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Summary
There was never time before. Now, there is.
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Bookmark Notes:
"We never had the time," he sighs. "We had stolen moments in song, and there was no time thereafter. Now..."
He has form here, warm and breathing in a realm that doesn't exist. And he isn't alone, either - from across stands a mighty warrior, a Shade made of a Hero, a long blade in his hand and a pronged helm obscuring a skeletal face.
The blade drops from the warrior's hand with a clang.
The shadow takes a step forward and speaks, his voice soft and melodic and rusty from disuse. "There are none left to bind me," he murmurs softly, "The last of the Sheikah are dead, and those bound by blood have been released."
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