morose, to watch the way the flames flit in a scorching dance. His teeth scrape at his lower lip. “...I’m sorry,” he mutters.
“For what?”
Ryunosuke sinks further into the blanket. “That you have to stay up all night like this. It’s not fair. I could—” His voice falters. “I could keep watch for a bit. Then, you could get a little bit of sleep, at least.”
A low chuckle. “Ryunosuke, you could fall asleep standing up. Perhaps you’re struggling to fall asleep now, but”—Kazuma gives him a sidelong glance, mouth pulled up in a teasing smirk—“I’d give it five minutes before you start nodding off.”
“Haah…” Ryunosuke levels him with an unimpressed look, then his eyes drift back down to the ground. “But, truly, I am sorry. If—” He swallows. “If I could just activate my powers again, then we wouldn’t have to keep being sent out on these inane trips…”
There’s a huff of a laugh from Kazuma—or maybe it’s twinged with frustration, too. “There you go again, apologizing like always for something that isn’t your fault!”
Ryunosuke’s mouth falls open. “But, isn’t it?”
Kazuma gives a lazy wave of his free hand. “It’d make no difference if this had been an expedition to view a new relic discovery. It’s part of my job, Ryunosuke. I’m quite used to keeping watch; there’s nothing to worry or feel sorry about.” He pauses for a moment and when he speaks again, his voice is low: “…And there’s nothing wrong with you, either, so you don’t need to apologize.”
Ryunosuke’s breath catches, eyes grown wide. He looks to Kazuma, then back out to the dark grassland. “I…”
“No, that’s not quite correct,” Kazuma says with a facetious lilt to his tone. He raises a fist to his chin. “There are some things wrong with you—massively, I would even say.”
“Wha—”
“Like your utterly imprudent phobia of doctors when most people would kill to have the level of care you can receive. Or how you always make a mess of your desk and refuse to clean it.”
“—Alright, I—”
“Or how your memory is often atrocious—I mean, the passcode to the blue trunk’s lock is only three digits, for goodness’s sake. Three!” He closes his eyes and tucks his arm under his other one. “I told you if you couldn’t remember it, to write it down somewhere!”
No sound leaves Ryunosuke’s gaping mouth. “That—” he tries again. “I did write it down and then put it on my desk and…”
Kazuma gives him a deadpan look. “And you lost it under your unwieldy mess of papers, right?” He must be able to see the flush coloring Ryunosuke’s cheeks, because he takes it as a confirmation. “See? Exactly.”
An incredulous laugh escapes Ryunosuke, fondly exasperated despite himself. “Okay, okay, you’ve made your point!” He dips his shoulder into Kazuma’s arm and gives him a light shove, and Kazuma barks out a sharp laugh.
“Suffice to say,” Kazuma says, tone sobering, “whatever decisions the goddess makes are not your fault.” He pauses. “…But it wouldn’t kill you to organize your room a bit more.”
The ridiculousness of his sentiment does it’s intended purpose: Ryunosuke smiles anyway. “Thanks, Kazuma.” He feels the warmth of Kazuma’s arm pressed tight against his own. “…You’re still mad that I can’t find that one odd short story you gave me, aren’t you?”
“Of course I am!” That spark plug of vivacity ignites—always an impassioned monologue locked and loaded for just the opportunity to release it. Kazuma pinches the bridge of his nose. “I gave it to you to read, not to take claim of it. I’d like it back within my lifetime, you know. Though, now it’s been swept up into the black void that is your desk, I fear that may never come to pass.” The white of his bared teeth stands out when he grimaces. “…It’s honestly impressive how quickly you misplace things. It was lost practically right after you finished it.” He sighs and Ryunosuke lets out an embarrassed laugh. “And it’s not odd—it’s a classic romantic piece. I figured, as a man of literature yourself, you would be able to appreciate it.”
“No, no, I did! The writing was evocative! I’m just…unsure of what the writer was attempting to say with the ending.” Ryunosuke’s brow furrows. “The priestess trapped herself into the crystal to maintain the seal blocking the great evil and she asked the hero to be there to wake her up when it was time, but the author’s persistent use of death imagery made it seem like she was to actually die in there. It ended in such an ambiguous way, that it left me with more questions than answers, is all…”
“That’s exactly what makes it timeless, I believe,” Kazuma says with a tilt of his head. “You get no clear answer or definitive endings, so it’s perfect for ongoing discussion.”
“Yes, I can see that.”
“And?” Kazuma turns to him, eyes with that keen brightness whenever curiosity strikes him. “What do you think happened?”
Ryunosuke tips his head back, closing his eyes. “Hmm, well to be honest, I’m not really quite sure if it matters if she dies or not. She’s trapped in that crystal for thousands of years—isn’t that in itself its own sort of death? Whether she’s been held in stasis or not, she’s lost all that time, the people she knew have moved on without her there… Even if she returns perfectly fine, wouldn’t she feel like she lost something of herself during that time?”
Kazuma hums, thoughtful. “Yes, I can see that. But, they didn’t truly experience that time passing in a linear way, did they? Both the priestess and the hero went back into the past where she then went into her thousands-year-long slumber, but when the hero went through the portal and returned to the present when she woke up, it was as if only a few months passed for the both of them. From her perspective, even less so.”
Ryunosuke lets out a groan, gripping at the top of his hair. “That’s the other thing that makes the story so odd—the time travel is too confusing!” His head slumps below his shoulders. Kazuma laughs. “Well, then, do you think she dies at the end?”
“No, I don’t think so,” Kazuma replies, “but I think it might be a metaphorical death more than anything. It’s the realization—the death of their halcyon childhood days and a coming into adulthood and the responsibilities that come with it, perhaps.” He shakes his head. “Either way, I think what was most important was that she was fully prepared to die at that moment. What she wanted most of all was to protect the land from the demon and if that meant giving up her life, she was more than willing to do it. She had a single-minded determination towards her goal and nothing was more important to her at that moment. I find the sentiment compelling.”
Ryunosuke sighs, wrapping a hand around the back of his neck and running it along the length. “When you put it that way, it makes an awful lot of sense…”
And at once, a yawn climbs its way out of him. Ryunosuke stuffs a hand over his face to mask it, but it’s too late—Kazuma’s already grinning at him like a crazed Wizzrobe.
Kazuma bumps him with his elbow. “See? What did I say?” he ribs.
“How do you even stay awake that long?” Ryunosuke grumbles as he blinks back newly-formed tears. He wonders if Kazuma has to slap himself to stop from falling asleep like he has to sometimes—that maybe if he sees him starting to nod off, should he slap him awake…?
Kazuma growls: “How would you feel if I slapped you awake whenever you inevitably fall asleep at your desk”—he lifts a finger, counting each instance with another raised—“or on my leg while sitting in the gardens or—”
Ryunosuke hunches forward, teeth grit. “Haah… Sorry, it was just a joke thought…”
Kazuma huffs, jutting out his chin in indignation. “It’s something you learn to do while training at the Academy. You become responsible for the rest of your group—slip up and you all might die. When it’s pressed to the forefront of your mind like that, it’s not too difficult to stay alert.” His voice levels, gaze drifting far off out to those black fields. There’s something there in the way the moonlight and the fire frame the contours of his face that make the slope of his nose feel sharper, the line of his jaw more pronounced. Noble, almost. “To protect the people most important to you… That’s what drives you forward.”
Ryunosuke’s eyes grow wide. He can’t help but feel that swelling sense of awe every time Kazuma gets like this—something about that gallantry so inherent to his being that it feels almost effortless. And oh so hypnotic. He quickly looks away to quell the urge to stare, but fails to stifle the fond smile that forms in its wake. “Quite hero-like of you, speaking that way,” he teases, but it’s smooth around the edges, without any teeth.
“Please,” Kazuma laughs and Ryunosuke can hear the wry annoyance apparent in the word. “I’m human, just like you.”
“Yes,” Ryunosuke responds, with a light laugh of his own. “And I know your mortal weakness, of course.” His smile is wide, impish.
A frustrated sigh from Kazuma. He tilts his head to the side with a grimace. “Yes, and I’d love nothing more than for you to be the only one who knows about that particular detail, thank you very much.” He leans his weight into Ryunosuke, shoving him over.
The laugh that bursts out of Ryunosuke when he catches himself with his hand on the ground is like a water balloon hitting a pin. Kazuma continues to press against him further; it only makes him laugh harder.
“Swear it,” Kazuma says through a grin worming itself onto his face. “That you won’t go around telling people.”
“What? Are you worried you’ll be at a disadvantage if someone else realizes you’re not infallibl—Ack!” He shakes with laughter as he’s smashed towards the ground.
“Swear it!” Kazuma repeats again with a frantic giddiness.
Kazuma lying on him like this is starting to get painful. “Alright, alright, I promise!” Ryunosuke yelps before another bout of laughter escapes him. He’s almost got a faceful of grass. “It’ll be a secret between only us! I swear!”
Kazuma relents with an all too self-proud chuckle. “Good.” He sits straight, still peering down at Ryunosuke as he fumbles to push himself back up and secure the blanket around them both again. “Glad we’ve come to an agreement, then, partner.”
Ryunosuke can’t suppress the eye roll response, but he’s still smiling through it all the same. It’s quiet, then, as they watch the fire and the pitch black expanse beyond that.
“You know,” Ryunosuke says after the moments have stretched by, “I can’t help but think about one aspect of that story…” Kazuma makes a questioning noise. “About the hero’s feelings to all that happened.
“She seems fully confident that he’ll be there to wake her up, but I can’t imagine he’d share that same level of assurance. I mean, yes, he’s transported back to their present time after, so it’s not as though he has to actually wait that long, but… A lot can occur in the span of thousands of years.
“What if something bad happened during that time? Like maybe the temple collapsed or, or maybe some sick sinister spirit saw some”—Kazuma lifts an eyebrow and the Really? that’s implied by it is as loud as him speaking it—“girl trapped in a crystal and took her away to its lair. What I’m saying is: he couldn’t have known that she would be alright in just a few months. All his feelings described on that final page… I think he was grieving her as if she truly did die at that moment.”
Kazuma considers it for a moment. “The ending did feel like a much greater loss, I agree.”
Ryunosuke cranes his head backwards, examines the smattering of stars peeking out from rolling clouds. “It all felt so visceral, you know?” he says with a sheepish laugh. “As if, in the end, it was irrelevant whether or not she really died. His pain over what happened to her was real, no matter what.”
Kazuma drums a finger against his knee. “Yes, I think you make a good point,” he says. “To make matters worse, I doubt she would even be able to understand it—at least not fully, anyway. From her perspective, she went to sleep and then woke up. She’d have no recollection of that time between. It’d be like barely any time passed at all for her…” He pauses. “Though, I suppose that gets to your earlier point that being suspended in time while everyone else continues to move on would beget its own form of mourning.”
Ryunosuke releases a deep sigh and it makes him shiver. All this talk about mortality and being left behind. It’s too heavy after the earlier part of the night that preceded it.
Ryunosuke mashes his lips, blinks to clear the sleepiness beginning to encroach more and more into his consciousness. “I suppose talking about literature wasn’t a common occurrence during those nights at the Academy?” A languid chuckle. “…Conversation wouldn’t be very conducive to trying to sleep, huh?”
“No,” Kazuma responds with a snort. “Besides, if there were multiple people taking watch at once, we wouldn’t be near each other.” With a turn of his head and stare affixed to Ryunosuke: “This is much more enjoyable, though.”
After a lingering beat, Ryunosuke pulls his attention back to the fire, shifting in his seat. The temperature has dipped a bit since he’d sat down; he’s grateful yet again for how Kazuma’s warmth seeps into him when they’re this close, arms and legs pressed together—When did that happen exactly?
“Mhmm.” Another yawn surfaces out of Ryunosuke. “How about you tell me another story you’ve read?” The words come out sluggish, melding into one another as slow as the drip of maple syrup. The way the fire cascades about in waves is hypnotic.
“Let’s see…” Kazuma says after a moment. “There was one about two princesses from two incredibly different worlds, brought together after tragedy. ‘Shadow and light can’t mix,’ it had been said, but as they spent more time together, they began to realize how they act much more of a mirror to one another, always implicitly interconnected.”
Ryunosuke recognizes it immediately—it was one of his mother’s favorite stories. He’d forgotten about it entirely, but hearing Kazuma recount it floods his memories like light cutting through muted fog.
“They’re friends?” he had asked, bleary-eyed and voice sleep-stained. His mother replied in the affirmative. “Why’d she, um, have to leave then?”
His mother had paused, her lips pursed—or, at least, he thinks she did. She’s hazy, enveloped in fuzzy light. She wears white, or maybe it’s a light yellow; it seems to shift in the soft glow of candlelight.
“Sacrifices have to be made to fulfill one’s duty, my dear,” she said plainly. Her gentle hand attempted to smooth out the unruly cowlick that stuck atop his head. “They had their own kingdoms to lead, their own realms to protect. As lovely as it would be for their feelings to overcome the need for separation, this often is not the case. It was not possible for them to live together in a world where one did not truly belong in.” Her thumb stroked across his cheek. “No matter, they left an impression on each other that neither would be quick to forget. That is what is truly important.”
“I think it’s sad,” he said, though a yawn morphed the sound at the end. “Why’d you have to be unhappy to do duty?”
She had smiled, or maybe she had frowned, or maybe she cried. She laughs here, though, he thinks. He hears the soft sound.
“…It’s yet another tragedy…” Kazuma’s voice pulls in then out, ebbing and flowing like foamy waves. Ryunosuke’s eyelids feel heavy. “…to sacrifice your own wants to protect the future. But, it begs the question…”
“…The mirror.” Ryunosuke paused, brow furrowed in frustration. “Can’t they go in it again?”
He can’t see her features, how she reacted to this. But, she made a noise—some mix between thoughtful and wonderment. “That is a wonderful question.” She raised a finger to her lips, or at least where her face should be. Was her hair also black like his, or brown? He can’t remember. “Perhaps we should write the author a letter and find out, hm? I find it hard to imagine you are the only one who has come to the same conclusion, especially because I, myself, also have had the thought.” She smiled then, surely. “The Mirror of Twilight is the passageway between both realms. Ostensibly, they could secure the area and travel between the two…”
“…Then, why did she break the mirror?”
“…Then, why did she break the mirror?”
“Maybe it was still her sense of duty to uphold,” Kazuma says, “in order to prevent the tragedy that befell their individual kingdoms from ever having the chance to do so again. Or maybe it was a testament to her own autonomy to make that difficult decision, knowing it was ultimately the correct one, irrespective of her obligations to her kingdom…” He pauses. “Well, what do you thin—”
Ryunosuke’s head lies perfectly cradled in the slope of Kazuma’s shoulder, overtaken by sleep. Underpinned by soft, steady breaths, Kazuma sucks in a sharp inhale of his own, before trailing his gaze back out to that fire-lit darkness.
The warm ocean water laps at Ryunosuke’s bare shins, threatening to dampen his rolled-up pants legs. He centers the Sheikah Slate on a group of Faron Sea Lions lazing on the rocky jetty merely a stone’s throw away—unperturbed by the pair of humans splashing along nearby, or perhaps simply unbothered enough to move from their ideal sunbathing real estate. When he zooms in with the camera, he can just barely clip the sickle-shaped peninsula of Cape Cresia jutting out from beyond the nearby encircling cliffs. The angle the low tide provides is just enough.
A flock of Seagulls glide above. The Slate is able to discern them despite the blurry, disappointing photo left in their wake—he wonders if the old tales about magic pears and their ability to entice Seagulls would’ve given him a better shot of them. It’s then that he feels a bizarre sensation brush against his legs that leaves him shivering: a school of Mighty Porgy swimming by, fully fearless in their journey ahead that not even his presence could sway them from their desired pathway.
“Do you think the Slate is waterproof?” Ryunosuke asks as he watches the reds and yellows blur past him. When he looks back up again towards Kazuma, his smile is as exuberant as the sun beating down on them.
The judgy look Kazuma returns is anything but. “As much of a genius scientist Iris is,” Kazuma says, a chiding edge to the words there, “this is one experiment I doubt she’d be thrilled to hear you partake in.”
“…Erm, yes, I suppose that’s true,” Ryunosuke relents. Thankfully, in all the Slate’s neverending brilliance, it’s still able to identify the fish even below the surface of the rippling waves; the water’s pristine clarity no doubt helps, certainly. “Champion Sholmes said, when added as an ingredient in a meal, these kinds of fish have the potential to augment one’s physical ability…” He can imagine him now: flailing about trying to snatch some of them directly from the water. Kazuma laughs from behind him.
When he tilts the camera back up and zooms in, there’s a smear of light blue and white, just poking out from the cracks of a rocky outcropping nearby. A gasp, then, startling himself enough the Slate almost slips out from between his fingers. The waves resist him each step as he sloshes down the shore before clambering up on the slippery rock, Kazuma’s “Be careful!” ringing out behind him, so full of concern yet with that playful teasing all the same.
“Look, look!” Ryunosuke calls out, almost breathless, as he manages to pull himself up onto flat stone without breaking the Slate or a body part in the process. “This flower here: it’s a Silent Princess!”
“And since when did you become such a botanist?” That facetiousness once again. Kazuma follows behind him, scaling the rocks. “Last I heard, you only knew three types of flowers—and they all were fruit tree blossoms.”
Ryunosuke gives him a scathing look—but he knows he’s not entirely wrong. “It’s recently come to my attention,” Ryunosuke says with an upturned nose, pivoting away from the verbal jab thrown at him. “The Silent Princess is an extremely rare, endangered species. Despite countless efforts to cultivate them domestically, they seem to be resistant to any type of controlled environment and fail to grow… The Princess can only thrive out here, in the wild. I quite like it.”
The Slate captures and logs the flower. Its bright baby blue and white coloration is a striking sight against the dark rock it grows out of; the petals are dusted with ocean spray. It’s a peculiar sight—how it can survive here with no soil and little space, wedged between dewy rock and enveloped in salty air. Yet, it seems to show no signs of obvious struggle, flourishing with bright colors and plump, springy leaves that demonstrate its vitality.
Despite the incredible sight, Ryunosuke finds himself frowning at it. “One of the horticulturalists at the castle issued a report a while back… They desperately wanted to be able to grow these flowers in the greenhouses and then transplant them to an isolated section of the gardens where they could be undisturbed from any outside influence. There, under their careful watch, they would be safe and grow into the perfect garden arrangement… Or, so they hoped, anyway.”
Kazuma settles to sit beside him. “And it didn’t work?”
Ryunosuke shakes his head. “No, every single one withered and died.” He drags the backside of a finger lightly across its petal. It’s soft, but bouncy and supple in a surprising display of hardiness. “They adjusted soil pH, water amounts—everything they thought the flowers could possibly require to thrive, desperately thrown at them. They were given hours upon hours of scrutinizing attention, and yet…” His hand pulls back, grips the handle of the Sheikah Slate. “They seem to only survive when given the utmost freedom, even in suboptimal conditions such as these. All that we can hope is that the species will be strong enough to prosper…on its own.”
He watches as a sea-salt-loaded breeze ruffles its petals and leaves. It truly is beautiful up close—maybe if all flowers were as magnificent, he would pay more attention to them and their names. Staring at it poking through that rocky crag, solitary yet with an inspiring adamance, he feels both a profound sadness and a sense of hope, like a hollowed out bread bowl then filled with the most comforting of hearty soups. He says a quick prayer—not to Hylia, but towards the flower itself: stay safe and prosper.
His eyes sweep along the opposite side of the rock formation and when he sees the contents of the small tide pool, he gasps in amazement for the second time today. He’s just as reckless scrambling his way down the rocks as he was getting up them. Kazuma’s urges for prudence are like a repeating echo in his ears.
No longer swaying, the exposed, bright green Faron Sea Anemones have folded in on themselves to retain moisture under the low tide. Ryunosuke can see the small tentacles wiggle about as he snaps another picture. There’s a colorful array of Hearty Blueshell Snails drawn back into their shells, sun glistening off their teal exoskeletons in a pearlescent pattern.
“We need to bring some of these back to the castle,” Ryunosuke says and his pitch spikes. His eyes are blown wide, intently tracking the sea life. A tiny Ironshell Crab—a juvenile, it seems, from its size and almost translucent coloration—scurries into a crevice in the rock, out of view.
“Bring what back, exactly?” Kazuma drawls. Ryunosuke hears his boots squish and splash as he draws closer.
“The anemones!” Ryunosuke can feel himself almost vibrating. “You see, we can bring in one of those old glass aquariums that are sitting in storage into my chambers and then…”
Kazuma clicks his tongue. “Absolutely not.” He jabs a finger at Ryunosuke. “After all that talk about how that flower can only survive in the wild, now you wish to remove this poor creature from its natural habitat? You’ve already purchased too much bric-a-brac from traveling vendors on this trip alone!” He pinches the pointed tip of Ryunosuke’s ear and tugs.
“Ow!” Ryunosuke hisses, shoving Kazuma’s hand away. “This is different! They’re hardy and can be perfectly fine even shriveled up out of the water! See?” He pushes the Sheikah Slate up towards Kazuma’s face. He taps the screen with a “It says so right here!” Kazuma gives him that patented look of his, thoroughly unpleased. “We’ve already established that—whatever it is it does inside it—the Slate perfectly incubates live creatures and they’re unharmed no matter how long they’re stored for.” He flicks a wrist blithely in the air. “If fish can be stored safely, it’ll be fine until we get back!”
With two fingers up to his temple, Kazuma launches into what’s no doubt an impassioned rant, but his voice is swallowed up into the background roar of the ocean when Ryunosuke sees the creature floating in the tide pool. It’s long; it’s antennaed; it’s an iridescent, cerulean thing of beauty. Ryunosuke hurriedly clips the Slate back onto his belt and kneels down before it, cupping his hands into the cool water and retrieving his target.
“Take a look at this!” Ryunosuke exclaims, the words spilling out at a fervid pitch. “I can’t believe there happened to be one just swimming around out here! They’re not only delicious, but they’re known to have very, very potent effects when ingested! Yes!” He lifts his cupped hands up towards Kazuma’s confused face.
He announces the majestic Pertinacious Prawn—“That’s what it’s called?” Kazuma interrupts him, brows knitted incredulously—in all its shimmering beauty. The thing can’t be larger than two inches long and it squirms in the hammock of water between Ryunosuke’s palms.
Ryunosuke’s grin aches his cheeks. “Research from the castle shows ingesting one of these can instantly augment one’s endurance! It even releases a stamina-boosting secretion so, in theory, just licking one should have a diluted effect!”
It wouldn’t be a controlled environment to truly test the hypothesis, he thinks, but with Kazuma’s level of physical fitness, he’d be perfect to test out the effects of it.
“Wh-What.” Kazuma says flatly, cheeks taking on a rosy sheen. His wide eyes dart between the crustacean and Ryunosuke’s pleading face. “You’re not seriously suggesting that I…?” Ryunosuke still marvels at how he’s able to read his mind; if it’s a consequence of their shared Triforce connection, he can’t seem to tap into it the way Kazuma has, at any rate.
“Erm, well… Yes!” Ryunosuke beams. “Go on…” He pushes his hands out to Kazuma’s face and Kazuma rears back with a wince. The prawn’s large, beady eyes stare holes into Kazuma’s soul; it could surely show him the true answer to the universe, if only he would let it. Ryunosuke insists again, the prawn bobbing in his hold, “Taste it!”