Thunder had hit them first, loud enough to pierce the veil of the living and reach a hand towards the dead. Even Buliara had flinched when she’d heard it, jumping in place and reading her spear; Riju’s teeth had rang and her ears had been deafened, the echo pulsing through her body in time with her heart. Ignoring the pain and Buliara’s protests, she had run up the stairs to her balcony and peered into the distance, towards to mountain Vah Naboris had claimed for itself, and had seen it glowing red as vengeance.
This was how Gerudo Town had witnessed the defeat of Calamity Ganon: from below, with thunder in their ears, squinting at a light bright enough to blind the desert during day. For fifteen minutes Riju had watched the laser burn. Then it had shut down, the Beast lowering its head and going quiet. Good luck, Link.
The day after, Riju stood before the Beast. It lay on its knees, head resting in the sand, its eight eyes still staring blankly at Hyrule Castle. Even kneeling it still loomed; if it decided it was more comfortable on its side, it would have certainly crushed them. But the Beast did not stir. Even its customary rumbling, its whining steam and whirring gears had quieted. It lay still as a mirror; Riju could see her own reflection distorted in its skin, obscured by sand and dirt.
“Chief, I advise against this,” Buliara said again. She stood ramrod straight with that familiar pinch around her eyes. “It is unnecessarily dangerous; I suggest I go in with a few of our retinue instead.”
“I appreciate your advice,” Riju repeated again. “But I will be going myself.”
Buliara wasn’t even wrong. Riju ought to leave well enough alone, perhaps ask for aid from the Sheikah labs. Calamity Ganon had been defeated only yesterday. A number of things could go horribly wrong, and then she’d go down in history as the Chief who’d ended the line and left the Gerudo leaderless over... what? Some childish curiosity?
And yet.
“I’m going in,” she informed Buliara. “Stay here with the others. I will call if I need you.”
She did not wait for rebuke. Gone through its knees, the Beast’s entrance now hung close to the ground. Standing on her tip-toes, she could just barely reach the hatch. She pulled herself up and climbed inside.
Somehow, the Beast was even more imposing from the inside. Its walls rose up far above her head, its ceiling so high she had to squint to make out its details. Her whole palace could’ve fit in here, two stacked on top of one another. Looking up and around the Beast felt like looking up at the Seven Heroines; awe inspiring, a little terrifying. Like being judged.
Still no sound. None from Vah Naboris, none from outside; its walls had distanced the call of the herons to something more like memory. Now the only sound was her own footsteps echoing through its stomach, casting off the walls, and her own breath, too close for comfort. With ever step, with every breath she seemed to grow louder, until all she wanted to do was slap her hands against her ears to drown out the sound. She should not be here. Buliara had been right; she should not have come looking. She turned to leave, and—
Her knuckles brushed the wall. She jolted, widening her eyes, and frantically pressed her hand against the stone. It was warm, like the walls back home, the houses in Gerudo Town at the height of day. Sunlight fell gentle through its windows and beneath her palm, the Beast seemed to breath. It did not move, it did not stir; warming her palm, she realized: it was sleeping.
Her palm cooled when she pulled it from the wall. Her resolve wavered. quickly, she removed her sandals, let her feet feel the feint grit of well-cut stone, its sun-soaked warmth, the Beast’s pulse. She breathed, and looked around.
On second thought, the Beast’s walls were perhaps not as high as the rock above her palace. She liked to climb that in the early morning or late evenings, paddle in the little spring, let her feet dangle off the edge as she watched her home glow bright in the tentative sun. This same light cast Vah Naboris in a familiar golden haze, and it was tempting to think of the Beast as something friendly.
But that would be delusion. Despite the warmth beneath her feet, the soft sunglow, this was a Beast older than she could comprehend. She did not even know if she was truly standing on stone; the material was similar, but not quite the same, the grit a texture just slightly off, the colour just a tad different. Perhaps this was a material long lost to time, the way the knowledge to build a machine like this, to make something the size of buildings move and shift and fight had been lost. Vah Naboris was alien in the way things got when they’re too old. No, it was not her home; more than anything, it reminded her of the old stories, with language she could barely comprehend and characters only vaguely familiar to her. This Beast had been born thousands of years ago; perhaps it should’ve died then too.
In the center of the room sat a bulb; the main terminal, as Link had described it. Walkways in the room neatly led up to it. Riju skipped onto one and approached the terminal, examining it closer. It glowed orange. Sheikah tech wasn’t abundant in the Gerudo Desert, but Riju had seen enough to know that orange meant dormant, and blue active. Only yesterday the Beast had spit at Ganon, but now it had deactivated and lay quiet. Sleeping, waiting to be awoken again, perhaps? For what purpose?
Riju stroked the pedestal, watched the orange light dance beneath her fingers. A Beast like this; should it be woken? Had its waking not come dangerously close to destroying Gerudo Town, killing her people? How could they trust it not to turn on them again? And even if it didn’t: this was a weapon. Its only use was destruction. With the Calamity gone, what could possibly deserve its ire? If they woke it, where would it point its laser?
Had Urbosa thought of this, a hundred years ago? Had she considered the after, the epilogue to an epic? She must have; a good leader thought not just of the fight, but of the aftermath. What had her plans been? What would she do now?
It hung in the air, her reason for coming her, for insisting on the trip. Part of it was duty, the need to ensure the Beast was harmless, but a part? A part was a voice whispering her name, warm as the stone beneath her feet. Urbosa clung to every groove, every line inside this Beast. She walked on the walkways, moving in tandem with Riju, examined the terminal not unlike she did now. Riju watched her press her hand against the pedestal, light dancing between her fingers, a slight smile on her lips.
Riju had watched her mother like this. Riju had watched her bake, watched her shred phyllo dough, heard her laugh and ask for patience; she had felt her fingers braid her hair, had seen her walk the hallways of the palace and sit upon the throne. She had heard, watched, felt her, and with the next breath, she’d be gone, back to her grave.
Urbosa was nothing but a remnant, the warmth lingering in the walls after the sun had set.
Riju’s shoulders sagged. She clasped her hands behind her back, turned her head up and counted to ten. She’d set her hopes too high; Link had mentioned he’d met Urbosa in the belly of her Beast, and Riju had hoped to do the same. But of course she would have moved on after her fight was finished, would have left this world to meet her mother and daughter, to claim her place among the gods.
No advice from the dead. No ghost to braid her hair or share a meal, no ghost to tell her what it meant to lead, what to do next. No ghost could tell her they were proud. It was not the first time she’d learned this lesson, but it had been a few years since she’d forgotten. She breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth, ignoring the rasping of her chest.
Footsteps. Riju jumped, hand reaching for her dagger as she whirled around, only to stumble in surprise. Buliara made her way across the walkway, steps careful and measured, already half in a bow.
“You disobeyed my orders,” said Riju, more baffled than mad.
“My —” Buliara started, then paused. Continued: “I did,” unrepentant. “It was unwise for you to go in alone.”
Riju shook her head. Annoyance warred with wonderment. “The Beast is calm,” she stated. “It will not harm me. It is sleeping.”
“I’ve noticed,” Buliara agreed. She righted herself. For a second, she seemed to hesitate, then cautiously walked forward. No, not cautiously. Something else, something in the neighbourhood. Riju could not quite pin it down. Buliara put her hand on the pedestal.
“We do not currently have a way to reactivate it,” Riju said. “Link’s Slate would work, but whatever method Urbosa must have used to control it seems to have been lost to time.”
Buliara did not answer immediately. She stared at her hand, watching as the orange light pried itself free from her fingers. “For a time,” she finally mumbled, a half-whisper under her breath.
“What?” Riju asked.
Buliara blinked, and looked over at Riju as if suddenly remembering her presence. “Nothing, Chief. My apologies.” She snagged her hand away from the pedestal and took a step back. “If we have ascertained that Vah Naboris poses no threat in its current condition, my advice is to contact the Sheikah and ask how to proceed.”
Riju nodded. That had been her conclusion as well. Yet, she did not move or give the order to leave. Almost unnoticeable, Buliara drummed a finger on her spear. She was nervous.
“Earlier, you said ‘for a time’,” Riju asked. “What did you mean by that?”
The drumming grew more agitated. “A slip of the tongue,” Buliara answered. “Nothing to worry about.”
“There is a large weapon of mass destruction that very nearly destroyed us all lying in the perfect position to fire its laser at Gerudo Town,” Riju countered. She shifted her weight slightly, to the back of the heels, set her back a little straighter, let her voice carry just a little further. “If you have any concerns about its safety, I need to be aware of them.”
Buliara stared at her for a little too long, still drumming her finger. Riju did not break eye contact. At last, Buliara sighed.
“I meant, even if we knew how Lady Urbosa controlled Vah Naboris, adopting it would be no use,” she stated. “The method was clearly ineffective.”
Ineffective?
“I’m not sure it’s fair to blame Urbosa for being overwhelmed by the Calamity,” she said.
Buliara turned, just lightly. She now stood halfway between Riju and the terminal; Riju could just barely catch the edge of her eye, pinched. Buliara’s hand tightened on her spear. She did not answer. Sudden as the sound of thunder, Riju understood.
“You don’t like Urbosa.”
The shock bled through to her voice; she couldn’t help it. Her jaw went slightly slack, her eyes grew a little wide. Small as always, Buliara winced.
“It’s not that I dislike her,” she defended herself. “She has won honor and glory even beyond death; she is legend, and if she was even half as skilled as the stories claim, rightfully so. But...” and she said the next words slowly, as if it hurt to pull them from behind her teeth, “Certain decisions of hers did not... impress me.”
“Why?” Riju asked, baffled. Urbosa was a hero, a Chief beyond peer. What could Buliara possibly take issue with?
Buliara’s eyes caught Riju’s. She gestured with her spear at the terminal. “She failed us.”
It felt like getting stabbed. Riju breathed through the pain, did not break eye contact did not break out in sweat, barely hitched her breath at all. She crossed her arms to stem the bleeding wound in her chest and took another breath, steadier this time.
“I see,” she said, and her voice was steady. “You do have little patience for failure.”
Nowadays, Buliara rarely trained with the guard anymore. Too busy. But a vague memory from when she was little: Buliara’s irritated shouts, her mother’s laughter, and a scared trainee. Flashes, but confirmed by more recent memories of Buliara snapping at visitors who forgot their manners, criticizing the craftsmanship of a new spear, berating the guards for failing to retrieve the Thunder Helm. This ire had never yet been turned on Riju. Her mother’s ghost protected her still. But illusions were always dispelled eventually. It was a sword to her throat she had to breath around, and never had its cut felt this close to her skin. She dared not move.
Buliara did not notice her tension; she rarely noticed much of anything about people, a grace Riju had always been thankful for. Buliara closed her eyes and paused, as if in thought. She tapped her spear on the ground.
“Failure...” she finally began, only to trail off. For a second, her jaw tensed, but then she sighed and shook her head. “We all have a duty,” she began again. Her voice was calmer this time. Not quiet, she never was, but not loud, not projecting the way she usually did. Instead, she sounded like she did when talking about the palace, its history, its architecture, the long line of royals who had lived in it. As she did when she reminded Riju of some obscure law or another that would either render a complicated question simple, or a simple question complicated. “We all have a duty. A tailor’s duty is to provide clothes, a baker’s duty is to provide food, a guard's duty is to protect...”
“And a Chief’s duty is to her people,” Riju finished.
“Exactly,” Buliara agreed. “A Chief’s duty is to consider the well-being of our people above all else.” Buliara tapped the Beast’s terminal. “This,” she said, “was not for our people.”
Riju was rendered speechless. Before she could find her words, could even get her thoughts in order, Buliara continued.
“It was for the Hylians.” She swept her hand across the room, gesturing at the Beast’s stomach. “Vah Naboris’ priority was not to protect us. It was to protect Hyrule.”
Riju shook her head, still baffled. “The Calamity was a threat to us all,” she argued.
“I am not discounting that,” Buliara agreed. “But why do we have no means to control Vah Naboris?”
“Huh?”
For the first time since she started her explanation, Buliara faltered again. She broke eye contact, looking slightly over Riju’s head. “After you were...” she swallowed, “...injured. I went through the archive. Attempted to find any mechanism we could use to seize control, or even just information on Vah Naboris, its workings, its weaknesses.” She shook her head. “Nothing. Not a single thing we could use to arm ourselves against this weapon gone rogue.” Buliara nodded to her. “You did the same.”
She had. She and Buliara had gone down in the archives to find information on Vah Naboris, something they could use to interface with it once they’d boarded, and come up empty. No information beyond the very basics, the things they could easily observe themselves, and nothing at all to control it. Now that she thought of it, Buliara had seemed quiet, but she hadn’t paid attention to it at the time. She’d had bigger things to worry about—quite literally—and had come up frustratingly, terrifyingly short in the face of it.
“I’d hoped you might be able to find something I’d overlooked, but nothing,” Buliara continued. “Because there was nothing of use. It is clear Vah Naboris was Hyrule’s weapon; we were merely borrowing it. Lady Urbosa had allowed the Hylians to station a weapon of mass destruction on our kingdom and seemed to have overlooked the possibility that it might turn on us.”
She slammed the end of her spear against the ground. “Vah Naboris never should have been stationed on our land without ensuring our protection if it were to misfire.” She shook her head. “I cannot blame her for falling before the Calamity,” she stated, no malice to be found in her voice, a simple fact. “But in the face of this larger threat, she seemed to have forgotten to whom her duty was. What her duty was.” She looked at Riju, a quick darting of the eyes that then seemed to get stuck watching her. Her voice lowered. “That is a kind of failure I cannot forgive.”
Riju broke eye contact, looked down at the floor as she digested that. She swallowed. Urbosa had been a presence almost as large as her mother, and venerated twice as much. When she was young, she’d played Urbosa with a stick mimicking a sword. Children still did, outside in the market.
“I had hoped to find her here.”
It slipped out on accident, and she bit her tongue. She did not, however, take her words back. That was unbecoming. Instead, she raised her head and looked at Buliara. She opened her mouth to follow up her statement, only to find her mind blank.
Buliara’s shoulders slackened slightly. “The Hylian Champion did say something about her ghost,” she murmured. She started tapping her spear again. Riju watched the finger move up and down, up and down, a steady, dependable rhythm.
“Your mother told me Lady Urbosa once broke her foot jumping from the top of the palace on a drunken dare.”
Riju nearly choked on her own spit. “What?” she coughed.
“It was when she was still a teenager, apparently,” Buliara continued. A slight smile played on her lips. “She won a half-rotten potted palm, cared for it until it flourished and treated it like a second child. Apparently your grandma used to feel jealous of it, when she was very young,” She idly gestured with one finger. “It’s one of the palms outside the palace. Your grandmother replanted it when it grew too big for its pot.”
Riju stared. “I didn’t know that,” she finally said.
“It’s not the kind of thing that makes it into legend,” answered Buliara.
No. No, it was not.
“She used to have a favourite sand seal. It was the runt of its litter, barely large enough to carry her,” Buliara added. “I believe Patricia is descended from her.”
She had known that, actually. She’d forgotten until this moment, but she’d known that. “Urbosa liked to put little braids in its mustache.”
“That was one of your grandmother’s favourite stories about her,” Buliara said fondly. “She told me that three times before I even came into your mother’s service.”
Riju did not remember her grandmother at all. She’d died when she’d been just a baby. Her mother must have been the one to tell her, then, even if Riju couldn’t remember when she had.
“I liked hearing those stories,” Buliara announced, in the same tone she announced Padda had brought her a new plushie. “I’d have liked to meet Urbosa as well. She sounded like a kind woman.”
A lump had formed in Riju’s throat. She swallowed around it. “She did,” she agreed.
The sun was starting to set, its light gathering the weight of the afternoon. Through the windows, you could just barely see the rising moon, still competing with the day. The stone was still warm, but would soon start cooling with the night.
“It’s time to leave,” Riju announced. “People will worry if we are not back by nightfall.”
Buliara nodded. “You are correct.” She bowed, deep and proper, a smile hastily hidden in the movement. “Please, lead the way.”
The Beast stayed quiet as they walked out, back to the plateau. It stayed quiet as they trekked back towards the city. Before she went to bed, Riju tried to spot it once more, but without its bright red light, the night hid it from view.
Below her, the market quieted down, the last few customers of the day making their rounds. The palms’ leaves rustled in the soft breeze, playing with the lantern light. A mother called her child back in.
Riju went to bed.
![Sundown - spitecentral - The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild/Tears of the Kingdom [Archive of Our Own] (2024)](data:image/png;base64,iVBORw0KGgoAAAANSUhEUgAAAAEAAAABCAQAAAC1HAwCAAAAC0lEQVR42mP8/h8AAvMB+NzmkbcAAAAASUVORK5CYII=)