Chapter Text
Ryunosuke’s Journal
We’re coming up on the last Divine Beast to visit. Champion Jigoku never fails to intimidate me, no matter how jubilant he always seems. The Goron’s quite accomplished and well-respected for all he’s done; I know very well that he’s not to be underestimated. Something about his presence always makes me feel uneasy, though, like I’ll do one wrong thing in front of him and he’ll immediately give me a guilty sentence. It’s ridiculous, I know—he’s never shown to be anything other than pleasant and fair, but I suppose you can’t overstate how much of a formidable presence a large Goron with piercing eyes towering over you is.
One more Divine Beast to inspect and then we’re back to the castle. Then, in only a short few months, it’ll be my twenty-third birthday. It’s all coming up too quickly. Yet, I haven’t felt anything more. Kazuma keeps reassuring me, but I can’t stop worrying about it…
Entering Goron City is always a struggle. The heat is even more oppressive than the Gerudo Desert. Thankfully, we have plenty of elixirs that Champion Sholmes had concocted to help beat the heat———————
Sorry, ugh, I’ve ruined that part of the paper… It’s just due to the aforementioned heat, Kazuma’s been walking around our room without a shirt on and it’s not as if I’ve never seen him unclothed before, but it’s still
I’m getting distracted. That’s enough of an entry for today. We make the journey up the mountain tomorrow.
“It’s not as though I would ever object to a visit to the Goron Hot Springs, but I will press against your insistence that I desperately need to come here,” Ryunosuke says. “I’m doing quite fine, actually.”
It couldn’t be further from the truth. His chest feels like a writhing snake of thorns, coiling and constricting on itself. And, honestly, if he’s experiencing a pounding headache and knocking knees and the sweats, then that’s his problem and his alone to know; it’s not as if Kazuma could ever tell, anyway—
Kazuma makes an unimpressed face, skeptical, and looks him up and down slowly. It makes Ryunosuke feel starkly exposed and vulnerable under the scrutiny, and in more ways than one—it doesn’t help much that he’s wearing only a towel around his waist as they make the trek from the changing rooms (a fixture constructed primarily for the Hylian visitors, what with their particular hang-ups about nudity that the local Gorons have never acknowledged, much less ever fretted over) to the spring pools themselves.
“Are you really now,” Kazuma finally drawls, a statement more than a question. “If it wasn’t already obvious from your…” He motions with his hand, sweeping it in the air dramatically from head to toe. “...Everything going on with you, your unceasing inner thoughts would give it away instantly, partner.”
“Quit doing that,” Ryunosuke fires back before turning his nose up into the air and walking away down the path. He presses the small wicker basket holding his belongings to his hip. The heat and steam are starting to get to him, surely, as he feels his face start to grow warm, his head start to spin. The decision to come to a hot spring in Goron City during the middle of summer is becoming all too tangible.
It takes but a quick few steps for Kazuma to match his pace. “It would do you a great deal of good, is all I’m saying.” His hand lands on Ryunosuke’s shoulder, before his thumb softly sweeps over his skin.
When Ryunosuke looks sidelong at Kazuma—at the gentle concern that leaves a crease in his brow and a softness to his eyes—whatever tempered defensiveness he was feeling before fizzles out. “It would do you well, too,” Ryunosuke says, hushed. “I know I’m not the only one who’s stressed between the two of us…”
Ryunosuke’s seen it since Gerudo Town, after all: that tenseness Kazuma’s holding within himself, wrapped tight like some nightmarish wind-up toy. He’s been pacing more than usual, too—more distracted in general. Relaxation feels as much of a stranger to Kazuma as it’s been to Ryunosuke lately; Kazuma’s headband even ripples in tight little zigzags behind him.
Ryunosuke mashes his lips together. “…Are you alright, yourself?”
Kazuma stiffens at this, looks down the path in front of them instead. “Yes, I…” His pace quickens, just a bit. “I haven’t been to Goron City since I was a child. It just dredges up some unpleasant memories, is all.”
Kazuma leads them to one of the hot spring pools—secluded, tucked into the corner and far from the entrance and the other visitors. Before Ryunosuke can turn the comment in his head quick enough to find a suitable response, Kazuma sets down his basket on the side of the spring and says, “Merely some lingering nerves. But that’s precisely what a trip to the hot springs is for, as I’ve been trying to tell you. It’s a place to let the water wash away your stress”—he unceremoniously yanks off his towel, then quickly folds it and stashes it in the basket—“and let your mind shut off for a moment—come now, Ryunosuke, if you continue to make that wide-eyed look of panic, your face will surely freeze that way.”
Ryunosuke gulps and averts his eyes, stooping to set his own basket down. He hears Kazuma wade into the pool. “Oh?” Ryunosuke manages out. “And since when have you ever been able to shut your mind off before?” Kazuma barks out a laugh, echoing against the rocks. Ryunosuke continues through a smile: “Even now, you’re still wearing that headband… Doesn’t seem like words from someone willing to relax, now does it?”
When Ryunosuke peeks over his shoulder, Kazuma has laid back against the stone-lip of the pool, arms splayed out on the rocks, and he smiles something sparky—inviting challenge. “Some things are simply too important to let go of; you know this, Ryunosuke.” Somehow, the red fabric stays aloft. “Listen, we’ll face Champion Jigoku, then handle whatever comes next when we get to it. Just take it one step at a time.”
It’s rich, really, coming from the person who’s Ryunosuke’s only known to ever think five steps ahead of everything—to a compulsive degree, even. Being rooted in the present isn’t the first thing he’d ever use to describe Kazuma as; he’s not sure he fully buys it. Ryunosuke mutters, “You say that, but…”
“Say no more, partner!” Kazuma shuts it down. “Just try to relax, will you?”
Ryunosuke draws in a breath, then slaps his cheeks, the sound carrying far louder than expected. Kazuma seems unfazed by it, for when Ryunosuke tosses his towel into his basket and gets into the water, his eyes are shut—a valiant simulacrum of relaxation that’s only betrayed by the way his brow stays creased through it all. Not that Ryunosuke can blame him.
The hot spring pool is a small thing, long enough only for a single person to stretch their legs out in front of them. The width is better, but not by much: Ryunosuke settles himself beside Kazuma, still retaining some distance between them, but still encircled by Kazuma’s hand resting behind him. He reclines back, closes his eyes, tries to find an angle to rest his head against the smooth rocks that feels comfortable.
Breathe in, breathe out.
The way the rocks press against the back of his head begins to hurt. He shifts. This position’s not much better. He shifts again. His chin dips into the water. The heat’s getting to him at this point. And, ugh, the smell of sulfur is strong—was it this bad just a moment ago? His eyes open. Vah Rudania sits at the top of Death Mountain in all its robotic lizard glory, visible clearly from this vantage point. And then he thinks about the Divine Beasts and the sealing powers and Mount Lanayru and his birthday coming up and—
The scorching water that smacks directly into Ryunosuke’s face feels as intense as a direct slap. “Ow!” Ryunosuke hisses, drawing a hand down his face. When his vision clears, he sees Kazuma wearing a scowl.
“You’re muttering in spirals again,” Kazuma says with an exhaustion that feels as deep as the groundwater reaching below them. “I will move if you don’t stop talking to yourself, you know.”
“S-Sorry…” Ryunosuke sinks into the water, letting it cover half his face. Little bubbles reach the surface. Embarrassment burns—what’s a little more heat?
With a sigh, Kazuma says, “Here, turn around.” A confused noise from Ryunosuke, then: “Just trust me?”
So, Ryunosuke does.
And he practically squeaks when he feels Kazuma’s touch. Kazuma’s fingers knead into Ryunosuke’s shoulders, down his back—pressure applied with such delicate precision, it’s a wonder to Ryunosuke just how deft his hands really are from the years of swordwork. And it’s a balm, truly, the way his calloused fingertips work deep into the painful knots in his muscles, how he draws relief from the stress that’s wound itself inside Ryunosuke with something as simple as a touch. Each stroke like a brush of warmth—Ryunosuke sinks deeper into the water, melting without realizing it. The little sound of pleasure that escapes him barely registers.
“I’m sorry,” Ryunosuke murmurs then, eyes still closed. “This was meant to be enjoyable for you, too. I can’t imagine any of this being relaxing…”
Kazuma breathes out a laugh. “Quite the opposite, really.” His voice is low, an accompanying lullaby against the quiet sounds of sloshing water. “There’s something to preoccupying yourself with your hands—allowing that movement to center you.”
Ryunosuke peeks a heavy eyelid open, as if he can look behind him and see Kazuma’s expression. It’s a languid affair—lethargic—as exhaustion hits as potent as it is sudden. “Is that similar to your morning sword drills, then?”
“Mhmm,” Kazuma affirms. “The katas are for practice, yes, but they also help me both focus and relax. Just feeling that intentional flow of movement”—Kazuma’s thumb, pressure consistent, sweeps down that sensitive part right at the nape of his neck and makes Ryunosuke shudder—“that grounding as you feel the weight of the sword with each swing… That is true tranquility.”
It slips out, so easily: “And have you heard her recently—Karuma, that is?”
Kazuma fingers pause, stutter ever so slightly, then resume like nothing had been asked. “No,” he says, “it’s been quite a bit since she’s last spoken…” The way his voice wavers almost makes Ryunosuke sober from his sleep-strickenness, almost makes him turn around to see him fully, but Kazuma continues ahead, tone level and confident once again. “But I don’t necessarily need to—she’s my soul, after all. Whether I can hear her sing or not makes little difference; I can feel her, always, forever connected to me.”
Ryunosuke’s words are as loose as his muscles: “It must be a relief—knowing it’s something you can always count on without worry. If only all things were that easy…”
Kazuma’s hands still for certain this time, squeezing against Ryunosuke’s shoulders. Soft, but firm: “Ryunosuke, look at me.”
Kazuma’s breath ghosts across Ryunosuke’s face when he turns around, a hair’s breadth away. Ryunosuke sucks in a surprised gasp, yet Kazuma is unreactive; Kazuma’s steely gaze anchors him in place. Where else could he look?
Kazuma leans in, then, placing his hands on either side of Ryunosuke’s head, the tips of their noses almost pressed up against each other. “Listen,” Kazuma says, “I realize it’s rooted in your nature to incessantly worry, but there’s no need for it. It’ll do you little good, you know.”
Ryunosuke’s gaze flicks to the water. “Are you not anxious about it all? The prophecy states that Calamity Stronghart will resurrect after my twenty-third birthday…” That pit in his stomach again, like a sinking lead weight. “That’s in only three months, Kazuma, I—”
Kazuma scoffs, the heat of it a puff across Ryunosuke’s face. “And it didn’t specify an exact day. For all we know, we have a full extra year—maybe longer than that, even—of time left to do exactly what we’ve already been doing: preparing.”
“I suppose, but…” Ryunosuke folds into himself slightly, then manages out a shaky laugh. “Is it foolish of me to have hoped I’d just wake up one day and feel it? Like she’d finally see how much work I’ve put into all this, and decide to bless me?”
Kazuma considers it. “Perhaps,” he says, “but maybe it’s less foolishness and more of the case of having read too many fantasy novels, huh, partner?” He lifts an eyebrow, a teasing grin spreading on his lips. And Ryunosuke can’t suppress the groan-laugh that bubbles up, even at his own expense. “We both know it’s highly unlikely for something to manifest without an inciting force first. Very rarely do blessings come by mere chance.”
A groan, as Ryunosuke slides a bit further into the water. “Just imagine how much simpler this would all be, though?”
“Yes,” Kazuma hums, “most things in this world would be with the help of divine intervention, I agree.” He tilts his head. “What’s made this simpler is all the help from the Champions, the Divine Beasts, the Guardians, the sealing forces, and all the other plans you’ve helped arrange to defend ourselves. I know you realize this; we’ve spoken about it at length. And yet you still worry—why is that, truly?”
Ryunosuke sighs. “Because…” Another deep inhale. The words are unsteady, slippery to articulate: “I, I don’t feel like I’ve done enough—that I’m enough, even. I just—” He looks at Kazuma, finally finding his unyielding gaze, never once having wavered. It’s a fragile thing, the way his voice crumples in on itself when he says, “Since the moment I was born, everyone has been relying on me to protect them from this curse. I, I can’t bear to be the one that lets them all down.”
Kazuma’s face scrunches, that deep wrinkle carving into his forehead. Then, he shifts, lifting a hand underneath Ryunosuke’s face. His fingers skirt across his jaw, lingers against the skin, before putting the slightest bit of pressure against his chin. Cradling Ryunosuke in his hand, like the most delicate of fruit.
“You are enough—are more than enough,” Kazuma says, each syllable sharp out of his teeth. “And anyone who tells you otherwise will have Karuma to contend with, I swear to you.” And the way his eyebrows are drawn so fiercely, the way his mouth forms such an imposing line—Ryunosuke believes it entirely.
And Ryunosuke laughs, feels the strain of it against Kazuma’s grip. “Surely, threatening seems like a bit of an overreaction, don’t you thi—”
“I’m not joking,” Kazuma cuts him off then with all the same intensity, leaning forward and gently tugging Ryunosuke towards him. “And I do mean anyone. Don’t think you are exempt from that.”
Ryunosuke gulps, but he can’t fight away the shaky grin that stays plastered on his face. He believes this to be true, as well.
Kazuma continues, “You’ve heard it time and time again from the Champions during this trip: we’re in a good place. And it was all spearheaded by your efforts, not the goddess’s. No matter what happens up on that mountain after your birthday, what you’ve done can’t be erased. Never forget that.” Kazuma pauses, his hand growing pliant against Ryunosuke’s jaw and his expression growing just as soft. Quiet, then, as though they aren’t the only ones tucked into this corner of the springs: “And never forget that I’ll be by your side through it all. So, have faith in yourself. After all, in any battle, there can be no victory without faith. And I believe in you—unwaveringly. Come what may, we’ll face it, together.”
And there’s a warmth that wells up in Ryunosuke as blazing and brilliant as the lava plumes upon Death Mountain. Something not new, but something ever growing in intensity that it’s become difficult to ignore—not that ignoring it was ever an option Ryunosuke truly considered. The easy closeness and support he and Kazuma have shared ever since they began to find common understanding of one another, that simple intimacy, as effortless and uncomplicated as simply drawing in a breath—it’s something he’s coveted as soon as he was given the briefest of tastes of it, as soon as he realized how much it heightened the joy he felt in his life with its presence.
Ryunosuke only realizes he’s been staring at Kazuma’s mouth when Kazuma sucks in a hitched breath. And it’s a surprisingly pleasant, almost delirious realization when the only thoughts his mind can supply are about how pretty his lips look—how defined his Cupid’s bow is, how it looks when the seam parts and his tongue darts out to wet his lips. A ridiculous observation, Ryunosuke acknowledges, but it’s made nonetheless.
And one that’s heightened further by the thought of how utterly easy it would be to lean in just a bit closer and—
It’s the split second of the smacking sound of impact before feeling the wave of water cascade against him that makes Ryunosuke truly jump out of his skin.
“Ahh! Awesome day for a dip, eh, goro?” the Goron that’s unceremoniously plopped themself into the cramped remaining space of the spring says, smile bright.
It was barely enough space when it was just the two of them, but add a Goron in the mix…? Kazuma grumbles out a sigh, clumsily moving to squeeze himself between Ryunosuke and the Goron as they both shuffle over in a futile attempt to make room.
Despite all that came before, it turns out there are, in fact, times where Kazuma’s bare skin pressed up against Ryunosuke’s own is completely and utterly uncomfortable. Kazuma’s elbow digs into the side of Ryunosuke’s ribs as they’re smushed into each other.
The Goron doesn’t seem to mind the closeness. “I’ve never seen anyone ever come to my favorite spot in the springs before—‘specially not Hylians! Great, isn’t it, goro?” they say, stretching out to make themself more comfortable. With a frown of his own, Ryunosuke watches Kazuma nearly boil the water in front of him as he stews. The Goron then tilts their head, confusion appearing there. “Sorry, am I interrupting somethin’?”
“Ugh,” Ryunosuke bleats as he turns his pocket watch around in his hand, “what happened?!” The black surface is a far cry from the shining silver it once was. “Uncle just gifted me this, too…”
Kazuma looks over his shoulder. “I warned you that you should keep it in the Slate. Everyone knows that sulfur tarnishes silver, after all.”
“Haah…” Ryunosuke slumps over. “I forgot to take it out of the pocket of my coat…”
Kazuma shakes his head in his hand. “We’ll have to get Iris to look at it when we get back.”
“Ack!” Ryunosuke shrieks, jumping back with a leg lifted. They’re a ways away from the lava pool, taking cover behind a boulder, and yet the stray sprinkles of lava still threaten to burn a hole in his pants. He’ll be lucky if he comes out of this without a single hair scorched.
Jigoku throws his head back and laughs. “Best be careful, young prince! Rudania’s Lava Bomb is nothing to be underestimated!”
He’s named the attack—when Vah Rudania lobs a ball of molten lava at something with its webbed hands like it’s playing a lethal game of baseball. If Ryunosuke had to rate the Divine Beasts by how dangerous their attacks using the forces of nature are, he’d struggle, but right now, under this oppressive heat and in constant fear of lava errantly splashing on him like it’s water, he wouldn’t hesitate to put it at the top of his list.
Jigoku strokes his dark beard as he watches the robotic salamander slowly squirm into the molten pool. “I have to say, no matter how many times I see it in action, I’m always surprised at the sheer power the Beast holds. Just imagine the chaos if someone like the Yiga Clan got their hands on this.”
Ryunosuke shudders. “Yes, well, we’re awfully lucky we found them first… Though, with how difficult activating the technology proved to be, I wonder how far they’d get even if they were the ones to uncover them…”
Jigoku hums at this, hand still stroking that beard. “Lucky indeed…” he mumbles. Then, he reaches into his pocket and flicks open the face of a pocket watch. “Unfortunately, I will have to cut this viewing short. I trust you’re satisfied with what you’ve seen already?”
Ryunosuke nods. Just like the others, Jigoku has mastered his control over his Beast. And just like the others, Vah Rudania is something to be feared.
“Excellent,” Jigoku says. “While I take my title as the Champion of the Gorons with great pride, my duties as a Magistrate can’t fall to the wayside. I’d be honored if you’d visit the courthouse to see a trial in action, Prince Naruhodo.”
It always struck Ryunosuke as odd—how he insisted on calling everyone by their last name. Perhaps it was the level of professionalism he always needed to engender.
“Yes, thank you.” And with that, Jigoku makes his exit.
When Ryunosuke turns around, he finds Kazuma staring up at Rudania, evidently so lost in thought that he doesn’t even budge until Ryunosuke gives a small tug on the end of his headband.
“Hey,” Ryunosuke says softly with a smile when Kazuma finally returns to the present, blinking out of the daze. “What’s on your mind?”
“Ah.” Kazuma shakes his head. “It’s nothing—just reminiscing. Shall we?”
It’d take much less to convince him to get out of the boiling furnace that is the peak of Death Mountain. With a nod, they both turn to leave.
The courthouse is a stifling, imposing thing—stone walls climbing far into the sky, with jagged, natural shapes and façades that prioritize function over form. Pillars of steel reinforce the stonework like a cage. This building and the Elder Chief’s Citadel are in stark contrast to the other structures naturally carved out of the rockface—evoking a sense of intentionality, stature, importance.
The trial is one of murder. A nervous Goron named Igne Ocent stands accused of throwing a Hylian knight over a tall safety barrier on a cliff side. The victim, Falen Ouvir, fell from a great height to his death, ultimately landing in one of the mine carts below.
“The coroner confirmed the damage to the body was consistent with being dropped from around six stories high,” the prosecutor says as they submit their written statement of the evidence to Jigoku. “No chance of Ouvir having fallen by accident—Ouvir is 5 feet, 7 inches and the height of the safety railing stands at 7 feet, 5 inches.”
“Isn’t that…?” Ryunosuke clasps Kazuma’s arm when he hisses under his breath. “The accused—weren’t they stationed in Castle Town before?”
It was a rare sight: a Goron Patrol Knight in Castle Town. Gorons becoming knights was uncommon in itself—those who came to live in Castle Town were often shopkeepers or worked in construction, very rarely attending the Knight Academy for a variety of reasons—but the vast majority that did became specialists on the field, providing their strength and expertise in combat (Jigoku, himself, was one prior to becoming a Magistrate). In fact, Igne was only the third Goron Patrol Knight Ryunosuke had ever seen before, and for that they stood out.
Kazuma brings a fist to his chin. Hushed: “I remember seeing them before… Western Castle Town, wasn’t it? Near the Water Reservoir? Falen was stationed there, too, if I recall correctly.”
Ryunosuke swallows down the sinking feeling. He didn’t know the Goron personally, but even he knew of their kindness. When heavy rains caused the Reservoir to overflow and flood the nearby part of town years ago, he remembers that they carried stranded residents atop their shoulders to bring them to safety. He remembers—he’d been stuck in a breakfast with a noble that had lasted far past its welcome, and he had been forced to read the interview in the newspaper out of boredom—that the water reached up to Igne’s chin and despite being terrified, they still went back until every resident was accounted for. It’s something that stuck with him—that bravery, that benevolence in the face of fear.
Would someone like that truly murder someone else?
Two witnesses are brought to the stand to give their testimony. The first is a smaller Goron—young and uncomfortable, with a green cap upon his head—who claims to have seen the very moment of the crime. “I, I saw a Goron pick up the little Hylian over their head and throw ‘em over the wall like it was nothin’, goro,” the witness says, grip tight on the stand.
Jigoku flips through the papers the prosecutor submitted. “And you saw the moments after, as well?”
The witness nods. “Sure did. Didn’t see their face, but they immediately bolted as soon as they threw ‘em. Didn’t even look to see if the guy was okay or nothin’!”
“As I’ve outlined,” the prosecutor says, “this was no accident. Investigators confirmed that there were no raised platforms or steps of some sort on this cliff. It was done with intent to kill. That’s exactly why the culprit didn’t check for his wellbeing.”
The second witness, an older Goron with a flowing white mustache, testifies that he saw the accused’s face as they fled. “They did it, alright. No doubt about it!” The witness tells Jigoku that he was concerned when he saw Igne running away with a crazed look in their eyes, both hands placed atop their head in shock. “Ever since they came back from Castle Town, I haven’t trusted them one bit!”
When both the witnesses are done, the prosecutor gives a final summary of their findings. Jigoku strokes his beard as his eyes scan the documents.
“Igne Ocent,” Jigoku says, “there has been no written statement submitted of how you plead. You may give your final verbal appeal here, but I will warn you without a written argument, your case will suffer greatly.”
“Isn’t there usually a lawyer with the accused?” Ryunosuke whispers to Kazuma.
“Usually, yes…” Kazuma replies. “Perhaps they don’t have one?”
Igne shifts awkwardly, eyes darting about. “Sorry. I’m not good at writing—never’ve been, since I was a kid. Almost didn’t pass the Knight Academy…” They scratch at their arm. “A-And I didn’t get what it was all askin’ in those big words, so…” They then look to the small gallery, eyes apologetic when they lock with another in the crowd—another Goron, holding a swaddled baby. “Uh, but, but I can say that I didn’t do it! I couldn’t k-kill someone! Especially not Falen!”
Even without any experience in a courtroom, Ryunosuke can’t help shaking the feeling that everything seems wrong. No defense, the accused doesn’t know how to file documents that could help prove them innocent, the way their personality seems at odds with the charges—even Jigoku looks hesitant in a way.
“And why is that?” Jigoku asks.
“‘Cause he was my friend! We worked together!”
“Indicative of a motive?” the prosecutor supplies.
Jigoku leans back in his chair with a sigh. “Alright, thank you. I will take into account all that’s being presented here and review the case. Tomorrow, I will be handing down my verdict. That is all. Court is dismissed.”
When they enter Jigoku’s chambers, he’s reclined in a chair, reading through a file. His feet are propped up on the desk.
“Ah, Prince Naruhodo, Champion Asogi, come in.” He sweeps out a hand towards the chairs facing his desk. “I was pleased to see you join us for the trial. So, what did you make of it?”
Ryunosuke’s brow furrows when he takes a seat, grip tightening on his pants. “It was…interesting, to say the least. A sad situation, surely.”
Jigoku hums before sitting up and closing the file. “Yes, quite so. The victim and the accused were supposed friends…” He lets out a bitter exhale of a laugh, sardonic. “Anyone who would betray and backstab a friend like that… They’re scum, indeed.”
When Ryunosuke nods in response, it’s in an unconvinced manner. “Um, yes, well… One thing I found curious was how the defendant was up there alone… Did they not have any representation?”
A sigh from Jigoku as he rubs the scaly rocks along the back of his neck. “As you are aware, anyone accused of a crime can hire an attorney to submit their defense. However, attorneys can also refuse to take a case for a great deal of reasons. We try our utmost to secure representation, but even our public defenders wouldn’t touch this case—too risky.”
“Why’s that?”
“The identity of the victim: a Hylian knight from Castle Town, temporarily stationed in Goron City. Most attorneys would balk at the mere possibility of having to deal with the Castle Town’s judiciary.”
“That’s absurd,” Kazuma growls, and it surprises Ryunosuke to hear him speak with this ease when not addressed directly. “It was a crime committed in Goron City; Castle Town has no jurisdiction and should have no sway over how you conduct court.”
But, Ryunosuke recovers quickly, following Kazuma’s lead. “And, and Igne was a Castle Town knight as well, anyway!” he adds, leaning forward. “If it’s Castle Town that’s the worry, then they should be just as concerned about Igne!”
Jigoku takes a moment—considers it—shooting a long glance at Kazuma before focusing back on Ryunosuke. “Was a Castle Town knight.” He sighs, shakes his head, swaying the stiff puff of his ponytail. “There’s complicated politics at play here, Your Highness. Ultimately, the Goron is viewed as an undesirable client and is stuck defending themself.”
Ryunosuke bites back an objection. It feels unfair, all of it. Tries to swallow it down, package it behind clenched teeth into something palatable. “Something doesn’t feel right here. I realize that this is a highly unusual ask, but I urge you to delay your verdict just a bit—”
Jigoku flinches back, eyes wide. His gaze flicks back between Ryunosuke and Kazuma wildly. “‘Highly unusual’ is quite the understatement! Forget interference by Castle Town, having a member of the Royal Family attempt to influence a trial is beyond reckless! Just think about what would happen if this were to come out to the public—I spent my entire career building trust and upholding the very highest standards of impartiality and fairness. I’ve never bent under special interests before, and I certainly am not ready to risk losing my career over it now!”
Ryunosuke cringes; he knew from the moment he voiced it that the request was ridiculous. “O-Of course. I simply meant to ask outside of my capacity as a member of the Royal Family…”
Jigoku sighs, pinching the bridge of his brow. “Your Highness, with no disrespect, I realize you’re a bit…naïve when it comes to politics and even more so when it comes to law, but it isn’t as easy a matter to just say you’re acting as an average person… Distancing yourself from what you were born into is something nigh impossible. This isn’t something you want to risk sticking your nose into, believe me. Stick to what your duty is, and I’ll stick to mine.”
Ryunosuke ducks his head, yet it’s not shame that causes his limbs to shake and his teeth to grit. “You’re right. I may not know much about law or politics, or even how to properly conduct myself when it comes to royal matters…” Ryunosuke grips the fabric of his pants. “But what I do know is that I can’t turn my back on someone in distress when they haven’t been given a fair shake. I don’t think Igne did it”—he shakes his head—“and I don’t think their guilt should be taken as an inevitability merely because the ones who were meant to defend them were too much of cowards to risk representing them! So, I ask you again, not as the Prince of Hyrule, but as someone who wants to see justice prevailing: what can I do to ensure Igne’s trial is fair?”
Another deep sigh from Jigoku, as he sinks back into his chair. Sharp eyes bore into Ryunosuke, endlessly assessing the situation in a way that never surprises Ryunosuke, but always catches him off-guard. He’s searching for something there: the depths of Ryunosuke’s resolve, perhaps—sussing out how much he’s willing to sacrifice to defend a single Goron he barely knows.
It’s a few, long, excruciating moments before Jigoku finally says: “Decisive evidence.” He sits up, hunching forward on his desk, strong fingers tapping against the metal. “It’s impossible to delay a verdict with the facts as given, but a court of law hinges on evidence. Before court resumes tomorrow, bring me decisive evidence that proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that Ocent couldn’t have committed the crime. Then, I will factor that into my ruling.”
Ryunosuke releases a giddy breath, one so freeing that his body feels lighter. He must smile because Jigoku is quick to add: “But only if it’s decisive—remember that! As it stands, the evidence so far paints quite the guilty Goron.”
Ryunosuke nearly leaps out of his seat to bow deep. “Thank you, Champion Jigoku!”
Not even three steps out of his office, door barely closed behind them, before Kazuma hisses out an “Impartial? Fair? Ridiculous.” They’re huddled conspiratorially as they walk through the hall, arms pressed together.
“Agreed,” Ryunosuke whispers harshly back. “I mean, how can any of it be fair if Igne can’t submit a proper statement to defend themself? You can’t expect any average person to understand the jargon to do the paperwork required and then judge them on that—it’s a losing game from the very beginning!”
Kazuma’s about to voice something; he makes a sound that is aborted, then nudges Ryunosuke with his elbow. A pointed finger down the hall perpendicular: a Goron sitting on a bench, head hanging low, holding a swaddled baby in his arms. The rise and fall of his shoulders with each breath is a jittery quake.
A shaky draw in of breath, and Ryunosuke’s already moving forward without thinking. “Um, hello? I recognize you from within the courtroom. Are you perhaps acquainted with Igne Ocent…?”
The words take a moment to sink in—to permeate through a thick wall of dissociation—before the Goron lifts his head and acknowledges the two standing before him. His eyes are red-rimmed, just like a Hylian’s might be. The baby in his arms is asleep, peaceful.
He says, “Y-Yeah… Ig’s my life-partner.”
It isn’t that Theralin isn’t hospitable—far from it, in fact, with the way he ushered them in like they were starving wanderers spotted outside a family’s Harvenia celebration, with frazzled murmurs of “I’d never’ve thought the Prince of Hyrule would set foot in my home—never, no! I’m so sorry for the mess, how embarrassing, goro!” as he rearranged rock pillows—but it’s simply the fact that Goron hospitality is incompatible with Hylian sensibilities. The boiling hot water with a chunk of flavored rock—flavored sweetly, Theralin insists—that Ryunosuke thinks is meant to dissolve but never quite seems to lose its solid form just isn’t an appetizing refreshment no matter the sentiment behind it. And that’s to say nothing of the thinly-sliced pieces of rock hors d’oeuvres laid out on the table.
“It was a mistake coming back here, honestly,” Theralin says with a defeated drawl, before popping a slice into his mouth.
“What do you mean?” Ryunosuke asks.
Theralin swallows, takes a few moments to answer. “Ever since movin’ back here, it’s been one disaster after another… Baby Chert got sick a few months after being born, then that jerk started bothering us, and now this… Murder…? No way, never.” He picks up another rock slice, then gestures around, like an agitated conductor. “Ig tried to convince me for us to stay in Castle Town, but noo, I thought it would’ve been better to raise our child in Eldin! What a stupid decision that turned out to be!”
He stuffs the rock slice into his mouth. “Sorry, I like to eat when I’m nervous…”
Well, Ryunosuke can definitely relate to that. “I’m sorry to hear about everything that’s happened… But, did you say that someone’s been harassing you?” It’s a shock—Gorons have always been known for their jovial friendliness. Or so he thought.
Theralin nods. His eyes go glassy and pained, staring off into the distance. “Yeah, ever since we moved here, one guy’s been constantly giving us trouble: reporting noise complaints, making up fake stories to get the patrollers to show up, tellin’ us to go back to Castle Town… Imagine my surprise when I see him up on that witness stand today!”
“Sorry?” Ryunosuke says quickly, his mouth falling open. “D-Did you say the Goron that’s been doing all those things was a witness?!”
Theralin nods again. “Lye Inschist. Says he saw Igne run away, so they must’ve done it… Doubt he even was there!”
Ryunosuke exchanges a stunned look with Kazuma, who seems to be just as concerned. “Do, do you happen to know why this Lye has it out for you?”
A sad, deep sigh. “I mean I don’t know for sure, but I have a good idea…” His fingers twist around each other, back and forth. “It’s not some super popular thought, but there’s a group of Gorons—especially some of the elders—that don’t really…like the Gorons that move out to Castle Town. Think they’re no longer ‘one of the real Gorons’ that live here in Eldin. Like you’ve turned your back on your home.”
He shifts again, sliding a hand along his arm. “If you’re a seller who returns a buncha times a year, yeah, you’re fine, but the ones that live there? That want to be a part of that culture? Well, you’re like a traitor, in their eyes, I guess.” There’s no anger—no heat—in the words, only an empty sadness that stains the syllables.
“So, then there’s Gorons like us that grew up in Goron City, then lived in Castle Town for years—and we love both. Livin’ in Castle Town as a Goron wasn’t exactly easy either, but now we can’t even fit in in our hometown because we aren’t seen as being ‘Goron’ enough anymore! So where does that leave us? Where are we supposed to go if we’re outsiders to both places?”
It settles in Ryunosuke's stomach like a lead weight. “I’m sorry; that’s horrible…” he rasps, voice a scrape against his throat. “No one should ever feel like they don’t belong.”
“But, that’s why you’re here, right?” Theralin asks, brightening. “You’re gonna help us? I mean, you’re the prince and all! You can tell them Ig didn’t do it!”
A witness that has a prejudiced, personal vendetta and is a known liar—that’s enough to put his credibility to question. But it wasn’t exactly decisive evidence that Igne didn’t do it, was it?
“No, I can’t just tell them to drop the charges, unfortunately,” Ryunosuke admits, ducking his head. The motion isn’t quick enough; he still sees Theralin’s expression crumple out of the corner of his eyes. “But, I want to believe that Igne didn’t commit the murder. So, I will do my best to help prove that.” He lifts his head, meets Theralin’s eyes with determination. “If you can tell us anything at all you know about the incident—it all helps.”
Theralin takes a big gulp of the rock tea. “...We’ve been down on our luck. At Castle Town, I found out I’m pretty good at makin’ rock sculptures and, actually, a lot of people bought ‘em! But here, there isn’t much interest when there’s dozens of other rock artists… I had to take another job at the mines, though I swore I’d never go back there.
“Igne, they were getting desperate trying to find work. Most of the jobs involve lifting stuff—out of the question for them now. But then the day this all happened, they saw Falen right here in Goron City, of all places! They were stationed in the same knight’s group back in Castle Town for a while before Falen got transferred. Went up to ask him if he could put in a word to get work somehow—after getting discharged, it’s not like they could work as a knight again, but they thought maybe he knew something else he could do. Falen said he was happy to see ‘em and that he’d ask around. Then, Ig left.”
Theralin stops, then, gritting his teeth in a wince. “It’s horrible. Igne and Falen were friends. It’s bad enough they lost a friend, but to be blamed for it, too? Sick—that’s what it is! Unfair, too!”
Ryunosuke’s eyes fall to the floor, tracing the depressions and outlines of the stone there. Even if they could cast doubt on Lye, there’s still one witness that saw someone throw Falen over the barrier. If Falen and Igne were alone before that, with no one to witness their conversation, it would be a flimsy argument to insist that Igne walked away.
“Did you say that Igne was discharged from knight’s duty?” Kazuma asks. “What happened, if you don’t mind?”
Theralin falters, gaze trailing until it lands on the mantle of the hearth. Atop it, two medals emblazoned with the Royal Family’s seal: one for service, one for excellence. “Igne got injured in a pretty bad way. Can’t be a knight if you can’t lift your arms higher than your shoulders, turns out…” A laugh, coarse. “That’s part of the reason why we decided to move back ‘ere. That Zora magic helped a ton, but they’re still in pain… Nothin’ an Eldin hot spring can’t help in the morning, goro.”
Kazuma must come to the same realization as Ryunosuke does because they both turn to each other with the same breathless, frantic look. “The, the witness said they saw a Goron pick up Falen above their head!” Ryunosuke manages out.
“And the barrier was tall, as well,” Kazuma quickly adds. “There was nothing to step onto at the scene of the crime, so that rules out the possibility of Igne dragging Falen over the edge, anyway.”
Heart pounding, Ryunosuke slams his palms onto the low table, leaning over it, almost knocking over the rock tea in his wake. “Theralin! When knights get medically discharged, they’re given a letter that includes their condition! Please tell me you have it!”
It takes a few seconds for Theralin to comprehend the whirlwind of frenetic energy coming towards him. Dazed, he shakes his head fast, before almost falling out of his seat with a panic. “Yes! Yes, I do!” Curling into a ball of rock, he rolls down the hall with a loud screech against stone, the heat of it like standing in front of an oven.
He slams the document on the table when he returns, eyes wide and filled with something almost forgotten, something that had eluded him since this very incident first occurred—hope.
The letter, stamped with the royal seal and signed by both the Commanding Officer of the Western Division’s Castle Town Patrol Knights and the Chief Medical Officer, reads in clear black ink against bone-white parchment: “Patient has incurred severe bilateral shoulder impingement, making shoulder flexion difficult and painful. These injuries are inconsistent with a knight’s expected duties, as the patient can no longer raise their arms past their shoulders.”
Ryunosuke feels it thrumming inside him—rattling in his bones, coursing through his veins, churning deep inside his core where euphoria and satisfaction flourishes. The evidence was enough to acquit Igne and after days of further investigation, evidence was found implicating Lye Inschist of the murder. Theralin was right; Lye had fabricated it all: he had thrown Falen Ouvir to his death before fleeing the scene, then used the nearby Igne as a scapegoat to cover his crime. And he was so close to having it work.
That’s exactly why Ryunosuke finds himself unable to sit still, pacing the long halls of the Elder Chief’s Citadel at night. The lava’s glow in the distance and the ruddy light that casts off the metal lamps bathes the open-air walkways in a deep scarlet hue—if anything, it makes the beautiful paintings on the stone walls even more enticing. Kazuma was summoned by Jigoku to meet for a reason unknown to him, so the odds of him staying put in their room were already slim. No, staying still was never really an option after all, not with this light in him, like floating—buzzing around lighter than air.
Even the heat can’t slow him down; he outraces lethargy enough that it can’t hope to touch him. Jigoku’s room must be somewhere here in this wing, for he feels Kazuma grow ever closer, yet the feeling is suppressed by the joy, a mere footnote of the night. He flits down the halls, ducking in and out of open, empty rooms like it’s a museum—and it kind of is, in a way, with how each room has at least one piece of Goron artwork decorating the place (in Kazuma and his room: an intricate metal sculpture of a dragon with whiskers that curl like flame). He wonders if any of Theralin’s pieces could possibly be housed here.
When he reaches a bend, there’s a muffled commotion coming from one of the far rooms. Firelight flickers from under the door. It seems heated, whatever it is. What’s a few seconds of listening in?
“—I trusted you,” a voice snarls from inside, and Ryunosuke’s stomach drops. He recognizes the voice in an instant, just like he’d recognize his own: Kazuma. And that tether between them feels all too heavy now.
Ryunosuke hears Jigoku scoff over the sound of his pounding heart, when he presses his ear to the door. “And how is that my problem? I gave you the information you wanted, didn’t I? You now know who the man is and I merely suggested what was in your best interest—”
“Enough,” Kazuma says quickly. “I’ve had enough of your suggestions.”
He hears Jigoku sigh in frustration. “Quit acting out like a little boy. You’re being unreasonable—”
Ryunosuke’s eyes grow wide when he hears footsteps suddenly draw closer; he flinches back from the doorway, but the door’s already being thrown open before he can turn away. Kazuma looks at him like he’s seen a ghost, the way the terror draws color away from his skin. So he didn’t feel him approach either. Ryunosuke’s mouth opens to explain—to apologize—but Kazuma’s eyes dart back towards the room before he grabs his wrist and hurriedly pulls him down the hall, away from Jigoku’s chambers.
“What—What are you doing here?” Before he can answer: “What did you hear?” Kazuma hisses, attempting to keep his voice low, when they’re far enough away. His eyes are wild—scared, more than angry. His hands are like a vice around Ryunosuke’s shoulders, just enough to hurt.
“I, I was—Nothing that I could understand. I just walked up at the end—I don’t—” Ryunosuke shakes his head, tries to reign in his confusion as he searches Kazuma’s tight face for any sort of answer. “...Kazuma, what is going on? Are you alright? Is something…” The words escape him, but the tension hangs heavy in this hallway, this entire building—in a blink, the heat is stifling, even for Death Mountain. “...Are you in danger?” He almost feels ridiculous the moment it leaves his mouth; it’s Jigoku after all, the Goron Champion, The Justicebringer of Death Mountain. What could he possibly—
Kazuma seems to let out a deep sigh at that, tight shoulders loosening, just a bit. His grip relents, lingers around Ryunosuke’s shoulders. There’s a long pause before he answers: “No, I’m fine. It was…merely a disagreement about something we’d discussed last year—I lost my head. I’m sorry you heard that.” Ryunosuke’s hands come up to slide down Kazuma’s biceps, settling in the crooks of his elbows.
Kazuma’s head dips, long eyelashes a shadowy curtain to hide whatever expression his eyes hold. His thumbs trace gentle circles into Ryunosuke’s shoulders. “This place… I think I’ve just hit my limit being here in the heat. It’s good timing that we're leaving tomorrow.” Brittle.
It soothes something inside Ryunosuke, but the carryover worry still lingers in his gut. He wants to hold Kazuma’s face in his hands and promise him it’ll all be okay. He attempts a small smile, instead. “I, I wasn’t aware that you two knew each other…?”
Kazuma flattens his lips into a stiff line—that, Ryunosuke can see. “No, I don’t think we ever did.”
“I know you’d like to leave as soon as possible,” Ryunosuke says softly, thumbing the small wrapped package he holds behind his back, “but, would you hate me if I delayed us just a bit?”
Kazuma’s been antsy the entire morning—all pacing and tapped toes and furrowed brows. “What for?” The uncertainty in his voice enough that Ryunosuke knows exactly what expression he’s wearing without him even needing to face him.
The heat that pools high in Ryunosuke’s cheeks is negligible—the way his heart skitters like it’s about to burst even less so; it’s a worthwhile temporary discomfort for what will follow. “For this.”
“What?” is the airy question that breathes out of Kazuma before he finally turns around. He’s greeted with a small package resting in Ryunosuke’s outstretched palms: golden, crinkly paper tied up with a strip of scarlet fabric in a messy knot.
“I truly hope you didn’t think I’d forget your birthday, partner,” Ryunosuke says through a smile.
Kazuma blinks at the gift in a wide-eyed stupor, before his gaze slides up to meet Ryunosuke’s. And he’s beautiful like this—innocent and vulnerable, the morning sunlight filtering into the room drawing out the specks of honey in his gray-brown eyes like sparkling amber. It only makes Ryunosuke’s smile grow; his eyes soften in response.
Kazuma takes it gently between his slender fingers, deftly examining it like it’ll dissolve into the wind if he makes a single wrong move. “What is—” Kazuma stops, swallows down the strained tone. When he starts again, his voice has gone soft, almost apologetic: “Ryunosuke, you didn’t have to do this…”
“Of course I did,” Ryunosuke replies, and it’s only the truth. He nudges up with his chin: Open it.
And so, Kazuma unties the knot and peels back the paper. A small, ceramic statue of a man holding a sword, draped in little cut cloths sits in his palm.
Kazuma breathes out a laugh. “Is this supposed to be me?” he asks, warmth in each word. His fingers smooth out the red fabric that wraps around the figure’s forehead and hangs from the back of its hair in twin tails.
“Well, yes,” Ryunosuke laughs. He hams it up: “The gallant knight with mighty Karuma… He’ll cut down any evil—unless it’s a monster that needs a tongue twister recited to be defeated, I suppose.”
Kazuma laughs hard at this, but makes no attempt to argue, only marveling more at the figure. “No, this isn’t…?” He traces the tunic with his finger, and—oh Hylia, after months of working on it daily and now after not having looked at the thing for a couple days since he’s wrapped it, it looks atrocious doesn’t it? Perhaps Kazuma was right about that garish red fabric he bought at the Castle Town Market being ugly, after all? And look at the face—he swore it looked better before, not this monstrous caricature unbefitting of one of the most handsome people he’s ever laid eyes on. The sword’s not even remotely straight, even for a katana!
“S-Sorry, I know it looks odd,” Ryunosuke sputters, the heat flooding his cheeks now the exact wrong sort of discomfort. He waves his hands in front of his face in an embarrassed panic, like if he covers behind the motion, he’ll be able to hide away and disappear entirely. “I, I wanted to try making you something, but I really should’ve commissioned an artisan! I didn’t mean—”
Kazuma catches his left wrist. “Ryunosuke…” he says, barely above a whisper—immeasurably fond. Amusement there, too, with the crinkle of his eyes. Slowly, ever so gently, his fingers slide down Ryunosuke’s hand—past the end of his arm guard; along the length of his fingers, now slick with sweat; coming to rest at his fingertips, held delicately in Kazuma’s own.
“I love it,” Kazuma murmurs, the breathy words as light as a spring breeze; it blows through Ryunosuke and catches the air out from his lungs. It’s all too easy, then, when Kazuma lifts Ryunosuke’s hand up to his lips. It’s too easy, how the touch lingers there, how Kazuma’s warm breath skitters across Ryunosuke’s skin and even under the eternal heat of Goron City, it makes him shiver. It’s both an eternity and far too quick when Kazuma lowers their hands and looks up at him through long eyelashes; a sweet pink tints his cheeks. “Thank you.”
And Kazuma keeps a hold of his hand, even when they’re left dangling between them both like a rope connection. And how utterly easy it is, how Ryunosuke finds himself lost in that saccharine look Kazuma gives him, like he brings with him the sun of the forthcoming dawn after a cold night. Like it’s something he could get used to—something he could rely on.
How easy it is, indeed.