Zelda took a seat, her demeanor softening with sadness. "Well... it's a long story. A very long time ago, far in the distant past, there was a war between a holy goddess named Hylia and an evil god called Demise," Zelda began, almost robotic in her retelling of the age-old tale.

"For thousands of years, Hyrule has been locked in a cycle. Darkness, light, then balance. Catastrophe, miracle, then peace. Over and over. With the avatar of Hylia, her chosen hero, and the wicked demon king reincarnating each time to play out a different version of the same script. The hero of courage. The princess of wisdom. The usurper of power. There are a dozen of these tales, all different and yet all very much the same. When I left, the demon king had just risen once more. He destroyed the hero's sacred sword, and I fell. I don't know what will become of my home if I don't return."

She looked up, having realized she was staring down at the vegetable-ocarina in her hands, and met Degas' gaze again. "My apologies. I didn't mean to--- darken the mood."