Chapter Text
Ryunosuke’s Journal
We’ve gotten word from the various sacred temples across Hyrule confirming that their sealing ritual training has been fruitful. Some Guardians have been dispatched to major towns where none were previously excavated and the local defense forces have also undergone training in how to properly utilize the machines. While Iris and Champion Sholmes said it wasn’t feasible to create so many felt communication dolls without the channels becoming unusable, smoke signal language has been developed—four colors for certain instances: green for the presence of a disturbance, but internal forces will be able to handle it; yellow to call for reinforcements in face of a larger threat; red as an urgent cry for help; Iris and Sholmes’s uniquely-concocted fluorescent pink, for when the threat is catastrophic.
I don’t wish to jinx it, but I’m truly, finally becoming more confident that we have this aspect of defense down. That’s not to say I’m still not worried about my own powers, but it helps to ease the nerves just a bit to think there’s backup plans in place.
It hasn’t come without any bumps in the road recently, however. Champion Sholmes has said there’s been some rare reports of Guardians acting odd—shooting off lasers erroneously or having bizarre, unpredictable movements. He said it was an easy fix: much like how Iris did earlier at the lab, an electric shock will reboot them and they’ll be just fine again. I suppose glitches such as these make sense, considering they’re thousands of years old technology; it’s honestly incredible that they work so well as is. Champion Sholmes seems puzzled by it, but ultimately said it’s not a real cause for worry, especially since it’s happening so sparingly. He’s pushing to supply the other towns with Guardian armies with the electric swords Iris made just in case, however.
As much as looking at the ceramic figure I made for Kazuma makes me cringe a bit in embarrassment, I don’t feel too bad about it anymore considering how much he does seem to enjoy it. He even keeps it on his low desk now, after some hemming and hawing about whether it feels egotistical to have a figure of yourself displayed (I convinced him it was fine, considering I was the one to make it for him and he didn’t commission it himself, after all).
In fact, he’s sitting there right now, furiously scribbling away at a letter or some sort. Once he’s in these moods, he always loses track of time… I should try to get his attention soon; it's almost dinner time. Since we’re leaving for the pilgrimage in about a week, I’ve requested the kitchen to serve beef stew for dinner. Kazuma doesn’t know yet—it’s my little surprise to him, too, since it’s our favorite meal. And, of course, Fruitcake for dessert!
(…Again!)
Ryunosuke tugs on the right pauldron to sit on his shoulder, the clank and clatter of golden metal an annoyance in his ears. The left side slips down. He yanks the strap at the top to attempt to secure it, but it’s futile—he can’t tie the knot with one hand.
Feasible or not, perhaps he’d have a better chance of getting changed into his royal regalia in a timely manner if he could just concentrate on the task at hand, but his mind is preoccupied by a great many things—in no small part by the way Kazuma looks with his hair slicked back like that across the room from him. It’s become something of a major distraction the past hour, not to mention the way the Royal Guard Uniform somehow hugs his figure, despite being made of loose hanging fabrics.
He pulls on the straps again—maybe he simply did it wrong the first time, and the next time, and the next—but to no avail. He hates wearing the pauldrons—how constricting they are, how the weight of the gold feels encumbering. It’s been customary for millenia, Elder Impa’s told him, for the children of the Royal Family to wear the golden pauldrons as part of their royal regalia. It’s a sign of strength, of a connection to the generals and soldiers that don their armor every day to protect this land. Yet, the way the metal presses exhaustingly down on his shoulders only makes him feel weak, far from the projection of strength he’s meant to embody. Almost impossibly, they feel even heavier this time.
He hates wearing the outfit, as well—the long sleeves that always seem to catch on anything around him, the long tails that catch in the exact opposite direction, the weighty golden crown on his head that makes his head hurt when it scatters reflections off light. It’s stuffy and restrictive, and it makes him feel like he’s wearing a costume. An imposter in fancy clothes, pretending to be someone he’s not—someone he’s never been.
But most of all, he hates what wearing the outfit represents. A momentous occasion, his father had said, a celebration to send off the Prince of Hyrule on the holy Coming of Age Pilgrimage on Mount Lanayru—as if this is an event for lighthearted revelry and not a chance for Ryunosuke to assuage worries of every noble and person of importance that yes, the Goddess Hylia’s powers have been illusive in the past, but, yes, traveling to her holy mountain will absolutely awaken them for good. There’s nothing for you to fear.
(As if turning twenty-three somehow makes him more wise. It’s a ridiculous notion on its face that someone with barely two decades of life experience is somehow the pinnacle of wisdom—you never stop learning, after all. But, wise or not, he hopes the goddess finally sees something in him up there.)
And there is nothing for them to fear. Maybe not in the way they quite envisioned it, but they’re ready—they’re all ready for what’s to come. It took a long time to convince himself of it, but even Ryunosuke can no longer deny that their preparations make him feel confident for once.
(But yet, he still hopes.)
“Ouch!” Ryunosuke yelps when there’s a sharp, pinching pain in his cheek.
Kazuma’s looking at him, mouth drawn into a frown. “You were spacing again,” he says. “Normally you’d mumble to yourself, but you were completely quiet. Just staring off into nothing awfully disturbingly…” He’s already fully dressed, even the beret he called silly earlier secured on his head. It looks even sillier now sitting on top of his headband, now fully exposed with his bangs slicked back. “I realize you’ve given me permission to slap your cheeks like you always tend to do, but that didn’t seem quite right.”
Oh, so you slapping me in the back with all your strength when you’re excited about something is fine, but this is the line? “Um, yes, thank you… Sorry, I just can’t…” He motions to the pauldrons sliding down his arms.
“Here, let me,” Kazuma says as he steps closer, a hair’s breadth away. The cologne he’s wearing inundates Ryunosuke’s senses in an instant—cassis and lavender. Then, he’s quickly off to work pulling the straps into their proper places and tying the needed knots. “Breathe,” he coaxes. “You’ve got this.”
Ryunosuke lets out a big exhale—one that shakes his whole body like a quake. “Do I?” he asks. “I already know they’re going to swarm and ask about it. Like vultures to carrion.”
Kazuma secures the left pauldron, then moves to the right. His hand slips under Ryunosuke’s bicep, holding it there as he tightens the strap. “Which is exactly why we spent those late nights trying to figure out the perfect answers,” he almost hums. Kazuma moves to fluff Ryunosuke’s cravat, then smoothes out the lapels of his coat. “Remember, it’s best to give a canned response…”
“The Goddess Hylia will hear our prayers,” they both say in unison.
Ryunosuke closes his eyes and draws in a deep breath. “Yes, I know that, but I just don’t…” His face falls into a pained frown before letting his head slump forward, landing on Kazuma’s shoulder. “I don’t want to do this,” he whines.
“I know, I know,” Kazuma laughs, a warm tickle against Ryunosuke’s ear. His hand rubs Ryunosuke’s back in gentle strokes. “But, don’t forget I’ll be there with you the entire time. If one of them dares to make a scene, they’ll have to deal with Karuma next.”
Ryunosuke groans. “Threatening them won’t help the situation…” he mutters into Kazuma’s shoulder.
Kazuma’s hand comes to rest at the dip in the small of Ryunosuke’s back. It settles there comfortably, like the space was carved there for the size of his palm. “Think of it less as threatening and more like a reminder that you’re a living, breathing person, not some effigy of the goddess where they can direct their vitriol to—and that you deserve to be treated with basic respect.”
Ryunosuke breathes in deep before turning his head, nuzzling into the curve between Kazuma’s chest and shoulder. “…Thanks, Kazuma.”
“Mhmm…”
When Ryunosuke and Kazuma step into the Throne Room, it’s already bustling with activity. The lower level is a writhing ocean of animal masks—a masquerade theme, though the masks do little to conceal any identities. Being disguised behind Ryunosuke’s own mouse mask does nothing to hide the golden ornamentations adorning him nor the fact that he sits on a seat next to the throne of the king, after all.
Who, of which, is missing—already mingling at the lower level, Ryunosuke supposes. Wonderful for him… Ryunosuke can’t seem to bring himself to find the same sense of levity.
It’s still quite early in the evening; the band hasn’t even fully set up their instruments yet. When it comes to the complexity of social posturing, he’s inexperienced, but one thing he’s picked up for certain is that only a single crowd arrives to a royal party with such promptness: those who are desperate. People comfortable in their place have no need for punctuality—they can come and mingle at their leisure later in the night—but someone eager for opportunity? Well, a few minutes where the crowd is at its sparsest might just be the exact moment it takes to garner attention from the King of Hyrule himself. Timing is just as important as the pitch, he knows that much.
And being able to catch the king while he’s taken a few early drinks—Ryunosuke scans the crowd and sees his father far off, gesticulating wildly with a drink in his hand—provides a crucial chance, indeed.
From here, in the absence of music, it’s like watching a sea of sharks sniffing for blood. It’s a celebration of his coming of age, but most of the attendees aren’t interested in him. No, these sorts of soirées are for more important things: learning the recent gossip, brokering business deals, fostering connections, finding potential romantic prospects. The few that hold any intrigue in him are the most dangerous of all—looking to him for their own personal gain, or, worse, looking for someone to blame for their own fears.
He at least can empathize with the latter to some degree, though it does little to make the venom sting less.
The motion below and the way the boisterous chatter echoes off the chamber walls leaves his mind a spinning mess, the ridge between his eyes throbbing. It’s a minute, ten, thirty—who knows? It’s long enough for the music to begin, anyway—as he watches the area fill. Somehow, in all his worrying, he’d forgotten just how boring these sorts of balls were. He wonders how Kazuma fairs through it all, staring at his back as he stands there in front of him, posture impeccably straight and disposition as stolid as a rock slab. The ears of his white and gold cat mask peek over the gelled slope of his hair.
His eyes wander to the massive banners suspended from the walls, watches how the scarlet, gold, and navy sway gently in the breeze. With a sigh, Ryunosuke tips his head back, closes his eyes. It comes with some relief, but it’s fleeting; he’s starting to feel the physical sensations of his stress now, too: a tickle against his brow, a tingling on his cheek, the feeling like someone’s watching him…
A shrill yell rips out of his throat when he opens his eyes to see two, green eyes staring back only an inch away, blonde feathers a ruffled mess in his periphery.
“Good Goddess, Your Highness!” Sholmes dramatically rears back from his perched position atop the backing of Ryunosuke’s chair. Ryunosuke clutches at his chest, heart pounding and face as white as a Cucco. “I was under the impression that this was a festive celebration, not a funeral!”
“Ch-Champion Sholmes!” Ryunosuke rasps out, air thin. “What on earth were you…?!” He looks at Iris standing in front of him—on the ground, like a normal person. She merely shrugs her shoulders, palms thrown up in the air. On her face sits a pink bear mask with sparkling rhinestones.
“Confirming your safety, of course!” Sholmes says as he hops down from the back of the chair. He wears a mask of a blue hare, with almost comically long ears sticking above his plumage. He has on a slick taupe-colored ensemble, decorated in intricate black patterning. “With your motionless, dour expression, I figured your trusty—yet distractible—knight must have slipped up and allowed a successful attempt on your life!” Ryunosuke can hear Kazuma growl out a protest, though his back is still turned to him as he converses with Susato. “I took it upon myself to check—it’s what a Champion does, after all.”
Ryunosuke slumps in his seat. He mumbles, “With how you scared me half to death earlier, a funeral might just still—”
Sholmes lifts up a wingtip to his forehead and flicks his hair feathers. “And, now I can confirm with modest certainty that you are, in fact, alive and well!”
“…Only modest certainty? I’m clearly still alive and speaking with you right now!”
“Yes, that is so, isn’t it?” Sholmes leans forward, wings spread as wide as his grin. “If I hadn’t jumped into action as swiftly as I did, then the outcome would have been quite more grim, indeed! No need to shower me with gratitude here; I have no qualms about waiting for a delivery of rupees at my lab’s doorstep—or even your finest made jewelry will suffice!” He throws his head back as he lets out a raucous laugh, clutching at his stomach.
Iris frowns at Sholmes before stepping forward. “Oh, Prince Runo!” she cheers then, clasping her hands in front of her. “You look wonderful in that mask! I’m so glad!”
Her sunlight melts the tension and irritation of her lab partner away. “Thank you again, Iris,” Ryunosuke says, bringing a finger to rest on the navy mouse mask, adorned with pipings of gold. “It’s beautifully constructed. I wouldn’t trust any other person with something as important as this, that’s for sure!” A smile, returned by an ever widening grin by Iris. “And your dress came out just as lovely. You look quite dashing!”
“Oh, thank you, heehee!” Iris does a twirl, the intricate lace and frills of her pink and cream dress spinning like a rose rolled between two fingers. Despite making the outfit herself, she looks just at home as the other nobles with their professionally crafted gowns. Is there nothing she can’t do?
Susato giggles behind a gloved hand as she separates from Kazuma’s side, teasing eyes only ever leaving him at the last possible moment. She bows when she gets to Ryunosuke. Her mask is a light cream with a subtle silver, floral design etched into it: a rabbit, with ears more proportionate than Sholmes’s. Her dress is also a frilly, tiered thing—a soft, pale pink embossed with subtle florals. “Good evening, Prince Ryunosuke. You are looking absolutely dapper tonight.”
“Thank you, Lady Susato. And you are looking as graceful as ever.” He hesitates before saying, “…Is Lady Rei not with you tonight? I was hoping she would be able to join us.”
Susato’s smile falters for the slightest millisecond before returning to composure. “Unfortunately, she couldn’t attend. Dr. Sithe has reached a breakthrough with their research and it’s all hands on deck to make as much progress as possible before Champion Watson joins you at Kakariko Village.”
It’s understandable, of course, the precedence of a scientific breakthrough that could help others, but Ryunosuke would be lying if he says he doesn’t feel disappointed by it. Susato always seems most cheerful whenever Rei is around, and if anyone should be able to make the most of a night like this one, he would want nothing more for it to be Susato after all she’s done for him—for everyone. She deserves a night of carefree fun every once and a while.
Ryunosuke nods. “I see. Well, I believe we should take it upon ourselves to engage in enough revelry to make up for her absence” He grins. “While she works hard enough to compensate for both our dallying tonight, yes?”
Susato raises a hand to her lips and tilts her head with a smile. “Indeed, I believe so, too.” When she drops her hand, something quick flashes in her expression—something barely there, transient in the way her eyebrows slightly knit. “I apologize for my bluntness on the matter, but I wanted to say that I recognize how difficult this event is for you, Prince Ryunosuke. I…wish you an uneventfully eventful night.” A smile then, of concern and compassion. It’s something she’s always been much too good at.
Ryunosuke gives his own shaky smile, gratitude and apprehension in equal measure making him unsteady. “…Thank you, Lady Susato. Truly.”
With another polite bow, she leaves, taking Sholmes and Iris with her down that long staircase into the undulating crowd below. She deserves tonight, undoubtedly. They all do, after how hard they’ve worked.
“Surprisingly, I think Champion Sholmes has a point,” Kazuma says as he looks over his shoulder. “Hiding up here all night will make the gossip worse, no doubt.”
“Yes, I know,” Ryunosuke relents with a sigh, clutching at the arms of the chair. He stands, legs unsteady. “…It’ll be a long night. I hoped to delay it just a bit more.”
“You can do it. I believe in you,” Kazuma whispers into Ryunosuke’s ear as he passes him, loud and clear over the swelling piano and violins. The back of Kazuma’s fingers brush over his knuckles. And somehow, just like that, Ryunosuke has the courage to descend the stairs.
Ryunosuke is only a couple steps into the lower level of the Throne Room when a hornet of a Hylian woman buzzes in, all furs and mustard-and-brown stripes and feathery hat, with an upper lip curled so sharp it could pierce through anything and a demanding presence to match. She wastes no time curtsying in front of him, with a “Your Royal Highness” greeting.
Ryunosuke smiles. “How do you do, Madam…?”
“Quinby Altamont, of Kolomo Town,” she says, chin lifted. “A pleasure, surely, but I have a matter that must be addressed with the utmost urgency.”
Ryunosuke feels his stomach constrict. Here it is. He knows all too well what follows: the question of whether he has unlocked the sealing powers (not about progress, no—merely the end result is all that ever matters), the beratement about how long it’s taken to achieve, the frustration taken out on him for being the reason they all will suffer—
“The evil spirit nonsense. Will it reach underground to affect my gas pipes?”
“The Godde—Huh? Sorry?”
Quinby takes out a large, ornate fan and waves it at her face. “While destruction on the surface is of course not ideal, installing the pipe infrastructure underground cost us quite a pretty rupee. We can weather the loss of repairing home lines, but—”
“I’m sorry,” Ryunosuke says, wide-eyed and off-kilter, “I don’t think I quite understand what it is you’re referring to…?”
“Gas, Your Highness, gas! It’s the fuel source of the future!” She snaps the fan shut. “Oh dear, Kolomo Town has been using our gas pipes for three years now—I’d forgotten that Castle Town is woefully behind the times… Imagine, for a moment, a world where you no longer have to lug around and wait for coal or wood to begin burning. Instead, you can have gas contained in pipes running through your entire house. No more waiting about stoking your hearth’s fire; in an instant, you can create a flame!”
Ryunosuke tries to not let his bewilderment show on his face, but he suspects it’s not a successful venture. The idea, admittedly, sounds intriguing and awfully convenient, yet…very flammable.
Her face remains utterly steely, never wavering from her business pitch. She taps her fan into her palm—tap, tap, tap. “You’re a smart, young, forward-thinking man. I can tell you see the value gas provides. Which is exactly why I need assurance that the Royal Family is seeing through that whatever this evil spirit is will not interfere with my family company’s gas pipes!”
“I…” That was her concern? Not the destruction Calamity Stronghart may wreak, not the suffering it may cause—no, only about the gas lines of her company? “Of, of course. We will make our best effort to neutralize the threat to our land. The Goddess Hylia will hear our prayers.”
She regards him with stinging calculation for a few moments under her bee mask, before reaching into her dress and procuring a small slip of paper from who knows where. “Please feel free to visit our town. We’d be honored to show you what the true power of gas can be. Thank you for your generous time.”
He turns the paper over in his hand: Altamont Gas Company, emblazoned with a bee motif. “Th-Thank you, Lady Altamont.”
Another curtsy from her and she’s back to bumbling into the dancing crowd. Ryunosuke shoots a confused look to Kazuma, who only shrugs back.
The rest of the evening follows a similar pattern, though some more predictable than others. He’d be approached by someone and engage in an uninspired waltz—a vessel for conversation rather than any sort of real entertainment. A lord seeking special deals from the Royal Family here; a lady expressing her concern in a tight-lipped, but polite way about Calamity Stronghart there; another noble expressing their concern in a not-so-polite suggestion about how he’s abetting the death and destruction of Hyrule by not acting quicker, though the language is carefully couched and considered. Another dance, another talk, another canned response. He’d take a goblet of wine, or two, or—
He blinks up at the waiter when he plucks the cup off the tray, arm still frozen mid-reach. Salt and pepper hair, round glasses, chameleon mask.
“…Hosonaga…?” Ryunosuke manages through the stunned silence. It’s the most unassuming of the disguises Ryunosuke’s seen so far—if he can even call it that.
Hosonaga smirks, leaning forward conspiratorially. He says, low, “Ah, I shouldn’t be surprised at all, Your Highness. Of course you’d be able to see right through my elaborate disguise!”
Is it all that elaborate? he thinks. Anyone could tell it was you!
“What are you doing here?” Ryunosuke asks, lifting a skeptical eyebrow. “And as a waiter, no less? Surely, there are more pressing matters to attend to as a detecti—”
Hosonaga quickly hisses out a sush, eyes darting about. The sound catches in his throat, sending him into a coughing fit. He wipes the blood that dribbles out of his mouth with his sleeve at once. “I’m undercover, you know.” Then, he straightens up, fiddling with the spacing between the goblets of alcohol on his tray, setting them back to before they were disturbed. “Besides, the Crown needed as much help as possible tonight. Naturally, I leapt at the chance to provide my support for the most important aspect of any party: making sure the guests are properly served sufficient food and drink!” He pushes his glasses up. “I strive to carry out all my roles flawlessly, after all, no matter what they are.”
Ryunosuke downs the wine and nods, returning the cup to the tray. “I see. Well, I won’t keep you, then. Thank you, Hosonaga. Keep up the great work as always.”
And with that, Hosonaga stalks off into the crowd, offering his drinks to the partygoers. Ryunosuke’s just about to find another waiter with the aforementioned appetizers when a gloved hand flashes in front of him, upturned.
A Gerudo man with a square jaw and slicked-back hair like a flame and kind-looking eyes behind a fennec fox mask bows in front of him, flashing a dazzling smile. “May I have this dance, Your Royal Highness?”
Despite being the one to offer his hand initially, the stranger is the one to lay his hand on Ryunosuke’s shoulder, allowing Ryunosuke to take the lead. They line up in formation with the others.
“Not that it’s surprising for the Royal Family, but it’s an extraordinary party…” the stranger says. “Castle Town seemed to be buzzing as well.” He laughs, light. “It’s my first time attending an event such as this at Hyrule Castle, so I do hope you’ll excuse me for feeling a bit starstruck.” A pause. “…And that you don’t think of me as being too forward when I say that you are looking quite dashing tonight.”
“Ah, uh…” Ryunosuke blinks. “Thank you. The, um, same goes for you.”
This is peculiar. Of course some small talk is to be expected, but considering how short the dances tend to be, normally, the guest will all but jump to introduce themself. It’s something that piques Ryunosuke’s attention—until he looks past the man and sees pink, shimmery scales; an elegant, almost floor’s length rippled aquamarine dress; a sea otter mask below a shining tiara. And the person being led onto the dancefloor: Kazuma.
The music begins, slow and rhythmic and controlled. And they’re off, tracing movements that have been rehearsed too often.
“Um, Your Highness?” the stranger asks.
It feels like it takes all the effort in his body to rip his eyes away from watching how Kazuma keeps his hand on Princess Rutipha’s back, how bright her smile is as she rests her hand in his.
“I—” It’s more a wheeze than a word. Ryunosuke has to pinch his eyes shut, shake his head. “I-I’m sorry, what?”
The stranger breathes out a laugh again, but it’s neither impatient nor annoyed, to Ryunosuke’s relief. “I was asking you if you could share how you deal with it all, if it isn’t too personal a question… The birthright destiny, the prophecy, the pilgrimages—it sounds awfully difficult.”
Ryunosuke’s eyes drift again, but he’s able to reign them in when he spins out of his eyeline of Kazuma. The focus, on the other hand, is spotty, blurred. Just as foggy as his mind is; he can barely think over the roar in his ears. All the turning involved in the dance doesn’t help, either. His mouth opens, then closes just as quickly. He can’t even process the question.
No, no, he has an answer for this. It was a line of inquiry Kazuma suggested to rehearse during their late night preparations. Ryunosuke wasn’t convinced at first; it would be highly unusual for anyone to ask a question of him that direct—of his personal opinion or feelings on a matter.
But, it’s also highly unusual that someone would ask an on-duty member of the Royal Guard to dance with them.
“…You’re correct, it is difficult,” Ryunosuke says, though the words feel like sandpaper against his tongue. “But, I’d do anything to protect Hyrule. I just have to—”
“—take it one step at a time,” Kazuma’s voice echoes in his head, overlapping with Ryunosuke’s own words.
The stranger nods. “I suppose that’s the best anyone could do, given the circumstances.” A pause, uncertain. “…Thank you for indulging me.”
The stranger arches his head when they turn again. “…You and the Hylian Champion are quite close, aren’t you?” The stranger asks.
It causes a little jolt down Ryunosuke’s back. “Wha—What?”
“You seem…distracted.” He inclines his head towards Kazuma with a slight smile. “Oh! I, I’m not offended in the slightest—I mean, it’s hard to feel insulted that the Prince of Hyrule cares more about the Hylian Champion than little ol’ me!”
Ryunosuke’s shoulders slump. “I’m so sorry. It’s beyond rude—unexceptable, really. You’ve been nothing but gracious. The most out of anyone else I’ve met tonight by far and yet, I…”
The dance has been a disaster, and he knows it. Aimless, distracted, sloppy. He’s meant to lead—he was designated to lead—and he’s failing, once again. Why is the only thing he can focus on always the one option not presented to him?
But they look so commanding dancing together. She towers over him, but it’s like she almost leans towards him, a plant growing toward light. And Ryunosuke can’t quite see Kazuma’s expression from his angle, but she’s smiling—laughing. But—
Ryunosuke’s eyes snap back to the stranger in the fennec fox mask. “…I haven’t even asked your name after all this time, have I?” He twirls the stranger, on cue with the rest.
The man smiles when they reconvene. “My name is Koloju. I come from Birida Town.”
“Koloju… Birida Town…? You’re not the son of the councilwoman, are you?”
His smile grows. “I am, indeed.”
Ryunosuke extends his arm and lets the man spin out, before curling back in. Ryunosuke catches his hand from behind him. They step together into a full rotation, until both their arms come above their head and Koloju twirls Ryunosuke in turn.
And he can’t see it—the movement too involved to be looking anywhere else—but he wonders how Kazuma and Princess Rutipha managed with their height difference. Surely, since Kazuma is leading, it would make the motion—
“May I bother you with one final question, Your Highness?” Koloju asks, and Ryunosuke affirms. “All this talk of destiny has been on the forefront of my mind. I can’t help but wonder…if you were always destined to meet someone, how do you know that you genuinely enjoy their company, rather than it being some sort of cosmic obligation? You know—do I truly like this person, or have I been told I need to like this person and have convinced myself that it’s true?”
Ryunosuke makes a sputtering noise. His gaze flicks to Kazuma, then back to Koloju. “It, it is true! I care about Champion Kazuma, of course I do—he’s my most trusted friend… I, I wouldn’t be anywhere without him by my side through it all!” His heart is pounding in his ears; his cheeks are burning flame. “Mere destiny never could’ve devised that!”
A flash of embarrassment and bewilderment twists Koloju’s face at once. “S-Sorry, I didn’t mean to insinuate anything otherwise! Forgive me, it was merely a hypothetical question… Though, I see now, one that was inappropriate…”
Shame floods Ryunosuke like diving headfirst into the Goron Hot Springs. It’s a disaster, all of it. “I, I apologize,” he tries to explain with a panic. “It’s not your fault. I simply misunderstood the intention—” His mouth clamps shut. “…I’m sorry.”
The music reaches a crescendo—swelling, swelling as the violins pick up. The abashed flush on Koloju’s face. Kazuma’s hand holding hers. Princess Rutipha bending over to whisper something in his ear. Kazuma, Kazuma—
“How can you not be afraid of it—destiny, that is?” Ryunosuke had asked, voice kept low. He had snuck a slice of Fruitcake into his room late after supper. A harmless secret, shared between only them with their thighs pressed together and each of their hands holding opposite sides of the plate—huddled in confidence, as if there was any risk of being disturbed.
“How does it make any difference?” Kazuma had answered, just as hushed. There’d been whipped cream left on the rim; Ryunosuke watched as Kazuma scraped it off with the pad of his thumb and popped it into his mouth. His lips had curled into a confident grin after. “You deal with the future the same way whether you know it beforehand or not: you make your own decisions as they come, just like always. I don’t believe for a second that our choices somehow don’t matter.”
The music ends in a rousing culmination, as Ryunosuke dips Koloju. “I’m sorry…” Ryunosuke murmurs again as they take their bows, rueful and filled with regret.
“Don’t be,” Koloju says with a depth of understanding that Ryunosuke doesn’t feel deserving of. It’s a quick motion, when he reaches for his hand and lifts his knuckles to his lips with another bow. He raises their hands like lifting a glass to toast and says, “Good luck. It was a pleasure.”
Ryunosuke nods slowly. “…Yes, likewise,” he says, throat tight, before slipping his hand out from Koloju’s grasp.
Not a moment to process it before his head swivels again, searching within the sea of moving bodies dispersing. Princess Rutipha is anything but inconspicuous, yet he strains to see her in the crowd. It’s like something skitters in his stomach as he feels his heart strain against his ribcage. Where? Where?!
Two strips of red fabric fly up from the night’s breeze—across the room, moving through the open archway towards one of the side balcony overlooks. Is it numb surprise or full-blown dread on his face when Ryunosuke sees Kazuma look over his shoulder? Kazuma had always teased him for wearing his emotions on his sleeve, after all. Teased—never admonished. Maybe then, that’s why when Kazuma meets Ryunosuke’s wide eyes, Kazuma’s face crumples in a way he’s never seen before. Especially not in public—not when all eyes are on him to be a bastion of strength and composure.
There’s a hand wrapped around his wrist. It’s only a split second until the archway eats him up completely.
Two heaving breaths before Ryunosuke can will his body to move, though each step feels like wading through sludge. And maybe it’s the chaos in his mind or maybe it’s some trick of the light or maybe it’s the alcohol finally catching up to him, but through the throng of people, standing in the shadow of nighttime spilling in from the exit below the thrones, he sees a cloaked man. Dark, pale, purple hair. An x-shaped scar peeking out from below a plum-colored cat mask.
The Reaper of the Yiga. Barok van Zieks.
“Hello?” Ryunosuke calls out. He doesn’t expect his voice to carry over the distance and the chatter of the crowd—it slips out before he realizes he utters it—but the man still turns. Piercing blue-gray eyes meet his and his blood runs cold. Ryunosuke begins to move forward. “‘S-‘Scuse me!” he yells a little louder.
Van Zieks takes a step back, before turning on his heel towards the entrance, his cloak whipping behind him.
“Wait!” Ryunosuke yells, shifting through the crowd. Grumbles erupt as he forces his way through the mass, but it does nothing to deter him.
What is he doing here?!
A magistrate, Kazuma had said. Highly decorated and feared by criminals. A reputation for underhanded means—but never any evidence to corroborate the claims. He’s high society enough to attend a celebration like this, but to have the audacity to do so after McGilded…?
When the shocking chill of the night air hits Ryunosuke’s face, he’s left stumbling alone. He tries to scan the dark pathways, but it’s nothing but shadows and low torchlight. Kazuma’s words ring in his head: “Wherever he goes, the Yiga are always close to follow.” He clutches at his arms as a shiver wracks through him. Another sweep of the perimeter. He counts the number of guards posted outside—tripled for the event.
“Hello,” he says as he walks up to one of the Royal Guard stationed next to the exit of the Sanctum.
“Y-Your Royal Highness! Sir!” The woman strikes a stiff posture, heels clicking together with a salute. She strains to avoid eye contact as her gaze flicks to Ryunosuke for one a second before quickly drawing away.
“Did you see a man just leave right before me? Where did he go?”
The woman’s lips twist. “Um, y-yes, sir! He left down the western path toward the front entrance, sir!”
Ryunosuke stares down that pathway. If Van Zieks is already gone from view, by the time he walks down there, he’ll already be long gone—whether it’s to the front entrance or not. Since the guards are still relatively relaxed and unconcerned, Van Zieks must have not alerted any suspicion—no running or questionable movement. And he was spotted in plain sight; there was no attempt to conceal himself or move covertly.
It’s curious, but…
“I see, thank you very much,” Ryunosuke says. “There’s no cause for alarm, but I request to please be on the lookout for any activity from the Yiga Clan. I…” The memory flashes in his head: Van Zieks stopping the Yiga member who attacked him. “…Have no reason to suspect any threat, but I think it’s good to stay vigilant during a large gathering like this.”
The woman nods. “Yes, of course…Y-Your Highness.”
“Thank you,” he says with a rigid smile. One final look at the dark parapets, before he turns and trudges back inside, head hanging as he traces the stone walkway.
It’s only the familiar tug he feels deep in his heart that gets him to finally lift his head and, in a second, there’s two hands wrapped around the crook of his arms and a warm breeze like stepping into home after a chilly evening walk and a face that’s too much like a beacon in the fog to be dimmed with the concern currently etched there
“Ryunosuke,” Kazuma breathes out, frazzled, “are you alright?”
Ryunosuke nods, slow. And the only thing he can say in response is the first thing that comes to mind: “Can, can we go outside?”
So they each grab a goblet of wine, then leave behind them the party and the chaos and the people that expect too much of them. When the harsh lights of the Sanctum leave way to inky torchlight, Ryunosuke reaches for Kazuma’s hand and tugs him ever so eagerly down the stairs, to the Gardens, behind the shroud of the overgrown wisteria tree. They toss their masks and Kazuma’s Royal Guard hat aside. Kazuma lights the lantern.
Silence hangs between them, but the whisper of music still reaches even here—light, not oppressive. It’s easy, like this. To sit there, half a world away from everyone else, finishing their drinks somewhere no one can disturb them. It’s easy—it is—but—
“...What was Princess Rutipha talking to you about?” Ryunosuke asks. The words pass through him like he’s a wind chime hung up with frayed string.
And he doesn’t want to look over—he doesn’t, he doesn’t—because there’s some inane, insecure part of him that fears if he looks over at him, he’ll see something on Kazuma’s face. Something that calls into question a fact that he’s never once doubted before, not for a second. Something that gives him pause, even now, even when they share that same easy closeness as always, legs and arms pressed against each other on this bench despite the extra room left on the seat.
They’ve never uttered it aloud before, but actions have always spoken louder than words. Of course they do—words spun with sugar are sweet, yet dissolve quickly on the tongue, but that steadfast loyalty, reaching far beyond anything that could ever be expected of either of their roles? No mere words could ever do enough justice to reaffirm a bond like choosing each other again and again, day after day.
Ryunosuke would recognize Kazuma by posture, by smell, by the way his heart beats in sync with his own. That pull, undeniable.
But the way Kazuma sighs out like it’s painful and how he dips his head forward while clutching that goblet makes Ryunosuke look over anyway. He watches how the lantern shadows bounce off the anguish that carves into Kazuma’s features. It’s the worst Ryunosuke’s ever felt to be reassured.
“…She offered me a handmade necklace,” Kazuma says, slow and unsteady. He rolls the goblet between his fingers. “…It’s a traditional gift given to establish your intent to court someone.”
Something inside Ryunosuke lurches and drops. So, it was true, then—that feeling of giddiness he was reading off her. Directed at Kazuma.
The worst part is that Ryunosuke can’t even begin to deny that it makes sense; the Princess of Zora’s Domain of course would search for a suitor in the most accomplished knight of Hyrule. Of course she would—it’d be irrational not to. Together, they’d build a coalition that would leave their land in a strong position, with Kazuma right at the helm beside her. And it makes sense she’d fall for Kazuma, after all, simply because it’s Kazuma. Who wouldn’t?
“O-Oh?” The words come out like broken glass underfoot and Ryunosuke winces at how his voice cracks. He blinks away the moisture that builds on his lashes. “And, and did you accept it?”
Kazuma doesn’t look at him. “Of course…”
Ryunosuke can’t take it; it’s too much. He turns his face away before Kazuma can notice the tears pooling at the corners of his eyes. The only thing that keeps him rooted to the bench instead of him rushing away is how weak his legs feel under him.
So, that’s it, then. He’d stay with him to complete his pilgrimage, that’s for certain. And perhaps, Kazuma and Princess Rutipha would make do with letters and occasional visits for some time while they’re apart. But, there would be a point where Kazuma would leave—where they’d get married, Goddess forbid—and he’d only get to see him maybe once or twice a year at best. What would he do, without him there to—
There’s a hollow thunk noise, followed immediately by sharp pain radiating from Ryunosuke’s forehead. “Ow!” Ryunosuke recoils.
“…Not,” Kazuma says, retracting his hand, post-flick. “I could never accept something like that, not when I—” He hesitates, just for a moment. “I have no interest in political marriages. Besides, I’m still your assigned knight; I’m loyal to you only.”
Some needy, embarrassing, utterly relieved noise peals out of Ryunosuke before he can contain it. “I, I see…” The pain is instantly smothered by the joy that floods him. He scrubs at his eyes with the back of his hand—though, he can’t quite tell whether the tears are old or new.
Through his blurry vision, he sees Kazuma’s head titled, peering up at him from below. Faint, contrite: “Did you really…?” Kazuma purses his lips, knocks his knee lightly against Ryunosuke’s. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be cruel.” He feels the cold rush beside him when Kazuma gets up. Then, he feels Kazuma gently pull his left hand off from his face.
“Would you forgive me if I offered you this dance, Your Highness?” Ryunosuke’s mouth falls open when the scene clears in his vision: Kazuma’s down on one knee in front of him, Ryunosuke’s hand cradled in his. “…Ryunosuke?” Kazuma lifts his hand, brushes his lips against his knuckles. “…Partner?” The warmth seeps through his glove, saturating deep.
Ryunosuke can’t force himself to speak other than a weak noise scraping out from his throat; he merely nods, gaping at Kazuma as he stands up and draws Ryunosuke close to him. One hand intertwines with Ryunosuke’s own, the other slides across his waist, settling itself there. Perhaps, in the Sanctum, it would be seen as scandalous. Here, Ryunosuke can’t find it in himself to care.
It’s far from the only thing that would be seen as improper if behind castle walls: the proximity between them is much too close, and the way they slowly sway without following any set pattern would leave the Royal Dancing Master red in the face. The dances have their own role as a form of control, of course—you play the same, safe music; you keep a sterilized, polite distance between your partner; you always follow the steps.
To deviate is to disgrace, after all—to dishonor. Perhaps actually enjoying a slow dance is a silent rebellion itself.
It’s times like these when Ryunosuke feels like Kazuma’s courage has rubbed off on him the most. A year and a half ago, Ryunosuke would’ve never dared to think about leaving a royal party midway. And yet, here he is: not only secluded far enough away where the partygoers in the distance are but a background thought, but truly savoring every moment of it.
“Not quite the same as back in Snowfield Stable, is it?” Ryunosuke says through a grin. His eyes haven’t left Kazuma’s for a second.
“No,” Kazuma says, returning gaze as intense as always. “I don’t think anything ever will be, outside that stable. That’s part of the magic of that place, isn’t it?”
“You’re right. We should go back sometime…” And Ryunosuke doesn’t miss how Kazuma’s gaze dips, how it lingers there. He swallows; something flickers in Kazuma’s eyes like sparks off of flint.
“Mhmm,” Kazuma murmurs distractedly.
With a fluttering stomach, all Ryunosuke can do is rest his head on Kazuma’s shoulder. It doesn’t help how his pounding heart seems to echo off of Kazuma’s bones, but the way his warmth seeps into his skin is something he can never quite get enough of. Here, staring up at the blanket of stars above, he feels much less small—the unknown before him a place of possibility rather than fear. He sighs out, content, and settles closer into him. They sway and sway.
“…I’d follow you until the ends of the world, you know that, right?” Kazuma whispers into Ryunosuke’s ear, voice husky and full of longing. It reverberates through every part of him. “To every spring, to every stable…to every ridiculous food stall you somehow sniff out along the way, though we’d just eaten an hour prior.” Ryunosuke breathes out a laugh, and he can hear the way Kazuma’s smiling through his words. “Through every failure and every success—I will stand beside you, forever. No courtship proposal could ever threaten that, I swear to you. So, don’t ever worry.” Slow, resolute: “You already have all of me…partner.”
What makes his smile grow wider, Ryunosuke wonders: Kazuma’s declaration or the way he feels Kazuma’s heartbeat skitter faster under his palm? He merely laughs to himself, light and fond.
“It’s funny,” Ryunosuke murmurs, then, “how time works the way it does… I spent so, so long thinking you despised me”—Kazuma’s hand presses a bit tighter on his waist—“and now you’ve become such a permanent, irreplaceable presence in my life, I can’t even imagine that there was ever a time when I felt like my life would be better without you in it…
“And, and it’s not as though I take it for granted now, but it’s like how you never fully realize just how comfortable your own bed is until you have to stay in another. And once it’s gone, you truly notice that vacancy—just how much you really cherish it.”
“Ryunosuke…” The words like air.
Ryunosuke shifts, nuzzles his cheek deeper into Kazuma’s shoulder. He purses his lips together before he speaks: “It’s when it all clicked, I think—seeing you there with the princess, I mean. I… I think I’ve known for a while, deep down, but it finally all came rushing to the surface, crystal clear. I just simply—” He draws in a breath, steadying himself. “I realized I don’t ever want to regret not having done something I wanted to while I still had the chance.”
Ryunosuke feels Kazuma stiffen against him, feels the way he sucks in a breath and holds it deep inside his chest. “…Look at me?” Kazuma asks, then, the words hoarse.
Of course he does. They’re close—close enough for Ryunosuke to truly appreciate the way the moonlight spills slices of shimmering silver across the contours of Kazuma’s face. Close enough to watch the way his dark eyes seem to almost sparkle without the shroud of his loose bangs obscuring them, some heady mix of trepidation and expectation swirling deep within them. Close enough that Kazuma’s breath ghosts across Ryunosuke’s face when he lets out a stuttering exhale.
“…And what is it that you want to do?” Kazuma whispers, barely audible.
Ryunosuke slips his hand out from Kazuma’s now-gone-lax grasp, trails it up his arm, until it finds its way against Kazuma’s jaw, stroke featherlight. Kazuma’s breath hitches under his touch. “This,” Ryunosuke exhales out. He applies the slightest bit of pressure against his skin, gently tilting his face just so. He leans in, slowly, slowly. “…If you’d also want to…?”
Kazuma closes the short distance. It’s a clumsy affair, at first—when Ryunosuke’s nose smushes into Kazuma’s cheek, and they laugh against each other’s lips as their foreheads knock, grown uncoordinated with eagerness. Yet, they adapt like they always do, finding a rhythm their very own against the distant music. One step at a time.
But there’s the way that Kazuma’s hands snake around Ryunosuke’s waist: how he pulls him closer, closer, even when they’re already flush against each other, the urgency when he presses yet another kiss to Ryunosuke’s lips—that desperation there. As if he’d been yearning for this all night—for the last year, the last lifetime, the last ten and however many more lifetimes before that.
And it’s that same pull that makes Ryunosuke return in kind, running his fingers through Kazuma’s neatly gelled hair—surely mussing it up now. He sighs against Kazuma’s lips when he feels Kazuma shudder against him. Kazuma smells of cassis and lavender and a scent that is so wholly him; he tastes of sweetness and of alcohol and of a future so addictively ambrosial, Ryunosuke can’t see himself ever getting enough of it.
And that’s exactly why it’s so hard to stop himself from leaning back in for another kiss after they’re forced to remember to breathe, especially when Kazuma holds the side of his face like hands cupping the clearest water and his thumb skirts across his bottom lip and—
The clock tower bell tolls for the midnight hour and they both almost jump out of their skin. Ryunosuke’s lucky Kazuma is able to keep his wits about him enough to maintain his hold around his waist because—between his already racing heart and dizzy mind—he can barely stay standing on his own. Not to mention the way he can’t form a coherent thought over the pounding in his ears and the way his face burns like he’s standing right in the middle of the Gerudo Desert.
In the haze, he hears Kazuma snort, before descending into an ever-growing intensity of snickers that wrack his body. Kazuma drops his head into the nook of Ryunosuke’s neck, right in the space where his pauldron ends.
“Wha—What is it?” Ryunosuke asks, and he can’t suppress the laughter of his own that bubbles up in response. Shock from the clock tower subsiding, his own giddy joy finds its way back to the surface on its own.
“I was just—” Kazuma manages through peals of laughter. It tickles—his breath against Ryunosuke’s skin. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”
Ryunosuke’s eyes grow wide. “What?” The grin on his face is starting to hurt. “…Since, since when?”
“I don’t know,” Kazuma laughs out. He shifts, wounds his arms tighter around Ryunosuke. His face feels scorching against his neck. “I don’t think there was a singular moment, but would you think of me as ridiculous to say I began to feel fond of you since our first meeting?”
“Wha—Sorry?” Ryunosuke’s flailing now; he slides his hands resting on Kazuma’s chest up towards his shoulders, just so he can ball the fabric between his fists and ensure he won’t topple over. He remembers that day—the apprehension, the envy, the misunderstandings of it all. Embarrassment and horror now, for how unfairly he treated Kazuma when he was still too wrapped up in his own feelings of self-loathing and doubt. He hopes the way his face flares even hotter in shame doesn’t creep down his neck for Kazuma to feel. “Wh-Why?!”
Kazuma hums to himself for a moment, perhaps putting it to words for the first time himself. “Because it was one of the darkest periods of my life and despite everyone in Hateno swearing the Royal Family was made up of only humorless, out of touch elites, there was the Prince of Hyrule rattling off a bunch of nonsense phrases faster than I’d heard anyone ever speak before right in front of me, like a man possessed. And it was the first time I laughed in weeks.” He nuzzles his face deeper into Ryunosuke’s neck. “You so thoroughly disarmed me… Everything was so overwhelming, but just for that ephemeral moment, it felt like things might just be bearable—that I was transported back to before everything crumbled and I could just forget about it all for a short while. I suppose it just grew from there, dormant as it may have been until we met again.”
“I, I see…” Ryunosuke murmurs. Dread drops his stomach with the realization, fully forming in his consciousness. “K-Kazuma…?!” His hands are shaking now, tight fists clutching to Kazuma’s collar like a lifeline. His voice is scraped hollow with horror: “Oh Goddess, I really thought you hated me that entire time…!”
Kazuma barks out a loud laugh. He draws his head back, so Ryunosuke can see all of him under the beauty of the moon. And he looks back at Ryunosuke with such profound, attentive fondness in his eyes, it’s almost as if he encompasses the entirety of his vision. The terror quickly begins to melt away; comfort fills the empty space left. “Well, I suppose we can put that question to rest once and for all at this point, don’t you agree?”
Ryunosuke sighs out a shaky, “Yes…” Gives him another bashful smile.
Kazuma pauses, continues to search for something in Ryunosuke’s eyes. He seems to find it when he finally says, “I love you.” So easy, so casual. So undeniably true, it’s as self-evident as the sky being blue on a clear summer’s day.
Something wells up inside Ryunosuke’s chest, massive and jittery and all-encompassing. Something warm—homey, even. His right hand slides across the back of Kazuma’s neck, fingers threading through the little hairs at his nape. Gratefulness, maybe, or relief. Or perhaps something straightforward: complete and utter adoration.
So, it’s of no surprise when Ryunosuke’s response is just as effortless: “I love you, too.”
Kazuma’s eyes crinkle before he kisses Ryunosuke again. It’s slow, languid, drawn-out—like only they exist in this world at this very moment, with no sense of duty or prophecy or expectation on their heels. Just them: a beacon of warmth amongst the October chill, rooted in place.
“W-Wait, wait!” Ryunosuke laughs out after, pressing gloved fingertips to Kazuma’s lips when he attempts to continue further. They rest their foreheads together, breath intermingling within the inch left between them. “We should”—he laughs again, unbidden—“it’s gotten late, we should get back before someone notices we’ve been gone.” He pulls away, despite how much effort the action takes, a little dizzy and a lot reluctant. “Though, perhaps we need a bit more time before we’re presentable…” He motions his hand towards Kazuma’s face—blown out pupils and reddened face and disheveled hair plenty evidence of their actions.
“Yes,” Kazuma sighs out, tilting his head with closed eyes and a mouth screwed in an almost childish pout, petulant, “I suppose you’re right…” Then, he steals another mischievous look before pressing a final, quick peck to Ryunosuke’s cheek. He turns on his heel, snatching his mask and hat up from where they had tossed them away earlier. He passes Ryunosuke’s mask to him, then secures his own headgear. “Let’s go, then, shall we?” Sly eyes gleaming through a cat mask.
Ryunosuke nods, adjusts the mouse mask to once again cover half his face. He slips his hand into Kazuma’s and pulls gently, ushering him to join him at his side. Golden light flickers there on the backs of their hands, past the fabric of their gloves—an outline of three stacked triangles. With a smile: “Perhaps a long walk is just the cover we need, then… Are you still willing to follow me?”
Kazuma grins, squeezes his hand. “Of course. Always, partner.”