Disclaimer: The Legend of Zelda, its characters and locations are all property of Nintendo. Eventual OCs belong to me.

Yes, here we are once again! I could not resist the allure of our two (unlucky) heroes for long, and so this came to be, the almighty sequel: Soul Mates 2, Electric Goddamn Boogaloo. Or Soul Remnants, if you prefer serious titles. Now for a few warnings:

This story will contain/contains shounen-ai, yaoi and slash. If you don't like it, don't read it. Second, the story will not update nearly as frequently as Soul Mates did because...well, I do not have as much time on my hands as I did while writing SM. And third...well, there's no third.

So, without further ado, here is Soul Remnants!

Laughter echoed through the shadowed hallways, bouncing off the bare stone walls, surrounding him, creeping into his ears and reverberating, the pitch and volume rising ever higher for every second. His legs were like lead, heavy and unwieldy, keeping him moving at a snail's pace. It was hard to breathe, the air thick, smelling and tasting faintly of smoke. It filled his lungs, but refused to leave, leaving him gasping and heaving as he desperately tried to displace it. There was nowhere to go. Every bend, every intersection revealed only more identical walls and hallways. There was no roof, but he could not climb out because of his legs, which seemed to melting.

"Where are you going, little one?"

More laughter, accompanied by footsteps behind him. He tried to run, but his now useless legs tripped him up and made him crash to the tiled floor. It was covered in a thin film of water, soaking his front from head to toe. Fingers scrambling for purchase, he slowly pulled himself forward, his heart beating wildly at the voice that was following him. It couldn't be. Not him. Not now!

"You belong to me, remember?"

Away. Away. He had to get away! His legs finally decided to cooperate with him again, and he stumbled to his feet, rounding a bend and running like a madman into the shadows that seemed to grow darker and darker with each passing second. He looked back. A humanoid shape was following him, a mere suggestion of a presence in the darkness.

"Do you remember this place?"

The floor disappeared from under his feet, sending him spinning and rotating through the open air, unable to see anything. He slammed into the tiled floor yet again, the air knocked out of his lungs. He gasped, trying to draw breath, raising his head to look around. More tiles. Tiled walls, all around him, but no hallways in sight. A large room, with four big square pillars placed in a roughly quadratic shape...a steel ladder! He hobbled towards it, hands reaching out. A few feet left... And nothing. The ladder was not real, merely painted onto the wall.

"You are smarter than this."

The voice was behind him still. He slowly turned around, expecting to come face to face with the horror that was following him...but there was nothing there.

"You have much blood on your hands."

Blood. His hands were covered in it. No, he hadn't killed anyone! Not now! Light erupted from across the enclosure, a tiny dot of brightness resting close to the wall. He stumbled to it, seeing the outline of a small person...with wings... No, no, no, not here!

"Turn around."

He didn't want to, but the words were said with such force, such longing that he felt a compulsion to do so. The shape was standing a few feet away from him, its features slowly growing solid. The feet, the legs, the torso, the arms, the head, the face, the eyes...twin red orbs, staring at him, gazing into his very soul. A fiendish grin spread on its face.

"I've missed you, my love..."

He screamed.

"Sheik, are you okay?"

It took him several seconds before he realised who the voice belonged to, and several additional seconds before he made himself open his eyes. The Hero of Time was gazing worriedly down at him, his blue eyes shining in the light from their campfire. Sheik's breath was coming in and out of him in hurried gasps, his heart thumping painfully against his ribs and he was drenched with sweat. His eyes were wet, reflecting the panic he'd felt in the nightmare.

"I'm...I'm fine," Sheik finally said, wiping away the tears that were threatening to spill and sitting up, tossing off the now-soaked blanket. His bedroll was just as wet, and cooling rapidly as it came into contact with the cool night air. He shivered as the air his naked skin as well. He quickly found his discarded clothing in a backpack next to his bedroll and pulled them on. The thin shirt and shorts—wonderful for travelling through the warm summer days—did little to keep out the cold, but he couldn't waltz around camp naked either. He had a sense of decency, after all.

"You don't look fine," Link said quietly, mirroring Sheik's movements as he pulled on his clothes. After pulling on his tunic, he went over to Sheik and stopped him from pulling out his weapons. "Hey, relax, we're safe here. There aren't any bandits in the area...hell, I don't think there's anyone in this area but us."

Sheik pulled out of the Hero's grip and pulled out his belt of daggers anyway. "No harm in being prepared," he said before slowly circling the camp's perimeter. His night vision was ruined by the campfire, but he could still see better in the dark than most other people. Any second now, he expected to see a pair of glowing, red eyes staring back at him...

Link sighed, seating himself by the fire, looking exasperatedly at his lover. "How many times are we going to do this? You have a nightmare, you wake up, and you get paranoid and think we're being followed...the war is over, Sheik. Why is it so hard for you to realise that?"

Ask my subconscious, Sheik thought. His heart was finally slowing down, reaching a somewhat acceptable level of activity. Every now and then, it skipped a beat, warning him that he was lucky to still be alive. There was no one out there. He shook his head, ashamed of himself, ashamed that he could get so easily spooked. He sat down next to Link, and the Hero wrapped an arm around him, pulling him close.

"It was him again, wasn't it?" Link asked with bitterness in his voice. "He's still haunting you after all this time..."

Sheik nodded silently, unable to get the image of the red eyes out of his head. It had seemed so real. The voice, the pool...it had been a poor rendition of the inner sanctum of the Water Temple at Lake Hylia. It was just a dream. Why hadn't he seen through it? Nightmares just didn't happen to him. They didn't.

"Well, he's dead," Link continued, poking at the fire with a stick held in his free hand. It quickly turned into stabbing as he undoubtedly remembered what his shadow had done. To him, to Sheik, to everyone... "He's dead, and he's not coming back. Good riddance."

If only it was that easy, Sheik thought. Speil was physically dead, yes, but his...presence was still keenly felt by Sheik every time he thought about him. He felt the sting in his chest, remembered the sensation of having the shadow's sword running him through...he remembered dying in the Forest Temple. And the dreams...they simply wouldn't stop.

They had started to come to him a few weeks after they had left Hyrule behind, and they had never stopped. Every now and then, he was given a few nights' respite, but otherwise...six damn months with nothing but nightmares. He was exhausted all the time. They both were, but Link never showed it.

A horse snorted. Epona, Maladict and Shun were all sleeping just outside camp, their barely visible forms swaying in the dark. Now that was a bunch of creatures that could sleep through a hurricane. Sheik envied them, right then. Not even his rummaging around had bothered them.

"Come on, let's go back to sleep," Link said, pulling Sheik back to their bedrolls—on his bedroll, to be exact. "Tomorrow we'll reach the border to Lumina. I bet we can find a decent inn somewhere to rest for a while."

With Link's strong arms around him, Sheik felt—contrary to logic—marginally safer. Who wouldn't, considering the fact that he had almost single-handedly ended a seven-year war? He yawned, fatigue overtaking him. Maybe I'll actually sleep this time, he thought as he closed his eyes, calmed by the Hero's steady breathing.

The basement beneath the castle was cold and damp. The stench of mould and fungi hung in the air. I t felt like it covered his tongue, offending several senses at once. He had almost slipped and fallen down the stairs leading to the lowest level of the catacomb-like passageways down here. Hell, two inches to the left and he'd had broken his neck. A forgotten bear-trap—most likely set up during a past invasion—had almost claimed his foot, and by the time he smashed his head into a low doorframe, he'd had just about enough of this place.

And yet he walked on, torch in hand, following the instructions he'd been given by the old man. Why they didn't just have this meeting in one of the many chambers upstairs was beyond him, but he'd accepted because...well, it broke up the monotony. And he'd never been in this part of the castle anyway, so there was always the exploration factor. Why had he never come down here as a child?

He passed by a row of prison cells—all that remained of the old dungeons—along with what seemed to be a rotten rack, another ghastly reminder of the kingdom's darker past. With the pace at which things were progressing, he wouldn't be surprised if a rack was once again introduced to the newer dungeons.

He finally reached the door the old man had been talking about. Unlike the other doors down here, which were fall falling apart with decay, this one was surprisingly intact, protected from the rot by some sort of...he had no idea what it was, but it shimmered in the light from the torch.

"Right," he said quietly to himself. "Knock quickly three times, then slowly two times, quickly another three and slowly four..." He did so, wincing when the sound echoed through the corridors and hallways. He wasn't supposed to be down here. No one was. But this was for the best of everyone.

He jumped when the door swung open without a sound. There was no one on the inside, only another dark corridor. The door had opened by itself. Slowly, nervously, he made his way inside, realising that another staircase—stone, very sturdy—waited for him behind a corner.

He could hear voices now. Talking, laughing, cursing. There was another open door at the bottom of the stairs, from which light spilled, making the light from his torch seem pitiful by comparison. The voices grew louder as he approached the doorway. He peeked inside.

This room was warm and dry, a stark contrast to the rest of the basement around it. The floor here was not mouldy stone, but fine, white sand. Torches lined the walls, illuminating the entire room save for the upper part of the high ceiling. A large, round table had been set up in the middle of it, on which an oil lamp was shining brightly—too brightly for a naked flame. Three people—two men and a woman—sat around the table, deep in conversation. Then one of them noticed him.

"Ah, there we have our saviour," said the old man. "Prince Victor himself."

Victor stepped into the room fully, feeling childish. He had just done the same thing he did as a child when being introduced to one of his father's friends—peeking shyly around doorways. He was an adult now, twenty-two years of age, and heir to the kingdom. He couldn't act like a child!

"Lady, gentlemen," he said, clearing his throat. "You wished to speak with me?"

"Why so formal, Victor?" said Councillor Rehm, his face wrinkling with delight at seeing him. "I have known you since you were but a newborn child. Surely you can still think of me as your uncle?"

"I'm sorry, Rehm," Victor said, trying to hide a grin. "But you seemed so serious when asking me to join you and...and..." he trailed off, realising that he had no idea who the other two were.

"Ah, allow me to introduce you to two very dear friends of mine," Rehm said, standing up. "This lovely sight next to me," he said and gestured to the woman, "is Lady Marlotta, countess of Urne."

Lady Marlotta stood up, curtsying. She was a serious-looking, middle-aged woman of obviously noble background—hence the title, Victor supposed—whom he now remembered seeing sometimes when his father held court. "Your highness," she said, her voice a low purr, "'tis an honour."

"The honour is all mine, Countess," Victor replied, bowing.

"And this bastard here," Rehm continued, pointing to the other man, "is General Agon, whom I'm sure you've seen several times at the head of your father's army."

"Your highness," the general said, snapping a sharp salute.

"General," Victor said, not remembering his face at all, which was covered in scars from who knew how many weapons. There were more scars than there was face. Was he the one who always wore his helmet with the visor down? He certainly had a good reason...

Victor looked at Rehm. "Surely you did not invite me down here to introduce me to your friends?"

"Certainly not, Victor," Rehm said, still smiling. "Though I have a feeling that my friends will soon be your friends as well. Please, take a seat." Marlotta and Agon both sat down along with Victor, but Rehm remained standing. "Victor, we are facing a great threat."

"We?" Victor asked.

"We. You, I, the people, the kingdom," Rehm said. "And I believe you know what it is."

"Rehm, I'm not here to play guessing games," Victor said, already disliking the sound of this. He supposed he should have been sceptical when he was asked to come down here in the first place, but his damn curiosity had taken control of him once again. "Just tell me."

"Ah, straight to the point, I like that," Rehm said, beginning to pace around the table. "Very well, I will put it to you plainly: Lumina is a sinking ship. This kingdom cannot sustain itself any longer. The capitol may not see this, with its pristine towers and golden stairways, but the other cities are falling apart. The people are starving; some have taken to becoming highwaymen and preying on traders, whom we rely on to sell our wares. We are in debt to every country we share borders with, we are militarily weak, especially now with General Mirn and his forces helping to rebuild Hyrule, which was shattered in a recent civil war."

Victor had heard about that. According to scouting reports, the war had gone on for almost a decade, only ending recently with half the kingdom in ruins and thousands upon thousands of people homeless. Details on the nature of the war itself were scarce, but a Gerudo king had apparently orchestrated a coup of sorts. "I think it's a good thing that we are helping them," he said.

"While humanitarian efforts are always noble," Rehm said, his smile completely gone now, "I find it unwise when we might find ourselves embroiled in a civil war of our own very soon."

"What?!"

"My prince, if I may," Lady Marlotta said, leaning forward, exposing a very impressive cleavage despite her age. "Whispers have started of rebellion in my province. I am doing my best in quelling any dissidents with my forces, but the whispers are spreading. Soon, it will be beyond my control."

"I can confirm that, Your Majesty," General Agon chimed in. "Just a few weeks ago, my men encountered a rebel camp of sorts. Forty strong men, all preparing to attack one of the king's tax collectors. We eliminated them swiftly, but judging by notes, maps and letters we found among their belongings, it seems that this is happening all over Lumina."

"But...why?" Victor asked, already knowing the answer. His father was a weak king. Anyone could see that. Instead of prioritising developing and improving the lives of his subjects, the king was busy impressing his nobles by throwing lavish feasts, having vast war machines built and then discarding them when they had outlived their usefulness as party tricks. The coffers were running dangerously low, which was affecting the people. And the ever-present threats from their neighbours, who demanded their loans repaid.

"You already know, Victor," Rehm said kindly. "Your father...has done nothing positive since the day he took the throne, and if he is allowed to go on like this...Lumina will fall, either to her neighbours or to her own people. As councillor, and the advisor to the royal family, I cannot allow this to go on any longer, and neither should you."

"What...what would you have me do, then? Depose my own father? I cannot do that!"

"You are the prince of Lumina, Victor," Rehm said, scratching nervously at his bald scalp. "Sworn by the Enlightened One to protect and uphold the values He decreed so long ago. I understand your love for your father, but your duty is ultimately to your lands, to your people...to the Enlightened One."

Victor stood up abruptly. "I could have you arrested for this, you know. All of you. Tried, convicted and executed as traitors to the crown!"

"Yet, you will not," Rehm said calmly. "Because you know in your heart that I am speaking the truth. You may not wish for it to be so, but wishes cannot change reality."

"And how do you know the people won't rebel if I take the throne?" Victor asked, unable to understand why he was even entertaining the thought. "How will my usurping of the throne appease them?"

"We do not know," Agon said, clenching his fists. "But we do know for certain that by the time your father realises that something must be done, the kingdom will be lost."

"Please, Victor," Rhem said imploringly. "For the sake of Lumina, at least consider what we have said. Your choice will decide the future of this kingdom."

Victor left the three in the basement, trudging through the basement, the words echoing through his head...

To be continued...

Well, that's end of chapter one. Introductions have been made (somewhat, I guess), and the ball is ready to start rolling! If you like the story so far, please leave a review!