**TRIGGER WARNING** This chapter mentions violence, sexual abuse, and suicide thoughts. Reader discretion is advised!

Malice's POV

"There," Zelda says, sitting back on her heels. "Now it just needs time."

She brushes the dirt off her hands and rises to her feet. I remain sitting next to the planted acorn, my eyes trailing off into the mountain chains in the distance. Their peaks are dusted with snow despite the warmth of the season.

In the stillness of the moment, my thoughts begin to wander, and I start to reflect on how I got to this point.

I never even thought I'd make it to adulthood. Growing up, I moved from foster home to foster home. Nobody was willing to put up with me, until one foster family that wasn't bothered by my shitty attitude toward life, and didn't care that I had a history of shoplifting, or that I came from a family of junkies, drop outs, and prostitution.

They took me in when I was twelve years old. To this day, I don't understand why they'd offer me a home, because they already had their hands full with other foster kids. On top of that, they didn't have a shit ton of money, so they were gone day and night to make sure we would make ends meet. Both of the foster parents worked multiple jobs in the city, yet we still lived from paycheck to paycheck every month, and everyone had to help out with the bills.

We lived on Sixth Street, less than a mile from Skid Row. The streets stank of piss, and on hot summer days the house had a stench of dried sweat and mildew. It was a single story home with one bathroom, three bedrooms, and a shabby old kitchen from the 70s. The living space was scarce, the rooms crowded, yet somehow this dump could fit the foster parents along with all their foster kids. There were four of them when I arrived, one more would join later.

The oldest was 17 at the time. His dad had died in military service, and his mother—unable to cope with the loss—had become an alcoholic, frequently abusing her child. Teachers eventually called child protective services.

The second oldest, also 17, told me he had been found in a filthy, rat-infested apartment after his dad had gotten arrested for a gas station robbery.

The third foster kid was 14 years old, his parents had died in a murder-suicide after years of domestic violence. He was the one who called 911 that day. The officers found him hiding in a closet, severely traumatized after witnessing his mother shoot his dad in a fit of rage. Whenever we fought over who would get the bigger portion at dinner, he would tell me, "My mom was going to serve my dad for dinner. She had already dismembered his legs, but she shot herself when she heard the sirens." That story worked well on me; it almost always killed my appetite.

The fourth foster kid, roughly my age, had been rescued from a house where he and his little sister were forced into child pornography for profit on the dark web.

Took the cops almost a whole month to locate him, and when they finally did, everyone had long fled the scene. Everyone but him. He was in the attic, locked away in a dog cage along with his sister's starved corpse.

And then there was me who, up until that point, thought such evil only existed in scary stories.

Since I was the only girl, it was decided that I should have my own room. The other kids weren't too fond of that idea. Four boys squeezed into one small room just didn't seem fair to them. That's why, for the first few months, nobody wanted anything to do with me. My foster brothers would hide my shoes so I'd be late for school, and steal my lunch so I'd go hungry all day. My things would get "lost" or "borrowed" without ever being returned. My toothbrush was hardly ever where it was supposed to be, and I'd be the last to take showers, leaving me only cold water.

But I didn't care, because I was used to that anyway. These were harmless pranks I was more than willing to put up with. Living with four bullies was still better than living on the streets with my crack mom. At least here the roof didn't leak every time it rained, and there were no drugs hidden in my doll. No strangers entered the house at night and there was always food on the table—even if I had to fight for my share. I learned to pick my battles, let some things slide, and stand my ground when it mattered.

"They'll come around," the foster dad would tell me whenever the boys did something to make my life a little harder. And he would be right. But it took time.

Almost nine years ago to the day, on November 21, the last foster kid arrived. His addition to the family set off a long chain reaction of events. He was like a butterfly, whose wings would later cause the worst hurricane of my life. This is crazy to think about, because he was only a year old back then.

His parents had abandoned him in the woods, Hansel and Gretel style. Fortunately, the rescue dogs got to him before hyperthermia did, which was a miracle since he had been out there for three whole days, screaming his lungs out in the cold November rain. The fact that he had survived that long and kept all his toes and fingers made him a fighter. The other foster kids believed that, if one of us was going to make it to adulthood, it would be him. He still had his whole life ahead of him, whereas the rest of us were already too fucked up.

Since the newcomer was still a baby, he was put into my room. I was stuck at home with him every time the other foster kids would go out and have fun on the weekends. I was okay with that, because I noticed that now that I was no longer the youngest and newest member of the family, the others were starting to "Come around."

But there were still moments when I felt excluded. Every so often some older kids would come over. They only showed up at night, and never when the foster parents were home. And even though they never entered the house, I was strictly forbidden to leave my room during their visits. I was curious, but I kept my distance.

Sometimes I would ask my foster brothers about it. They'd simply answer, "We're paying the bills" or "providing for the family."

Then, one evening, I found one of my foster brothers in the garage, cleaning a gun. He didn't hide it from me; in fact, he seemed to want me to see.

"Ever shot one of these?" he asked, a sly grin on his face.

"No," I replied, trying to sound braver than I felt.

He let me hold it. It was heavier than I expected. It felt real. He showed me how to hold it in a firm grip, how to look confident with it.

"It's a 9mm," he said, stepping back. "Go ahead, aim it at something."

I raised the gun with trembling hands, pointing it at a stack of old paint cans in the corner.

"Aim it at your head," he said, his voice cold and challenging.

"What? No!"

"Do it. Prove you're not afraid."

"What if I am?" I asked, my grip tightening.

"Then pretend you're not."

I hesitated, the weight of the gun growing heavier. His eyes bored into mine, daring me to do it. I slowly turned the gun toward myself, my heart pounding in my neck.

"Now pull the trigger."

"Are you crazy?" I stared at him, unable to move.

"Do it," he said again, more forcefully. "Or I'll do it for you!"

My breath caught in my throat. I squeezed my eyes shut and pulled the trigger.

"Bang!" he shouted as the gun clicked. Nothing happened. I opened my eyes to see him smiling.

"It's not loaded," he said, taking the gun from my hands. "You're pretty stupid. I can't believe you would've just killed yourself on command!"

"It's better I do it myself than have someone else do it for me."

A small chuckle tumbled from his lips. "You'll fit right in."

"Fit in where?"

He started taking me with him on small errands. At first, it was just lookout duty or carrying messages. Sometimes he'd place me at a corner or behind a gas station and order me to wait for a car that would drop off an envelope.

After a year, I was more involved. I was fourteen when I officially became a member of the Yiga Clan. Suddenly I was part of something. No longer did I have to hide in my room or fight for my share. They gave me my first real sense of family, something no foster home had ever managed.

"I want you to meet someone," my foster brother told me one night. We were driving north in a stolen car. It wasn't anything fancy, but to me it represented freedom. We could have gone anywhere with that thing. Could've packed our bags and kept driving north. Maybe we should have.

But eventually we came to a stop. Parked outside a large gate, I stared up at a daunting mansion. He rolled down the window and lit a cig.

"Can I have one?" I asked while we waited for that "someone."

"Nah."

"Why not?"

"Smoking kills you. It rots your lungs."

"But you do it," I said, crossing my arms in my seat. "Hypocrite."

He glanced at me sideways, then smiled and tossed his cig out the window.

"I want to make you a promise," he started. At that moment, the gate finally opened and a hooded figure emerged. His smile vanished, and he suddenly spoke to me in a quiet tone. "I will always protect you," he said. "And if anyone ever holds a gun to your head, unless it's your finger on that trigger, I will stand between you and that bullet."

Over the years, he would break both of those promises. But at that moment, I trusted him with my life. That's why, as the hooded figure reached the car, not a shred of fear gripped me.

"Ganon," he said to the stranger, "this is Mía Alicia."

The guy leaned down to take a closer look at me. "So you're that foster kid Karusa keeps going on about. He told me you almost shot yourself." His hand reached into the car. "Mía, was it?"

"It's Malice," I corrected him, shaking his hand with a firm grip. "Mía died when she pulled the trigger that night."

Ganon met me with an intrigued smile. "Malice, huh? Interesting name. Let's see if you live up to it."

He motioned for us to get out and follow him through the gate. Inside, the mansion was even more impressive. The entrance hall was filled with expensive art, from classical masterpieces to modern pieces with questionable origins. Though the air was heavy with the scent of aged leather and cigar smoke, it mostly just reeked of power, much like the man leading us through it.

"Welcome to the Hideout," Ganon said, casually placing his arm around my shoulders. Naive as I was, I felt extremely cool; this big, strong guy with tattoos and status had his arm around ME!

From the corner of my eye, I caught Karusa tensing up, a subtle warning I chose to ignore. Ganon must have noticed it too, for he told Karusa to wait by the entrance while he led me to a spacious room filled with men and women engaged in various activities. Some were playing high-stakes card games, others huddled in whispered conversations, exchanging words like currency. In one corner, a group of figures counted stacks of bills. Nearby, a pair of elegantly dressed individuals lounged on plush couches, exotic animal furs draped over their shoulders, their textures both luxurious and unsettling. A naked woman sat between them, feeding the men bananas.

As we walked by, the skinnier of the two leaned forward and snickered, "If ya keep staring, those pretty eyes of yours might get burned."

Ganon's arm remained hooked around me, keeping me close as we concluded our little tour. Exiting the room, he paused and looked at me. "If you tell anyone about this, we'll have to kill you."

"Don't worry," I replied calmly. "I can do that myself."

I spent more and more time at the Hideout. Gradually, the foster family only saw me once or twice a month. Sometimes I disappeared for weeks without a word to anyone. Not even Karusa would know about my whereabouts when I was ordered to keep it a secret. That's because the Yiga Clan had strict rules that members were expected to follow. Codes of loyalty, silence, and obedience. With these principles in place, the Yiga Clan operated more like a family than a gang. Unlike the street gangs I was used to, everything here was also very formal and organized. There were members who worked in accounting and finance, logistics and transportation, media and politics, and—of course—security, which consisted mostly of lawyers, dirty cops, and prison guards. Apparently, the Yiga even bribed and blackmailed judges from time to time, but Karusa told me not to rely on that. He then let me in on another secret.

"The leader of the Yiga Clan has files for each and every one of us." These files apparently contained detailed information such as our real names, addresses, social security numbers, and emergency contacts.

"Don't let that name fool ya though," Karusa cautioned. "The so-called 'Emergency Contacts' in our files are only there for leverage. It's basically a list of people close to you. Mess up, and they're the ones who'll pay the price. That's why some Yigas refer to it as the Trust Fund."

Curious, I asked Karusa who was on his list, but he brushed it off with a rueful smile. "It's not safe to go around talking about your Trust Fund. It might just add another name to it."

I wondered then if he dodged the question in an attempt to protect me from harm, just as he had promised. But deep down, he must have known that I was already on his list, and that sooner or later, I was going to pay for one of his slip-ups.

When I earned the title of a footsoldier, I quickly learned about the Yiga's top three priorities. One of them was connections. This was easily achieved with their extensive network of members. Another one was business. The Yiga excelled in their operations due to their focus on efficiency and discipline, which ultimately ensured their dominance in the criminal underworld. Lastly, reputation. Because nobody wants to do business with you if you have a bad reputation.

Our leader, for instance, was known for using excess funds to make charitable donations and assist victims of natural disasters. He always presented a friendly, approachable persona in public. However, behind closed doors, things were quite different.

I met the leader, Ganondorf, when I was seventeen. It was my third year serving the Yiga Clan, and I had earned the privilege to see his face. Given that most Yigas hid their identities behind white masks, it felt like a great deal to meet the leader in person.

My first impression of him was that of a charismatic businessman, much different from the people I knew from the hood. But there was an unspoken understanding of respect. He had an infectious laugh and a knack for remembering the smallest details about everyone he met. He always looked professional, his charm was disarming, and he made you feel like you were the most important person in the room. I, for one, thought he found a special liking in me. And I leaned into that, working hard for his approval. He soon had a plan for me, one that went beyond the usual errands and lookout duties.

"You are going to college after high school," he told me during one of our meetings. I had never even considered graduating high school, let alone going to college, yet I nodded, eager to hear more. Ganondorf rarely spoke in such direct terms about his plans, so I knew this was important. "Not just any college," he went on. "You're going to Hyrule University."

I blinked in surprise. Hyrule was known for its elite students, top-tier athletes, and rigorous academic programs. "I could never get accepted by that school," I nervously voiced.

"You will get accepted," he told me calmly.

"My attendance sucks, and my grades are... well..."

"It's already been taken care of." Ganondorf leaned back in his chair. "Hyrule University is Lorule's biggest rival. They think they're untouchable. But they have weaknesses, and we are going to exploit them. I already have a handful of Yigas positioned at their campus, the job is simple."

He slid a folder across the desk. Inside were profiles of Hyrule's top students. Future doctors, NFL players, and young world-changers. Zelda and Link weren't among them. Not yet. Zelda was still a freshman in high school, and Link was just starting to make a name for himself in Japan. But the folders kept coming and eventually familiar faces would appear. My mission was clear: sabotage and eliminate.

During my junior year of high school, Ganondorf kept a close eye on me. I wasn't allowed to get myself arrested. Or shot. College was on the horizon, and I had to make it there in one piece. This meant operating from the shadows rather than the streets. The Yigas called this getting promoted from footsoldier to blademaster. What an achievement, I thought to myself.

What I didn't know at the time—what most Yigas still don't know—is that Ganondorf has a second Hideout. A more discreet one that he never bothered to furnish because people seldom visit. Upon my first invitation to that place, a primal instinct warned me to get out of there as fast as possible. But I ignored that little voice in the back of my head because I felt proud to be one of the few to know about that place.

Karusa caught a glimpse of it once, so did Zelda. Both are lucky to have made it out alive... From the basement, I'd often hear grunts and groans that turned into screams and "Oh, God help me" and "Mommy," and noises I had never heard before. People in real pain. People who weren't as lucky as Karusa and Zelda.

Both Ganondorf and Ganon resided there, at least until Ganon got kicked out three years later, which marked a turning point in my life. But for now, my biggest worry was graduating high school so I could complete the mission.

As I entered senior year, my relationships started falling apart. First, I distanced myself from the Mía Alicia everyone knew. Cut my hair and dyed it black and pink.

Then I made the tough decision to fully distance myself from the foster family in order to protect my little foster brother. He was in first grade now and had already begun dabbling in petty theft. I couldn't bear the thought of him getting into deeper trouble. So when he began asking questions about my whereabouts, I stopped going home altogether, scared he might follow me to the Hideout.

Finally, I distanced myself from Pike after Ganondorf had forced himself on me. I simply told him I was dealing with stuff at home, because I didn't want him to picture me screaming for help, or getting beaten into silence. By the sixth or seventh time, I had no more strength to fight back. I just let it happen, and so did the others. I'm sure everyone in the Yiga Clan knew what was going on, yet few dared to intervene. Karusa once confronted Ganondorf about it.

"If you ever lay a hand on her again I will fucking kill you!" he had threatened the big man.

A day later, Karusa disappeared without a trace. I thought for sure they had killed him. For months, I watched the news religiously, always scared his name would pop up in the headlines. When he resurfaced after a while, the life had drained from his eyes. Even when he smiled, he looked dead. Masking his trauma with sarcasm and jokes, he refused to tell me what they had done to him. It must have been worse than hell, because he never stepped out of line again. Even when Ganondorf did lay a hand on me again, Karusa didn't intervene. Sometimes it was happening right in front of him, yet he remained motionless, a silent witness to my suffering. And so he broke his first promise; to always protect me.

The night of my high school graduation, Ganon, Karusa, and I found ourselves sitting beneath the bleachers of Lorule's baseball stadium, sharing a joint. We were 'celebrating' my accomplishment. I was the first in my family to receive a high school diploma, yet I felt nothing. I was mostly surprised that I was still alive.

"One day I'll kill my father," Ganon told us with a fierce glare at the dark field.

"Only a fool would say something so stupid," Karusa retorted. "The Clan will kill you, right after they kill everyone on your Trust Fund."

"My list is empty," Ganon revealed. "I don't care what they do to me or anyone else."

And he meant it. Armed with his father's baseball bat, he once took a swing at Ganondorf to get him off of me. Maybe he thought being Ganondorf's son granted him immunity from punishment, or perhaps he genuinely didn't have anything or anyone to lose. Whatever his motivations, he shielded me, no matter the risk.

Unfortunately, he wasn't immune to punishment. The bat became a symbol of power between father and son, and I eventually had to hide that damn thing after repeatedly witnessing Ganondorf using it to beat his son unconscious. I placed the bat, covered in their blood, in an empty closet upstairs, where it would remain untouched until many years later when it would end up in Zelda's possession.

During my first year at Hyrule University, unless I was in class, I rarely left Ganon's side. Even without a bat, he stood up for me. He was older, taller, and stronger than the rest of us. Naturally, I felt safe with him. I trusted him. And even though I knew I shouldn't, I loved him. Still, I couldn't help but think about Pike when Ganon kissed me. I pictured him at Julliard, far away from the mess I had gotten myself into.

Pike reached out one day and asked if we could try long distance. That day, I cut off all ties. I didn't want him to get involved with the Yiga Clan. That thought scared me more than anything else. Moving to the east coast was the best outcome for him and I found comfort in the belief that he was miles away from me.

Only he wasn't miles away from me. He had booked a flight to see me. And since HU makes freshmen live in the dorms, it wasn't hard for Pike to track me down. I never wanted him to meet Malice. I wanted Mía Alicia to live on in his memories. But those memories were now tainted by the image of me with Ganon.

A few days later, I found out Pike had actually transferred to HU. We were now attending the same school, yet we hardly ever talked to each other. I was scared he could get added to my Trust Fund if someone saw us together.

But at the end of my freshman year, something even worse happened. Ganondorf ordered me to move into his mansion. The discreet one. I was a fool to agree to it. But I would have been a bigger fool to decline. He handed me the new files that summer, my targets for the next school year. Among them was Pike Curia.

"Not him," I said, sliding his file back across the desk.

"He is one of Hyrule's top students," Ganondorf stated calmly. "May I ask why you are refusing?"

Ganon, standing silently by the door behind me, approached the desk to take a look at the file. He recognized Pike's name and knew exactly why I was refusing to do the job. At first, I thought he was going to tell Ganondorf about my past with Pike, but he chose to keep it a secret. Instead, Ganon made a bold offer.

"Let me handle that guy."

Ganondorf's reaction to his son's words was restrained menace. There was always tension between them, because Ganon was not permitted to step out of line. He was the heir to the business, and the slightest mistake could prove fatal. He knew that. We all knew that. But when it came to me, Ganon didn't seem to care.

That day I became Ganon's first and only 'Emergency Contact.' And just like that, he was no longer able to kill his father without putting me at risk. Whatever he would do to Ganondorf, worse things would happen to me.

"Refusing is a dangerous game," Ganondorf warned me as he looked at Pike's file. "But I am a reasonable man. So if you wish to play, you should know the rules."

I nodded sternly. "I understand that nothing comes without a price."

"And what may be an appropriate price for a life?" Ganondorf asked as he swapped Pike's file with one of Ganon's. "Another life perhaps," he told us, his expression unreadable. I opened the file. My new target was now Link. "Do you accept the trade?"

I glanced at Ganon, who gave me a subtle nod, and then back at his father. "Yes, sir, I accept the trade."

While I got myself involved with Link, Ganon surprisingly never went anywhere near Pike. Each semester, Pike received high distinction and eventually graduated at the top of his class. I knew Ganon's failure was deliberate. He did it for me, and he was ready to endure any beating. But his father, in a chilling twist, didn't punish him. Instead, he punished me.

It happened near the end of the semester when the news reported about the death of a young boy. It felt unreal to see the face of someone I had grown up with broadcasted across a nation that didn't give a damn.

"A couple, out for an evening stroll along the shore, made a grim discovery—the body of a young boy washed up with a single gunshot wound to his head," reported the news anchor, her expression cold and unaffected.

Before anyone had identified him, the media referred to him as the Skull Kid. This was due to the gruesome nature of the crime. Not only had his skull been partially flayed, but, as the police later reported, his eyes had been burned away with acid—the trademark of the Yiga Clan.

Ganondorf was never this careless. Bodies didn't just resurface when he handled matters. I knew this was no accident; he wanted me to find out.

"A life for a life," Ganondorf said when I confronted him about it. I was in tears, I shouted, I threatened him, yet all he had to say in response was, "You accepted the trade."

With that, Pike's file vanished, placing him unknowingly under the Clan's protection. He even received special treatment from Yigas who worked at HU. All at the cost of my foster brother's life. The kid I so desperately tried to keep out of this life—the kid we all thought would make it to adulthood—that kid was now dead.

Karusa and I shared the funeral expenses. With the blood money we had earned from working for Ganondorf, we paid for a seven-foot box... a foot for every year. The funeral home told us a children's casket would be more appropriate, but an adult coffin was our way of mourning that he would never grow old enough to fit it. It was a message to the world that took him too soon.

Karusa wasn't the same after this. He blamed himself for his brother's death even though it was my fault he got killed. Maybe that's why—when I received Zelda's file half a year later—Karusa made it his priority to ensure that the task would be carried out.

"She is the daughter of the school's president," Ganondorf told me as I opened her file. "If she falls, it'll shake the very foundation of Hyrule University."

I studied her profile, as well as Link's. I felt a mix of excitement and fear. Who were these prestigious people and why were they such a big deal to Ganondorf? By the time winter break arrived, I had accomplished little to nothing. Ganondorf organized a mock execution for me, a simulated situation where I believed I was about to die, as a little motivator to work harder. But I was not the only one with shortcomings. Ganon failed to beat Hyrule at sports for the third year in a row. The first time he lost to their soccer team, he received a warning. The second time a beating. Then, when Ganon lost to them in baseball too, the Yiga Clan was ordered to torture him in the basement for a two days straight. It ranged from waterboarding to burning his limbs with lighter fluid and whipping his back. He later covered those scars with more tattoos.

The third time Ganon failed to beat Hyrule at soccer, he got kicked out of his home. For the other Yigas, it seemed like a merciful punishment, but Ganondorf did it deliberately to separate his son from me, and that, to Ganon, was worse than any previous torture. Because he knew what his father would do to me when no one was around.

On New Year's Eve, I attended a party at Link's frat. Impa, Link, and Zelda were all standing in the hallway upstairs when Ganon found me. He wanted me to run away with him, but I knew it would put Karusa and my foster family at risk, as they were all on my list of 'Emergency Contacts.' Nobody ever left the Yiga Clan without paying the price.

"I'm not leaving without you," Ganon asserted, doing everything he could to get me to come with him. But I refused. I was still angry and hurt after he had left me alone with Ganondorf. He shouted at me, "I didn't have a choice!"

Lying on the floor, I kicked and screamed. "Neither do I!"

"Yes you do!" He pulled me up, his mind set. "You're not going back to him. I won't let you."

Impa stepped in, but her attempts to stop Ganon were in vain. We slept at a motel that night. Though we both wanted to leave the Yiga Clan, the consequences terrified me and we had to abandon the idea of running away. It didn't take long for Ganondorf to find out about it. He punished us accordingly.

Two months into the spring semester, Ganondorf was growing impatient. Ganon at least tried to harm Link whenever he saw a chance—but little effort was seen from me. I just couldn't bring myself to do serious harm to Zelda.

Ganondorf gave me until the end of the semester to get it done and every night, as I lay awake, I would ask myself what would happen to me or the people I cared for if I failed to get the job done.

I found out three months later when Ganon got arrested. His failure to take care of Link cut him off from our legal forces. No lawyers, dirty cops, or prison guards came to his aid. And with him behind bars, there was nobody left to protect me from his father. Nobody left to unlock the door to my room or bring me food and water. Often left alone for days, I never knew if I'd survive till morning. Never knew when Ganondorf would return with a new task or a sick desire for some relief. Every night was spent in fear, waiting for him to come into my room.

Karusa tried to step in and fill Ganon's role for a while. He took care of me when Ganondorf wasn't around. Suddenly that thought came back—that little thought of us just packing our bags and driving north in a stolen car.

But we couldn't leave the other foster kids behind. Not after one of them had turned up dead. K's Trust Fund was getting too long; the more people he cared for, the more people would get hurt if he messed up. Together, we decided to use what little money we had left after the funeral to move the foster family to a safer neighborhood, hoping the Yiga wouldn't find them there.

This made it a little more possible for us to plan our escape from the organization. But our plan was bound to fail when Karusa got sued by Hyrule University. Unless Ganondorf offered to pay for a lawyer, or Hyrule dropped the charges, K was most likely going to join Ganon in prison.

The thought of Karusa standing up against such a powerful institution still fills me with a strange pride and fear. I hope he finds justice.

If only he hadn't gotten into a fight with Link at that baseball game. I know Karusa just wanted to prevent another Skull Kid incident by helping us finish the job, but he wasn't supposed to get involved! He could've just kept out of it...

The same goes for Link though. Ever since I got close to Link, I've admired him for his courage and strength; even though he's younger and smaller, he still somehow managed to beat Karusa and Ganon in some of their fights. But there is a fine line between courage and recklessness. That's something they each had to learn the hard way.

I know Zelda would hate me for saying it, but Link is not so different from them. He just has different priorities. He's determined, facing challenges head-on without backing down, and his loyalty and protective instinct are all traits that reflect those of Karusa and Ganon. He is impulsive like them, and just as foolish sometimes.

Now that I think about it, Impa is kinda like that too. Even more foolish even. If it meant protecting those she loves, I could see her picking a fight with pretty much anyone, no matter their size or status. Bigger or smaller, stronger or weaker, she'll fight for what she believes in. She literally tackled me yesterday despite my weak physical state. She didn't even care that she broke Kiroh's phone. It's admirable in a way, but also terrifying. Her commitment and determination can lead her into dangerous situations, putting herself and others at risk. Impa can be incredibly naive sometimes.

But she was right about one thing: Zelda has shown me unwavering kindness despite my past actions and it wouldn't hurt me to be a little nicer to her. Nobody asked her to help me, but she did it anyway. She acts out of the pure goodness of her heart and nothing else.

And here I was bitching about our hike, when the truth is, I wouldn't even be here if it weren't for her. Right now, I'm alive. Damn it, I'm alive, and I'm sitting on top of a freaking mountain! I look out into the distance where those jagged peaks are cutting into the horizon like the teeth of a dark beast. It's as if Death himself is grinning back at me as he swallows the slowly sinking sun.

My focus shifts when Zelda steps into view. She moves gracefully, her steps light and carefree as she wanders along the edge of the cliff—mere inches from a "tragic hiking accident." That's what the news would call it. Her positioning is more than ideal, all it takes is a push. No witnesses, no evidence.

That's how the Yiga Clan wants me to think. Their abusive ways have left scars that I'm not sure will ever fully heal. Sunsets, for example, might never be the same again. They used to be an achievement; another day survived. That all changed over the years. Sitting on the bleachers of Lorule's baseball field one evening, I watched the sunset as I found myself wishing I would never see another one.

That was the second time in my life that I pointed a gun at myself. Though this time, my hands weren't trembling. It didn't feel as heavy as it did when I was 13. Still felt real though. Maybe more real than back then.

The metallic tang of the gun pressed cold against my temple. I shut my eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to think of something nice. The air smelled like freshly cut grass, and I could hear the distant music of a party. I thought of the people who influenced my life, for better or for worse, and felt the weight of every heartbeat pulsing in my ears, drowning out the world around me. Until an unexpected voice jolted me from my thoughts.

"You're pretty stupid."

I opened my eyes to see Karusa's silhouette outlined against the setting sun. He walked up the bleachers, his movements slow and pained. With his head lowered, he stopped in front of me, the amber of a cigarette faintly glowing between his fingers.

Not moving an inch, I told him, "It's better I do it myself than have someone else do it for me."

"Suicide doesn't take the pain away, Mal. It gives it to someone else."

Looking back, that's probably why I started pushing everyone away. I knew I was going to pull the trigger one day, so I minimized the number of people whom the pain could hit.

Karusa placed the cig between his teeth and removed the gun from my hands, just as he had done when we were kids. He checked if it was loaded, then sighed in disappointment when he slid the ejection port shut.

"What are you doing here?" I asked him, trying to hide my embarrassment at being caught. "Shouldn't you be at the police station?"

"They're done questioning me for now." He lowered himself onto the seat next to me with a grimace of discomfort. "Fuck me," he grunted, "I think Link broke a rib."

All I could think about was that this was my fault. My failures had caused so much pain to the people around me.

"Can I have one?" I asked, gesturing towards his smoke.

With visible strain, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and placed one on my lips. I leaned in. "What about you?" he asked me back, lighting the cig for me. "Shouldn't you be at the Hideout?"

"Clearly, I wasn't planning on going back there."

"Don't be an idiot. Go home before someone notices you're gone."

"Ganon is covering for me, he's keeping his dad busy."

K blew out some smoke, turning the gun in his hands with a thoughtful frown. "Does Ganon know about this?"

"Don't tell him, okay?"

Karusa glanced my way. His face was battered from the baseball brawl with Link. Bruises splattered across his features, his lip was cut, and his right eye bloodshot. I winced just looking at him. "Go home," he told me once more.

When he tucked the gun away beneath his T-shirt, he broke his second promise. And I grew to resent promises moving forward.

On my way back to the mansion, I wondered if things would ever be normal for us, or if we were destined to repeat the same mistakes. I'm starting to realize that I may not have much say in the former, but I do have the choice to do better. When Zelda broke into the Hideout that night, I could have completed my mission by turning her in, but I chose against it. Now here we are, on a mountain, watching the sunset. Another day survived.

Karusa's words echo through my mind. If I truly want to do better, I have to stop passing my pain onto those who didn't cause it. So if Ganondorf wants Link and Zelda dead, he can do it himself! There is nothing left for me to lose, and no price high enough to pay for a life.

I'm done hurting people.