The weight this place bore overcast the cavalcade of characters filtering in through the gates, once Zephyrus had adequately taken in his surroundings. 
It was a place of death, and of un-death. But that was true to anyone, be they Gerudo of Goron. For the Sheikah, it inspired a secondary layer of unease: a weight in the chest that threatened to drag the unprepared to their knees. 
He raised his eyes toward the graveyard’s flank, and the relics buried behind its walls. The Shadow Temple, one of his kind’s ugliest and most sacred secrets. 
Other people knew [i]of[/i] it, naturally: even Sheikah weren’t adroit enough at what they did to make you doubt what lay right before your eyes. But its gory history, and the purposes for which it was built- what it was meant to [i]contain-[/i] were burdens only the Shadow Folk shared. Whispered between them as though the information were alive, and prone to outrage when mishandled. Far too dangerous to be written down.
Within their culture, The Shadow Temple was an omen much worse than that of Griz. It precluded death, but more than that: it prophesised great, hungry darkness.  Inspired legends that that the Shadow of Hyrule might someday swallow the caster whole, if its secrets were not held in sacred silence. 
Or so the folk wisdom would suggest. 
But despite its grim history, it was not a place Sheikah reviled. It was a place all their own. Their creation carved straight into Hylian stone. Watching over the dead. Sacred, but seldom seen: and never visited.
In Zephyrus it inspired dread, yes: but also a peculiar sense of awe. Its very presence sang to him, a mute dirge both tragic and beautiful, which made his head buzz. 
He knew, somehow, that he would soon be there, in one of the only intact relics his race had left. And above the trepidation, he felt excitement, strange and foreign. 
This was tempered, however, when he saw the sorts of people he would be watching – if it was the will of the Goddesses they enter the temple, he would not let them uncover his people’s secrets.

A burly Hylian and a Gerudo came bounding in, as he left his introspection. The former large, strong: a forged warrior, surely. The other small, at least in contrast, and gold of eye.
Zephyrus felt a strange kinship with the Gerudo. They shared a common trait: being incredibly suspicious to the Hylian people. 
It was peculiar, that they would do business with Zora and live at the foot of Goron land, but a man with red eyes or a girl with gold might be cause for great fear and suspicion.

[color=4DE474][i]”… I am Jaege of the Lange family!”[/i][/color]
The Hylian seemed of a good nature, and Zephyrus was pleased. Only kindly folk should be bestowed strength: that was how justice would be best sustained. It lightened his heart.
"[color=FF5733]Did he just say the ‘Large’ family? Because… ten for foresight.[/color]"
Nevermind, mood ruined.

[i][color=BE31F7]"Veitaru. Pleasure."[/color][/i]
A childish gesture, a mixed response inside Zephyrus’ head. For a moment he remembered that he, too, had been so carefree and impolite, once. Before his mother had broken him, and rebuilt him anew. Rebuilt him ‘better’. 
He wondered if Gerudo were as strict and ruthless a group of trainers – or were their eyes the only similarity? He wondered if, one day, respect would be instilled into her, and the fight drawn out like the ore from the stone.

A passing thought. Veitaru wasn’t his child to wish discipline upon, after all: that was his trainer speaking. His mother.

He turned attention to the other denizens of the cemetery, and felt the optimism Jaege might have inspired drain from him. He noticed the Skullkids, first. Of course he did. They were hardly a people known for their subtlety, if they were a people at all. They were loud and chaotic creatures of habit, or so he had heard. Young, ignorant and perpetually causing trouble.
Zephyrus was certain Archer would get on famously with them. 
A man in a darkened hood took issue with one, and Zephyrus thought him even stranger than they. Even by the standards of The Sheikah, whose aesthetic standards were frankly extraordinarily low, he looked [i]shady. [/i] Unnatural.
Like something out of a legend he just couldn’t quite remember.

When the Poe made itself known, Zephyrus didn’t flinch. But from the graveyard entrance, his brother was another matter.
[i]"[color=FF5733]Is that a GHOST?![/color]"[/i]
Exasperated, Zephyrus turned his head to the last of the discernible posse. Hylian, young. Looking about enthused as his brother had this morning. 
Was this the band The Golden Three had put together? A rag-tag team of monsters, men and children? 
Perhaps Archer had a point, after all. Although Zephyrus’ faith was unwavering, it didn’t mean he wasn’t starting to believe that this truly was madness. 

Speaking of Archer, he- after settling his nerves- was still talking at Griz, with all the suave sophistication of a man who only alleged to have had success in the past. 
None. 
"[color=FF5733]You have beautiful… eye… s? I mean I bet they’re both beautiful. If you have both. If not I bet you look great in an eyepatch, right?[/color]"
An awkward pause. Unflinching silence on Griz’ part.
"[color=FF5733]… Not much of a talker, huh? Heh. Yeah, me neither. Man of few words, over here. They used to call me No-Talk Archer, back on the street. It would have been my middle name if I’d known my last one, haha. But yeah, they’d say ‘Get Archer talking? Hah, impossible!’ and I’d…[/color]”
He stared into Griz’ eye and saw nothing. Hrmph. 
"[color=FF5733]I’m, uh. Really bombing, huh? Look, maybe I’m not much of a smooth talker when the voices in my head are leading me to beautiful women… uh… question mark. But I [i]am[/i] a totally cool guy, alright? Look, do you wanna see a magic trick? I’m a magician.[/color]"
Archer reached into his satchel, and rooted around until he took out a set of playing cards. 

"[color=FF5733]Just, just watch this, alright?[/color]"
Archer stretched both thumbs up, and then- with one hand- began to push cards from the deck with one thumb, and balance them on the other. At first it was a flat facedown, and then another right on top of it. In a bizarre feat, dispensing the third card at an angle lifted the second until both of them formed a triangle, balancing on Archer’s thumb. 
He balanced a forth card on top of that, and then--
[i]”[color=fff79a][b]H-hello... hello... HELLO! I AM GRAHAM![/b]”[/color][/i]
Cards flew everywhere, the whole deck spilled from Archer’s hand and scattered across the floor, pouring out into a disorganised mess. The shape he’d been balancing fell apart and its constituents floated slowly to the floor. The longer they fell, the worse Archer felt.

He turned away from Griz for the first time since he’d entered the graveyard, and- with his hands on his hips- narrowed his eyes at Graham’s distant form.
"[color=FF5733][b]Buddy![/b][/color]", he yelled back, in a tone that suggested buddies was something the two of them were most certainly not.