The tunnel ended, opening up into a large chamber.

Now this looked more like the Shrine trials he was used to: an open space illuminated by Sheikah tech, held up by weathered columns in four corners.

But he realized that was where the similarities ended: there were no obstacles or half-walls, no Sheikah fountains or runes or random items lying about, as there usually were. Just empty floor covered in a foot of icy water, and shadowy door on the other side.

And a Guardian Scout sitting in the middle.

Linc immediately went for his shield — the foe looked dead, but he knew from experience that would change in a matter of seconds. He frowned as he positioned the shield in front of him. What is with this setup? It appeared to be a standard mock battle — he'd suffered through something similar during his first few Shrine trials. Is that all?

Something burning cold tagged his ankle — with a yelp, he sloshed forward, and looked back to see that the freeze had entered the room and was crawling across the walls and floor. The door behind him had frozen shut entirely, blocked by a thick block of ice, and slowly the water behind him was hardening in crackling chunks.

What the hell? He glanced back to the Guardian Scout: at his cry, it had awakened, lighting up like a Christmas tree — the hell is a Christmas tree — and crawling towards him on its spindly legs. He sidestepped a heated beam from its central eye and began to circle it in a loop, striving to remember his learnt lesson from his last encounter with one of these things: Keep your knees loose, don't panic, remember to breathe.

But that was hard to do, as when he completed the loop, he nearly stumbled as another bolt of icy lightning raced up his legs — the freeze was steady stretching across the watery floor, and seemed to accelerate as he continued to circle around his shooting foe. So what? If I'm not quick enough, I'll freeze? He glanced at the door. Unlike in previous shrines, it stood wide open. Why? Maybe I should make a run for it—

Then movement caught his eye — not the Scout, but the wall, mirrored as all other walls in this place were. He gaped when he saw Ice Linc on the other side, fighting. With another Scout. What? They were having the same battle, at the same time. What does that mean?

Abruptly, Ice Linc defeated the Scout — a well-timed jab took out its eye, and after stumbling back and shuddering in a mechanical fit, the long-legged machine collapsed, oozing smoke. Ice Linc straightened, then glanced through the mirror at Linc before giving a pointed look behind him.

Behind—? He spun around, just as the freeze locked his foot in a chilly deathgrip. What— He stumbled and fell, throwing water up into his face, just as the Scout aimed another steaming hot beam over his head. He fought his way back up to his feet, his mind turning into a panicked tangle — What is happening? He looked down at his fingers, and saw the water sluicing between them turning to ice in real time.

Water doesn't freeze this fast! But it was. His eyes went back to the wall. In the mirror world, Ice Linc was striding to the door to the next chamber. Nearly there, he paused, looked back, and met Linc's gaze, his own dark and unreadable. Then he continued on through the doorway; the freeze accelerated with every step he took, until Linc's entire leg was encased in a cast of cold, and it began to start on his hands.

Somewhere deep down, in the shallow crevices between swells of panic, it clicked.

A keening drone lanced into his ears — the Scout, scuttling in a circle as it heated up another laser blast. The feeling was draining rapidly from Linc's body, and the room was beginning to dim behind the shadows spreading across his eyes. But beneath the weight of growing hysteria, of possibly dying by fire or ice, there was also a balanced calm: now he knew — thought he knew — what was happening, why it was happening. It lent him a breath of control, but only a breath. If he didn't use it in the next five seconds, he would lose it.

And then he would die.

The keel of the ancient machine grew higher and higher — it was almost ready to fire, and he was glued to the floor, his leg trapped in a thickening layer of ice. Time this right. Part of him didn't know if there was a way to time this right, between the ice and the Scout, but then the little machine fired, and he hurled his torso, the intended target, out of the way.

The laser struck the floor a meter behind his frozen leg, and the heat from the blast was so intense that the ice went to water, then to steam — the hot fog billowed up from the floor, filling the otherwise freezing space in a white haze.

The Scout let out a series of beeps and squeaks, clearly unable to pinpoint him in the steam, and he scrambled to his feet, stumbling as the numbness ebbed out of his melted leg. He wound up his sword for a strike just as the machine spun around, but it was too late — the tip of the blade took out its eye, and it crumpled on the spot, excreting smoke.

Move. Already, the water had refrozen behind him, and a cloud of snow drifted to the ground as the steam rapidly cooled — the magical cold was still coming after him, barely addled by the heat of the Scout's beam. Linc half-limped, half-ran to the door, his numb leg trailing behind him like a heavy club.

He took the next room in through the icy mirror before he laid his own eyes upon it. In the parallel world, Ice Linc climbed a towering wall of stone, navigating his way up a vertical field of hand- and foot-holds. The same great face of granite lay before Linc, stretching up to a shadowy ceiling that he could barely see. He began to shake. Climb this? When he was so chilly that he could barely function?

But it was either that or succumb to the ice — his look-alike cast a dark look over Linc's shoulder, and he turned to see the freeze creeping into the chamber, a plague of deadly cold. He noticed, though, as he hurried to the wall, that it had slowed down — he'd managed to get up a couple dozen feet before the ice finally reached the stone and began climbing up behind them, the loser in a three-way race.

Though, perhaps not for long — a few minutes later, Linc took a shaky look towards the mirror and saw that Ice Linc had reached the top of the cliff. As in the last room, he cast Linc a long look before turning and disappearing over the lip of wall. In the same instance, the freeze below Linc sped up, stinging his ankles again with unbearable cold, and the uneasy suspicion he'd had before became a terrible certainty.

It is a race, he thought, his breath hot and horrified as it churned in and out of his throat. If I don't catch or surpass him, the ice speeds up. I have to complete this trial before he does or... Or he would die? Would Hun Dao kill him? Had Zelda sent him here to perish?

No, he thought hysterically. To them, either of them, this wasn't sending him to die, this was sending him to train, forcing him into a competency contest with a face in a mirror that had dangerous ice biting at his heels. Somehow, this was supposed to help him, and both of them, Zelda especially, probably thought that he would be fine. And why wouldn't they? He had come out of more than a half a dozen other Shrines alive and kicking. Why should this one be any different?

Burning cold tagged his leg, the bad one, the one just starting to fully defrost; he lost his grip on the wall, his feet kicking free. He screeched, an awful, gut-wrenching sound torn from the depths of his stomach. NO! If he fell now, fell down into that blistering chill below him, he would die an equally appalling death, slow and tortuous. Hang on, damn you. Get your f*cking legs back on the rock!

For three terrible seconds, his world narrowed down to that and only that: finding his balance, getting his shocked feet wedged back onto the rock, a task so simple, and yet petrifyingly dire. Finally, the soles of his boots were back on crumbling stone, shaking and cold, but semi-functional. His heart hammered inside his ribs, and his head hurt as he struggled to concentrate. Up, he thought as the cold continued to lick at his feet — it was expanding across the rock around him, making the next perch slippery and perilous. UP, damn you.

He went up, and then he was at the top — he didn't remember how long it took to get there, couldn't even remember moving his hands, bending his knees, reaching and stretching. He was just there, and then he was in the next room.

Four more enemies, one dead, three alive. The dead one was in the mirror, and Linc found himself torn between hope and despair — a corpse may have laid at Ice Linc's feet, but it had taken him a moment to slay it. There was blood on his sword and two tears in his tunic, and his second foe still looked hale and hearty. This was a choke point, a chance to catch up.

Or was it? Because if Ice Linc was having trouble, then it was a foregone conclusion that he would too.

In the mirror, Ice Linc drove his enemy back towards a long set of steps; in Linc's world, these steps were guarded by a Blizzrobe, a grotesque, black-skinned creature in heavy white robes, wielding a serrated wand of pointed ice.

Linc glanced again at the dead body in the mirror and tensed. Where is the other—

He spun, but not fast enough — the second Blizzrobe materialized behind him and struck him in the back with a blast of ice. Most of it hit his shield, but several slivers bit into his shoulder and calf, and he pitched forward, going to his hands and knees in the standing water. The monster let out a high, tortured sound, something trying to be laughter, and Linc cursed and lashed up with his sword, but the creature disappeared, and in its place, Linc could see the freeze swarming into the room, layering the walls like translucent mold. At Ice Linc's hang-up it had slowed, but it would not be that way for long — Linc saw blood flying in the mirror, and it was not his look-alike's. He experienced a flash of panic.

I have to end this. Quickly!

But these were the wrong enemies for a quick victory — Blizzrobes were tricksters with the ability to vanish and reappear at will. They tormented their foes with their disappearing act, tearing them down with a thousand cuts when they overextended and left themselves vulnerable. They rarely materialized for long, only when their enemies were down for the count, or they were preparing a substantial finishing blow—

Like that! The second Blizzrobe appeared a yard away and bowled Link over with another barrage of ice shards, and as he rolled clumsily and came up on one knee, he saw the other one waving its wand and releasing a garbled chant; at its cries, stalactites began growing from the ceiling, icy pikes ready to impale his skull when he was distracted.

No you don't! He launched forward, only to crumple under an ice blast from the other one. Damn it! He slashed at the Blizzrobe, but it vanished around his strike and then appeared behind him, clubbing him in the back with its wand. He collapsed, throwing a wave of ice cold up into his face. Shi—

His eyes found the mirror. Ice Linc was done — the second Blizzrobe had collapsed, and he sheathed his bloody sword, making for the staircase. When his foot touched the first step, the freeze lingering around the entryway sped up once again, consuming the room with the sound of breaking ice.

Despair began to push up Linc's throat — the freeze, being beaten to death, or being impaled by falling stalactites? He was caught between a rock, a hard place, and a wall, with no way out. Should I run? If he could make it past the chanting Blizzrobe, into the next room... But no, that wasn't how it worked, he was convinced. He could complete the trial by the rules, or he could die. That seemed to be the only option.

Another blast of ice slivers — he lifted his shield, knocking the projectiles aside and then struck with his sword, but again the Blizzrobe disappeared, and again he got cracked on the back, this them propelling him into floor being swallowed by the freeze. His hand was immediately incased in ice — snarling in pain, he hammered at it with the pommel of his sword, and felt the Blizzrobe hovering behind him, preparing its next strike.

He broke free and stared at his hand, which was deadened with severe cold. Suddenly, he had an idea, a sudden windfall inspired by desperation: Behind me. Get it to appear behind me.

He fought his way back to his feet as the Blizzrobe struck again with icy needles. They shattered against his shield, and he lunged forward and sliced. His sword hit empty air, and the enemy went behind him. But this time, instead of a counterstrike, there was a stunned cry.

Yes! It had worked — the freeze had attacked the Blizzrobe like a hungry lion, locking it in a sudden icy coffin. And it couldn't break free — it seemed the Shrine's ice was a variety that it could not control. It wriggled, spitting angrily, and Linc gave it a savage smile.

"Go to hell and eat coal." He stabbed it in the chest, and the burst of red that spilled into the freezing water was hugely satisfying, so much so that it almost made him laugh. But the freeze was still approaching, rapidly now — Ice Linc had disappeared, and he needed to get his ass up those steps and into the next room.

The other Blizzrobe was still chanting, and it didn't seem to realize that its partner had expired until too late — it let out a stunned, strangled sound as Linc rammed his blade through its heart, and its eyes gleamed with an agonized desperation as it collapsed to the ground.

Linc had no final words for this one — he extracted his sword and flew up the steps, his heart gunning in his chest. How many more rooms are there? He didn't know, but one thing was for certain: he had to surpass Ice Linc in this next chamber.

He went through the next floor...and desperately dug in his feet, skidding to a halt. He had no choice: the chamber that spanned before him was large, pillared, and seemingly empty save for a giant waterfall on the far end masking the exit, but adrenaline was cooking in Linc's blood, pushing his senses to a state of hyper-awareness, so he saw them, more quickly than he normally would. They clung to the walls, hung from the ceiling, small and dark and nearly impossible to differentiate from the cold stone. But he saw them, dozens of them.

Ice Keese.

Normally, Linc wouldn't have given two shits about a dozen, or two dozen, or three dozen Ice Keese. He encountered them on a regular basis in the holes and cold grottos Oh Great One was constantly making him spelunk through, for building materials or hidden treasures. Additionally, he'd recently acquired a Fire Rod from a fallen foe, and that weapon, though running low on juice, made quick work of the little pests.

But this was not any grotto, and he did not have his Fire Rod with him — this was a Shrine Trial, and he was exhausted and half-delirious with the cold, and so a room filled with what were usually minor annoyances suddenly became a cruel gauntlet. What had Zelda told him, at least half a hundred times?

Rabies? No, they carry something much worse: frostbite. Avoid their teeth at all costs.

Indeed. Right now, a single nip from one of these things would be a death sentence.

But how much of a death sentence? Would it be any more slow and horrible than what approached from behind? He didn't turn, but he could hear the freeze enter the room, crackling across the walls, freezing the door behind him shut. He had to move, quickly.

Or slowly? He peered into the mirror. Ice Linc was halfway across the chamber, moving at a slow trudge. Linc understood why — the Ice Keese appeared to be at rest, but Linc knew that their sleep was wafer-thin. They could wake at a moment's notice and swarm their victims. If he wanted to reach the waterfall and the door beyond alive, he had to move slowly.

Setting his teeth, Linc took a cautious step, then two. His heartbeat filled his ears — behind him, the air deadened with intense cold as the freeze pursued at a languid pace.  Twelve steps, and he arrived at the first set of pillars. He watched the Ice Keese as he passed — the water sloshing around his feet made their ears twitch, but they did not awaken. I'm doing it.

But he was still losing — in the mirror, Ice Linc was now three quarters of the way to the waterfall, his shoulders rigid, his pace steady. At this rate, he was going to reach the door and then... What? Death. Linc would still be forced to move slowly, and the freeze would speed up and consume him. Or he could run, and the Ice Keese would—

Run. His eyes went to the waterfall, anxious, feverish. Damn it, if I could just run to the door! But he would never make it — the Ice Keese would awaken like an eruption and bear him to ground before he managed to make it through the door.

Or would they? This was a Trial, and these creatures were conjured by Hun Dao. Would they disintegrate once he made it past the door? Or would they follow him into the next challenge, and ravage him like wild dogs? He didn't know, and the knowledge poisoned him with indecision. I have to get past him. The only way to get past him is to run. But the Keese...what will happen to the Keese?

Then, a brush of biting cold — the freeze, licking at his heels, locking one in a block of ice. Linc grunted, stumbled, and his foot came free with a loud crack.

Up ahead, the ears of one Keese twitched, and its eyes, cruel and blue, flashed open. They locked onto Linc, and its lips curled back, revealing thorny little teeth. Like a wave, dozens of pairs of eyes suddenly appeared in the gloom. Linc heard the beat of wings, a sudden screech. Something came down, brushed his head — with a startled cry, he slashed with his sword, and two bleeding halves of a Keese fell into the standing water, staining it red.

He ran.

The chamber came alive with sound, and the Ice Keese came down from the dark in a bloodthirsty swarm, a storm of cold and teeth and leathery wings. Linc didn't slash, he didn't raise his shield — he tucked into a manic charge and raced between the pillars, his lungs blazing, his eyes seeing but not seeing. He felt clawed feet come down on his shoulders, felt wings flap in his face, felt icy pinpricks lance into his flesh that were not bites, not bites, not bites. But there was pain, and a sudden heavy fatigue — a black smear dimmed his vision, and he tripped, pitching forward through the water and landing on his hands and knees.

The Ice Keese covered him in a savage horde, biting and tearing. He screamed, clawed his way up from underneath, and saw the waterfall dead ahead, and a ways beyond, the dark threshold of the exit. All that stood between him and possible salvation was ten yards and a curtain of icy water.

Icy. Water.

His mind was beginning to darken and succumb to the bites, to the disease in those little fangs, but a bolt of inspiration broke through like sudden pall of thunder, and he seized it, using it to power himself to his feet. Icy water. Icy water. He worked into a ragged stumble, knocking Keese from his shoulders and arms, and then made it into a full run. He pried the Sheikah Slate from his belt, thumbed open the rune app. He reached the water and hurtled through, the ice cold lashing down his back like the strike of a whip. When he came out the other side, he didn't aim. He just pressed the Cryonis button.

It happened in an instant. Suddenly everything was still, and mostly silent — what noise there was was muffled behind the waterfall, which the Slate had transformed into a thick barrier of ice embedded with the bodies of pursuing Ice Keese. The rest were somewhere outside it, beating angrily against the sudden wall, still screeching. Linc deflated.

Thank God, it had worked.

Then he straightened, and clumsily worked his way back to his feet. Where is Ice Linc? Had he overtaken his steely-eyed look-alike? He searched inside his sudden frozen fortress for a mirror, but there was none here. Shit. Into the next room then. He turned on the Slate's torch and plodded forward, heavy with dread. How many more rooms are there?

Hopefully not many — he wanted to finish this race before he died of frostbite.