(Friendly reminder for those who didn't see it yet: I posted an extra chapter a few days ago that you should read before this one)

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Zelda's POV

I watch Link disappear into the bathroom, leaving me with Impa.

"Tough crowd," she says. Then she scoots up on the bed, making herself comfortable where Link was lying only moments ago. She is grinning at me like she knows something I don't.

"Did you guys just...?" she raises a curious brow.

The mortification eats a hole into my stomach. I tighten the blanket around me. "What is wrong with you?"

"Oh, come on, Princess. You act like this is the first time I've walked in on you doing something scandalous."

"I wasn't doing anything scandalous," I snap. "And if I were, then it would be the first time! And, you didn't walk in—you broke in."

"Semantics," she waves it off. "Aren't you happy to see me? Not one bit?"

I'm frustrated with her, yet I cannot bring myself to scold her when all she truly desires is to be with us for Christmas before returning home to spend the holidays with her family.

"Of course I'm happy to see you. Always."

"Thank you, that's all I wanted to hear." Impa gets up with a swift leap and walks toward the door. "By the way..." Her voice takes on a serious edge, having lost all cheerfulness. Dark shadows carve into her features as her foot pushes a large paper bag over the threshold. "I got the stuff you asked for."

"Oh!" My eyes widen and I lean forward, curiously trying to steal a glance inside the bag. "Truly?"

"Yeah..."

She sounds anything but excited. I expected as much. To be honest, I wasn't sure if she was going to do this for me at all.

"Thank you so much, Impa!"

"Yeah, you owe me for that one. Actually, you owe me double, for bailing on today's concert last minute."

"I'm sorry, Impa..."

"We had this planned for a whole year."

"I know, it's just that I'm—"

"Yeah yeah I know," she quickly interjects. "You're too busy. I swear, if I hear you say it one more time, Ima lose it."

"You're not actually mad, are you?"

Impa's smile returns just enough to defuse the tension. "Nah, just busting your balls," she says. "I get it, okay? Loud music and sweaty crowds probably aren't your idea of a good time right now. You've been through enough this year and keeping busy is probably your way of coping."

"Thank you," I say, meaning it.

"Hope you don't mind that I gave your ticket to Kiroh. He actually listens to the Sheikah."

"I don't mind that at all. I'm glad you're taking someone who knows the lyrics and shares your love for their music."

Impa nods satisfied, and gestures toward the door. "Five minutes. Get dressed and come downstairs. It's Christmas, baby. Time to pretend you're not secretly the Grinch."

I roll my eyes, but there's no bite behind it. "Fine. I'll be down soon."

With that, she disappears down the stairs.

When I hear water hitting the tub in the bathroom, I get out of bed, considering joining Link's shower.

I decide against it. Maybe another time. There is something else on my mind that I need to take care of first. I take a look inside the brown paper bag Impa left by the door. She bought a lot more than I expected. Stuff I would have never even thought of getting. I really hope she got the right things... I guess we'll know soon enough.

I walk over to the closet to get dressed. I don't have many clothes–only a few outfits I've bought in the past three weeks. Most of it is professional or business casual attire. I slide hanger after hanger, hoping to come across something remotely festive. Perhaps I should start with pants and a bra, in case someone else decides to march in.

Having changed into a pair of jeans and a beige sweater, I grab the presents I hid behind the laundry basket last night and head downstairs to place them beneath the tree.

I'm surprised to find that my presents aren't the first ones here. There's a brightly wrapped box with glossy blue paper, a slender gift bag with red and white tissue paper spilling over the top, and a brown cardboard box tied with twine, so neatly done that it seems out of place among the rest. I crouch to place my own gifts carefully among the others. One for each of them, plus Pik's gift for me. Seven in total. The only one missing is the brown bag for Malice.

As I straighten up, I take in the rest of the living room and kitchen. Its counters are cluttered with mismatched mugs and plates from last night's dinner. The cookies Link made are in a tupperware between boxes labeled "kitchen".

Out of nowhere, it hits me: this will be my second Christmas with Link and the others. My second Christmas spent with family, ever since Mother passed away.

...

It only takes half an hour before everyone is downstairs. Impa made sure to wake Revali and Mipha just as passionately as me and Link, but fortunately for them, they locked their doors.

Sidon and Kiroh arrive at the townhome at 9 am to celebrate Christmas with us. Their presence instantly lights up the whole house with more joy and laughter!

Once the Christmas movies are on, the morning passes in a merry blur. Link makes banana chocolate chip pancakes for everyone, with a side of sizzling bacon. He hums along to Christmas carols as he flips the pancakes like a professional. I get a lucky triple flip on video and wink at him when he notices I'm filming. He pulls me in for a quick kiss before tending to the bacon.

In the meantime, Mipha and Revali sit in the living room, chatting about their families. Apparently Revali has a little brother back in Canada who is so inspired by Revali's "unparalleled excellence with bow and arrow" that he recently picked up archery. Sidon says that's how he feels about Mipha and surfing.

Kiroh offers to help in the kitchen, but Link insists he's got it covered, sending him to set the table instead. When everything is done, I excuse myself from the group, my eyes finding Link's for a moment, silently asking him to save a plate for Malice.

From our bedroom, I grab the large brown paper bag, as well as Link's and Pik's presents for Malice. Then I head to the second floor. It's much calmer and darker than the downstairs scene, probably just what Malice needs.

The door to her room is slightly ajar, but not enough to glance inside.

"Malice?" I say with a light knock on her door frame.

No answer.

I don't want to bother her in case she's still asleep. But then, right as I want to turn back, the door opens slowly. Malice looks as though she's been awake for a while. Her skin is pale, her eyes empty.

"Oh, hi," I say. "I just wanted to make sure you're doing alright up here. How did you sleep?"

She shrugs, eyes aimed low. "Could be worse."

"Could it be better?"

She shrugs again.

"Well, if there is anything any of us can do to make it better, don't hesitate to tell us."

"Okay."

Her answers are flat and void of emotion, but she's talking to me, which is a huge step forward considering she wouldn't even acknowledge me yesterday.

"We are about to have breakfast," I say. "Would you like to join us downstairs? It's just our closest friends. Revali, Mipha, Impa, Kiroh... The only one you haven't met is Sidon. He goes to a different school... UCZD up north. He's very sweet and trustworthy, if you'd like to meet him. He won't tell anyone about you."

Malice doesn't need time to think about it. She shakes her head, visibly withdrawing again.

"That's okay," I assure her. "I figured it might be a little much at the moment. I can bring you some food in a bit, if you're feeling hungry."

Another shrug for an answer.

"Oh and... we'll be exchanging presents soon. I assume you'd rather stay up here for that as well?"

"Yes."

"Okay." I place the bag between us on the floor. "You can just open your gifts in your room then."

"What?" Her brows crease. "Gifts?"

"Yes, gifts. It's this tradition society invented to mask emotional inadequacy with material offerings—it's quite effective, really."

"I know what gifts are," she says with a scowl.

She has been so distant to me lately that her giving me attitude makes me smile.

"Then don't question it and just accept it."

"Seriously?" She asks.

"Seriously." I hold out Link's present first.

When Malice steps aside, I enter the dimly lit room. The blinds are drawn tightly shut and the faint light that manages to slip through seems almost unwilling to touch the space. It's the opposite of the warmth of the downstairs, and it's unsettling in a way that makes my heart ache for her.

I feel a little better when I notice that the flowery bed sheets are neatly pulled over the mattress. I assume that after I left last night, Malice actually slept on the bed, which means she is starting to adjust to the new living arrangements.

"Did you still want to trade beds?" I ask.

"I think it's fine," she says.

"If you change your mind, just let me know." I hold out Link's present once more. "Go ahead, open it."

She grabs the gift from me and undoes the scotch tape at its back. A tennis racket with a black and purple design reveals itself. There is not much of a reaction on her face as she turns the racket in her hands.

"I hate tennis," she says.

"It's a present, not a commitment," I tell her. "I hated it too, before I got better at it. Now I hate it a little less. Link would like to teach you at some point. Maybe you will learn to enjoy it, as I have done."

I hand her the brown bag next but she is hesitant to accept the gifts. "It's all too much," she says. Looks like she is just like me when it comes to gifts. "What is it?" She asks, eyeing the bag with some reservation.

"If I told you, that would defeat the purpose, no?"

"Not a huge fan of surprises."

"Come on, just take a look inside," I encourage.

Malice reaches into the bag and pulls out the first item. It's an oversized black hoodie, soft and heavy in her hands, with a subtle graphic of a white crescent moon on the back. Her brows lift slightly.

"Clothes?" She asks.

"Well, you see... Over the past couple of months, you've made it very clear to me that you do not appreciate my taste in fashion. In fact, every time I lent you something to wear, you insulted me." I catch a hint of guilt on her face but she doesn't say anything. "So I thought a fitting Christmas gift might be some clothes of your own."

Malice returns her eyes to the bag. She pulls out the next item—ripped jeans. She studies them for a second before setting them aside and digging further into the bag. High-waisted cargo pants, a dark beanie with a small logo, chunky black combat boots, crop tops of various colors and styles, XL graphic T's, oversized flannel, bomber jacket, skirts . . . Impa got it all, down to the jewelry. She even made sure to buy some stay-at-home clothes like sweatpants, and cotton shorts to sleep in. She didn't forget underwear either, or makeup. It's all there—anything this college girl could possibly need to feel like herself again.

"Do you like any of it?" I ask to rid myself of the anticipation.

Malice looks up at me—no smile, no frown. She is a blank canvas. And though it is hard to read her at times, maybe it's a good thing. She has the freedom to paint herself new and fresh, however she feels comfortable.

"It's..." Malice drops the items back in the bag and mumbles, "not horrible."

"I can work with 'not horrible'."

"So these are... mine?"

"I thought you said you understood how gifts work," I jest. "Yes, they are yours, provided you want them. I can always return them or exchange them for something else if you have any requests."

"No, it's fine. These will work."

Should I tell her that Impa picked them out? These two aren't exactly on good terms, and I don't want to risk upsetting Malice. I wouldn't be surprised if she tells me these clothes suck right after I tell her who chose them. Then again, Malice probably already figured out that I do not possess the necessary fashion knowledge to shop for the closet of her choice. I don't even know what you call this type of fashion.

When I hand over Pik's present, Malice doesn't eagerly rip the wrapping paper off. She doesn't open it at all. She simply holds it in her hands, feeling the weight and its shape without giving away and predictions of what might be inside.

"Do you want to open it in private?" I ask.

She gives me a faint nod, which I understand as my cue to head back downstairs.

I don't take it personally at all. Like I said, I must take it one step at a time with Malice. I believe we are making great progress, and that in itself is the Christmas miracle I have been waiting for.

When I return downstairs, the warm smell of cinnamon and pine relaxes me and brings back my festive mood. The living room is glowing with soft, golden light from the Christmas tree. Ornaments glint as they catch the flicker of the candles. We eat together and then move to the living room to exchange presents.

I take a seat on the couch next to Link, who immediately slides an arm around my shoulders. His gift for me is sitting under the tree, wrapped so meticulously that I'm sure Mipha must have helped.

"Are we doing this or what?" Sidon asks with a laugh that feels a little too loud for this small space.

"Yeah, some of us have places to be!" Impa adds. She eagerly grabs the first gift, shaking it next to her ear.

"That's not for you!" Revali snarls, snatching the square box from Impa's grip and handing it to Mipha, who unwraps it so carefully that you could reuse the wrapping paper next year. It's a personalized phone case with a photo of them sharing an ice cream cone at Venice beach, as well as waterproof earpods so she can listen to music during swim practice.

One by one, the gifts are exchanged. Revali rolls his eyes at the socks Sidon gives him, though I catch him quietly muttering something about them being "decent quality." In addition to the socks, Revali receives a smart ring fitness tracker and new arrows.

The smiles roll out with each present. Sidon gets a cap, a new wetsuit, and portable speakers. A customized water bottle from Link to Mipha, and a deeply personal photo album from her to Link, dating all the way back to their childhood in Japan. Link also gets a box with his favorite snacks, and a generous set of spices from all over the world. A custom skateboard deck from Impa to Kiroh, and a Vintage band t-shirt from him to her. Impa's favorite gift is the Fujifilm Instax camera I got her, and the traditional Asian hat she got from Link—hand woven with overlapping palm leaves.

Link gasps loudly as he unwraps the next gift. "How the heck did you know which Mavs jersey I wanted?" he asks me as he examines the design. "Holy shit it's signed by Luka!"

Revali demands to see the signature, jealousy and doubt clinging fiercely to his command, but Link won't pass the jersey to him.

"Just let me see it!" Revali barks.

"Only if you'll do your own chores from now on!"

"No way! We made a deal. Now let me see the jersey!"

They bicker about it some more while endless layers of wrapping paper and cardboard boxes continue to litter the livingroom floor.

And so it continues... New sneakers, skin care, gift cards, wall art, a Wilson volleyball, GoPro camera, Yankee candles, portable charger, picture frames, video games...

And then, inevitably, it is my turn. I always dread this moment. Part of me was hoping they would be so distracted by their own gifts that they forget all about me. Despite feeling slightly awkward with all the attention on me, I am truly grateful for their company. After opening their gifts, I thank them for the books and plants, and give Link an extra long hug for the cozy fleece blanket that has photos of all of us printed on it. I open Pik's gift last. It's a vinyl record with an album cover and title I do not recognize. It all clicks when I flip it over to look at the song names.

Final Countdown
Laughter Train
Thief

Putting a Spin on Can't Help Falling in Love
Song of Storms

Lullaby

Champions Ballad

Hero's Legend

Lost Woods

...

These songs are all his. Some of these he played at the bar, some are classical pieces he composed and played for me during study sessions at the auditorium. The final song on the record is called "Zelda's Theme."

Link takes a look at the record, which Revali sees as a perfect opportunity to snatch the jersey from him.

"Let's give it a listen," Link says. He gets up and grabs the turntable from a box in the hallway.

As the music plays, my heart warms, and an unexpected lump rises in my throat. I can't recall ever experiencing Christmas quite like this. It's simple, unhurried, and intimate. There's no loud chatter or extravagant displays, no rigid expectations or stifling formalities. No expectations. Just us, here in this moment, sharing music and time.

It's this—this sense of belonging, of being seen and heard without pretense—that stirs something deep within me. I used to hate the holidays. But I'm realizing now, for the first time, what it truly means to celebrate—not just the season, but the people around me.

I close my eyes, letting the melody wash over me, and for a fleeting moment, I feel like this is where I've always been meant to be. I let myself forget everything else. The fire, the pain, the loss. Right now, it's just us. And that is enough.

When tears threaten to fall, I swiftly rise to my feet and walk over to the kitchen. These are happy tears, right? Either way, I don't want the others to see. But of course Link notices. He follows me and gently presses one hand on my lower back. "You okay?"

"Yes," I sniffle. "Just overcome with joy."

He grins. "That's Christmas for ya."

I return the smile and grab one of the leftover plates. "Malice hasn't eaten yet," I tell him. "I'll be right back."

As much as I love how alive the living room is, I don't mind the calm of the second floor right now.

I knock on Malice's door and push it open just enough to catch Malice jolting and quickly hiding something in her pocket. I back away, out of sight from the small gap between door and frame, pretending I didn't see anything. I hear her shuffling on the other side, and a few seconds later, she opens the door fully.

"You again," she sighs.

"Were you expecting someone else?" I ask with one brow raised. "Here, you must be starving," I say, presenting the pancakes.

Malice takes the plate from me as her eyes dart up to study my face. "Are you... crying?"

"Not at all." I blink the tears away and take a look around her room. Pik's gift is lying on her bed, still wrapped. I wonder what she's hiding in her pocket. And why she's hiding it. It can't be drugs—I mean, how would she have gotten them? I hope it's not a knife. Hylia knows what happened last time she was armed...

I wait by the door for a moment longer, hoping she will just come out and show me whatever it is that she pushed so hastily into her pocket. But she doesn't. I suppose she still doesn't trust me as much as Link thinks. Maybe with time... Who knows.

"Alright," I say. "I will head back downstairs then."

I leave her room, but before I reach the stairs, I hear a hesitant, "Hold on."

I turn around to face her.

"I've been meaning to ask you something."

"What is it, Malice?" My eyes glance at her pocket, only for a second.

"The, uh... the lawsuit against Karusa," she utters carefully, like she's scared of what I might say. "What happened with that?"

I stiffen, every muscle in my body tensing at the mention of his name. "Hyrule lost," I say, keeping my voice steady. "The evidence wasn't strong enough to convict him of anything major. He got community service and probation."

Malice's shoulders relax, almost imperceptibly, but I catch it. Relief flashes across her face for the briefest moment before she schools her expression back into neutrality.

"So he's not going to jail?"

"Why do you sound so happy about that? He nearly killed Link and destroyed my family's reputation."

Malice flinches slightly but doesn't argue.

I push forward, my voice quieter but no less firm. "Malice... why do you care so much about him? After everything he's done?"

"We've been over this before... He's... not all bad."

I wish I could understand what it is about him that makes her care so deeply.

"He's done terrible things, yeah. But you don't know his reasons."

"I don't need to. Whatever motivates him does not excuse—"

"I know," she cuts me off. "It doesn't excuse anything. But it explains some of it."

I cross my arms, fixing her with a pointed look as I wait for an explanation, but Malice remains silent.

"Go on then," I press. "What are his reasons for hurting me and Link? Why are you all after us? From the moment I met you, it felt like you had some personal vendetta. And it wasn't just you—Karusa was hostile from the first time he laid eyes on me too. He called me 'princess' that day. That wasn't coincidence, was it? And Ganon..." My voice falters for a moment, memories of that stinging slap flashing vividly in my mind. "The first time I met him, when you called me by my name, he said "So that's her." And then he hit me. None of you acted like strangers, even though you pretended you didn't know me. Even Ganondorf claimed not to know who I was when we spoke outside Lorule's stadium. That was all a lie, wasn't it? You all knew who I was long before I knew you."

Malice exhales a shallow breath, her head dipping further. "Yes, we did," she admits gravely. "Ganondorf gave us files on you. Everything we needed to know about you was in there."

The hallway suddenly feels colder. Smaller. It feels like the ground beneath me is tilting. "What?"

"We knew who you were," she says again, this time more slowly, her expression grim. "Ganondorf made sure of it. Everything about your lives, your pasts... everything was there."

A rush of disbelief sweeps through me, and I take a step back. My privacy, my life, dissected and handed out like a report. I feel as though Ganondorf is in this very house; walls for ears, and windows for eyes. Watching, listening, taking note of every word, every movement. "What kind of sick person does that? Why would he need something like that?"

Malice's face hardens, her tone bitter. "He wants to take you down. You and Link."

"Take us down how?" I dare ask, my voice rising with panic.

She doesn't reply. She doesn't need to. Her look says it all.

"He gave the orders to me and Ganon. That's why we've always had it out for you guys," she says eventually, her voice cracking. "Ganon tried. But I couldn't finish the job. I just couldn't..."

My shock quickly turns to anger. "Why did you try to get the job done in the first place?" I snap as quietly as possible so the others don't hear us. "I've never done anything to you!"

"It's the goddamn Trust Fund," she says.

"A trust fund?"

"Not like money... It's these lists that keep track of people we care about. Ganondorf has one for everyone he knows."

Malice's hands are starting to shake and her chest is moving rapidly.

"Slow down," I say. "What are you talking about?"

"Karusa is on my list. If I disobey, he pays the price. Every time I failed to take care of you, he got tortured..."

"So..." My voice is shaky, my thoughts racing and colliding. "You're saying Karusa is only trying to hurt us because you failed to do it? So he can protect himself?"

"I'm saying we all pay for each other's sins. I'm on Ganon's list. Every time he fucked up with Link, Ganondorf abused me... It keeps us in line... It makes us do things we wouldn't usually do. I mean—wouldn't you do these things for Link?"

"No! I wouldn't hurt anyone on purpose!" I say.

"Well Link would. And he has. Only difference between him and Ganon is that Link did it out of rage and Ganon out of love."

I ball my fists and clench my jaw. "Don't go there," I warn.

"Zelda, I need you to understand that it was never Karusa's choice to target you. It's all Ganondorf."

"But why is Ganondorf after me and Link?"

"Isn't it obvious?" She aggressively whispers, "You guys are getting targeted because you are on somebody else's Trust Fund! Someone who fucked up with Ganondorf!"

"Who is it?"

The fear in Malice's eyes sends a chill through me. My arms drop to my sides, the tension draining from my stance, replaced by a deep, sinking unease.

"Malice?" I say hesitantly, dreading the answer. "Whose list are Link and I on?"

"Zelda," a third voice cuts through the air. Malice and I turn toward the stairs. It's Impa, her eyes flickering briefly to Malice before locking on me.

"What now, Impa?" I snap at her before I can stop myself. First she gets between me and Link this morning, and now this.

"You need to come downstairs," she says with an unusual intensity. An uneasy feeling replaces any frustration.

"Everything alright?" I ask nervously.

Impa looks unsure. "Cops are at the door," she tells us. "They want to speak with you."