Nine years later...

Chapter 1: Duel

Lord Ghirahim considered the problem. "Four and not three. How vexing," he said, sighing.

"I don't understand," Orynx said. "If I may ask, my lord—what is the significance?"

Ghirahim paced around the room, head bowed in thought. They were in the palace library, which was where he preferred to do most of his thinking. It was so much easier to check the efficacy of a curse or the ingredients of a spell when the books were right in front of him. Centuries ago, the cavern had been carved to turn the stalactites and stalagmites into statues of various kinds of demons, and the stone walls had been lined with books. Orange flames crackled softly from sconces held by the various demon statues.

"A curiosity only, perhaps. But why are there four pieces of the Triforce and three golden goddesses? And why is the fourth piece never depicted? Is the shard of Earth and Truth supposed to be invisible? It's not. Maybe one of the goddesses made two pieces of Triforce but hid the second so her sisters wouldn't be jealous? My bet would be on Din if so. Two Triforce pieces are more powerful than one, after all."

"All very fascinating, my lord," Orynx said. "But perhaps we should concern ourselves with the Chosen One?"

"Oh," Ghirahim looked up and gave the guard a small smile. "Him."

Orynx looked nearly the polar opposite of Ghirahim. Though they were both tall, the guard was a heavily muscled blue demon who carried a thick blue scimitar blade. Ghirahim didn't require the guards to wear any uniform, so Orynx chose to wear simple black chainmail over his bland brown clothing.

Ghirahim, on the other hand, had chosen to keep the colorful appearance he had cultivated as Court Fool. He found he had grown attached to it over the long years that it had been the only freedom allowed him. Nevertheless, while Ghirahim chided the guard's lack of enthusiasm and dull practicality in his choice of dress, he found that Orynx had anything but a dull mind. This combined with his extremeusefulness over the last nine years had convinced Ghirahim to entrust a significant amount of information to him.

The demon lord held up the book on prophecy he had been looking through, and leafed to the verse on the Hero from the Sky.

"Perhaps you mean the one whose 'flame will shine bright', whose 'courage will be sure', and, oh, who will 'defeat the darkness of the Demon King'?"

"Yes," Orynx said. "I still maintain that last part might refer to any leader of ours—"

"Perhaps. But it is a curious choice of words, if so. And if that is what it is intended to mean, that I will be destroyed by this unnamed Chosen One, I would like to lodge a complaint to the prophet who wrote it. The Chosen One should complain too, since it makes it sound like I beat him to the task."

"I believe the author has been dead a thousand years."

Ghirahim closed the book and sighed. "Of course." He paced some more. "Well, if there is to be an epic battle that we are fated to lose, I suggest we don't bother to show up. Why should I expend effort if I will certainly fail and die?"

"But you do plan for us to show up, as I understand."

"Yes, of course. I don't think we are going to fail. I think the prophecy is invalid."

"Invalid? How can that be possible?"

"I don't know. It is possible that it could somehow be correct in some unanticipated way, but what I am reading leads me to believe otherwise. I mean—look at this!" He opened the book again. "It says the Demon King—again that wording-will seek the shards of the Triforce but shun the shard of Truth! But how does that make sense when it is the only shard I currently possess, and when I have little interest in the others?"

Orynx looked troubled. "If I may venture a guess, my lord?"

Ghirahim looked up. "Of course."

"Perhaps the prophecy does not refer to you, but to a future ruler."

Ghirahim's eyes lit up. "Ah, an interesting thought. That would imply that our intentions to breach the sealed grounds will themselves fail. Or perhaps that the results will not be notable. Or maybe—it means that whoever created the prophecy couldn't see us."

Orynx frowned. "But why?"

"I have spent these past years searching for errors in prophecies, all to help our cause. History has hidden them very carefully, but if you look closely they are there for all to see. It is true that they have all been minor errors so far. But they are errors nonetheless."

"But why would these errors apply to us?"

"Because they all involve the Shard of Earth and Truth," Ghirahim said.

Orynx scratched the scraggly hairs at the end of his chin. "The Shard of Truth somehow—lies to prophets? That seems strange."

Ghirahim shook his head. "Oh no, not at all. In fact, from my research on the shard, I have determined this makes perfect sense. The truth is often unseen, much like those of us who are obscured from view by earth and soil. It is not so much that the shard causes lies, but that lies breed when the truth is hidden. And the shard is the embodiment of both truth and obscurity."

Orynx looked worried. "But maybe we just have to think that the prophecies are wrong, so they're worded to trick us somehow. Then we fail horribly and the Chosen One will use the Goddess's own sword-" here the demon guard shuddered, "to bring disaster as we have never before seen to the realm and lock the Seal entirely for another thousand years."

Ghirahim closed the book and sighed. "Yes, that is certainly a possibility. And even if the prophecy is wrong, we may still have no chance to succeed." His eyes brightened. "Still, let's be optimistic! I will watch this Chosen One carefully to see what his strengths and weaknesses are. He cannot be invincible."

Orynx looked doubtful. He was about to respond when there was a knock on the door.

"Come in," Ghirahim said. The door opened and the other three members of the Elite Guard entered. The newest guard, whose name Ghirahim recalled was Ferrik, was carrying a quivering—plant? Ghirahim couldn't make sense of the small quivering green shrub the guard held in his vise-like grip. Ghirahim first washed his hands in the crackling orange flame on one of the sconces, and then moved closer to inspect the possible vegetation.

"Ah, what do you have there, Ferrik? Is that food you foraged from the surface?" The leafy plant began shaking violently. Curious,Ghirahim thought. I have read that plants do not generally it definitely looks like all the pictures I've seen of them... He poked it and suddenly it popped up to face him. The plump creature had a small beak and was making a strange 'qew-qew' noise. Then, to Ghirahim's shock, it spoke.

"P-p-p-please don't eat me!" it wailed. "Please don't!" It started shuddering and making the 'qew-qew' noise again.

Ghirahim looked up at Ferrik. "What is this creature?"

"It says it's called a Kikwi. I found it in our camp, spying on us," Ferrik said.

"Wasn't spying!" it peeped. "Was hiding! Please don't eat!"

Ghirahim took a deep breath, suppressing a laugh. "That is the most adorable spy I have ever seen. Give him here."

Ferrik looked doubtfully at the creature he held. "As you command, my lord." Ghirahim lifted the kikwi from Ferrik's hands and placed him on the nearby table, patting the creature twice on the head. "Don't worry, surface dweller, we're not going to eat you."

The kikwi looked up hopefully. "Oh. Thank you! Thank you—"

"What is your name?"

"Erla," the kikwi responded.

"Nice to meet you, Erla," Ghirahim said. "My name is Ghirahim. You may call me Lord Ghirahim." The demon lord leaned closer, putting both hands on the table. "Now, you will answer my questions. You must tell me why you were discovered in my guard's camp. Understand, I do not like to be lied to. And understand that I will know if you lie."

"Was hiding! Hiding!" The kikwi peeped, quivering.

Ghirahim smiled. "Oh, very good. Yes, you were. And were you also, by any chance, spying?" He leaned closer, until his face was mere inches from his interrogation victim.

"Sorry! Sorry! Yes!" Erla peeped.

"Thank you for your honesty, Erla," Ghirahim said. "You won't regret it—I'll forgive you for lying to my guard. But now, you will tell me everything."

When Erla finished his terrified explanation, Ghirahim placed one hand on the creature's head and looked over at Ferrik. "Good work," he said. "You caught your first spy, and you returned him to me alive. Which can be so much more valuable than dead."

Ferrik beamed. He looked over at the kikwi. "What do we do with him now?"

"We give him a choice," Ghirahim said. He looked back down at the kikwi. "Choice one: you can return to your people. But only in several mangled pieces."

Erla looked as if he was suppressing a futile attempt to hide—his body seemed to be trying to pull itself inward.

"Your other choice is to stay here, and answer my questions, and live." He searched the kikwi's fearful expression. "What do you choose?"

"Stay! I will stay!"

Ghirahim gave the kikwi a bright smile. "Good choice!"

"What—else do you want to know?" The kikwi asked.

"I will have questions about the surface world," Ghirahim said. "I am not very familiar with it yet, but if I am to rule it, I will need to know what it is like, will I not?"

"I—I suppose," Erla said. Ghirahim asked him a few more questions, but the kikwi seemed too distraught to give any more coherent answers.

The demon lord sighed. "Ferrik, take our new friend here to a secure but comfortable room. Have one of the dungeon guard watch his room, and attend to any needs he may have. I think he requires to rest to recover his senses."

Ferrik nodded and carried the Kikwi out of the room.

Ghirahim began pacing the room as soon as the three guards left with the kikwi.

"My lord," Orynx said, "you seem more restless than usual."

Ghirahim turned abruptly to face the guard. "I know almost nothing of the surface, and yet my scouts tell me I could rule nearly all of it now. Even though I was only able to send a few hundred of our warriors through the Breach in the seal so far, they seem to have crushed almost all opposition."
"Yes. Only the lands of the Sheikahs remain untaken."

Ghirahim scowled, remembering the large numbers of casualties from the demon contingent that returned from the Sheikah lands. Even worse, they had a fortified outpost directly above the pit containing the Breach! "Yes, well they are quite the troublemakers."

"And there is also the matter of the dragons," Orynx said. The third is—not a threat, but the other two..."

"Yes," Ghirahim said. "And they wield strong magic. I will have to deal with them myself."

Orynx looked surprised. "You plan to face them?"

"Of course," Ghirahim said. "In time. But first, I must deal with that which is the greatest threat to us."

"You mean the Sheikahs, I assume," Orynx said.

"Of course," Ghirahim said. "They may be smaller in physical size, but they wield the most powerful magic. And they have an army."

"What can we do about them, though?" Orynx said.

Ghirahim slowly smiled. "I think a hostage might convince them to be more well-behaved."

"Who did you have in mind?" Orynx asked.

"The goddess Hylia, of course," Ghirahim said. "After all, they are the descendants of her tribe. She is the source of their power..."

"Wait," Orynx held up a hand. "You want to capture—Hylia? The one who is said to have driven her sword into the heart of the ancient king of demons, Demise—the most powerful demon who ever lived—and keep her as a hostage?"

Ghirahim waved his hand dismissively. "Yes, she was quite fearsome in her previous incarnation. Fortunately for us, Demise also damaged her immortal form before she killed him. She lives on only by passing her essence from mortal to mortal."

"Even so, we must assume she secreted away her power somewhere. And as far as I know, you have not yet found out any information about what her current form is capable of."

"Yes, that is true. Which is why I must lead the effort to capture her." Ghirahim looked forward to it. He hadn't been up to the surface himself since the time he had released Granite. And that had been night. He had looked at daylight through the Breach longingly several times, but his guards had always persuaded him not to go through it himself. He still remembered the first time, before he had been taken by Releris, when he had been allowed to view the Breach during daytime.

Every demon child was allowed to see the Breach, and to see the thing called sunlight, but only for a brief few minutes. This was done to remind them of all that the demons had lost, and what they fought the surface dwellers to regain. Seeing that sunlight for the first time in his life, Ghirahim had suddenly understood what his purpose was—to find his way back to that.

Orynx interrupted Ghirahim's brief musings. "I must recommend against that. You know that all of the soldiers sent through the Breach must spend some time recovering from surface disorientation. During that time, you would be vulnerable to attack from the Sheikahs, and this Sky Hero might-"

Ghirahim waved a hand dismissively. "I will have to walk the surface at some point. The soldiers already stationed there can guard me until I recover my senses. Better to acclimate myself to my new realm sooner rather than later."

Orynx looked uncomfortable. "Not all demons can acclimate to the surface."

"But even those who don't can still manage well enough at night," Ghirahim countered. "You can't persuade me to stay here much longer. I'm not some King on a chessboard to be sheltered from all possible harm."

"You are the ruler of all the demons, and now many more besides," Orynx said. "And it is my duty to guard your life."

"Then you can guard me from the surface realm."

"I'd be suffering surface disorientation too, then. I'd be in no position to guard you properly!"

"You're afraid of a little sunlight?" Ghirahim asked, his tone mocking.

"I'm afraid of seeing you on the end of a sword," Orynx growled. He looked down at the ground. "There was once a time I thought that my duty was simple. Guard a King who wielded an undefeatable sword and make sure he didn't die. Surely I would notice anyone that could be a threat to such a powerful ruler?"

"So I made you paranoid? I've never understood you, Orynx," Ghirahim said. "Derith, I understood. His ultimate loyalty was to Releris, which was why I had to kill him. Trelan and Nix will serve whoever is named ruler—their loyalty is to the idea of leadership. Ferrik is loyal to me alone, but that is because I chose him myself. But what drives you? You served Releris as faithfully as you now serve me, so from that I might think you were like Trelan or Nix. But while both of them have guarded me well, neither of them will ever try to dissuade me from any decisions I make, even if I can see in their eyes that they think I am being a fool. "

"I serve the realm," Orynx said. It was the same evasive answer he always gave. Ghirahim could see with the Triforce shard's power that it was true, but it told him nothing. What did Orynx view as important to 'serve the realm'?

"I demand to know what that means," Ghirahim said, his irritation growing. "Why will you not tell me?"

"I have my reasons," Orynx said. "I don't think you need to know them. My lord."

It was infuriating, really. Ghirahim decided that Orynx was wrong, no matter how much he thought that last statement true. The demon lord was determined that he would have the entire truth from his guard this time. Partly it was frustration at being denied this answer for so long, but mostly it was because he wanted to know if he could trust Orynx with his most closely guarded secret. He would need to know that, if he was going to the surface. Still, Ghirahim did not like to simply force someone to spill all their inner secrets out to him. Perhaps a bit of persuasion was in order. He drew his sword-a thin, curved black obsidian blade with a ruby inset. "I, Lord Ghirahim, challenge you to a duel, Orynx."

Orynx raised an eyebrow. "To the death? That seems rather unfair, since I am unwilling to kill you."

Ghirahim shook his head. "Don't be silly. Just until one of us manages to draw the blood of the other onto our blade. That shouldn't take me too long. You make a rather large target."

"Terms?" Orynx asked, looking slightly amused. The Guard was a master swordsman and clearly didn't think that Ghirahim had any chance at winning. Ghirahim smiled smugly. Probably thinks I just carry this thing for decoration. But that's only because he's never actually fought against me.

"When I win, you will tell me what you mean by saying that you serve the realm. In the non-existent but hypothetical case that you win, I will stay in the Lower Realms like a good little ruler until we have conquered the entire rest of the surface, or retreated from it entirely like spineless cowards. Since you are so slow and bulky, I agree not to use any magic against you for the duration of our duel."

"I accept your challenge," Orynx said, chuckling as he drew his scimitar. "I warn you that I may draw a bit more blood than necessary. Such unwarranted arrogance is bad for your health, my lord."

"And I warn you that I will certainly draw more than is necessary, since I tire of your evasive non-answers to this question." Ghirahim changed his stance and hissed at the opponent who stood before him, his tongue tasting the air like a snake's.

Orynx slowly began to move in a circle, his stance defensive, but his eyes searching for an opening. His first lunge was sudden. Ghirahim blocked it lazily with his sword. He could see the surprise in the guard's eyes. The demon lord pressed forward, slashing suddenly. Orynx's chain mail blocked the blow, so he drew no blood. The guard wrenched himself away before Ghirahim's second blow landed, retreating back towards the wall. Ghirahim threw his sword towards Orynx like a spear. The sword missed his unprotected lower arm by a hair. Orynx grinned and snatched it from the ground beside him. He pointed his mismatched swords towards Ghirahim.

"Last chance to give up before I give you a painful slash on the face. I'm sure it would make a good eye-scar, though."

Ghirahim laughed. "What an appalling threat. No, I would not like an eye-scar, thank you very much. But give in? Never!" He beckoned to the guard with both hands. "Let's finish this."

Orynx grinned and lunged forward with both swords drawn. Ghirahim stood placidly and feinted to the left, but when Orynx was about to slash him (apparently trying to give him two eye-scars), he instead stood his ground and grabbed the blades of both swords with the tips of his fingers, pushing them down with such force that Orynx lost his grip on them and they slashed across the hands of the guard.

Orynx hissed in pain and growled as Ghirahim stopped midway and pulled both swords back up again, further slashing his guard's hands and pulling them both out of his grasp. He flipped the two swords in the air, crossed them, and then pointed them both at the guard. "I win."

Orynx bellowed something unintelligible and grimaced at the blood on his hands. "I hope you're going to heal this, my lord, or I'll never be able to properly wield a sword again."

"Of course," Ghirahim said. Placing Orynx's sword on the table he snapped his fingers, and the wounds on Orynx's hands closed up. "Won't even leave a scar. A pity—I know how much you relish those ugly things."

Orynx grinned widely, an expression which emphasized the many criss-crossing marks of battle covering his face. "Nothing wrong with a good scar. I'll never understand why you enjoy being so ridiculously vain."

"And I have no idea why you wish to look like some sort of scruffy barbarian," Ghirahim countered. "But why don't you answer my question now?"

Orynx's expression of dismay showed his clearly-wounded pride. "I can't believe you managed to do that. That was from one of your old performances!"

Ghirahim shrugged. "Why so surprised, then? I had practice."

"Anyone can pull that off with a cooperating actor holding some flimsy wood prop! Not a trained warrior with real swords!" Orynx gave him a fearsome scowl. "Tell. Me. How. You. Did. That."

"No. Tell me what you mean by serving the realm. I believe that was the agreement."

Orynx muttered something angrily under his breath. Finally the guard composed his expression. "As you command, my lord." He looked down while he spoke. "I didn't always believe in serving the realm. Once, I thought my duty should be to serve the ruler, much as Trelan and Nix do. I think in order for you to understand what I mean when I say that I serve the realm, you have to know why I changed my mind." He looked up again. "What do you know of King Thressan?"

Ghirahim shrugged, using a handkerchief to wipe the blood from his sword. "He was the ruler of our realm before Releris. I know him only from those trite songs Releris made me sing incessantly. That was well before my time, after all. As I understand, though, he was quite unpopular. I believe they called him Thressan the Torturer? Liked to lock people in spiked cases and have ghouls eat their faces?"

"Yes. I served under him for several decades," Orynx said.

Ghirahim's eyes widened. "I never knew you were so old."

"I am the only guard alive today from that era."

The demon lord tilted his head. "Impressive. How did you survive when Thressan was deposed?"

"I survived because I was the one who let Releris's soldiers into the palace. Now, I know well your feelings on Releris-"

Ghirahim's eyes narrowed. "I'm sure I've made them abundantly clear."

"But he was the only one of the petty lords who wasn't so terrified of Thressan that all he could contemplate was blind obedience. After decades of fulfilling the orders of a sadistic madman, I finally got it through my thick head that perhaps tying my loyalty to someone merely because they happened to sit the throne was no virtue."

"Yet that seems to have been your only instance of rebellion. Why?"

"Releris was cruel, but not mad," Orynx said. "Many fewer people suffered during his reign, and those who did suffered less."

Ghirahim scowled, but Orynx simply looked thoughtful.

"He was a capable ruler-" the guard reflected.

"Who deserved to die-" Ghirahim felt an old, raw anger stir in him.

"-Whose death I would have mourned, except that you have been an unimaginably better one."

The demon lord's anger changed to surprise. Of course, flattery would be easy in most situations as this, and even easier to dismiss. But Ghirahim could tell when someone was lying. Trelan and Nix sometimes forgot this fact, as did Ferrik, but Orynx never did. And this time was no exception. Ghirahim took a moment to compose himself.

"You are very skilled at making difficult truths easier to swallow," Ghirahim said.

"I admit, it is a skill you have forced me to cultivate," Orynx flashed a brief grin.

"What was it that Thressen did, that finally made up your mind about him?" Ghirahim asked.

Orynx's expression looked distant, as if he was actually looking at the answer across the great gulf of time. "There was this one obsession he acquired about magic—unlike Releris, Thressen was a powerful sorcerer in his own right. And he discovered a new way that one of his great power could acquire even more power." Orynx's eyes focused back on Ghirahim. "You are also a powerful sorcerer. But I know you would not consider increasing that power by draining the vitality of the realm's food sources."

"He starved his own people, then."

"Yes. When I realized how he had become so powerful, I could no longer believe that it could be right to serve him. It's rarely talked about, because his other transgressions were so—viscerally awful. Torture. Murder. Betrayal of lords who allied with him. But the famine was his greatest crime." His expression hardened. "I have done many terrible things in my time, but there is some place that even I must draw the line."

Ghirahim realized he was still holding the sword and the bloody handkerchief. He placed the handkerchief on the table and re-sheathed his sword. "Well, that was certainly an interesting story. And I think I do understand more of what you mean when you say you serve the realm. Which is to say that I understand you value loyalty to a ruler only as a means, and not an end. And that you have certain, ah, standards of quality below which you might deem said ruler unworthy of their position."

Orynx nodded. "That is true."

Ghirahim placed his hand to his chin. "Yes, this is interesting, indeed." Ghrirahim considered this. The explanation meant Orynx's loyalty was not to him, but then Ghirahim had always known that, and had been willing to tolerate it since the guard had given him plenty of other assurances that he was not about to stab the demon lord in the back. What he said, though-he really is devoted to the realm, not to some imaginary ideal of the rightful ruler or to the other nobles. And he thinks that I can run the realm. He gave Orynx a sly smile. Orynx returned it with his typical stoic expression.

"Since you have made your motivations clear now, I wish to entrust you with the knowledge of my greatest weakness."

Ghirahim was gratified to see Orynx's eyes widen momentarily. "You have my complete attention, my lord."

Ghirahim gave a short laugh. "I thought so." He beckoned the guard toward the door. "Follow me."

They walked down the twisting corridors of the palace until Ghirahim came to the room he was looking for. Orynx looked around as they walked in. "What is the significance of this room?"

"Hmmm? This room?" Ghirahim said, looking around at the plain furnishings. A thin layer of dust covered them. "There isn't one. I came here only because I don't want anyone to see where we're going. I'm going to teleport us there."

"Oh," Orynx said, looking rather uncomfortable. "If you don't mind my asking, how exactly does teleportation work? Because it always looks like you dissolve into diamond-shaped pieces that somehow manage to reassemble themselves somewhere else."

Ghirahim tilted his head. "Your fear of this puzzles me."

Orynx grimaced. "Let's just get this over with, then."

Ghirahim tapped Orynx on the shoulder and they appeared in a pitch-black room. "Just a moment," Ghirahim said. "I'm going to light the torches." He snapped his fingers and orange fire flared in wall-sconces on all sides of them. They stood in a large, window-less rectangular room filled with a variety of assorted items. A room as fortified as this one this might be used as a treasure room, but there were no gold or jewels here. Ghirahim had stored various magical artifacts in the room.

He pointed with one gloved hand towards the far wall. Mounted on it was the same jagged black sword Releris had been holding when Ghirahim had killed him. "There it is. My greatest weakness."

"The Unbreakable Sword." Orynx said, the disbelief still evident in his even tone, "Is your weakness."

"Yes," Ghirahim said. "Care to venture a guess as to why?"

Orynx thought for a moment and shrugged. "It belonged to Releris, but it's impossible to destroy? I know you got rid of a whole bunch of his personal items after you killed him. But I imagine just throwing the sword out somewhere your enemies could easily go to retrieve it didn't sound appealing. Personally, I think you should hold on to it, but if it bothers you that much, maybe you could throw it into the Endless Water?"

Ghirahim shuddered slightly. The Endless Water was the great underground ocean to the North. Anything sunk there was generally considered irretrievable if lost more than a mile from the shore. "No, the Endless Water is out of the question," Ghirahim said. "Besides, you are wrong. I do not want to get rid of the sword."

"Then why did you order us to seal it in here after he died? I always assumed you just loathed the idea of touching it, since it belonged to Releris."

"It did not belong to him," Ghirahim said. "so much as it was used by him. I am the true owner of the sword, except that I cannot wield its physical form."

"I don't understand," Orynx said.

"I am bound to the sword," Ghirahim said. "Which infuses it with my magic. That is why it became so powerful towards the end of Releris's rule."

Orynx's eyes widened again. "Then—the ceremony where he claimed to capture the magic of the executed sorcerer rebels in the sword-"

"That was a sham," Ghirahim said. "There are some spells which claim to be able to do that, but they are immensely difficult, and tend to kill the new wielder of the magic. So, in practice, a sorcerer may give up their magic willingly at their death, or at any time, but can only be forced to wield their magic for another in life. Soon after he found me, Releris did everything he could to hide his purpose for me. He bound me to the sword, both to unlock its old abilities and to give himself the ability to access my magic." Ghirahim scowled.

"Why are you telling me this?" Orynx asked.

"I want you to guard the sword for me when we go to the surface. As I said, I cannot wield it."

"You're taking it with you? But that's dangerous!"

"Worse to leave it here," Ghirahim said. "You forget, Releris bound my magic to the sword. If I am separated from it by a barrier-say, the Seal, I cannot use my power."

"I wish even more that I had won our duel, then. If you take this to the surface, the Sheikahs will surely discover it."

"Always a pessimist," Ghirahim said. "Will you guard it for me?"

"And if I refuse?" Orynx asked.

"Then I give it to Ferrik," Ghirahim said.

Orynx growled. "Fine. I'll guard it."

"Delightful. On to the surface, then!"