Princess Zelda: Pure Majesty by Jade Gretz

https://www.deviantart.com/jadegretzai/art/Princess-Zelda-Pure-Majesty-1196292144

Princess Zelda: Pure Majesty ANIMATION

The Veil of the Silver Fog

The fog had come without warning—rolling across Hyrule Field like an invading army, swallowing trees, rivers, paths, even sound. By dusk, the world had narrowed to a pale void no wider than Princess Zelda’s outstretched hand. Lantern raised, cloak gathered close, she pressed forward alone.

Her horse, Astra, had fled in blind terror the moment the mist touched her flanks. Zelda didn’t blame her. Even Zelda herself felt the fog’s unnatural chill, as if it were not air at all but something aware—watching, waiting.

“Come,” Zelda whispered to her own trembling breath. “The castle can’t be far.”

Yet every step sank deeper into muffled silence, deeper into a strange pulse that drummed beneath the soles of her boots—soft, rhythmic, like something alive moving beneath the earth.

By the time she realized she had strayed from all known paths, night had fallen.

And the horrors began to stir.

She found the cottage by accident. Or perhaps it found her.

A small shape emerged first, a faint golden glow, bobbing like a lantern carried by invisible hands. As Zelda drew near, it resolved into a luminous orb drifting lazily before her face.

A fairy? No. Fairies did not hum, and certainly not in that low, resonant tone that made her bones vibrate.

Still, it floated backward, as if beckoning her.

“I’ve no interest in following strange lights,” she murmured. “I read enough tales for that.”

The orb pulsed—twice—like a heartbeat.

Then it drifted forward again.

“Fine,” she sighed. “But if I vanish mysteriously, I’m haunting someone.”

The orb’s glow brightened, almost amused.

It guided her through brambles and unseen stones, finally revealing a squat hut of rotting wood and crooked beams. A single window glowed faintly.

“Lovely,” Zelda muttered. “If a witch leaps out, I’m leaving immediately.”

She knocked. The door opened before her hand touched it.

Inside, a tall figure stood with his back to her—a man in a tattered crimson coat. Long silver hair spilled down his back like moonlit water.

“Come in,” he said, voice smooth, warm—yet edged with something sharp. “The fog… dislikes wanderers.”

Zelda hesitated. “And who are you?”

“Sairon.” He turned, revealing striking amber eyes, unsettlingly bright. Too bright. “And you, Princess Zelda, are far from home.”

Zelda stiffened. “How do you know who I am?”

“Your presence is unmistakable,” he said, smiling slowly. “Even to the fog.”

She stepped inside only because the alternative was being devoured by the unknown. Still, she kept a hand near the dagger at her belt.

The cottage interior was surprisingly clean: shelves lined with preserved herbs, a kettle steaming gently, and a single chair before a stone hearth.

“Sit,” Sairon offered.

“I prefer to stand.”

“As you wish.” His smile widened. “Tell me—what drew you into its domain?”

“Its?” Zelda echoed.

Sairon tapped the window. “The fog. It isn’t weather. It’s a living thing.”

The lantern flame flickered as though recoiling.

Zelda swallowed. “And what does it want?”

“Company.” Sairon stepped closer. “But not the kind you wish to keep.”

A faint shifting sounded outside the hut—something dragging lightly across the walls.

Zelda’s pulse quickened.

“I heard it,” she whispered.

“It heard you first,” Sairon replied. “And now it hunts.”

“The fog feeds on fear,” Sairon continued as he ladled tea into two cups. “It tastes thoughts—drinks memories—fashions shapes from whatever lurks deepest within your mind.”

Zelda eyed the tea with distrust. “And you know all this because…?”

His smile faded. “Because I once wandered into it as you did.”

Her breath caught. “You survived.”

“Barely.” His eyes darkened. “I did not emerge alone.”

Zelda tilted her head. “Meaning?”

“In time,” he murmured. “For now, drink. Y
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