Chapter Text
Ryunosuke’s Journal
The oddest thing happened today. Kazuma and I had taken a break at an unassuming part of Rabia Plain—not a single other person in sight for what must’ve been hours in our journey. Then, almost out of nowhere, a man came bounding along, hopping like a rabbit and doing some peculiar dance. He was wearing a skin-tight purple outfit except for some puffed-out shorts that, in my opinion, resembled underdrawers quite a bit, adorned with a large clock slung around his neck and various gaudy jewels (that I could tell, even without closer inspection, seemed to be of dubious authenticity) attached to his bodysuit. Tucked under a purple, pointy hood was golden hair, curled into tight ringlets.
Even more bizarre was his manner of speech: it was as if something right out of the olden tomes Elder Impa would make me attempt to read when I was younger. It was difficult to understand most of the time, but he spoke of fairies and some hidden treasure he said he was “entitled to” and got quite belligerent at any further questions. (Not that I was truly that interested, mind, but just trying to make polite conversation out in the middle of nowhere…) After he recited some inane lines that must be from some ancient play or something, he seemed to have had enough of our company and jingled away, back towards the path to Lanaryu’s West Gate—not to the Lanayru Promenade, I’d hope…
The world is sure full of oddities.
Ryunosuke wakes to the fleeting scent of cassis and lavender as feathery hair grazes across his forehead. He’s more lucid this time—just barely, anyway. It’s enough that when the body in his arms (it’s a surprise to him, even in his half-groggy state—perhaps his sleep-self is more bold than he’d ever give himself credit for) shifts to sit up ever so gently to avoid disturbance, Ryunosuke encircles his arms tight around Kazuma’s waist, presses his face to the warmth of his hip.
“Don’t go…” Ryunosuke mumbles into the curve exposed from Kazuma’s shirt hiking up. “Stay here.” It comes out as much more of a command than he meant it to be. He amends: “Please…” He clings tighter, squeezes his hold. It’s early, of course—early enough that the summer heat hasn’t yet been given the opportunity to overpower the dawn’s lingering chill. Early enough that soaking up the warmth Kazuma radiates is still a comfort instead of a nuisance.
He expects the same song and dance he’s become accustomed to: the exasperated amusement as Kazuma scolds him and perhaps, if he’s lucky, a gentle touch much more sought after—something he cherishes when it happens, but always wishes he was more awake for to fully appreciate. Either way, the distance always wins out in the end.
“…Alright,” is what Kazuma whispers after a long pause, instead—the very last thing he’d ever expect to hear. Kazuma’s voice trails low: “How could I refuse when my prince gives me such a direct order?” And Ryunosuke wants to scoff at the ridiculousness—does, just a little bit: an exasperated, fond exhale to stifle the objection hiding beneath his tongue—but Kazuma says it so softly it smooths out the sharp, teasing edges of the quip, leaving only a sweet sense of sincerity.
It’s unprecedented territory; Kazuma’s never delayed his morning training willingly like this. Perhaps Ryunosuke is still actually asleep, perhaps the world is actually ending without Calamity Stronghart anywhere in sight, perhaps—
The evidence of its veracity leaves no room for doubt: Kazuma sinks back into the mattress, wraps his arm around Ryunosuke’s shoulders, draws him near. A soft sigh escapes Ryunosuke, placated for now, as he settles into the warmth of Kazuma’s chest. Curled up against him, his cheek presses against Kazuma’s collarbone. He feels Kazuma’s face nuzzle into the crown of his head.
It’s a simple bliss, how something as small as sleeping in can feel so much more monumental, so much more significant than it is. Every tension point in Ryunosuke’s body oozes away, fully relaxed in the embrace. Ryunosuke sinks into Kazuma like water settling into the spaces between riverbed rocks. Effortless.
“Your heart’s racing,” Ryunosuke murmurs after a few long moments. Like horse hooves pounding against dirt.
Kazuma laughs something sweet and deep and melodic into Ryunosuke’s ear. “Can you blame me?” The walls are thick around this room and sequestered away from the normal foot traffic of the castle, yet they both speak no louder than a mere whisper—a private secret kept between the two of them. “It’s the only thing that makes sense when you consider the position I’m in, really.”
Ryunosuke breathes out a wisp of a laugh. “It’s just me.”
Just how many times now have they shared this easy proximity? How many times has Kazuma curled up next to Ryunosuke’s side like a lazing cat, resting his head into the crook where Ryunosuke’s neck and shoulder connect as if that space was specially made for him? How many times has Ryunosuke haphazardly sprawled across Kazuma’s legs, head cradled in his lap, as he launches off into a meandering monologue about the Slate and its capabilities, all in the private safety of the hidden corner of the Gardens, tucked behind the overgrown wisteria tree? How is this any different?
Resolute: “That’s precisely why.” It brushes warm against the tip of Ryunosuke’s ear.
It’s this that makes the air catch in Ryunosuke’s throat, brows drawn together in confusion. He’s fully awake now, no doubt about it, as that giddy delirium scrambles whatever ties to normalcy that kept him anchored down previously. He lifts his head, angling his neck back to look at Kazuma’s face. He needs to know what expression he’s wearing—he needs a clue to what he’s thinking right now.
Kazuma’s gaze is as intense as it is gentle. His eyes are dark, flecked with syrupy, honeyed browns against the morning light filtering in. And at this angle, Ryunosuke can see so clearly the long-drawn brush of his eyelashes—a deep veil engulfing that careful scrutiny. Appearances never interested Ryunosuke much, but he’s reminded once again just how frustrating it is how someone can be so objectively beautiful. He watches how Kazuma’s unrelenting stare falters just a moment, dips down lower—lingering there.
“O-Oh,” is the only sound that skitters out of Ryunosuke’s lips, his heart following suit with the jolt of electricity the look sends coursing through him.
It’s fast—so barely perceptible, Ryunosuke almost thinks he imagined it—but Kazuma sucks in a sharp inhale; the stutter of his breathing under Ryunosuke’s fingertips is physical evidence enough. So is the way a subtle rosiness blooms on his cheeks.
And maybe it’s different in the way that a caterpillar metamorphosing into a butterfly is different: a natural progression. Familiar yet foreign. But after all the times Ryunosuke’s blindly stepped into the unknown with Kazuma this past year, he knows there isn’t a single other person he’d rather have by his side. Especially through something like this.
Warmth lapping at the sides of his face, Ryunosuke ducks his head back down with wide eyes, smothers the side of his cheek flush against Kazuma’s chest. He can’t quite tell whose heart is the source of the pounding in his ears.
“I welcome you to Zora’s Domain, Prince Ryunosuke.”
The Zora princess, Princess Rutipha, is striking, in more ways than one: the way she dominates the room with her dignified posture and poise; the scintillating pink coloration of her scales, dotted with little specks like human freckles, that give a contrasting pop against the relaxing blues of the Zora architecture. Not to mention the way she towers over Ryunosuke even while seated on her throne—tall and lithe, commanding attention and respect. Yet, her sharp eyes betray the kindness held within them, soft like the smile she greets him with.
“We are beyond honored to host you for your stay. Please do not hesitate to make yourself at home here.” Her accent is strong, refined. Each word comes out precise and enunciated—as sharp as the very teeth they pass through. She tips her head slightly, the jewelry adorned to her headdress clinking like windchimes.
The paragon of royal grace.
“Thank you for your hospitality, Princess Rutipha,” Ryunosuke replies, bowing his head in mirror. “The domain looks as beautiful as ever.”
Rutipha nods, then inclines her head towards the curved awnings of aquamarine stone and steel, exposing the brilliant waters below. Every inch of the domain sparkles and glows. “Indeed. Our land has been thriving lately. We owe our thanks to the Goddess Hylia for the blessings.” There’s a knowing awareness in the look she gives him: it’s a comment directed towards him as well, though he knows well that he’s not responsible for any windfalls they have encountered.
Something needles in Ryunosuke’s stomach. He pushes it down. “Y-Yes, I’ve heard talks about how the bountiful fishing year so far has paid off quite handsomely”—Rutipha’s eyes flicker down, then quickly back to Ryunosuke, before settling at a point above his head—“is that correct?” He’s heard—from Kazuma, who brought it up after reading a newspaper article about it before they departed. It seemed dull at the time, but he regrets not paying better attention. Polite small talk is always awkward, but with another royal, it’s insufferable.
“Yes. It is…” She falters, distracted. Her eyes are drawn again to Ryunosuke before bouncing back down and above again. Then, she holds up a hand to her mouth. High on her cheeks, there is a shimmering ruby color peeking out from behind her ringed fingers—a trick of the light against her scales, perhaps. She clears her throat and reclaims the slightest centimeter lost of her pristine posture. “Pardon me. Yes, we have been quite lucky, indeed, to have an abundance of sustenance lately. You and the Champion must try the delicacies of our kingdom. It is a mighty shame that Hyrule Castle is landlocked so.” Her eyes never fully maintain contact.
The pit in Ryunosuke’s stomach calcifies and it drops. It’s ridiculous—he knows it—to even think she’d be acting shy around him. Even more so that it’d somehow be in some infatuated way. After all, they barely knew each other, only ever speaking in these limited, stilted meetings in a show of royal discomfiture. Yet, the blush on her cheeks can no longer be rationalized away as anything other than such, as it persists even as she moves her head. The news of her prospective betrothal hangs over him.
Ryunosuke stiffens, snaking a hand against the back of his neck. “Thank you for the suggestion. We’ll be sure to do that. Well…” He bows his head. “My meeting with Champion Wilson draws soon, so I must get going… Thank you again for your hospitality.” In the corner of his eye, he sees Kazuma lower his head even further, despite his already kneeling position.
“Wait!” Rutipha raises a hand. Ryunosuke swallows. “I must apologize for delaying you further, but, please, I must inquire before you go. Your knight…may he please present himself?”
“Oh, um…” Confusion sparks in Ryunosuke’s chest. They’d both been introduced when they entered the room. “Yes, of course.” He steps sideways, sweeping out a hand.
Kazuma rises, exchanging a brief look that’s just as unsure as Ryunosuke imagines himself wearing. It’s replaced instantly as he pulls a hand over his chest and bows. “Your Highness,” Kazuma says, subdued and gallant. Then, he straightens to his full height, folding his arms behind him.
Rutipha must find amusement in this somehow, because she laughs something light and breezy. “Please, call me Princess Rutipha.” Kazuma nods, stiff. “…And does the Hylian Champion have a name of his own…?”
“Kazuma Asogi, Your—Princess Rutipha.”
She fiddles with her long, hair-like frills, twirling the end around her finger absentmindedly. “Champion Kazuma…” she repeats, slow, the sounds crisp. “And that is it then, hanging on your hip? The legendary sword?”
“It is.”
She makes a thoughtful noise, tilting her head appreciatively. “But a blade is only as mighty as the one who wields it, is it not? Truth be told, I have heard a great deal about your successes in battle… ‘The Hylian Champion who single-handedly defeated a Lynel’…” she muses. The warmth settled on her cheeks endures.
“I mean no disrespect by the correction, princess, but it wasn’t just me alone,” Kazuma says. “Prince Ryunosuke provided invaluable assistance in defeating it.”
Ryunosuke turns to Kazuma, surprised, only to find Kazuma looking back at him, a proud grin on his lips—the only one he’s worn since they entered the Domain. Ryunosuke can’t suppress the bashful smile of his own that worms its way out; he dips his head and focuses on the scintillant blues of the stone floor.
“Is that so?” Rutipha asks. “Either way, it takes extraordinary skill to slay a Lynel with merely two people, much less with a close-range weapon like a sword. There are entire Zora platoons specialized to neutralize the errant Lynel that sometimes take residence in the Ploymus Mountainside… You must be an adroit swordsman, indeed.”
Kazuma simply closes his eyes as he tips his head. His no-nonsense expression has returned. “Thank you, Princess Rutipha.”
She laughs behind her hand. “Well, thank you for indulging my curiosity. I do not wish to take up any more of your time meant for our own esteemed Champion. However, I have a final suggestion—no, more of a request I suppose, before we depart: I do sincerely hope you both will attend the opera at The Zora Hall tonight.”
With that, Ryunosuke and Kazuma bow a final time as they say their farewells, and they’re led out of the throne room.
That pit never fully leaves Ryunosuke, settling deep in his belly. He can’t even find the words to voice it. It’s odd—all of it is very odd.
The medical research laboratory building that houses Champion John H. Wilson’s office is lavish and pristine, set apart from the world-renowned hospital facilities in location—to Ryunosuke’s relief—yet ever loyal in its clinical, aseptic aesthetic. In Ryunosuke’s eyes, it’s better than having to visit inside the hospital itself, but only just barely so—its overly sterile white stone walls and floors give him a chill, as do the extensive displays of historic medical equipment that fill the lobby area. If it was possible, he would scrub the memory of that one syringe with a needle almost as long as his hand, the original use of which he has no interest in theorizing about nor researching further.
It’s the combination of this and the giant flight of stairs he has to climb that contributes to his distracted state. So it’s no wonder when he rounds the corner too tight, he ends up bumping into someone coming the opposite way.
“Excuse me!” rings in his ear as Kazuma helps steady him, having grabbed his shoulders to stop his fall. The words are apologetic; the tone is more combative. Even more so are the way the girl’s arms shoot up in front of her as if ready to strike, the way her face twists into feisty intensity.
Ryunosuke rubs at his jaw, eyes screwed shut. “S-Sorry, I didn’t—”
“Wha?!” the girl exclaims with an exaggerated vivacity. She flails back, arms wild in the air, before hunching over in a jitter with both hands in front of a flabbergasted face. “Is, is that…? What what what what?” The words rush by so fast and frenzied, Ryunosuke feels the whirlwind left in their wake—and he recognizes it immediately. “Is that truly you, Prince Ryunosuke?! Champion Kazuma?!”
“It is,” Kazuma says with an amused huff of a laugh as he pulls Ryunosuke to his feet.
“Oh no no… Oh Goddess, I’m so very sorry!”
“It’s, ah, good to see you again, Lady Rei,” Ryunosuke manages out. “I apologize for not paying better attention to where I was going, though. I’m sorry. I hope you’re unharmed?”
She throws her head down into a deep bow. “I am, but—that’s of no concern! Running into someone anywhere in the lab is unacceptable—running into the prince is even worse! Please, hit me—”
“Huh?!”
“—I deserve it! No! Send a Guardian out to get me! No, that’s still not enough! Throw me off the cliff of the Veiled Falls!”
“Wait, wait, wait!” Ryunosuke holds up both his hands in protest. “That, that’s not at all necessary! It was a simple accident, after all, and partially my fault too, so…”
Rei gasps, lifts a hand to her mouth. “Oh! Um…”
“You’ve been keeping busy, I see,” Kazuma says, gesturing at the messenger bag bulging at the seam at her hip.
She ducks her head at this, gripping at the bag’s strap. With an embarrassed laugh, she says, “Yes… I can’t talk about it too much since it’s a confidential project, but if we can figure out how to reliably synthesize what we’ve been researching, it could be a huge step in advancing toxicology! Our team’s been working closely with Dr. Sithe’s team, so there’s quite a lot of paperwork and samples to be transported at any moment. Champion Wilson has been pretty preoccupied through this whole process, as you can probably imagine.”
Ryunosuke nods. “Speaking of, we were just on our way to meet with him.”
Rei smiles. “It’s amazing, truly, how he can keep up with all his work here and still allow time for training with Vah Ruta. I do wish for his health that he’d take a vacation more often… Can you believe that he’s only been to a show at The Zora Hall once?!” She pumps both her fists down. “Ever since I’ve moved here, I can’t get enough! There’s such a variety of acts performing there; if I had my way, I would go every night!”
“As I’m sure you’ve regaled Royal Advisor Susato about in your letters many times…” Kazuma muses, a teasing lilt to his tone. “I figured there had to be a reason why she would bring up the topic so often lately.”
“Ah, yes, that’s right, isn’t it?” Ryunosuke asks. “She expressed the same desire to visit to me as well.”
This causes Rei to jolt up and turn away, covering her mouth with her sleeve. “O-Oh, she has, has she…?” A flush creeps onto her cheeks.
Ryunosuke taps his finger to his jaw, furrows his brow in thought. “We’ve just come back from meeting with Princess Rutipha. She also recommended the opera that’s playing tonight. Have you attended it?”
Her eyes light up. Whatever bashfulness that befell her mere seconds ago is replaced in an instant: hands clasped in front of her, mouth hanging open in a dreamlike bliss. “Oh, you must go see it! It is truly the most romantic story ever told—it brought me to tears the first time I watched! Yes, the both of you must go, especially since it’s said to be the perfect spot for a da—” Wide-eyed, she slaps a hand over her mouth. Her face grows almost as red as the princess’s scales.
“…Sorry?” Ryunosuke asks.
She viscously shakes her head, hand still a clamp over her mouth. A panicked muffle: “N-Nothing, I’m so—”
“Back already, Lady Rei?” A dulcet voice asks, saccharinely sweet—the way that begets a toothache. The orange Zora swans in, still wearing the bird-shaped hat she donned in their first meeting together. “Truly impressive time to make it all the way to Dr. Sithe’s lab and back when I asked you to transport the documents mere moments ago… Perhaps it’s that wily Sheikah blood in you aiding your agility, hm?” Jezaille’s painted smile is sharp under the shadow of her hat.
Rei’s mouth twists. “O-Oh! I’m sorry, Lady Jezaille!” she flusters. “I’m right on my way to deliver them!” She bows quickly, silver hair spilling over her shoulders.
“Um, I should be the one to apologize,” Ryunosuke says. “Please don’t reprimand her; I was the one to distract her in the first place.”
Jezaille turns her face to him. He can’t tell what she’s looking at exactly—the way she’s looking—under the thick shadow of her hat, but she seems to regard him for a moment so agonizing that it makes him sweat. Even without seeing the evidence of her gaze, he feels self-consciousness like taking a cannonball point-blank to the chest; in that absence, he fears that she can see something he doesn’t realize, like she’ll point out his fly is down or something equally as embarrassing.
“Hmph,” she finally breaks the silence. “Very well, then. Come along.” She makes an abrupt heel turn that causes her feathers on her outfit to flit about as though they might just take off in flight as well. Ryunosuke still can’t imagine how she moves—much less does any research—in a dress so ornate as hers, lined with ruffles and feathers and flowers. It seems constricting, not to mention unnecessary.
“Please give my warmest regards to Susato when you return, won’t you?” Rei asks, words fast.
“Yes, of course,” Ryunosuke says with a smile.
Rei returns it, before saying her rushed goodbyes and hurrying off down the stairs. Then, Ryunosuke and Kazuma follow Jezaille to Wilson’s office.
And it’s a split second before they pass through the doors when Ryunosuke sees someone turn the corner and make direct eye contact with him behind the sheen of circular glasses. Salt and pepper hair tucked under a surgeon’s cap, medical scrubs over a tall body—utterly conspicuous, considering the building is not part of the hospital proper. The man flashes him a smile. Ryunosuke finds he can’t help but gape as he’s ushered into Wilson’s office.
“Please make yourself comfortable while you wait,” Jezaille says sweetly—demeanor completely shifted—as she places a stack of documents on the large, ornate, wooden desk that sits near-center of the room. “The Champion is quite busy today, as he is every day, and your patience is requested until he has a moment to meet with you.”
Ryunosuke feels his mouth twitch into a grimace. Typical doctors, he thinks, when they’re not poking and prodding you, they’re making you wait well past your appointment time to anticipate the pleasure. Kazuma elbows him in the side.
Jezaille leaves them sitting in the giant office, only the sounds of the babbling water pathways that feed throughout every building of the Domain filling the silence. Kazuma sits patiently, posture as straight as ever; Ryunosuke can’t seem to stop fidgeting against the uncomfortable wooden chairs with scant padding. It becomes too much to bear after a few minutes, and he’s up exploring the office—Jezaille did say to make himself comfortable, after all.
While still maintaining the clinical whites and sharp lines of the medical facility at large, Wilson’s office folds in a mixture of the traditional Zora architecture: deep blues, ornate carvings into Luminous Stones (to Ryunosuke’s envy—he wishes Castle Town still contained natural deposits of the stuff, but the chunk that Kazuma had gifted him will have to suffice), an artistry for form and shape that the Zora are known for. There’s a ceiling-to-floor length window stationed behind Wilson’s desk. Peering out of it, Ryunosuke can see a breathtaking view of the entire Domain—only rivaled by the Throne Room itself, he can only imagine. He traces the grand, spiral staircases, the streams of water cutting through structures before spilling off in waterfalls, the soft lights that glow even during midday.
Ryunosuke wanders further, still, meandering along the large bookshelves stuffed with medical books and tables filled with folders and papers. The knowledge in this room could jockey with Sholmes’s lab for the most information contained per square foot, but, in a competition of organization, Wilson’s office has him beat handedly.
One bookshelf is dedicated to various awards and prestigious certificates. He murmurs, “…Conferred for excellency in forensic medicine…” The accolades stretch quite literally from floor to ceiling. “Hey, Kazuma, what prize do you give someone who’s been bedridden for a long time?”
Kazuma looks at him like he’s stupid. “…Be careful with your words, now. Remember that we’re in a medical facility and there is a thing called being in poor taste.”
And maybe he is. Ryunosuke slumps down. “A-trophy…” he mutters, but the words peter out like a candle being snuffed.
Despite himself, Kazuma laughs anyway. He attempts to disguise it under a loud groan, but he can’t seem to school his smile away. “Will you cease pacing about?” Kazuma asks after he’s able to wrestle most of his composure back. “I can hear your incessant muttering all the way over here. It’s rude to be sticking your nose into other people’s stuff, you know.”
Ryunosuke considers this for a moment with a hand tucked under his chin. “Hmm… Yes, perhaps so, but it’s also awfully rude to leave your guests waiting too long, isn’t it?” He flashes him a playful grin. “Champion Wilson should hurry up if he doesn't want me to be interested in this riveting room and all its contents.”
Kazuma sighs flippantly. “Even if he were here in this very room, I’ve no doubt that you’d still make judgemental comments about his effects. Isn’t that about right?” He cracks a smile.
Ryunosuke grins back. “Perhaps so. You know me too well.”
Ryunosuke hovers over another smaller desk placed up against the wall. On it: a book, page open to an encyclopedia article of sorts about some poison called curare. He only skims the words “immediate paralysis” before flipping the pages, trying to stuff down the sickness he feels in his stomach. It’s not helped any when he lands on the entry about arsenic, instead, and—
The book is slammed shut right in front of him. Jezaille regards him with such a scowl to her mouth, he doesn’t have a single question now about any derision held in her eyes. He gulps. He didn’t even hear her come into the room.
“Please excuse me,” she snarls, snatching the book away. “I wasn’t aware that the Prince of Hyrule had a proclivity towards unsolicited investigation into others’ personal spaces. Perhaps if I had known this was customary behavior, I would have taken greater care in ensuring there was someone here to assist you while you waited.”
“Ah! Um, t-terribly sorry…” He shuffles away with a hand scratching at the back of his head and takes a seat.
Kazuma doesn’t have to say anything; the impatient, “told-you-so” look on his face is enough to convey everything. Ryunosuke feels like a child next to a disappointed parent.
“Thank you for meeting with me, Your Highness. Vah Ruta is functioning well,” says Wilson then as he briskly enters the room with no preamble, plopping down a massive stack of papers onto his desk. The cream-colored Zora with the mustache-like barbels slides into his seat. “Controls are as smooth as wielding a scalpel at this point.”
Ryunosuke shudders. For all he’s heard of Wilson’s supposed amiable and gregarious personality, he’s never found him to be anything but brusque when he’s met him. He’ll take the more affable curtness he’s receiving here than being persecuted for not getting the Divine Beasts in operational order fast enough like in past encounters, however. “You’ve taken well to the training, then?” he asks.
Wilson nods. “Yes, but I will readily admit that it didn’t come easy at first. Controlling the mechanics of the technology is a great deal different than drawing forth magic or wielding a trident, of course.” He groans, stretching back into his seat. “But, as is true with anything, the skill can be learned. Ruta’s combat capacity has been coming along quite swimmingly, I’d say. Indeed, just recently, I have discovered that it can shoot a blast of ice out from its tusks—”
Something catches in Wilson’s throat, sending him into a fit of raucous coughs. Jezaille moves swiftly, well-practiced by now surely, and coaxes tea out of the pot and into a cup with a mere flick of the wrist; water manipulation magic has its hidden perks, Ryunosuke supposes. She stirs a generous amount of something—some mixture of medicinal therapeutics that’ve been specifically curated, Ryunosuke can only surmise, and it makes his chest feel tight—into the steaming liquid.
“I…don’t wish to pry,” Ryunosuke asks, carefully, “but has your affliction seen any progress…?”
Wilson sets down the tea after taking a long sip. “…I am afraid not. Somewhat worse, I fear.” It’s when he looks down like this, that the shadows pool within the hollows of his eyes. “I’ve run plenty of diagnostics, yet I still cannot find a suitable cause. Tea like this has become a loyal companion for my persistent sore throat and to help settle my stomach… It’s a rarity to get Castle Town-processed tea blends around here, but I have to say they are some of my favorites. Thank you for the kind gift.”
Ryunosuke’s brow furrows. “I neither doubt your judgment nor your skill,” he says, “but I have to ask if you’ve considered finding a replacement for your role as Champion…? I simply fear that your health may suffer if—”
“Absolutely not.” Wilson’s face hardens. “Your Highness, may I remind you which one of us is the qualified doctor here between us? I’ve already examined the strain exerted while piloting Vah Ruta and come to the conclusion that I am well enough to perform my duty.” Wilson clears his throat. “I may not be the best warrior of the Zoras, nor of the other Champions, but it is an honor I take with great pride. I won’t have anyone attempt to take it from me.”
Ryunosuke draws upon all of his self restraint to not slump forward. Urk, doctors and their stubborn arrogance… Kazuma covertly elbows him in the ribs yet again. “No one’s trying to remove you from the position, I assure you,” Ryunosuke grits out, trying to silence the pang in his side. “If you feel confident you won’t overextend yourself by continuing to pilot, then I’m relieved to hear it.”
It’s true—Wilson is one of the sharpest minds within all of Zora’s Domain. He was selected for a reason and, with his extensive prior experience as a field medic, his battle-strategy acumen is an advantage any army would want on their side. However, as much as Ryunosuke does worry about the endangerment to his health for Wilson’s own sake, Ryunosuke can’t shake the more selfish reason: the risk of someone with a fragile constitution having an emergency at a critical moment in the event of an attack is one much too great. If there’s a doubt about his fitness, it puts them all in danger.
Ultimately, the doctor is right: he has the medical knowledge to make the informed decision. If he believes his affliction won’t interfere with him piloting Ruta, Ryunosuke has no expertise to argue against it. Ryunosuke can only follow that and trust him.
“Right,” Ryunosuke says, rising to his feet, “can you give us a demonstration with Vah Ruta, then?”
The mechanical elephant is as much a marvel as Vah Naboris was. It’s slower in mobility, creating large, rippling waves with each step as its trunk sprays a not-so-light shower of water over the East Reservoir Lake. The cold shock is refreshing—the summers in Zora’s Domain bring a humidity not nearly as suffocating as the Faron Woods, but it imparts its own unique challenge of discomfort.
Wilson exhibits a showcase of attacks the Divine Beast can do with a controlled mastery. Icicle blasts, a laser of frost, a blast of high-pressured water—the machine is formidable in combat. As expected, Vah Ruta also bears a powerful laser much like the one found in Vah Naboris, yet evidence of its might is left to trust; Wilson explains he had to steer Ruta out to the Lanayru Sea in order to practice with it due to the lake’s proximity to not only the much-important Rutala Dam, but the Domain proper. He assures it’s just as devastating as any of the other Beasts’.
Hope rears its intoxicating head again, jubilant and sanguine. It floods Ryunosuke’s chest with a giddy optimism, fast like a rushing river—progress, progress, progress. It’s something Ryunosuke can get used to feeling for once.
The massive fish-shaped throne room, the crashing Veiled Falls, the iridescent cliff faces, the weapon-like sharpness of the lampposts and decorative columns that line the Domain, the open clam shell architecture that forms the venue of the Zora Hall—Ryunosuke captures photos of them all on his Slate. For Lady Susato, Ryunosuke mentally takes note. It’ll never compare to seeing the real thing in person, but he hopes it’ll make a passable replacement for the meantime.
A flash of blue flutters into a tree, chittering a high-pitched, solo symphony in the branches. Ryunosuke circles the pine, attempting to find an opening to capture, yet all the shots he can get from this angle are of a blue tail obscured by thick, green needles.
“It’s no use,” Ryunosuke says with a sigh, lowering the Slate. He takes a moment to examine the tree again: higher, there’s an aperture in the branches. It’s a risk of scaring off the bird, but he’ll take it; he jumps, holding the Slate high above his head, muttering, “If I can just…!” All he gets for his efforts is a blurry smear of color on the screen and a dejected sigh out of his lips. At least the bird pays him no mind.
Kazuma hums in thought beside him. “If I lift you, you could reach it easily.”
Ryunosuke lifts his fallen head with a languid effort. “What?”
“Sit on my shoulders and I’ll lift you up. You’ll be able to take a photograph that way.”
Ryunosuke stares up at him incredulously, trying to ascertain if he’s joking. Kazuma’s too straight-faced for far too long—it draws a cautious “Haah…” from Ryunosuke. “…You won’t drop me?”
Kazuma bristles at this, crossing his arms in front of him. “Are you doubting my strength, Ryunosuke? I’m confident I could lift you with one arm if I had to.”
Ryunosuke doesn’t know if he should be insulted with that comment or not. His face screws into a grimace. “How could you possibly even do that? …Would you lift me by the belt, or one arm wrapped around my stomach or something?” Either way, it sounds uncomfortable.
Kazuma lifts a hand to his chin. “I suppose both would work. I was imagining a situation where the weight would be more equally distributed… If you were folded inside a suitcase or something similar—”
“Why would I be in a suitcase?!”
“It’s merely a hypothetical,” Kazuma huffs.
Ryunosuke curls his lip. “Well, I’d prefer for it to stay that way, if you’d please.”
Trepidation aside, Ryunosuke climbs on top of Kazuma’s shoulders. Or tries to, anyway—it’s an uncoordinated, clumsy few attempts for him to scramble up correctly. Somehow, Kazuma doesn’t fall over in the process, though Ryunosuke doesn’t make it easy for him.
Kazuma was right: at this height, he can get a clear shot of the Blue Sparrow. But, the angle isn’t conducive to giving the cleanest picture. He stretches his arms out just a bit more, just a bit—
Kazuma’s hands bear down tighter against Ryunosuke’s thighs. “Quit squirming,” he grouses and he totters a step over.
“Wait, I’m almost…” Ryunosuke tilts just a smidge. “Almost…” The sparrow turns its face, looks directly at the person with the weird device spying on it. Ryunosuke presses the button.
It’s clear—a perfect shot of the blue bird nestled up in the pine branches. He lowers the Slate, resting his forearms on Kazuma’s head, eliciting a surprised huff from the man at the unexpected weight. Ryunosuke’s review of the photo is interrupted when he notices the reddened tips of Kazuma’s ears.
It’s a stray thought, errant and fleeting: are Kazuma’s ears just as sensitive to the touch as his are? It was something about Hylians he had heard before, that in addition to their length as a conduit for hearing messages from the goddess, it also made them highly reactive—
“Did you get it?” Kazuma asks, impatient.
Ryunosuke blinks, tears his eyes away from staring. “Oh, um, yes! I just—”
It all happens in a sequence so fast, it almost seems simultaneous: a sharp, pinching pain at the top of Ryunosuke’s hip; a yelp from Ryunosuke as his body violently flinches in response; Kazuma yelling out as he loses his balance; the blur of the world as they both fall. Ryunosuke lands hard on his back, knocking the air out of his lungs for a good moment, and he watches with a dazed repose as the Blue Sparrow flies further and further away into the distance.
That same pinch comes again not too long after. He fishes blindly into the pouch tied to his waist and pulls out the little felt mouse doll. He still doesn’t understand how the thing works.
“Hello?” Ryunosuke answers.
“Oh, Prince Runo, you’re there! It’s me, Iris!” Her voice crackles through the receiver. “I sure hope I’m not calling at a bad time!”
Ryunosuke tips his head back, looks at Kazuma upside down. He watches Kazuma slowly rise to his knees and spit out a mouthful of dirt. “Um, yes, you’re perfectly fine, Iris.”
He can practically hear her smile through the audio. “I wasn’t sure that you’d be able to have a signal in Zora’s Domain,” she says. “Something about the way the cliffs around there surround the city tended to interfere with it before, but it seems the new tower Hurley installed in the Lanayru Heights did the trick! Well, that’s all I wanted to see. Thank you for talking to me! Tell Kazzy I said hello!”
“Yes, Iris, it was nice to hear from you.” When the audio line cuts off, he lets his arm fall heavy to the ground. A sigh, more of a groan.
Kazuma peers down at him, grime still smeared against his cheek. He holds the Slate in his hand.
Ryunosuke gives a sheepish grin. “I got the photo…”
Kazuma only quirks an eyebrow and deepens his frown. He outstretches his hand and helps Ryunosuke get to his feet.
Kazuma reads the playbill. “Ah, Anju and Kafei, huh?” An excited smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.
Ryunosuke takes a moment to stare at the pamphlet again; maybe this time it’ll spark his memory. It’s no good. “…Am I supposed to know what that means?”
Kazuma looks like Ryunosuke just insulted his grandmother, with his eyebrows all furrowed and a sharp curl to his lips as he recoils back in his seat. “Considering it’s known as one of the greatest tragedies around—one of the greatest romances ever told, mind you—yes, I would say so!” He leans forward, then, really gets into Ryunosuke’s space; Ryunosuke pays it no mind, just frowning down at the cover art that brings no recollection.
“Greatest romances…?” Ryunosuke repeats, skeptical. It can’t be that great, surely, if he’s never heard of it before.
Kazuma pinches the bridge of his nose. “Yes, you know: Anju and Kafei, Zelda and Link—”
“Are, are those their actual names?” Ryunosuke’s mouth twists.
“Don’t give me that look,” Kazuma scoffs. “It’s unbelievable how uncultured you are sometimes. Truly, how do you not know these stories? You love the theater, after all.”
Ryunosuke sighs, locks eyes with Kazuma across the two-inch span of space between them. “I watch comedic theater. They usually aren’t focused on tragedies or great romances or what have you.”
Kazuma relents, slumps back into the space of his own seat. “It wouldn’t kill you to expand your horizons sometimes, you know. Now, make sure to pay attention to this; it’ll change your world, I’m positive.”
Ryunosuke hums. His eyes wander across the sprawling venue, sweeping along the ceruleans and pearlescents that leave a shimmering glow across the theater. A giant clam shell structure makes up the main stage, opening up to give way to a speckled, starry night nestled between—the sky as striking as it would be in the middle of an open field, much less in the center of a bustling city. Flowing water cuts through the spaces between the aisles and encircles the stage. Countless articles have waxed poetic about the artistry of the Zora people, but no writing could ever truly do the real thing justice. Ryunosuke wishes Susato was here to see it.
Kazuma’s assertion wasn’t unwarranted, Ryunosuke finds, as he’s sucked into the story almost immediately. It’s a tale that starts unassuming, yet quickly spirals into chaos: a jovial carnival in a town with a large clock tower at its center is cut short under the threat of an encroaching moon and blood-red sky. To Ryunosuke’s surprise, the opera’s beginning follows a young boy clad in green as he’s tormented by an imp in a horrifying mask, forced to transform into different species as he dons magical masks. With the help of an enchanted ocarina, the boy is able to control the flow of time—however, he can only go back three days, forever stuck in a loop of impending doom as the moon slowly descends again and again.
The presentation is enthralling; the dynamic lighting mixed with the Zora’s water magic creates illusory effects in time with the songs: a red haze to create suspense, a spray of light mist to surprise, ever-fluid water manipulations created in an instant to evoke otherworldly enemies and environments. It’s nothing like Ryunosuke’s ever seen.
It’s also more terrifying than anything Ryunosuke would ever expect from one of the so-called “greatest romances.” The hopelessness of watching the end of the world approach closer and closer, and being utterly unable to do anything to stop it—it’s palpable, and something a bit too relatable for comfort. In a show of uncanny ingenuity, the giant moon is some amalgamation of illusion and physical prop, and the rushing sounds and flashing lights that accompany each end of the three-day-cycle could give Ryunosuke nightmares for the rest of his life.
“Kafei, Kafei, my son, where have you gone? You there, you there, a savior, find him and what has been done!”
Ryunosuke’s ears prick as the mayor’s wife belts out a wail of mourning for the boy to find her missing son, entrusting him with a mask resembling his face. The boy searches the town, until he finds an understated, timid woman working as the receptionist of an inn. Despite the simple nature of her clothing, her pink scales almost dazzle under the lights, freckled with spots of darker color. She recognizes the mask immediately and gasps, hands covering her mouth in an instant.
The lights turn low and her head falls, illuminating a single spotlight on her as she walks towards the front of the stage. Her eyes are full of sorrow.
“He sent me a letter. It’s him, no doubt…” The vibrato feels like an earthquake through Ryunosuke’s body.
“Well,” Kazuma whispers as he leans towards Ryunosuke, “it seems as though the Zora princess has some surprises up her sleeve…”
Ryunosuke’s mouth falls open; he spins his head to look at Kazuma before returning to the actress on stage. He lets out a hushed hiss: “No, that can’t possibly…?”
“…Kafei, my fiancé. Pure of heart and soul… Anju is waiting for you. Please come home…”
Her performance is nothing less than enchanting, packed full of raw emotion. Water spins and falls with precision around her, like her own personal manifestation of worry and grief. The man Anju loves is missing—dead, she had once thought, but she knows his writing, knows his mannerisms of speech, knows him even if she can’t see his face or hear his voice. Even if he was cloaked in disguise or hidden under a mask, she’d know.
The boy follows the postman delivering Anju’s letter, sees a short figure wearing a yellow mask with two pointy, black-tipped ears, and confronts him. Behind the mask: the face of a child. Kafei, he announces himself.
The lights dim again, then are replaced by dark reds that make the violet of Kafei’s hair pop in contrast. The sounds that accompany the scene make Ryunosuke squirm, makes the hair stand up on his arms. The imp in the evil mask from the beginning is back, chittering as its shadow seems to grow with each bob of its body, floating in front of adult Kafei. Skull Kid’s head writhes and twitches in violent, erratic movement; the bright, bloodshot, amber eyes of the mask almost seem to follow the viewer no matter where they sit. Skull Kid pulls his arms in close and then—
When his violent scream cuts through the theater, Ryunosuke jumps back with an impossible-to-contain yelp, grasping Kazuma’s hand and arm beside him, and squeezing his eyes shut. His heart pounds as loud as the harsh screech in his ears. He feels even Kazuma shudder.
It’s a good few seconds later when Ryunosuke cracks an eye open, slides his right hand off Kazuma’s arm, watches the fog that’s been deployed dissipate. His left hand stays gripped to Kazuma’s—he needs some anchor, after all, to root him to safety. He may just leap fully out of his seat next time if he doesn’t.
Kafei appears face down on the ground, clutching his head. His limbs are shorter, his voice higher in pitch when he cries out. Skull Kid only giggles with that harsh, tinny tenor before disappearing completely.
Confused and out of options, Kafei rushes to the Great Fairy, but he struggles to move; his body is unknown and clumsy in its childlike frame. A bounding man slinking around in the shadows takes advantage of his disorientation, robbing him of an intricate, golden mask—a jewel as bright as the Sun inlaid in its forehead.
In a month’s time: he would exchange the Sun Mask with Anju’s Moon Mask and be married. He made a promise that the next time he saw her, he’d present to her his wedding mask. She’s the love of his life, he sings; he can’t bear to face her with anything less than the full depth of devotion the mask represents.
Ryunosuke swallows down the lump forming in his throat, his breathing gone thick and heavy with emotion. But his breath skitters in his lungs as he notices Kazuma shift beside him, ever so slightly. Under his palm, Kazuma’s hand flips over. Ryunosuke feels it bloom open like a Silent Princess bud, fingers threading through his own, flush against him.
Kazuma’s looking at him sidelong with a fierce fondness, dark eyes sparkling with a soft intensity—a dizzying contradiction that sucks out whatever air is left in Ryunosuke’s chest until only that look remains to fill the hollow spaces. Kazuma had lauded this story—told Ryunosuke to pay close attention, even—yet here he is, watching Ryunosuke as if he was the leading actor atop that stage.
Something electric within Ryunosuke makes him exhale a laugh, embarrassment and exhilaration flowing through him in equal measures as heat rushes into his cheeks, pools there. He ducks his head, shifts his gaze away for a beat, before looking back at him through his lashes. He gives an acknowledging squeeze back, letting his hand rest comfortably in the spaces between Kazuma’s.
Kazuma returns a breathy laugh of his own as his gentle stare lingers just a bit longer, before returning attention to the stage. He knocks his boot against Ryunosuke’s, presses his thigh against his—like it’s the most casual position of all.
Ryunosuke finds that concentrating on the show becomes much more difficult.
Some things filter through, though: Kafei and the boy recover the stolen matrimonial mask and rush back to the inn as the moon consumes the crimson night sky. It’s a story where, in the end, the power of love doesn’t triumph, doesn’t stop the moon and save the world. It’s late into the final day when Anju and Kafei embrace in that inn, unbothered by the latter’s transformation, and combine their masks into the Couple’s Mask. The boy hasn’t yet found all he needs to defeat the great evil; the moon is undeterred as the clock tower chimes as if crying out in help. Yet, it matters not to them. They will greet the morning together, no matter what happens.
It all culminates in a bombastic duet between the two lovers, violins soaring and water rushing and piano keys a flurry of sentimentality—a crescendo both touching and utterly devastating at the same time. And maybe it’s the tears welling up in his eyes or maybe it’s the feeling of despair that makes his heart feel heavy and mind distracted, but Ryunosuke swears when they both utter the final, bellowing “I love you” and outstretch their arms out to the audience, Princess Rutipha directs her attention right up to the box that Kazuma and he are sitting in.
Kazuma gives his hand a squeeze, runs his thumb absentmindedly across Ryunosuke’s own. Ryunosuke pries his gaze from the stage and chances a look at Kazuma, yet his eyes are firmly glued to the show, face pinched. If he’s on the verge of crying, Ryunosuke wouldn’t blame him—it’d make the two of them, at any rate.
The boy will leave them. He must return to the first day; he must abandon this reality. The lovers will face their fate. Abandoned, but not alone.
And, Ryunosuke thinks, maybe therein lies the true power—the truth strength—of their love. Perhaps they couldn’t stop the great evil at that very moment, but they could forge some semblance of a future in their own way—one that transcends the single lifetime they lived. Facing that inevitability, they accept the unknown, together.