Chapter Text
Ryunosuke’s Journal
It’s odd—the feeling of returning to this journal after so long. I’ve been afraid of it, I think. So many memories from before live within these pages. It’s almost as if I don’t touch it again, they can crystallize here, preserved perfectly in the past. If I simply remove the last entry, then maybe I can even pretend it all ended differently.
Yet, here I am. Finally. Would Kazuma be proud of me for facing my fears? Or would he be as I can envision him so clearly right now: with that madenning grin of his he had whenever he knew he was right, teasing me for being afraid of dragging pen across paper?
…No matter. I won’t be looking back to those older entries, at any rate. So, here I am. I suppose it’ll be easiest to begin with the facts.
Central Hyrule is in ruin. Kazuma is Too many are dead. Calamity Stronghart is revived, watching over us all like a raging storm cloud in the distance.
Three months later, and it doesn’t feel any easier.
It will, eventually, Lady Susato says; time works like a salve, healing slowly but reliably, even if there are setbacks along the way. I’m lucky to have her assistance through all this, but too often she acts as though she’s not also affected, as though she only exists to console and soothe others around her, never attending to herself. I can see through it—the way her voice wavers ever so slightly whenever Kazuma is mentioned, the glassiness in her eyes when a new scouting report comes in about Castle Town, the sunken look to her face day in and out, the muffled sobs that filter through the thin walls at night. She’s grieving as much as I am. As much as we all are.
Perhaps this is how she deals with grief, kneeled down at others’ feet in amenability. Elder Impa would scold me for judging, but it fills me with a certain sadness. If this is what truly brings her peace, however, then I’m thankful for it. I can only try my best to help lighten the load. It’s much easier to lift the weight between two people, after all.
Kakariko Village has been beyond accommodating during this time, and for that, I’m grateful. Bustling streets, even more cramped lodgings—the village bursts at its seams. Makeshift tents spill out into the surrounding areas, all the way to Telta Lake.
An entire floor within the Village Elder’s pagoda was offered to me, but of course I couldn’t accept such lavishness; too many people have been displaced to even think of being that selfish. The village’s council urged and urged, insisting that the Prince of Hyrule—the only remaining member left of the Royal Family (Goddess, imagine that…)—should be comfortable, that I should take as much space as I wanted, but it took a fight until they actually listened to the very thing that I wanted: a small corner, enough to fit Lady Susato, her father, Elder Impa, Champion Sholmes, Iris, and myself in. That’s all.
I shouldn’t have said it (though, I swear I didn’t actually say it!), but I think they only gave in once I said that there is no remaining member of the Royal Family because it no longer exists. The council blanched immediately, and at that point, there was truly no turning back. I told them of my disinterest in ruling and to address me just by my name, with no title. I could tell how scandalized the elders were at this, though they didn’t press further. So, it’s done now. The Royal Family of Hyrule is no more, buried under the same rubble as the castle itself.
Goddess, what have I done? Was this the right thing to do? Oh Kazuma, how I wish you were here to help guide me. You always knew exactly what to say.
No matter how much I insist on my interest in being perceived as a normal person, I don’t know if those in the Kakariko council will ever accept the idea—not fully, at least. They asked who would be the leader now for all the kingdom, if not me. The answer seemed so obvious.
For a full month, I was indisposed. With grief, with a penetrating fatigue that ran so deep, I couldn’t even leave the bed. The world didn’t wait for me to tell them what to do. Leaders stepped up, all around in my absence (no, that isn’t quite right—it had nothing to do with me, did it? They would have done the same no matter): principled knights, community leaders, the very council itself. People who intimately knew the plight of those around them and knew what to do next. That’s what those who are suffering truly need in this time: real leadership to guide them, not a figurehead with no experience.
Perhaps it’s idealistic to think it’s that simple, but it’s a start. After all, residents of Central Hyrule are the ones seeking refuge in long-standing communities—who are we to come in and usurp rule from governments already established? Besides, hasn’t Hyrule always been a patchwork of local governments at its core?
Nonetheless, this is just one of many changes that will take time to adjust to. Securing housing for everyone is top of mind. There’s an empty tied island in Lake Akkala that a construction company is looking to build upon, but this will be a years-long endeavor and the travel there will be challenging.
Nearby, Hateno Village has already started construction efforts. What Kazuma said before was true: they’re quite the insulated community, and opposition has already popped up against a rise in immigration. Despite this, the village recognized the unprecedented situation and held a vote to proceed with accommodating new residents.
The Hateno mayor offered me a small, previously abandoned home in the outskirts of the village that will need major renovation before anyone can occupy it. He wouldn’t accept no for an answer—in all their eyes, I was the one who saved their village and this was the least they could do to repay me.
…This was days ago, but writing it now, I feel the same stabbing pain as when he said it. I told him it wasn’t just me, that if it wasn’t for Kazuma, none of this would’ve happened. His name sparked recognition in him, I could tell. But did anyone else know? “The Miracle at Fort Hateno,” I’ve heard it now called, but what of the effort that came before it? It was him—it was all him, with his courage to take a stand before the fort. To not run away when faced with the near impossible, all to protect the vulnerable.
I refuse to let his sacrifice be erased, swept under some fortuitous awakening of my powers. I won’t let him be forgotten. No, never.
The Hateno mayor wanted us to come visit the village, with offers of a big celebration. I had to turn him down. I just couldn’t do it. It was Kazuma’s hometown… We were supposed to visit it together. He was going to show me where his father’s dojo once stood and we were going to try the pizza with the famous fresh cheese and we were going to
I can’t bear to be there without him.
Champion Sholmes was offered the last thing by the mayor: an old research laboratory in the hills, overlooking the Necluda Sea. He said it was used for agricultural research a long time ago, but hasn’t been touched since. I suppose I’ll have to face the village at some point, but I simply don’t have it in me right now to try.
I’m sorry, Kazuma. I’m sure it’s a lovely place, but
Forgive me, won’t you?
I hope you will. I know how you struggled to face the place for so long. I wouldn’t dare assume to feel the same way you did, but I think I understand a little more now. Even if it’s for other reasons.
Reports from other parts of Hyrule come in waves—a flood of news between droughts of nothing. It was just as I feared, after all: Ursavra and Champion Wilson are dead. The doors to the Divine Beasts were sealed shut. They were locked in there, alone. For how long? Were they holding on for hope of help, only for no one t The rescue crews had to force their way in through the reinforced windows, only to find a corpse and a wretched monster waiting for them. Stalking, waiting to ambush. Is this how they felt, in their last moments? The creatures were both similar to how Champion Sholmes described the one he slew: horrific mixtures of Sheikah construction and pulsing malice, disconfigured and rabid with fury. And I was the one to send them to The rescue crews barely made it out themselves. It didn’t sound like they could retrieve the bodies, not with the risk. The monsters seem confined to the Beasts, but they’re being monitored for any suspicious activity.
I struggle to even believe it. Ursavra, dead. I can’t cease the last moments we had together from repeating in my head: not a goodbye, but a see you later. It wasn’t true. I’ll never see her again. I should’ve said goodbye then, I should’ve, I should’ve—I should’ve visited her more often, made more excuses to detour to Gerudo Town. I should’ve asked her to teach me how to use a scimitar—she would’ve gotten a kick out of that, especially watching me struggle. I should’ve gone with her to that bar she always frequented, to the markets, to the dance performances.
No, more than that—I should’ve never asked her to become the Champion at all.
But, if not her, then who? I don’t know. I can’t possibly entertain the thought of condemning someone else to their demise.
It’s little compensation, but at least half of the Champions were spared the grim fate of their counterparts. Champion Sholmes regaled us with the tale of his fight with the monster—a Blight, he’s taken to calling it now—and how it controlled the elements: hurricane-level wind gusts that would buffet even the strongest of fliers, and tornadoes whipped up in an instant. His antics continue to get under my skin sometimes, but how it feels when his cavalier attitude cracks and he shows his sober self underneath is far worse. He said, with all the solemnity of a speech at a funeral, if it wasn’t for the night vision programmed into his goggles, he wouldn’t have made it. I believe him.
Likewise, Champion Jigoku made it out of the Divine Beast safely. He was lucky: he said he got to the controls of Vah Rudania before even coming into contact with the monster. Vah Rudania’s Blight must’ve turned off the laser and locked entry after Champion Jigoku had gone to assist the others in Death Mountain. I can’t help but find it odd how the other Blights lied in wait to attack, yet this one was late to appear. For all its power, perhaps Calamity Stronghart isn’t as infallible as I had once thought… Small blessings, in some ways.
But, its ruthlessness can’t be minimized. I should’ve been tipped off by the length of time it took for a response of any sort from Akkala Citadel. My uncle had devised a very sophisticated messaging system there; communications ran to and from the citadel with little friction. It shouldn’t have been as much of a surprise as it was to finally hear that it had been utterly besieged by Guardians. My uncle and his family: dead in the attack. The vast majority of knights, as well. The citadel is in ruins, much like the castle.
I can’t help but wonder if it knew—that the soldiers were primarily retreating there from Central Hyrule, that it was a stronghold filled with cannons and a steady supply of manpower and weaponry. Did Calamity Stronghart realize it would be a strategic advantage to target it?
The fortress once thought to be impenetrable. The last stand of the Knights of Hyrule. Akkala Citadel was created to be as much of an offensive stronghold as it was defensive—the cliffs surrounding it allowed the soldiers to manage any incoming attacks from monsters or people, no matter the direction. But this? Guardians have no flesh to pierce with arrows; they have no fatigue to succumb to. They don’t need to pause to reload arrows, or have to retreat out of fear from their brethren falling in front of them. It’s nothing like what the citadel was ever prepared for. The amount of devastation that must’ve happened upon that hill… It’s unthinkable.
Even with Calamity Stronghart behind the light cage, it still holds some possession of the Guardians. They prowl around Central Hyrule mostly. Every now and again, there are sightings of turned Guardians wandering outside of the area, but they’re described as seeming lost, aimless. Easier to dispatch. Perhaps it’s the result of its influence waning the further away they go. We can only hope it’s the case.
(Ever since I trapped it, I’ve felt its enmity towards me like a searing spotlight, following me wherever I go. Champion Sholmes and Iris devised this small badge, shaped almost like a moon with a great star behind it, that I’m to wear at all times to hide my presence. Considering how often I tend to lose small things like this, Iris took extra care in securing it. It seems to have done the trick, but I still worry that it somehow still watches me, flying as high as it does…)
The nearby allied Guardians have stayed reliably loyal through it all. Unsurprisingly, many people have become fearful and wary of them, and have vehemently objected to their proximity. Iris and Champion Sholmes have temporarily depleted their energy stores and shut them down in the meantime, out of an abundance of caution to assuage fears. I feel torn inside when I look at them. I’ve come to the conclusion that we needed their help, but I saw firsthand the utter destruction they wrought when under the Calamity’s influence… I don’t think I’ll ever be able to erase those images etched into my memory.
Of seeing the blasts rip through him. Staring down that red laser as it threatened to steal him away from me forever—not like it mattered much, because the threat was fully realized
The questions echo in my mind, over and over again. Was it wrong for me to use them? Did I unknowingly help the Calamity? Did it make any difference? Would Calamity Stronghart not just excavate them from their underground pillars anyway, no matter what we did or didn’t do? How many more people would’ve died if they hadn’t been activated—if we didn’t know of their weaknesses beforehand?
…You told me I was right to work with the Sheikah technology—believed in me since the very beginning. Do you still think that after everything that happened to you, Kazuma?
I still struggle with it, with no satisfying conclusion. In the end, despite all of it, I still can’t help but feel some enduring fondness whenever I look at the Guardians. In the most difficult of moments, I think of the Guardian in Castle Town that protected that group of civilians until its last moments. That had to count for something, didn’t it?
Darumy and Eggy still stay active. Iris was able to repair Darumy pretty well, despite being away from her lab. She keeps a close watch on them, to ensure there isn’t any odd behavior. However, I get the feeling that they’re going stir-crazy, in a way. One taste of the wild, and they began to start feeling suffocated stuck inside.
I get it, I do. There’s some sort of pull that great wild has on you, isn’t there? My fingers itch for it. I’ve spent so much time trapped in so many different ways, that I can’t fight—don’t want to fight it, even—the urge to explore this world and take in everything and everyone in it. Its magnetism draws me in with an indomitable force.
That sort of ties into why I finally was able to sit down to write this journal entry, I suppose.
You see, the Goddess Hylia must have some sick, deranged sense of humor. Because this morning, for the briefest of moments, I swear I felt him. Kazuma—felt that same pull towards him I’ve felt many times before, coming from somewhere far in the distance. As if ghosts could still act as though they move and breathe as the living. And then, as if it never happened: the absence again shortly after.
It’s a cruel joke, whatever it was. Haven’t I suffered enough to watch him slowly die in front of me—to then be given false hope of his potential resuscitation, only to have it all ripped away in an instant?
I mulled over whether or not to tell Lady Susato, but I found I just couldn’t. She’s endured enough already. False hope is one thing, but to bring up something so fleeting—so unsubstantiated other than a mere momentary feeling? I’d be just as cruel as the goddess.
Perhaps I felt his soul finally crossing over to the realm of spirits. If I’m to be charitable, maybe it was a gift to know he’s made it—he’ll be alright now in the afterlife. It’s just… Charity feels difficult to afford in a land of utter desolation.
What a burden it is to hope.
Kazuma, I wish that you did truly pass over from this world. It would make what I’m writing less embarrassing, knowing you’re not stuck reading it all over my shoulder. And I wouldn’t want you to be trapped here! You were always larger than life—still are, even in death. It doesn’t suit you being chained to one place. I’m sure wherever you are now, you’re as brilliant as you were while on this plane.
…Talk of spirits always makes me think of the Temple of Time. Do you remember when we visited? You said that ghosts were merely things written in stories. I know now for that to not be true, for you’ve haunted me every day.
My hand hits only empty air when I reach out in bed, my papers remain untidied on the desk, my plate holds only my own serving of chicken. I see the ties of your red headband fluttering in the corner of my vision and, without fail, I forget. I forget, and I turn to greet you and it’s not you—you’re not there at all. Only silent Karuma, tattered headband wrapped around her sheath and catching a limp breeze. It never flies quite so high as it did when you wore it.
It was Lady Susato’s idea to wrap it around Karuma, you know? She’s always been discerning like that. It was also her wish to give Karuma to me. She said you would have wanted me to have her.
I’ve gladly taken charge of her, but I know full well that Karuma doesn’t want me to have her. She doesn’t talk, doesn’t sing. Whatever my relationship to the Goddess Hylia is, it doesn’t erase the fact that you were her master, not me.
Every night, I try to use what little control over these new powers I have to draw the light magic into her. I’m not sure if she’s receptive. You said you could see her being repaired; I see nothing but blackened ends and brittle steel. Each night, I’ll still try.
I never quite realized how many of your other possessions I still held within the Slate. Your calligraphy set, your books, your clothes. Lady Susato defends your magical pouch, but I snuck claim of that awful clay figure of you I made for your birthday… It doesn’t look any better now, but I hope you enjoyed it—if not only for the humor of it. I even wear the bandana you once wore on your arm—the strip of navy blue that designated you a part of the Champions. It’s too big on me and often slips down, but I can’t find it in me to adjust it; I don’t want to erase something more of you, after all. They all hold your scent. It comforts me, sometimes, to pull one of your old shirts out and just breathe in the hints of lavender—like the lingering smell of you instills in me a courage I can’t seem to find by myself.
If you were here, you’d call me a sap, or maybe (and, honestly, this seems the most likely) you’d chew me out for being a hypocrite for all the times I told you I thought it was weird when something like this happened in those romance books you were always fond of. I didn’t understand it at the time, but I’ll admit it: I get why it would help now.
(I still have that Luminous Stone held in its dragon-etched box you gave me for my birthday, back when we were barely at the nascence of friendship. You were always making sacrifices for me, even then, weren’t you?)
All of this to say, I hold you with me wherever I go. I carry your soul and your family’s legacy in the weight on my hip. I draw your courage when faced with uncertainty. I bear your dream like a guiding light.
Your dream… You had such passion to bring about change in Hyrule—to make sure justice is served fairly. It always seemed just like you, having such a driven and righteous goal like that.
It’s funny, though. You always had a plan; you were always direct. But, I find that I still don’t know what exactly you wished to accomplish. You wanted to change the system for good, of course, but what did that mean? I don’t know, but I suppose I wonder if your intentions laid elsewhere sometimes… I saw the way your eyes would darken in those moments whenever you spoke of it—how hesitation would find you when you’d never let it show itself around you before. It worried me, seeing how you were troubled by something, but never knowing what.
Were you not telling me something? Was it something I did? Something I didn’t do enough of? Did you not trust me to let me know?
Sorry. Goddess, sorry, ignore that. I didn't mean it, really. How could I ever, for a second, doubt your trust in me like that? I know you trusted me, the same as how I trusted you. Unequivocally. Even if you weren’t comfortable talking about something, I’d trust you to tell me when you were ready. I would wait, as long as it took.
And that’s the thing: I would wait. We only truly knew each other for what? A year and a half at most? Only that long, and still, I felt like you were the person who understood me most of all—like we’d been together since birth, and I knew everything about you and you, everything about me.
That wasn’t true, though, was it? There were so many things I didn’t know about you. So many things I’ll never know. I wish we had more time.
I can only take the things I do know and use them to guide me forward. You shaped me in ways nothing else has ever done before; I can only repay that by carrying your dream in the best way I can. You were passionate about it. I can’t just let that passion all come to nothing.
So, I’ve found my resolve: I’ll travel this kingdom and try to help out as many people as I can, Lady Susato and Karuma steadfast by my side. It will be a long road, but I’ll practice every day to gain control of these powers I have and use them for as much good as I possibly can.
Then, once I’ve mastered my powers, I will face Calamity Stronghart. And finally put an end to all of this.
For you. For everyone.
Wherever you are, I hope you’re watching over me, partner.