Note: Thank you to anyone who read this, and to anyone who read "Majora's Mask." Especially to anyone who was invested enough to read both. Your investment in my novelization means more than I could ever really say. This final update, I think, is a much needed good-bye for both stories. But hopefully, (for the character in this chapter as well as myself), it is also indicative of the greater things yet to come.


"Let people forget the demon, when they hear Majora. Instead, I want them to remember the light." He turned back to the great, colorful arc in the sky.

Majora never tore his eyes away from it, as he kicked off the ground to fly at full speed. The Hylian shield was attached firmly to his back, but he hardly noticed the uncomfortable, firm steel latched to his bony shoulders. He refused to look at the little girl or her father, or the colorful house playing the circus music below. He refused to look at the brown rock or the clay of Ikana Canyon, or anywhere else in this realm. He wanted his final piece of Termina to be the goodbye to his last living friend. Pamela.

Instead, he had eyes only for the beautiful scar. The little girl had deemed it the light spirit, and regardless of its true nature, it was an appropriate name. The colors were shimmering far above, but they only got closer as the rest of the world fell away. He gripped the wood of the broomstick firmly in his skeletal hands, while wrapping his legs around the stem. Despite that, he could hardly feel the broom. His sense of touch had almost gone entirely with his flesh, though some remnants were there. For instance – the wind. He could feel it on his cheeks, with the empty hood flapping behind him, wide sleeves funneling out. He narrowed his eyes, barely noticing the faint strands of hair pulled back by the gusts. He could hardly feel it getting colder.

Majora – the mask salesman – the broken, undead man who had reclaimed his birth name from the demon he sold it to – thought he could see the entire spectrum of light above him. For the first time in a long time, he was afraid. The crimson gems were bordered by emeralds and sapphires, extending tentacles to gently embrace the sky, but there was no promise they would be kind to him. Plenty of things that were beautiful in nature were unkind to the living.

Majora had no idea what would happen when he touched the light spirit – he half-expected to be reduced to ash and shot out the other side. It will make Pamela happy, though, to think I've gone home, Majora had decided. And it would be no small mercy to finally put an end to his existence once and for all. Yet, there's still the possibility it will work. It was a win-win-win across the board, for this reanimated corpse. He could only grip his flying instrument tightly as he flew faster.

The darkening sky only made the broad band of magic glow brighter. It was terrifying and exhilarating all the same, and Majora's thoughts went blank as he neared it. Its awesome presence stunned him into silence, as quite quickly, the whole sky became the spirit. He didn't stop. He allowed the weak, faint heart beat to continue its erratic rhythm, though his usually acute mind was empty.

He could only stare with wide eyes at the brilliance before him. There's no better way to die. A second time. The amethysts and garnets clung to him, shining as the colors spun into a vortex. He opened his mouth to scream, but something caught in his throat. Ikana Canyon was gone. Even the sky was gone. The colors in his eyes united into a single, white light, blinding him. Majora instinctively released his hands to protect his face, and he forgot a moment too late to hold onto the broom.

However, he didn't fall. Instead, what little feeling he had went numb. The world was a singular bright flash, and he was frozen inside of it. The light spirit had burned him. As soon as he opened his mouth to scream...

The world returned with stunning clarity; it was dank, dark, and he was knee-deep in water. Majora simply stood, surprised for a moment that he'd landed on his feet. A memory came to life before his eyes: the basement of his shack. My hideout. Majora stood there for a moment, and then his black lips curled into a smile. He'd never expected to see this place again. The undead man let go of the broom in shock, which landed with a splash into the water. He backed away, only half-dazedly realizing that there was a deafening noise all around him.

I'm home, Majora thought deliriously. I'm in Hyrule. I'm back; it worked. I'm home, I'm alive, the demon is dead, and I have my name back. He laughed, though the laugh was a soft whisper. Everything was exactly as he remembered... except for the great storm raging outside.

The room was small and dark. At its center, there was a thick, stone table, a clear slab glistening with water on the top. Surrounding it on the walls, there were bookshelves, desks, counters, phials, and tomes; they were all more familiar than the back of his own decaying hands. Except, these possession were decaying too, now. The room was underground, and, in one back corner, a stream of water rushed along the wall, dripping nosily to collect in the newly formed pond. The smell of mold and wet wood was heavy, with several possession floating along in the dirty water. There was also a staircase on the right, leading up to the surface, and a small river flowed over those wooden steps as well.

Majora looked around in awe, finally discovering the source of the noise. It was raining thunderously; he could hear what sounded like a hurricane berating the structure from the outside. He knew there were holes in the basement floor here, too, that must have already filled to the brim. The storm had been raging for a while, then. The end of the world, Majora suddenly realized. The excitement was quick to fade, when he remembered the only key to saving the world had been destroyed.

That demon wouldn't have saved the world, he thought next. The mask salesman let the disappoint go immediately. He'd known what he would find if he did make it home; he shouldn't pretend any differently. Majora remembered how the river had hurt him in Termina, and wondered if his time back in Hyrule would be short-lived. I'd rather the light spirit have killed me. Could the gods really be so cruel? Of course, Majora had stopped believing in the power of gods long ago. Magic, he knew. That's what's real. That's what feels, and understands. So, why had the magic chosen to bring him back?

Majora, for the first time, felt the wood underneath his hands; he'd backed into something, without realizing he was using it for support. The smell of water and decay had overwhelmed him. He turned to look under his fingers, and saw a pair of wooden doors. They didn't lead anywhere; they were simply leaning against the wall. They're an exact replica of the clock tower doors, in Clock Town. They were the key into and out of the realm of Termina, he knew. One only needed to meet three conditions – a shard from the twin pair in Termina, a broken life in need of healing, and an instrument that could manipulate light energy.

He took his hands off of the doors to look at something else. Majora waded through the pond, rather difficultly, until he could see the grand piano underneath the staircase. It was massive, large, beautiful, and made of decorated, fine wood. It had hardly been damaged by the water. Majora knew only a man without an identity could play the keys; that had been the price he paid. For revenge. For power. Next, Majora turned to the stone slab just behind him.

The dark sorcerer tentatively reached out a hand, almost shaking as he brought it down to feel the smooth stone. Even then, he could feel the darkness within. Where did it come from? he wondered. Had the rest of the building been built around it? That had always been his guess, but it was an answer he would never have. All he knew was that it allowed a man to sell his name – to lose his identity. Then, far off – in some time or place – a demon would be born, baring that name.

He wondered if he even had any blood left in his veins, to make that sacrifice again. That one mistake, he thought. None of this would have happened, if I hadn't made that one mistake. The demon would have been born under a different name, though. It was his own fate to become intertwined with the great, cosmic battle for the realm of healing. And we won. The cost could not have been greater for himself. Or for the hero.

The hero. Suddenly, Majora turned to the staircase. Link's body had never been found after the moon exploded, and he'd been inside of it, along with himself and Tatl. The mask salesman and the fairy had been brought back to Termina Field, but they had never known the true fate of the Hero of Time – other than that he was probably dead. If it took me home, it probably took him home, too. The light spirit must have waited to take Majora back to Hyrule until the second time he touched it.

He smiled at the thought. A realm of healing. It was proven to him yet again. The light spirit – an embodiment of Termina's magic – had known exactly what it was doing. It blessed Tatl with memory, even though its inhabitants usually forgot, so she could heal. It blessed him with Pamela, so that the two of them could heal. And it had sent Link home, so that his Termina version could heal. My time healing is done, Majora thought. The scars I have left are the scars I will keep forever. They were deep, but he'd come to terms with them.

Majora's eyes were still on the staircase, wondering what he would find when he walked outside. He was afraid. First, let me finish in here. The Hylian shield was painful on his back, so he removed it, letting it rest against the staircase. It, too, could finally come home. Majora drug his legs through the water to go back to the clock tower doors, placing his hand on the wood. Thank you, Pamela, he thought. And thank you, Termina. If only I hadn't been so foolish as to condemn you so quickly. Maybe a more open mind would have left him with one or two scars fewer.

The sound of rain hammering outside was without end. He looked along the desks and bookshelves, realizing that hardly anything was salvageable. However, at one point, something wet and leathery wrapped around his ankle. Majora was startled, but he looked down to find the lip of a brown bag. It was floating around in the water, with its strap trailing behind it. He peered at it curiously for a moment, not recognizing it along with all of the other familiar possessions. He knew this was his home, but this particular object did not belong to him.

Suddenly, he recognized it. Majora's eyes widened. Link did come back. The mask salesman was slow to reach into the water and lift the bag from the pond. The wooden limb of a bow was already sticking out. The satchel was heavy and damp, dripping back into the collected rain water as he removed it. Majora let the flap flip wetly open, revealing a horrifying smell. He waded over to the table, letting the possessions spill onto its surface.

The bow was ruined, clattering out first. A red and blue gem glowed fiercely on the limbs, along with a dull one, but the string and wood were too far decayed, no longer clean and black. A heavy, metal contraption with a hook on one end and a handle on the other fell out, too, and in much better condition. Arrows and a quiver clattered alongside. A bottle filled with drinking water and an empty one rolled along the stone to crash into the storm water. Majora laid the bag back on the table, finding his chest rising and falling in disbelief. The rain was still loud. It dripped noisily in the same back corner.

He reached out a fragile hand to lift the bow. Immediately, his mind flashed back to Great Bay Temple, where he'd rendezvoused with the hero to save him. The blonde haired, green clad youth had pulled the string back to slay the monster within. Majora could see his face, stern as stone as he battled. Then, he saw Link's expression contorted into anger, as he held Majora up against the wall, blade against his neck. Why are you here? Why?! he'd shouted. Majora had seen the rage of a man who'd found his chance for revenge. And he didn't take it, the mask salesman thought. Unlike me.

Majora reached into the bag to see the lingering possessions left: three masks, and a purple lens with a handle. One of these masks is mine. He held the white mask reverently, with the singular, red eye in the center. The Mask of Truth. It was the first mask he'd made with the piano, in this very room. It had found its way back to him. I found the ruins of my darkest creation in Sakon's hideout. He shivered, however, and was glad the ReDead mask was gone. That one carried the past he wanted to leave behind.

The last item was a chip of painted wood. From the twin pair of doors on the clock tower in Termina. He held it up in front of him. The one key back to Termina had not been lost after all. He would make sure to keep that, as well as the Mask of Truth. For now, he stowed both back in the bag, turning when something else caught his eye. He hadn't seen it, since it'd drifted behind the wooden doors leaning against the wall. Now, he noticed: Link's sword.

He went to lift it, and it seemed to ring, as if drawn from a scabbard. It was purple, with green in the center and black roses etched into the metal. He had no idea where Link had gotten this one, but the hero had used it to slay the demon. Majora laid it beside the Hylian shield, gripping the handle to the staircase as he continued with the thought in his head. Link wouldn't abandon these things. Clearly, the boy had been here and then left. What if he survived? There was only one way to find out – assuming the boy hadn't gotten far. Majora hoped there would be no sign of him. Because otherwise, it won't be anything good.

Majora ignored the hope growing inside him, deciding it was childish. However, if Link was still alive, he would do whatever it took to let Tatl know. Tatl. It was no coincidence that he'd run into her in Woodfall; the light spirit and magic in Termina had orchestrated it. More than anything, he'd wanted to join the fairy and boy on their adventure. But that was their adventure to take, not mine. She'd been happy, and that was all that mattered.

Majora ascended the stairs towards the light of day, making sure not to slip on the constant sheath of water running along it. He reached the trapdoor and found it surprisingly heavy to thrust open. Immediately, he was outside; the shack's roof had caved in. Majora fought the water that fell on him, flinging the wooden door open and watching it slam forcefully on a rotted, wooden floor. The ceiling was still partially there, although it was now mostly a gaping hole. He crawled out of the underground lair, watching as the torrential waterfall pouring around him was quick to fill the basement even more. Majora slammed the trap door shut to stop that from happening.

He kept his hands up to shield himself from the heavy rain, stepping nervously towards the open doorway. The ruins of the dirty shack – which was the above ground coverup for his home – were hardly standing. So, he walked outside, into his home realm once again.

The scene was terrifying. The sky was one ominous gray sheet. No sun was visible. Though he could tell it was day, the world still seemed black. The rain pounded forever, very visible and obstructing everything far from eyesight. He knew the landmarks well enough, though. His home was built on a cliffside. The ground was slick, wet rock, turned dangerous and smooth by the weather. To his right, the rock landscape ended, which cut off far below to reach a raging body of water. That ocean stretched, far, far away – forming the horizon. The cliff went off and curved into the distance, with nothing else in that direction but the bay.

To the left, there was a dense forest. On a clear day, he could see Death Mountain many, many miles away, on the other side of the northern, uncharted territories of Hyrule. This isn't truly Hyrule, though, he knew. The mountains mark the northern border. These were the lands on the other side, and this ocean ended all knowledge of the world's geography. It went on forever. Majora turned to see his shack, backing away from it to get a full view. It stood near the edge, with the great, angry waves splashing against the cliffside and occasionally adding to the rainfall to spray it. The awning attached to the side of the house had fallen, leaning against one of his abode's few remaining walls.

The gray curtain of water was constant. Majora turned around in it, at a lost for what to do. Is it this bad in Hyrule? He thought it probably was – if not worse. The great evil that had been sealed away was awakening, and the flood would claim everything. Majora stepped to the cliffside, wondering if he should walk through the forest to try to find Hyrule, or return to his basement and wait. He knew he could follow the cliff until it eventually reached the mountains, without ever hitting forest, but that would take days. The ocean would always be in his view, though.

Majora looked out on it now, blinking in the rain. He threw his hood over his head when he felt the water entering the holes in his body. He would need heavier garments to survive out here for extended periods of time. There has to be something stowed safely in the basement. He nodded his head, resolving to go back there for now... until something else caught his eye.

Majora stopped moving immediately. He straightened himself, bringing his hands down from the rims of his hood. He was as still as a statue, a dark brown silhouette in the heavy, gray mist. His eyes were cast on the ground, where something initially hidden by the rain was exposed.

It was Link.

The Hero of Time was not recognizable. The constant storm had done its damage on his body, much as the waterway in the clock tower had done its damage to him. Majora refused to avert his eyes, staring at the fallen corpse. The outline of a skeleton was visible, with its head fallen to the side. The green tunic was now black, and only a little bit of it still clung to the body. The undead man stared at the dead boy. A villain looking upon a hero, he thought. Except the wrong one is dead.

Majora realized Link had died alone. He'd stumbled injured out of the shack and left his possessions behind. There was no sign of Epona, however. The boy must have set her free. He stared at the body for a long, long time. The rain kept falling, but Majora would only stand. No amount of wind and water would move him as he looked upon the savior of Termina. And Hyrule. And everywhere. Without him, no one would have the chance to heal. There – lying unattended and rotting on a cliff – was the most important person who would ever live. And no one would know.

Except me. It wasn't right. However, Majora knew there was no point in appealing to the gods. There was only magic, and there was no magic in the world that could breathe life into him again. If I could give him my life, I would. If I could give him my chance to rise from the dead, I would.

But he couldn't. Majora remembered the fox-faced man; he was the thief who had murdered his family. The mask salesman had tracked him down and killed him. Majora, however, had been Link's fox-faced man. The dark sorcerer had murdered those close to the boy, forcing him into a broken state so he could take him to Termina and make him fetch Majora's Mask. Yet, when Link had gotten the chance to take his vengeance... he let me live. Majora would have sacrificed anything in the world to know if Link had forgiven him – and to bring him back.

Instead, he would do the best he could. Majora was a leftover, and he would do what leftovers did: mourn. The robed mask salesman, after taking hours to stare at the broken body, returned to the shack. He went underground and retrieved the sword and the Hylian shield. He brought both above ground with him, along with lengths of retrieved rope. He laid all the objects on the ground and closed the trapdoor again. Majora then went to grab the awning leaning against the house, tugging against it to bring it off the wall. It crashed to the side, and the mask salesman saw something else: a fairy's grave.

The sprite had been buried next to the shack, under the awning, and he'd almost forgotten. The burial site had been reduced to mud, but within was a small pile of bones. Majora gasped, stumbling back and falling to his knees. "Navi," the mask salesman blurted, choking on the name. "Navi. Navi." He repeated the word to himself, placing his hand over the small remnants of the corpse. "Navi," he said again, squeezing his eyes shut as he felt a tear run along his cheek.

"I saw you in Termina again," he blurted. "I said good-bye. I told you I was coming back." Tatl, he thought. Your name is Tatl there. "And...," he stammered, smiling against the tears. "I got my name back, Navi. I got it back. Like I promised my father." He was laughing, then, as he placed his rotted forehead on the ground, so it touched the remains of the fairy lightly.

"Majora," he said. "Navi, my name is Majora. I didn't forget."

The process took him longer than expected. But he preferred it that way. Let it take years, Majora thought. You aren't worthy to be the sole mourner of Link and Navi. They were greater than you will ever be. He'd initially been mad at himself for crying over his fairy. After all, Navi had abandoned him, and he'd been the one to murder her. Even if – once upon a time – they'd been the best of friends – that was ancient history. Link should be the one mourning her; the fairy wasn't Majora's to mourn.

Nonetheless, the time had come for their departure. Majora had drug the awning all the way along the cliffside, until he'd come to a section where it lowered to touch the shore. Then, he'd returned for the shield, sword, rope, and Navi's body. Lastly, he'd returned for Link. The body was rather light, and the only possession on him was an empty scabbard. The belt had mostly deteriorated, but there had been no ocarina inside. Majora had expected that, though. I think I know what Link did with the Ocarina of Time. He hoped, one day, it would wash ashore when it was needed again.

Majora tied the boy to the metal awning, wrapping the rope around several times to make sure he was securely fastened. The purple, green, black-rosed blade rested on his chest, with the bright sword running down to his knees. Both of his hands were wrapped around the handle. The Hylian shield was placed on top, just over Link's chest and fastened by the rope as well. Navi rested in his hat, which was secured along with the weapons.

The mask salesman backed away, when the bodies had been tied to the awning. The waves were large in the vast sea, but he wanted the funeral raft to make it as far as possible before being destroyed. The rope would help with that. Now, it rested at the shoreline, waiting to be carried away. The rain and wind were blowing hard enough for the raft to go in the right direction, despite the pull of the tides. The waves are chaotic, Majora reflected. With the growing darkness and flood to follow, the ocean was as likely to pull objects into it as it was to wash them ashore.

He stepped back, standing resolutely once again. "The Hero of Time and his fairy," Majora stated, hardly hearing his own voice against the weather. He spoke as loudly as he could. "You saved the land of Hyrule from a great evil, by traveling across time. Your greatest adventure, however, had yet to come." He paused, reflecting on how much Tatl had been like Navi. While there was never any proof that she was the shade of her, it was all but proven for him.

"Link – you gave your life, for the greatest cause there could ever be. You ensured that no matter what happens, no matter what horrors strike these worlds, it would always be possible to heal. It will always be possible to recover. Termina ensures that, and you destroyed the demon that tried to corrupt that realm. Your legend, though unsung, will ensure that all other legends can be sung.

"Navi – I never deserved the love you showed me. When my mother and father were killed, it was you who found me in the forest. You stopped me from becoming a monster earlier than I could have..." He paused, choking on the words. And look at me now, he thought. I am a monster. Majora felt a tear falling from his eye again, but he tried his best to stop it. "You two... you deserve crowds." He looked upon the dead faces below him, but they never responded.

"You deserve the praise of every man, woman, and child in Hyrule, Termina, and everywhere else. You deserve a statue in your honor, and for thousands of children to be named after you. But most of all, you deserve life. You both should grow old, beside the ones you love. You should know their laughs, and their loving caresses, and fill your memories with happiness. Not death. Not emptiness. But you gave that all... you lost that all. So that others could have that to look forward to, when the darkness falls.

"But instead... instead you have me." Majora felt his balance waver, but he managed not to fall. "Instead, you have a fragile man, healed but baring too many scars to ever be whole again. A man who is responsible for both of your deaths, and spurned the kindness you tried to share. A man returned to life by a demon, with no purpose remaining. All I can do is give you my promise to never forget. I will always remember.

"Your time in this world has come to an end. Now, you must journey together as shadows – in the land you created together."

He grabbed the raft, and shoved it into the water. At first, the waves merely rocked it in place, as the metal hit the rocks and refused to take it all the way back to shore. The heavy wind caught on the objects held down by the rope, however, and pulled it further away from the land. Majora merely watched, as the raft rocked along the waves, slipping into the gray curtain of rain. Link and Navi left the world together, vanishing along the great unknown of the sea.

Majora stood there for the longest time yet. The sky had darkened by the time he moved again, with day turning to night. He watched until the raft was a speck on the horizon, and then still continued to watch. He watched until the little feeling he had left was gone entirely – until he could feel absolutely nothing. Then, and only then, did the mask salesman make his way back towards the shack. It's done, Majora thought. They've been sent along their way. He quelled any hope that he could do more, realizing how vain that was. They're gone. The burdens and scars are yours to carry.

But now what? Surely, Hyrule would soon come to an end, buried underwater or worse. There was no reason for him to return to Termina, and he doubted he could, even if he wanted to. His feet carried him back towards his shack, wondering if he would spend the last of his days there. Eventually, a mighty wave or an evil shadow would probably take his life, and then he could join all of the lost lives and rest in that eternal bliss. I could join them, wherever they are. He wondered what the possibility was of Termina casting a shade of himself. Will part of me be in that shade? He doubted it, but it was worth thinking about, all the same.

Then, he stopped. Not even halfway back to the shack, he realized something. It's worth thinking about. Just like Link and Navi are worth remembering. More than worth remembering. He'd promised to never forget. Majora, in that moment, realized his purpose: to remember. He was a leftover – but there was more to it than that. He was a witness to the great deeds the Hero of Time had accomplished, as well as to the great evils he had vanquished.

That's why I live. The gods had something in mind for him after all. He'd returned to life to hold onto knowledge that otherwise would be lost forever. It's my responsibility to keep Link and Navi alive. The excitement returned, and this time it was there to stay. Majora would simply exist, to give counsel to those that would follow, and ensure the memories were there for anyone who might need them. As long as I live, Link and Navi will, too.

Majora paused, wondering where exactly he should go. Perhaps he would survive, hiding in the basement. However, looking at the vast ocean gave him another idea. His fox-faced man – the man who had ruined his life – had been building a boat, when the mask salesman found him. Majora had killed him before he could use it, to leave his life behind and start over. By journeying into the unknown.

He wondered if any of the ship building materials were still there. He'd infiltrated that camp several years ago, but there might be just enough time for him to finish a small vessel. Majora could sail away, into the ocean no man had crossed before. I'd be right behind Link and Navi. There, he could find a place to live, and one day, he would have guidance for those to follow. As long as someone remembers, our heroes will never be gone forever.

The mask salesman looked out at the vast body of water. The waves continuously hit the shore, and the sheath of rain before it was heavy. It would be a long, perilous adventure. Just like the one Pamela took to help me. Majora smiled. He wondered what the future would look like, on the new horizon.

For now, there was only one place to go. Across the sea.

February 17 – July 15, 2015