As Link speaks, Wanda takes a seat nearby, atop a stump, listening carefully without peeling her eyes away from the fire. Her hands are affixed, fingers busy tugging at bits and splinters from the kindle she's collected.

There never seems to be enough time.

The loss of one's home is one thing she can relate to. It was never a thing of legend, in Sokovia, but her home was effectively laid waste to, too, as was every other place she ended up calling home.

"Could nothing be done against the demon king?"

She blinks, curious, and looks at Link's face. Something about his demeanor, something about Zelda's own, it makes her think that maybe it was not all so black and white.