The sands of time had no mercy, not even for kings.

He had been chosen, by the goddess of power herself, and despite being a mere reincarnation, it is not your place to discriminate between good and evil. You should have let him rot, as the others did. Left him to decay beneath the roots of the Great Tree, where even the wind mourned his name. But you could not.

Because he was yours, and Power does not abandon its flame.

You tore open the veil between life and death, cradling what was left of him—a broken god, a fading ember. His body was ruined, his spirit seething. But in his eyes, even then, there was fury. Ambition. The kind of hunger that could devour the stars.

So you fed it. You nurtured it.

The air reeked of metal and smoke, thick with the scent of scorched earth. The old temple had long since crumbled, its sacred stones blackened and split—now nothing more than a graveyard for forgotten gods. And in the center of it all, beneath the broken sky, he moved.

Bare-chested, sweat-slicked, breath heavy. His muscles strained beneath skin still marred by death, but his movements held the slow, simmering grace of something ancient waking up. Each swing of the massive blade he conjured left the air trembling, as if the world itself feared him returning to form.

You stood by his side, a quiet ghost.

“You watch like a priestess,” he rasped, not turning. His voice still carried the raw edge of a man who had tasted oblivion. “But you are no servant of faith.”

His blade slammed into the earth, cracking the stone beneath his feet. He straightened slowly, golden eyes catching yours through the dust, glinting like a dying sun. “Or is that it? Is this devotion, goddess?” he sneered, his voice lower now, darker. “Is that what this is? You resurrect me, bind me to breath again… and all you do is watch?”

The wind moved through the ruined temple like a breath held too long, sharp and restless. Moonlight slipped through fractured stone, silvering the edges of Ganondorf’s frame as he towered over you in stillness, massive sword slamming down into the cracks of earth.

"You watch me," he said after a long stretch of silence. His voice was low, rough with exhaustion and something else—something unspoken. “Always watching. Never touching.”

You didn’t answer. You rarely did. You weren’t meant to interfere—not while he rebuilt himself from ruin. But he could feel your gaze on him like fingertips that refused to press down. It burned.

His hand gripped the hilt of his blade, veins standing out against skin still mending. “Am I your entertainment, goddess?” he continued, turning his head slightly toward you, just enough to catch the glow of your eyes. “Or your penance?”