Zephyrus wasn’t sure which prospect terrified him more: that he was peering at his literal fate, or his metaphorical one. 
Was this a grim omen of the future to come, or the sanguinary echoes of his people’s pasts? Which would fill him with more dread, as they marched deeper into the darkness?
It wasn’t just his sleeven reflection, at least, and he found some small comfort in that. He had wondered if, for a second, the temple had peered into the dark of his heart, and his heart alone. Sought to answer only the forbidden question all Sheikah carried with them from birth. At least he was not the sole target of the temple’s chthonic will.

But still, the visions that peered back were hollowing. The worst of their kind. The powerless fairy, the wicked and anomalous Gerudo King, the dead child. And [i]him.[/i] One of the sinning people. The heretical progeny.
He wondered what Archer would think, watching it drench him. Turn the white of his attire red with innocent blood. He would crack a joke, he would make light of the sorrow growing in Zephyrus’ bosom. Somehow.
He wondered what Archer would think, because he already knew what [i]he[/i] thought.
”[color=267FD3][i]So it’s true.[/i][/color]”

How many men who looked like he did had peered into these blades after committing some great atrocity, he wondered. How many Anders. Had they been the stone masons? The blacksmiths? Or those who marched the undeserving towards a horrifying death. An end so agonising and brutal, that the blood sank into the stones and poisoned them to the temple’s base.
He had heard the rumours, the legends of this place. But he had seen the selfless good in his people, and hoped, dreamed it was folly. 
He dropped his gaze to his whitening knuckles, wrapped still around his polearm. No blood yet.
Exhaling, he lifted his head again. He felt a cold breath rattle its way out of his chest. 
Not the first to be breathed here, he suspected.

"[color=267FD3]Lies,[/color]" he whispered, eventually, although he wasn’t sure how much he believed that. For now, he would need to. For the strength it would lend him. Be like water, don't stop for anything.
He straightened his back. Narrowed his gaze.
"[color=267FD3]The stone here is quarried from evil, it seeks only to mislead and demoralise us. We should make haste to leave this place, we should…[/color]"
Was that a path, in their reflection?
"[color=267FD3]… hm. Do we all see that?[/color]", he gestured on.