Mokeeru had no idea how much time had passed when she opened her eyes; she could tell that she was back in the Gerudo village, presumably in the healer's hut, based on the smell of herbs. She sat up, wincing as pain bloomed fresh in the back of her head and her vision swam out of focus, blanketing the room in a watery film. She heard the unmistakable voice of Lyrassa, the healer, speaking up from somewhere across the room, likely cautioning her to lie back, but with the ringing in her head and the buzzing in her ears Mokeeru could not discern it clearly. Raising her hand up to the center of where the pain was radiating from in back of her

    With the arrival of the sun the next morning, Nakori, Mokeeru, Ganondorf, and three of the other maidens gathered on the desert side of the bridge that connected the Gerudo village to the rest of Hyrule. All six wore nondescript brown cloaks with the hoods drawn up to obscure their features, and each of the maidens had a simple, unadorned scimitar strapped to their respective sides. Nakori acknowledged the guards stationed at the bridge with a series of hand gestures before leading the troupe out across the bridge. Ganon peered over the edge as they crossed, looking down the steep cliff face to the swiftly flowing river far below before s

 "That impudent whelp!" bellowed Kotake, back within the desert Colossus. "The ungrateful cur!" Clearly seething with impotent fury, her frustrated tirade was punctuated with bursts of flame, expelled outward without regard. Koume wisely held her tongue, occasionally dodging a wayward incendiary. Each one burst against a surface - walls, floor, ceiling - in a shower of sparks, leaving a series of random scorch marks throughout the chamber where the sisters currently held council. Gradually, her invective began to subside, and with her diminishing fury so, too, did the pyrotechnics slowly ebb. Koume took the opportunity to settle in upon the

--Obviously I do not own any rights to the characters/settings/world/etc that will be used for this fan-fiction; all rights etc. belong to the Nintendo corporation, Shigeru Miyamoto, etc., etc. ==========================================================================================   In the utter, inky blackness, there is nothing. A voice - soft, swiftly fading, mournfully laments; "I am sorry master.... I have failed you..."   A deep voice resonates in response, dripping with malice, "My time will come again..."     **     **     **     **     **     **     **     **     **     **     **   Years pass.... History becomes legend... le