Whoever coined the phrase, ‘ignorance is bliss’ must have known something about the Red Dragon. In those final years, you were lucky if you didn’t know what was going on. Most people in Hyrule didn’t know what was going on. Oh sure, they had speculation that something was amiss, but whatever it was, they didn’t care to know. It was easier that way.

Zelda was forced to shoulder the burden of knowledge. Everything the Red Dragon did that was ignored by the people of Hyrule came crashing down on her and those of us who saw what was happening would have given anything to carry her load. But that’s the thing about Zelda; she would never let anyone suffer her pain. In some ways, I would almost call her a martyr, but that’s not the right word. She was more than that, she was a hero. And Hyrule desperately needed heroes.

For me, watching from the sidelines of history was never enough. I had to act, I had to be involved. Most people fought the Red Dragon, when the time came, out of morals or principles or even blind loyalty. For me, though, it was personal. In my own small way, I liked to pretend that I was saving Zelda, but the fact of the matter was, in the end, that she couldn’t be saved. None of us could be saved. We were ignorant.



The Lost Testimony of

Mia Fanel



The night was one of those nights where the dew began to speckle the blades of grass long before the moon had finished rising. It was a harvest moon, blood red against the velvet sky. Looking at it, the crevices and craters were distinct and it seemed, to anyone who chanced to gaze skyward, that the curved surface was closer to the ground than ever before. But that was just silly. Such things didn’t happen.

Breaking the stillness of the night was the rustling of grass, trod upon by two separate sets of feet. It was the statuesque Sheikah who took the lead, her slate gray costume blending into the darkness so that only her glowing red eyes could be seen with any clarity, reflecting the flickering light of her lantern. Following fast behind was her charge, now grown into the blossom of womanhood, the lovely Zelda. She probably shouldn’t have been out that late and her father, ailing though he was, would still likely give her a scolding for it. Nevertheless, when her Sheikah nursemaid, Impa, called on her, she found that she had no choice but to follow.

On this midsummer night, the air was anything but cold, yet Zelda felt shivers run up and down her spine. She had no idea why Impa came, what the urgency was. Impa had never given her reason to doubt before, yet she wasn’t usually this detached. Now, as the two of them walked across the field, Zelda yearned to hear something, anything that would explain this exodus.

It was strange to see Hyrule so dormant. In the last ten years, Zelda had certainly grown into her looks. Now, she was accustomed to eyes falling on her wherever she went, but the field was lonesome at this hour. In the distance, she could spot the vaguest outlines of the village in the horizon, curling billows of smoke rising up from the chimneys and dancing into the heavens.

“Impa,” Zelda called breathily. “Where are we going?”

“We’re almost there,” Impa replied in a whisper, dismissing the question with a gruff tone.

Zelda scowled, pulling the navy cape she wore a bit tighter around her throat. She hated the way Impa did that. No matter what, Impa would always see and treat her like a little girl. Though it annoyed her to no end, however, Zelda would hardly consider correcting her. Any other courtier who treated Zelda like a child would be reprimanded, but not Impa. She was different.

“Almost where?” Zelda asked, realizing suddenly how childlike her voice sounded.

“Some of my contacts from outside of the castle delivered some disturbing news,” Impa explained.

“What is it?”

“Have you heard of a kingdom called Terabithia?”

“It sounds vaguely familiar,” Zelda answered, tripping over the upraised root of a gnarled old tree.

In a flash, half instinctively, Impa whirled around, catching Zelda around her middle before she could fall over. Righting the girl again, Impa continued walking as if nothing had happened. Had great concern not taken hold of her, Zelda would have smiled at this. Typical Impa.

“It’s been destroyed,” Impa hissed.

“Destroyed?”

“I had a friend who returned from the area this evening. She told me. Nothing’s left of Terabithia but a smoldering pile of ashes.”

“Who could do such a thing?”

“You know who,” Impa replied bitterly.

“But you don’t really think –”

“I don’t think. I know.”

“Why would he destroy a kingdom?”

“I think our worst fears have been realized,” Impa said softly. “He has become the very thing he fought against.”

“A destroyer.”

“Worse,” Impa corrected the girl. “A conqueror.”

“It’s not much a claim, conquering a pile of ash.”

“It’s not the ash, it’s the people.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s taken them.”

Zelda’s eyes nearly bugged out. She came to a half, frozen fast in her tracks. “What?”

Impa turned around, sensing the halt. “All of them. Every citizen who survived the attack has been taken away in irons.”

“How could someone enslave an entire population?”

“More like half,” Impa muttered. “His men had a gay old time slaughtering anyone who put up a resistance.”

“Sweet Nayru…”

“Nayru had nothing to do with it.”

“Were there any survivors?”

Impa slowed to a stop. “Just one.”

As Zelda came to Impa’s shoulder, she followed her beloved nursemaid’s gaze out into the field. A few paces away was a patch of clover, glimmering with a silvery luster under the crimson moon. Curled up into a ball, directly in the middle of the clover, Zelda could see the outlines of a small figure, a child.

“She’s been lying there for nearly twelve hours,” Impa explained in a hushed tone, surprisingly gentle for the warrior.

“Just lying there?”

“We haven’t been able to get a word out of her. My friend who told me she was here said her name was Ariadne.”

“The poor thing,” Zelda whispered. “She must be frightened out of her wits.” Zelda took a few steps forward, toward the huddling child, but Impa caught her arm, pulling her back a few paces.

“Be careful,” Impa warned her.

“She’s a child.”

“That’s no ordinary child.”

Gently, but with firm resolve, Zelda freed herself from Impa’s grasp. She walked to the clover, dripping with dew, and knelt down beside the girl. “Ariadne?” Zelda asked softly. Leaning forward, she placed her hand on the child’s arm. With a pitiful, noise, half whimper and half snarl, she lifted her head to look up at Zelda. Instantly, Zelda felt her insides melt as she looked into the child’s sharp gray eyes. The girl had a beautiful, round face, crinkled up a bit in savage fear, her lower lip trembling. A long, thin cut ran across her forehead, down one eyebrow. “It’s okay,” Zelda whispered.

“She can’t understand you,” Impa said, folding her powerful arms across her chest.

“She understands…” Zelda drew Ariadne up, into her arms. She was shivering, breathing sharply. “She understands,” Zelda muttered with certainty, reaching up to unclasp the broach holding her cape together at her throat. The cape fluttered in the air, wrapping around Ariadne’s tiny shoulders. Gratefully, the child burrowed deep into the folds of fabric.

“My friend says she’s the only survivor to get out,” Impa repeated needlessly.

“Where is this friend of yours?”

“Gone to Beigor to alert the Sheikah leader there.”

“And she just left the girl?”

“She’s been put in my charge. I’m responsible for her.”

“And what do you intend to do?”

Impa scowled. “I don’t know. We can’t send her to the orphanage; she won’t last a day there.”

“Certainly not,” Zelda agreed. She looked down at the child’s face, brushing away a hot tear from her cheek with her thumb. “I’ll take responsibility for her,” she declared.

“Don’t be so quick to volunteer,” Impa warned.

“I’ve made up my mind,” Zelda answered. She pulled Ariadne into a tight embrace, stroking her hair. The child had the softest, lightest hair Zelda had ever touched.

“What will we tell your father?”

“He needn’t know.”

“Someone will see her, eventually.”

“It’ll be taken care of,” Zelda assured her nursemaid. “Trust in me.”

“Always,” Impa promised.

Zelda rocked back and forth slightly, looking down at the top of Ariadne’s head. “The girl has been wronged grievously; I won’t leave her out here to suffer any further.”

“Are those maternal instincts of yours finally kicking in?” Impa teased.

“Don’t say things like that. You make me feel old.”

“You are old.”

“I’m not old. I’m twenty eight.”

“For a girl your age to be unmarried and a maiden, that’s old.”

“And what about you?”

Impa shrugged. “I haven’t time to take a permanent mate.” She scowled, looking up at the harvest moon. “I fear time is something we’re rapidly running out of.”

“Who?”

“All of us.” She jerked her head in Ariadne’s direction. “What happened to this girl’s homeland is just the beginning. I’m afraid the sufferings are just commencing for our realm.”

“By Din, I hope not.”

“He’s capable of it, you know.”

“Capable of what?”

“Complete and total domination.”

Zelda closed her eyes, kissing the top of Ariadne’s head. “Not if I have something to say about it.”



The sun rose, eight years later, on an impossibly beautiful autumn day. For the birds above, Hyrule looked gilded, shining in glossy hues of orange and gold, speckled with bright red spots, rubies, it seemed. The village, clustered around the imperial walls of North Castle, bustled with early morning activity, all of it fairly routine and ordinary. Inside the upper room of the Boar’s Head tavern, the village seemed vague and remote. Little sunlight managed to filter in through the slats of the old wooden window, but there was enough of it to wake Philip.

He groaned softly, running his hand over his eyes and down the sharp angles of his chin, covered in fresh stubble. Last night’s debauchery flickered in his mind, fading in and out of focus. It didn’t overly concern him that he couldn’t remember half of the things he had done; this was a fairly regular occurrence. Philip tried to sit up, but found that his right arm was hampered down. Turning his head to one side, he saw the source of his troubles. Lying beside him, still fast asleep, was a redheaded woman. Now he remembered. She was a beautiful bar wench, though dumb as a post. What was her name again? June? April?

Swiftly, with practiced grace, Philip yanked his arm out from under her. She rolled over, flopping sleepily onto her other side with a few incomprehensible moans. Thankful that she didn’t wake, Philip crawled out of the bed, slipping into his trousers and tying a sash around his waist. On the far end of the room was a water basin, resting on a dresser near a mirror. He dangled his hands in the water for a moment before running his fingers through his hair. The man in the mirror, looking back at him, did likewise, regarding him with aloof, pale blue eyes.

“Shirt,” he muttered to himself, turning around to face the explosion of garments strewn across the wooden floor. He picked through the articles, discarding over his shoulders the ones he clearly knew to belong to June (or April). Finally, at long last, he came upon his own tunic and slipped it on. It took him several tries as he initially tried to force his head through one of the sleeves. He got it eventually, as always, but didn’t bother tying the laces on his chest.

From the twisted sheets, he heard June (or April) moan softly, rolling over onto her stomach, her face buried in a pillow. Now was the time. Swiftly, he snatched up his boots, resting against the foot of the bed and swept out of the room, taking pains to close the door softly behind him.

Once he heard the click from the knob, he pulled his boots on, trotting down the creaky steps into the main room of the tavern. It wasn’t terribly busy at this hour, of course. A few of the overnight patrons sat at a long, rectangular table, sipping their morning tea and munching on biscuits as they mumbled pleasantries to one another about the weather.

Behind the bar was Hermes, the ancient barkeep. Philip was certain Hermes had been tending the Boar’s Head for longer than anyone he knew had been alive. This was one old man that just out and out refused to die. “Good morning,” Philip called to him as he rounded the staircase and headed for the door.

“Save your good mornings,” Hermes grunted.

“So down? Why’s that? It’s a beautiful day.”

“It’ll be a beautiful day the day I don’t have to remind you to pay your bill,” Hermes replied.

“Put it on my sister’s tab,” Philip answered.

“Again?”

“You know she’s good for it.” Philip started to make his way out of the tavern, into the blinding daylight.

“I’ve got bad news for you,” Hermes called after him.

Philip stopped, turning around to look back at the elderly barkeeper. “Bad news?”

“Your sister came by, not three nights ago. She told me not to let you put any more charges on her tab.”

“That’s so typical,” Philip muttered bitterly.

“Typical or not, you pay.”

“Can’t you put it on just this one more time? You can tell her it was before she stopped by.”

“She paid that tab three days ago.”

He scowled. “Annoying thing.”

“Pay up, Philip.”

“I haven’t got the money.”

“Then you’ll be washing dishes tonight.”

“Can’t you put it on my mother’s tab?”

“Your mother hasn’t been by here in years.”

“Please? This is the last time.”

“Aye,” Hermes grunted in defeat. “This will be the last time, if I keep falling for your promises.”

“Thanks, Hermes,” Philip said.

In response, the old man merely waved his hand, dismissively. Deciding to get while the getting was good, Philip ducked out of the tavern and into the busy alleyway. It was a bit like stepping into a new world entirely, out of the dimly lit recesses of the Boar’s Head and into the harsh reality of the sunlit marketplace.

It was certainly an eventful morning. Philip made his way through the stalls, constantly being knocked into by the hectic merchants, going about their business. Luckily, Philip was a large individual, not easily pushed around. He stood, after all, nearly six feet high, quite tall for a Hylian by any standards. Raking his fingers through his blood red hair, he watched with a bemused smile as the marketers seemingly bounced off of him, like rubber.

“Good morning, Phil,” a wispy voice called. Philip glanced to one side, catching sight of a gaggle of courtesans on the balcony of a nearby building. Decked out in their garish attire, they looked down at him, giggling hysterically. The one who called out to him was Drusilla, his favorite. She leaned back against the wall, one leg draped over the railing around the balcony. When she caught his gaze, she winked, the gaudy blue paint over her eyelid sparkling in the sunlight.

“Ladies,” Philip called up to them with a grand bow.

As they dissolved into peels of laughter, Philip continued on his way. He was fast approaching the very heart of the marketplace. Already, he could see the glimmering marble statue of the goddess Kallista, catching the first rays of light. In days past, there had been gypsy dancers that would perform around the fountain, but they were all gone now. There did seem to be a crowd gathering around, however. Something was happening.

Curious, Philip made his way to the center. He passed a fruit stand, picking up an apple as he went without bothering to pay for it. The seller was too busy anyway, distracted by the scene at the fountain, right outside of the double doors of the Temple of Farore. It had once been a temple of Kallista, but the temple had been burned down ages ago and rebuilt to honor the patron goddess of Hyrule. Without too much thought to politeness, Philip shoved aside people in his way until he finally got to a place where he could see. Taking a big bite out of his apple, he leaned against one of the stalls.

Standing on the ledge of the pool around the statue of Kallista was a short, funny looking Risan boy. His features didn’t seem at all Risan; he had fair hair and shining green eyes. He spoke Common without the slightest hint of an accent, but his voice was hoarse. Clearly, he had been talking for hours.

“None of you know the great danger that’s coming for you!” he shouted out into the crowd. “The end is near. Soon the Dragon will be upon you.”

Philip chuckled softly, taking another juicy bite out of his apple. He remembered now. This was the loon Ana had been going on and on about, the crazy boy who came to the marketplace to preach doom and gloom and apocalypse regarding some shadowy figure that no one had ever heard about.

“The Red Dragon will turn his sights on Hyrule,” the boy insisted. “You may turn a blind eye to him now, while he’s out devouring the other lands of the realm, but once he starts attacking you, you’ll wish you hadn’t given so little thought to those who are suffering now.”

“Oh shut up!” someone yelled from the crowd. This individual, whoever she was, received quite a spattering of applause.

“What I speak is truth!” the boy declared, glowering down.

“What you speak is nonsense!” the angry woman shouted. “No one will ever conquer Hyrule.”

“That’s right,” another bystander echoed.

“And what of those who are suffering now?” he asked. “Why should you forget about their plight?”

“Hyrule can defend herself!” the woman screamed.

“How will you do that when the time comes? You’ll have no allies left to turn to, no champion to stand up for you. The Hero of Time is gone.”

At that comment, a great chorus of boos began arising. Most of the people assembled turned their backs on the boy, others giving him dirty looks. With an aloof sigh, Philip took one last bite from his apple then lobbed the core up at the boy, hitting him in the head. This caused great laughter to erupt. Soon, everyone who had been jeering at him began to throw fresh produce in his direction. The miserable boy tried to duck out of the way of the tomatoes and lettuce, but he was struck on the head with an onion and lost his balance, falling backwards into the fountain with a terrific splash of water and Rupees.

Philip chuckled. What a fine display! He was only sorry it had to end so abruptly, he would have liked very much to have seen the Risan dodge a few more carrots and pears. That’s what you got for standing up on a soapbox, metaphorically speaking. As he began to walk away, Philip threw one final glance over his shoulder, watching as a kindly young girl leaned over to pull the Risan out of the fountain, dripping wet. The miserable pout on the boy’s face only made Philip laugh a little harder.



Zelda sat on a plush red pillow, resting on top of a stone bench. Her bench was in one of the side chambers of the castle, just below a stained glass window depicting a beautiful representation of the goddess Farore in green and yellow glass. A pile of papers rested on her lap and she slowly shuffled through them, reading the fine print. She had been at it for many hours now and her eyes had grown tired. Zelda wasn’t ready, yet, to own up to the fact that she needed glasses. In her opinion, glasses belonged to mature men, not to women of her age. Despite the fact that she was constantly teased, sometimes a bit too harshly, about being aged, she just didn’t feel old.

Tucking her hair behind her ears, Zelda decided to give her tired eyes a bit of a rest. She looked up at the gray wall across from her. The chamber was shaped like a hexagon, three walls hosting brilliant stained glass images of the goddesses, three walls completely bare, boasting nothing other than torches in iron rings. The torches were dormant now, as red, blue, and green light streamed in through the windows.

It was such a beautiful day. Zelda longed to be outside in the rose garden, enjoying the splendor of a Hylian autumn, but duty constrained her. With her father long gone, Zelda could hardly get away with the freedom she formerly enjoyed in the days when she was a princess. Queen Zelda. It just sounded so strange. Matronly. And Zelda longed to do was lope through the clover, barefoot, reveling in the beauty of the sun.

What didn’t help her inner turmoil was the business at hand. As she flipped through the papers, it seemed as though the black ink was actually blood. Death littered the pages, correspondences, all of them, from outside of Hyrule. Labrynna had fallen. The word was official now. Sprawled across the pages before her were the final testimonies that had managed to escape before the kingdom’s borders were sealed to the rest of the realm. What horrors! Queen Jocasta publicly beheaded. Millions of citizens clapped in irons. Militia slaughtered, alongside their families. The bodies of children lying in the streets, filling the air with the foul stench of death. It was almost too terrible to endure, and yet Zelda read on.

“I don’t suppose anything I say will convince you to eat something.”

Zelda looked up. Impa stood in the doorway, resting her shoulder against the wall. Her face looked sallow and sunken in, heavy bags underneath her eyes. The skin around her temples was thinner and more delicate than before, but she carried her wrinkles as a badge of courage. ‘Impa, my friend,’ Zelda thought silently, ‘you’re getting old.’ All she said aloud was, “No.”

“The Red Dragon’s been having a field day,” Impa muttered, gesturing to the papers in Zelda’s hands.

“It’s horrible,” Zelda muttered. “Not that there was a doubt.”

“He’s running out of lands to conquer.”

“Which means he’ll soon come for us.”

Impa nodded, walking into the room. She had developed a slight limp, but was trying has hard as she could to hide it. Zelda, of course, had pretended, for years now, not to notice, but it was becoming increasingly evident. “It’s time we start preparing for the worst.”

“The people don’t want to believe the Red Dragon exists,” Zelda sighed, putting the papers down on the floor and sliding over to give Impa room to sit.

“What the people want is ignorance, a luxury they can no longer afford to give them.”

“I agree. But what would you suggest we do? Force them into conscription? What good is a militia if no one believes in the cause?”

“A militia will have to wait,” Impa replied. “The knights will do for now. What I had in mind was something a little less conventional.”

“Less conventional? What do you mean?”

Impa sat down heavily, resting her hands on splayed knees. “We have something, in Hyrule, which no other kingdom has.”

“We have many things. To what were you referring?”

“The Triforce.”

Zelda lofted her eyebrows. “What are you suggesting?”

Impa continued on, ignoring Zelda’s question. “And, in the past, we’ve had people nearly capable of seizing the Triforce.”

Zelda scowled. “Ganondorf?” she muttered. “He’s been gone for many years. And if he were still around, I do doubt he’d be willing to help us now.”

“But if he were around, he’d have a vast amount of power, wouldn’t he? Perhaps enough power to start a defense.”

“True…” Zelda admitted. “What are you getting at?”

“Something has come to my attention, something I think you’ll find very interesting.”

“What?”

“Did you know that Ganondorf had a son?”

Zelda’s eyebrows shot up, virtually disappearing underneath her neatly trimmed bangs. “A son? I’ve known him to have many daughters, but never a son.”

Impa reached into the mouth of the pack on her hip. From it, she withdrew a rolled up sheet of parchment and handed it to Zelda. “Rauru set me on the trail a few months ago.”

Carefully, Zelda unfurled the scroll. “Philip Summer,” she read aloud.

“He’s twenty one years old,” Impa recited. “Lives only about a mile away from the town.”

“Son of Kallista,” Zelda continued to read. She looked up at Impa with wide eyes. “The goddess?”

“That’s what I’m told.”

“The son of Ganondorf Dragmire and a minor goddess.”

“Quite the combination, don’t you think?”

“Extraordinary.”

“He’s bound to be a very powerful individual,” Impa said with a small, wiry smirk on her thin lips.

“What are you thinking?” Zelda asked.

“I’m thinking that we may be able to use him.”

“Use him? That sounds so sinister.”

“I meant nothing sinister by it,” Impa amended.

“What did you mean?”

Impa sighed. “The people need a leader, a champion, a figurehead to rally around when the time comes.”

“A hero,” Zelda said quietly.

“This boy might be the perfect candidate to –”

“Replace Link,” Zelda cut her off.

Impa frowned, considering it for a moment. “There is a certain poetic irony to it, I suppose.”

“It feels wrong, somehow.”

“We have no choice. The Red Dragon is coming.”

“Yes, you’re right. But how do we know this boy can even fight?”

“Look at the bottom of the page.”

Zelda’s eyes traveled down. “Bar brawls? Domestic disturbances? Street fights? This is hardly the handiwork of a hero.”

“Oh, I’ll whip him into shape, believe me.”

She looked up, a small smile threatening to break her lips. Impa may have been getting on in years, but there was still no doubt in Zelda’s mind that the Sheikah could easily teach the son of Dragmire a serious lesson. Limp or none. “Do you really think there’s a chance?”

“It’s a chance we have to take,” Impa replied sincerely.

Sighing heavily, Zelda nodded. “All right, I suppose it’s worth a shot. Send one of the kids to get him.”

“Which one? Ariadne?”

“No, send Mia.” Zelda glanced down at the scroll. “It says here that he has a half sister. Adriana Summer.”

“Do you want Mia to summon her too?”

“No, that doesn’t seem necessary.”

“The sister might be helpful in persuading him.”

“Why? What have you heard about her?”

“A socialite,” Impa explained. “She’s spent some time in court. She tends to move in high society circles.”

“We’ll have to keep her in reserve.”

“I’m sure it would thrill her to have a brother working for the monarchy,” Impa said with a twinkle in her eye.

“A very distinct possibility. But let’s save that plan in reserve.”

“Very well.”

Slowly, favoring her foot slightly, Impa rose to her feet. Zelda wound up the scroll again and handed it to her nursemaid, though she was not far too old to have a nursemaid. “Here.”

Impa accepted the scroll, tucking it away into her pack. She started to make for the door, but paused to face Zelda. “No one can replace him, you know.”

“What?”

“Link. No one will ever be able to replace him.”

“I know,” Zelda answered quietly.

“No one.”

Impa slowly made her way out of the room, her heavy footfall lingering long after she was out of sight. In her mind’s eye, Zelda involuntarily found herself traveling back through the passages of Time to the endless summers she spent with Link, Tulsa, and their other friends, mindless and careless to the future and to the horrors that would befall them all. Horrors far worse than anything Ganondorf Dragmire could ever have done to them.



Everything about the architecture of the palace was designed to instill a sense of terror. High, vaulted ceilings, painted scarlet met at vanishing points, studded with long iron spikes. There were no windows in the throne room, keeping out all natural light so that the occupant had complete control over how much anyone saw. This morning, only five weak torches were lit, their flames dancing enough to cast sinister shadows on the crimson woodwork. Everything pointed toward the end of the room, far from the sinister double doors, where a high dais of obsidian hosted the throne.

The throne itself was a horrifying work of art. Wrought out of iron and varnished deep midnight, the high back of the chair climbed up nearly five feet into the air, the top of it twisting and turning in the most unnatural manner for such metal. Two high spindles crowned the back of the chair, each one ending in a razor sharp point. Adhered to the seat and the arm rests were plump red plum cushions, gentle velvet, contrasting with the cold metal.

In the chair was, perhaps, the most horrifying spectacle of all, the Red Dragon himself. Calling him a dragon was a bit misleading. He was no such thing, but a man, as other men were; two arms, two legs, and, in theory, a face. No one ever saw the Red Dragon’s face; he kept it hidden underneath the dark visor of his helmet. The helmet was made of the same black iron as the throne, with two metal horns coming out of the sides of his head. These were red and were the source of his name. The only part of his face that could be seen was his sharp chin, jutting out from beneath the ornate visor. As for the rest of the Red Dragon’s body, it too was covered in metal, dark armor forged for him out of the fires of Death Mountain. Normally, all of his body was covered, but now, he seemed a little naked, without the shining metal boots on his feet. Dark green fabric gave way to the pale color of flesh of his feet, exposed to the room and resting in a silver basin, decorated with etchings of battle.

Coset, the Red Dragon’s favorite concubine, sat on the floor by the basin, washing his feet with a loofa sponge. His feet were calloused and hard, his toe nails a sickly yellow shade. Disgusted though she was, Coset didn’t dare to show it and continued about her work quietly, hoping to the gods that she wouldn’t be called upon to say a word.

The doors to the throne room opened with a loud rumble. In marched a fleet of soldiers, the honor guard, judging from how clean their armor was. Behind them entered the Red Dragon’s lieutenant, a man known only to the inhabitants of the castle, by the name of War. As much as the Red Dragon’s features were a mystery, War’s were even more so. Like his master, he was forever clad in armor, purple instead of black, with a gold helmet completely covering his face.

At this entrance, the Red Dragon sat up at bit in his chair, propping his elbow on the armrest. He watched as War entered. His minion never walked when he could levitate, and so War’s approach was silent until he reached the foot of the dais. There, he lowered himself to the ground, bowing respectfully.

“You summoned me?” War asked.

“Rise.”

War straightened out again, pausing only briefly to spare Coset a sideways glance. “What is your will?”

“I have a little assignment for you,” the Red Dragon said.

“Sir?”

“It involves your return to Hyrule.”

“Hyrule, sir?”

“I’ve decided it’s time we sent them a message.”

“You’re just suggesting that we –”

“Silence,” the Red Dragon said. He didn’t need to growl or raise his voice to instill enough fear into War’s heart. “I want Zelda,” he told War very, very calmly.

“The princess?”

“She’s queen now.”

“The queen?”

“I want you to bring her to me.”

War glanced around in extreme agitation. “Permission to speak freely, my lord?” he asked.

The Red Dragon sighed. He waved his hand, looking about the room. “Everyone is dismissed.” Immediately, the honor guard fell back into formation, marching out of the room. The various servants loitering along the walls, going about their business quickly gathered their possessions and scampered away. Coset started to rise when the Red Dragon turned to her. “Not you,” he said quietly, gesturing for her to return to the floor. Obediently, Coset dropped to her knees again, resuming her work. Once the room was cleared, the Red Dragon leaned forward slightly, resting his exposed chin in his hand. “What is it, War?”

“I would not dare question your orders in front of the men,” War said tersely, “but to kidnap Zelda is a bit excessive.”

“Excessive?”

“The people talk…”

“And?”

War seemed agitated to express what was on his mind. “And,” he started, “the people in our lands know about your…”

“My what?”

“Shall we say, your obsession with the princess.”

“Queen.”

“Queen.”

Slowly, dangerously, the Red Dragon leaned back in his seat. “I am not,” he told War crisply, “obsessed with Queen Zelda.”

“No, of course not, but what the people say…”

“The people don’t matter. As long as they obey the soldiers and the sovereign, they are, and their gossip is, insignificant.”

“Of course it’s insignificant,” War agreed quickly.

“I want Zelda; therefore, you will bring her to me.”

“It will be difficult,” War muttered.

“I have every faith in you and your power.”

“North Castle is protected by many spells. It’ll take all the best mages in the empire to break through.”

“They’re at your disposal, of course.”

“She may be heavily guarded. Do I have your permission to kill?”

“You have, not only my permission, but my encouragement to do so.”

“And what sort of demands am I going to leave behind?”

“What?” the Red Dragon asked sharply.

War cleared his throat. “When I take the princess…”

“Queen.”

“When I take the queen, what demands am I to leave?”

“None.”

Clearly taken aback, War repeated. “None?”

“I want nothing for her.”

“You just want Zelda?”

“I intend to keep her here on a more permanent basis.”

“The Hylians won’t take kindly to that.”

“No, I don’t expect they will.”

“They’ll send someone to rescue her.”

“I hope so,” the Red Dragon declared. “Let my men kill their champions now before the invasion begins.”

“And what do you intend to do with Zelda? If you kill her, you’ll only make her a martyr.”

“I don’t plan on killing her.”

War seemed visibly relieved by this. “Then what will you do with her?”

The Red Dragon spared Coset a passing glance. “I’ll make her part of the harem,” he said.

“Sir…”

“Don’t lecture me about the Hylians will react to it. I don’t rightly care,” the Red Dragon snapped.

“You know Zelda won’t yield to you.”

“I have ways of convincing people.”

“This is no ordinary person.”

“Your conversation is becoming tiresome.”

“May I say one thing more, or shall I just leave and carry out this business?”

“It had better be important.”

“My spies have just returned from Maze Island.”

“And?”

“There is a rebellion building up there. It’s liable to break at any moment. I have reason to believe Zelda is behind it.”

“All the better reason for bringing her here,” the Red Dragon reasoned. “I’ll question her personally about it.”

“Assuming it can be done.”

“It will be done.”

“Aye, my lord.”

“You are dismissed, War.”

War bowed humbly. Backing up as he remained stooped over, he floated back to the door, drifting out and disappearing down the hall silently. Coset watched him leave with a burning feeling in the pit of her stomach. A new terror seized a hold of her, but she knew better than to show it. The Red Dragon was watching her.



It was nearly noon when Philip returned home. His mother’s estate was a mile from the town, in a quiet neighborhood called Garden Place. Beautiful, ancient villas lined the cobblestone avenues, arranged in circles around artificial lakes filled with fresh water. The Summer residence was called Azalea Manor, resting in between the Rosemary Manor and the Zinnia Villa. It was one of the newer estates, build of pale blue stucco with an orange, tiled roof. Philip made his way up to the door and opened it quietly, creeping in to the entry hall.

He was greeted with the familiar sight of a white marble floor and a long, winding staircase, going up to the second floor landing, lined with maple columns and a banister. Beyond the entry hall, he could see the salon, a room carpeted with an exotic Risan rug. In the very center of the room was a grand piano, bone white, surrounded by pale blue sofas with navy throw pillows. The décor of the house was not to his liking. Frankly, he felt it was a bit too feminine. The one thing he liked about the salon, however, was the large coat of arms for the Summer family, plastered into the wall.

Carefully, Philip started to make his way to the salon. “Philip Summer,” a shrill voice said sharply from above. Looking up, Philip caught a pair of angry blue eyes glaring down at him.

He flashed his most charming smile. “Ana,” Philip said pleasantly, “good morning.”

“Afternoon,” she told him crisply, making her way down the stairs. “Where have you been?” Adriana Summer could hardly be classified as a beautiful woman. Frankly, her features were a bit plain, though she certainly knew how to make the best of what she had. Her long red hair was twisted up on top of her head in an elaborate style, three long corkscrew curls falling over the left side of her face. Today, she was dressed in a long, straight dress of cyan silk, a robin’s egg blue scarf wrapped around her throat. Lavender diamonds ran along her bodice and the hemline, detracting from her severe lack of curves.

“Out,” Philip replied, noncommittally.

“All night.”

“Don’t tell me you waited up again.”

“Of course I did,” she replied angrily. “Not for you. I was waiting for the constable to come around telling me you’d been thrown out of the Boar’s Head for brawling. Again.”

“Would I disappoint you?” he asked, spreading his arms out as if to demonstrate the lack of bruises.

“Chronically,” she answered.

“A thousand pardons, mother.”

Adriana narrowed her eyes, a deep wrinkle forming on her forehead, just above her nose. “Don’t you dare –”

“Call you that,” he finished for her.

“You’re going to end up in a ditch,” she said bitterly, shaking her head.

“As long as there’s a pretty girl there,” he quipped.

She planted her hands on her hips. “Oh, mother would be so proud of you if she could see you now.”

“I’m sure she would.”

“Daddy’s little boy. Dragmire.”

Philip’s ears turned pink as rage boiled up into his head. “Don’t call me that!” he roared.

“And why not?” she questioned him coldly. “You certainly live up to the reputation.”

“I don’t have time for this,” he growled, pushing Ana out of his way to head for the salon.

“Big man!” she shouted after him. “Pushing around a girl!”

“You’re not a girl!” he shouted back. “You’re a stick!”

Ana glared after him with seething anger. “Drunken lout!”

“Painted maypole!”

“Scoundrel!”

“Twig!”

“Dragmire!” she screamed.

That stopped him dead in his tracks. He turned around to face her, blue eyes blazing. “Moblin,” he hissed.

Adriana’s mouth worked open and shut for a moment. She was unable to produce words and stared at him, fishlike. Finally, with a frustrated grunt, she lifted her hands, pounding her fists together twice. It seemed like he was about to reply, but suddenly a chime rang, signaling someone at the door. “That’ll be Dagmar,” she said softly. “I expect you to be on your best behavior.”

For a second time, Philip spread his arms wide. “Would I let you down?”

Without answering, Ana turned around and walked to the door. When she opened it, to her surprise, it was not Dagmar Hagen, heiress to the extraordinarily wealthy Hagen Family, standing on the other side. Instead, she saw a young girl that she didn’t recognize, wearing a pink cape over a humble blue shift. “I’m sorry,” Adriana said bluntly, “I’m already happy with my gods.” She started to shut the door with that.

“I’m not a missionary,” the girl said, catching the door and pushing it back open with surprising strength.

“Oh. What do you want then?”

“May I come in?”

“Why?”

Gently, the girl pushed the door open a little further, stepping over the threshold and into the entrance hall. “My name is Mia, I’m an emissary from Queen Zelda,” she explained, lowering her hood to reveal long brown hair and Hylian ears.

Instantly, Adriana’s eyes lit up. “The royal family? Oh please, come in, come in.” She ushered Mia in toward the salon. “I am, of course, Adriana Summer. Please, feel free to call me Ana.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Mia replied.

“What can I do for you…what’s your name again?”

“Mia.”

“What can I do for you, Mia?”

Mia delicately cleared her throat, pulling herself out of Adriana’s reach. “Actually,” she said gently, “I’ve been sent here for Philip Summer.”

Philip blinked in surprise. “Me?”

“Him?” Adriana spat incredulously.

“Yes…” Mia responded slowly.

“There must be some mistake,” Ana insisted. “He’s nobody.”

“I have my orders,” Mia said apologetically.

“What do you want with me?” Philip asked, walking back toward the entrance hall and toward the two women.

Mia turned to look at him. Immediately, her stoic outside wavered as she was struck with the rugged handsomeness of the man before her. “Queen Zelda has asked that you attend a private audience with her today,” she explained.

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re not much of a page,” Ana scoffed.

“I’m not a page at all,” Mia corrected her. “I’m a ward of the state. I serve as top apprentice to the royal mages.”

“You’re a wizard in training?”

“More or less.”

“Then why did the Queen send you?”

“Zelda felt it would be more polite to send a personal messenger.”

“Well, forget it,” Philip declared. He started to walk back to the salon.

“Wait!” Ana shouted, catching his arm. She turned to Mia with a sugary smile. “One minute.” With that, she pulled Philip against the wall. “What are you doing to me?” she hissed.

“What am I doing to you?” he repeated disbelievingly.

“You cannot turn down a royal summons.”

“Watch me.”

“Phil, she just called the queen by her first name. This is clearly an important person.”

“So?”

“So?! If you don’t go, do you have any notion of what that’ll do to our family’s social standing?”

“You say that like I care.”

“Don’t do this to me!”

“Um…excuse me?” Mia called from her place, watching the two of them. “I don’t mean to be rude, but it’s rather important that we get going now. It’ll take an hour or so to get there with all the security.”

“Just a minute,” Ana sang sweetly to the girl before turning back to Philip. “You are going. Do this for me, Phil. Please.”

“What’s in it for me?” Philip asked.

“I’ll buy you a whole new wardrobe.”

“I like the one I have.”

“I’ll personally guarantee that the cats never enter your room again.”

“They’re fun to kick.”

“What do you want?” Ana begged, desperately.

“Pick up my tab at the Boar’s Head.”

“But…”

“I’m not going!” Philip said loudly.

“All right!” Ana conceded.

“Change of plans,” Philip told Mia. “I’ll go with you.”

“We’d better hurry,” Mia said. “Zelda said this was a very important summons. No time to delay.”

“Surely you can afford him a few minutes to change,” Adriana pled.

“And what’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” Philip scoffed.

Adriana looked at him and just started laughing. Again, Mia cleared her throat. “There’s really no time for that,” she said. “Anyway, he’s fine the way he is.”

“You hear that, Ana?” Philip said smugly. “I’m fine the way I am.”

“This way, please,” Mia told them anxiously, gesturing to the door.

Ana prodded Philip forward, nearly throwing him into poor Mia. “Right,” Philip muttered, throwing a bitter glance back at his sister. Gesturing grandly to Mia, he allowed her to take the lead, following after.

“Don’t stare at the queen’s chest!” Adriana shouted after him.

“All right, Ana.”

“And don’t slouch when you’re standing in the throne room.”

“Enough, Ana.”

“And, whatever you do, don’t start drinking!”

“Goodbye, Ana.”

The door slammed shut. Adriana stared after it, mouth hanging open ever so slightly. “I didn’t get what I wanted,” she muttered to herself, in shock. “What just happened?”



In the keep of the castle, the young girl waited, continuously folding and unfolding her arms across her chest. She couldn’t seem to find a proper stance. First, she leaned against the wall, then she sat on the table, next the chair, then she returned to face the wall. Frustrated, she paced, working her fingers back and forth to hear the knuckles crack and pop. She ran her tongue along her lips, wetting them for the thousandth time in this endless wait.

Any second now, she knew she would be in the presence of the woman who terrified her more than any mortal, living or deceased. Horror gripped her throat, squeezing it shut so that swallowing was a difficult labor. All at once, she felt both nervous and excited. The wait was endless and she had tried nearly everything to pass the time. Now, she sat again, running her fingers through her brown hair, newly cut in an attractive pixie bob.

Footsteps began approaching her from down the hall. Amorette sprang to her feet, drawing herself stiffly to attention, ramrod straight. She faced the direction of the steps, squaring her shoulders just a little more. Her chin rose to an absurd angle, jutting out into the dark air. Quickly, she became aware of how silly she looked and loosened her stance ever so slightly, smoothing down the front of her lavender tunic with trembling hands.

“Amorette,” a voice hissed from around the corner.

“Here,” Amorette called.

Instantly, Impa turned the corner, coming face to face with the girl. They both drew to a straightened stance, each bringing a fist over her heart in the traditional Sheikah greeting. “Are we alone?” Impa asked as they dropped the pose.

“I think so,” Amorette answered.

“Don’t think,” Impa told her sternly. “Know.”

Amorette narrowed her eyes, glancing around the room with a sweep of auspex. “We’re alone,” she whispered after a moment.

“Good,” Impa said, audibly exhaling with relief. She clapped a hand on Amorette’s back, directing her back to the table. “Do you know why I’ve called you here?”

Amorette took a seat. “No,” she responded truthfully, folding her hands on top of the table. “Nor do I understand all the secrecy.”

“The things we’re about to discuss,” Impa said, sitting down across the table from the younger woman, “are not to be discussed outside of this room.”

“I think I understand,” Amorette told her solemnly.

“For your sake, I hope so.”

“Why have you summoned me?”

“I’ve just had a lengthy conversation with Queen Zelda,” Impa began. “We were discussing the Red Dragon, do you know who he is?”

Amorette nodded. “I’ve heard a lot of stories. It’s hard to separate fact from fiction.”

“You have a discerning mind. That’s good.”

“Tell me the truth about the Red Dragon.”

“The truth is a messy thing.”

“Tell me what you know.”

Impa leaned back slightly in her seat. “For a good eighteen years now, the Red Dragon has been plundering the realm, destroying everything and everyone, friend or foe.”

“Why?”

“Madness,” Impa shrugged. “It doesn’t matter why. What matters is that he’s doing it and thousands upon thousands of people are suffering because of it.”

“I see,” Amorette said with a nod.

“He’s just conquered Labrynna. We suspect that the next conquest he’s aiming for is a Hylian outpost.”

“Which one?”

“Maze Island.”

“What do you intend to do about it?”

“There is little we can do for Maze Island. It’s a small territory and not very well supplied. What is more pressing is what will happen after Maze Island.”

“Which is?”

“After he conquers Maze Island, it’s a forgone conclusion that Hyrule will be the Red Dragon’s next target.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“There’s little left to conquer.” Impa leaned forward. “I’m not sure you understand the degree to which the Red Dragon has taken his empire building in the realm.”

“Enlighten me.”

“Hyrule is virtually the only territory which remains to be assimilated into his empire.”

“How is that possible?” Amorette scoffed. “There’s so little report of his actions.”

“That is because he seals off his dominated territories to prevent stories from spreading. He keeps his prospective colonies ignorant until it’s too late. That’s why most Hylians don’t believe he exists.”

“That’s terrible.”

“Isolation is a deadly foe. Our folly is our own for not investigating or showing any concern.”

“But Zelda’s put effort into it.”

“Yes. Which is why I’ve summoned you here.” Impa leveled herself, looking directly into Amorette’s eyes, into her soul, it seemed. “While my better nature tells me that Hyrule’s forces can match those of the Red Dragon, the pragmatist in me doubts it severely. We need to form second and third lines of defense against his invasion of Hyrule.”

“What do you need me to do?”

“Zelda and I have begun to form a plan, a sort of last ditch effort, if you will, should our soldiers fail. You must understand, if Hyrule falls, the entire realm will become the Red Dragon’s empire and thousands of lives will be lost. Without a question, he will put all the Sheikah to death, including you.”

“Of course.”

“We’re assembling a league of elite warriors to function as a reserve force, though through more mystical means.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’ll explain it to you, should you choose to accept the position.”

“Of course I’ll accept. Tell me what you’re going to do.”

“The time to act is now, Amorette.”

“You’re scaring me, Impa.”

“What I’m about to say is very frightening, I want you to be prepared for what you must do.”

“I understand,” Amorette mumbled nervously.

“We are forming a group to be the…Guardians, if you will.”

“The Guardians.”

“A group which, I pray to Din, we will never need to deploy.”

“Tell me more.”



Philip lifted his hands, allowing the knights, for what seemed like the tenth time, to frisk him over, checking for concealed weapons, magical implements, or poisons. Mia stood off to one side, watching with a slightly bemused smile playing on her lips. All the guards knew her well and forwent the formality of checking her person. She lived in the castle after all, ward of the queen herself.

When they were finally satisfied that Philip was going empty handed, they offered him brisk, insincere smiles, waving him onward. “Where are we going?” he asked Mia gruffly.

“The throne room,” she replied. “Zelda is holding court this afternoon.” She led him through the wide, bright hallways, underneath arched doorways, passing courtiers in ridiculous outfits that rivaled Adriana’s wardrobe for absurdity.

“Am I going to have to bow or salute or have honor or something?” he grumbled, taking in the scenery.

Mia pursed her lips. “I don’t think you need to worry too much about formalities.”

“Good,” he muttered.

With that, they arrived in the throne room. The room was enormous, probably large enough to fit the Boar’s Head in its entirety. High columns ran in two rows down the middle of the room, flanking a bright purple and gold carpet that stretched from the entrance to the throne platform on the opposite side. Sitting in the right hand throne (the left hand throne was empty) was Zelda herself, dressed in her regal finery, a virginal white gown with a crimson peplum and gold accents. She stood up, looking down at the entrance was Mia and Philip slowly made their way along the carpet.

Whispers immediately filled the room. The courtiers stared at Philip in a mixture of horror and fascination. He was clearly Gerudo; there was no question about it. Yet the courtiers had never seen such a handsome specimen before, stubbly and untidy though he was. Zelda herself regarded him with a respectful nod of her head, the glimmering jewels in her gold crown catching the sunlight as it streamed in through the stained glass windows on either side of the room.

As they arrived at the base of the platform, Mia dropped into a respectful curtsy. Philip glanced at her for a moment, wondering if he was expected to do the same. He looked up at Zelda, but she seemed to have no expectations. Remembering what he had promised Ana, Philip settled for bowing his head politely. “Your highness,” he muttered to her.

“Philip Summer,” she said, dipping her head in turn.

“As promised,” Mia chirped.

At that, Zelda’s frozen exterior finally cracked, breaking into a wide, glowing smile. Her face was illuminated and she looked at Mia with a warm gaze. “Thank you, Mia,” she said with a quavering laugh in her voice.

“Not to sound rude,” Philip cut in, meaning entirely to sound rude, “but I’d like to know the meaning of all this.”

“Of course, I suppose it’s not every day you receive a royal summons.”

“You could say that,” Philip put it bluntly.

“Your appearance in court is just a formality,” Zelda explained. “Our true business here will go behind closed doors.”

“And why is that?”

“I have an important proposition to make you.” Zelda glanced around the room at the gossiping courtiers. “One that will be better served in the privacy of my study, if you don’t mind.”

“Well, I do mind,” Philip shot back. “Whatever you have to say to me, you can say it here.”

“What I wish to discuss is a matter of internal security,” Zelda answered.

Suddenly, a blood curdling scream came from the other side of the throne room. Zelda, Philip, and Mia all turned in unison to look down the carpet. Right where Mia and Philip had stood only a moment ago, a pillar of green light had formed, in the center of it, a humanoid form solidifying.

“Farore’s Wind,” Mia said.

“How is that possible?” Zelda gasped.

“What do you mean?” Philip asked, looking back and forth between the two of them.

“We have spells up to protect the castle and prevent anyone from teleporting in here,” Mia cried, indignantly.

By this point, the spell was nearly complete and standing where the light had once been was a larger than life being, clad in heavy purple armor and a gold helmet. The courtiers, panicking at the rare and frightening sight, began racing through the columns, screaming and trampling over one another to get away from the figure. If the being noticed their plight, however, he didn’t show it. Aloof, he began drifting down the carpet, his feet an inch or so above the ground.

“Hello, Zelda,” a voice from the depths of the helmet chuckled.

Zelda’s eyes widened, but she found herself frozen to where she stood. Mia, however, found her gait and quickly ran out in front of Zelda and Philip, holding her palms out toward the creature and whispering to herself. Energy gathered around her fingertips, swirling in the form of a blue ball of light. Moving her arm in a throwing motion, Mia launched the sphere at the intruder. As though swatting a fly, he knocked her attack away, sending it into one of the columns which cracked on impact.

“Stay back, War,” Zelda said icily. “I’m warning you.”

“You’re in no position to be doing much warning,” War replied. With a wave of his hand, an invisible wall slammed into Mia, knocking her against one of the columns. At the same moment, an identical force threw Philip off his feet and onto his back, knocking the wind out of him.

Zelda held her hands in front of her chest, gathering white energy into an amorphous mass. She pressed her palm outward, sending the orb at War. It impacted his armor, throwing him back, but he managed to stay upright, still levitating. “Stay back,” she warned a second time.

“Oh,” he said in mock horror. “Do it again.”

As Zelda began to gather the energy for a second time, War gestured to the ceiling. With a loud groan, rocks began to grind against one another. A stone dropped from the roof, landing on Zelda’s head and sending her to the ground in a crumpled mass of fabric. Mia let out a scream, frantically trying to get to her feet. War watched her, and as he did, her cape seemed to come to life, tangling around her and fighting her, like a wrestler, back to the floor.

Telekinetically, War lifted Zelda off the ground, her head and arms dangling beneath her. She floated across the room, falling directly into War’s outstretched arms. Her crown fell to the floor. With a chuckle, he began to perform Farore’s Wind a second time, the column of green light expanding to enfold both him and the unconscious Zelda. Just before his molecules began to dissipate, War turned to look at Philip with a chuckle. “See you around, kid,” he scoffed. And then they vanished in a bright flash of light, accompanied by the soft blowing of the wind.

“No!” Mia screamed as her cape’s wild rebellion died.

There was the clanking of armor and a regimen of knights charged into the room, led by Impa, wielding a sword. “What is it?” she demanded, turning to Mia. “What’s happened?”

“A man teleported into the throne room,” Mia explained, rising to her feet. “He took Zelda.”

Impa’s eyes widened. “Do you know who it was?”

“Zelda seemed to. She called him War.”

Anger slowly clouded over Impa’s face. “He’s taken her.”

“Yes.”

Impa gestured for the guards to stand down. She made her way to Mia, checking the girl over for injuries. “Then we’re in an awful lot of trouble.”

“Who is he?”

“He’s the Red Dragon’s second in command.”

“Red Dragon?” Philip asked, getting to his feet. “He’s real? I thought the guy was a myth.”

“No, he’s real,” Impa said crisply.

“And now he has Zelda,” Mia moaned.

“The odds are she’s been taken to his palace in Calatia.”

Mia looked at Impa, her eyes glazing over tearfully. “What are we going to do, Impa?”

Impa crossed the room silently. She leaned over and picked up Zelda’s crown, clutching it tightly to her chest for a moment. Finally, she turned back to address them. “You two are going to have to go after her.”

“Us two?” Philip repeated. “Now wait a second, I didn’t sign on to be one of your cronies.”

“It’s our duty as citizens,” Mia cried passionately.

“You go ahead,” Philip told her. “I’m going home.”

“Would you really turn your back on your monarch?” Impa questioned him darkly.

“I feel bad about what happened,” he answered, “really I do. But there’s no way that I’m going to go charging after her. I see no profit in it for me.”

“Profit,” Mia repeated thickly.

“If profit’s what you’re looking for, there’s plenty to be had,” Impa grumbled.

“Oh yeah?” Philip turned on her. “You have my attention.”

“I can reward you very handsomely for undertaking this.”

“Give me a number.”

“One.”

“One?”

“One chance for a clean record,” Impa said. “I’ve seen your charges. You’ve been in enough bar brawls and street fights to be committed to the stocks for an extended period of time.”

“You’re blackmailing me?”

“So it would seem.”

“Listen, lady, I’ve had just enough –”

“It would not be wise,” Impa interrupted him, “for the son of Ganondorf Dragmire to get caught up in a nasty episode involving the kidnapping of a member of the royal family.

Philip opened his mouth then shut it, suddenly looking very much like his sister. “Fine,” he finally said, sulkily.

Impa handed him the sword she was carrying. “You’ll need this.”



Coset was escorted through the corridors, carrying a bundle of fabric in her arms. The guards on either side of her walked along without a word, staring straight ahead, as always. The Red Dragon hated it when his guards looked at the women of his harem, especially his favorite concubine, yet he wouldn’t allow her to go unescorted today. The trio made their way through the horrifying palace, down a winding iron staircase to the dungeon. An overwhelming stench of death and decay hit them as they passed the torture chamber. Some poor sap, one of the last remnants of Labrynna’s resistance, was being stretched on the rack. His screams filled the dungeon, echoing off of the walls and drowning out the persistent drip of water leaking in from the gutter.

Next they passed through a long line of hold cells, each of them containing a cot, a chamber pot, and a prisoner. Most of these prisoners were domestics of the Red Dragon who had managed to anger him, but not enough to warrant death. Coset knew many of these and gave them pitying glances as she was paraded down the cellblock. Most of them were too tired or weak to respond to her, but those that could, managed a small smile, careful not to wave or make any more sign of acknowledgement in the presence of the guards.

Finally, they arrived at their destination, the cells of solitary confinement. Unlike the regular cells which boasted walls made entirely of iron bars, these cells were built of stone, each with a wooden door hosting a single barred window. The sound of screaming grew fainter in this area, hidden away from most of the dungeon. One of the guards removed a ring of keys from his pocket and rifled through before finding the proper key to the farther cell.

He unlocked the door, holding it open for Coset. “We’ll be right outside,” he told her, careful to avoid eye contact. “Call us when you’re done.”

“Yes,” Coset said with a nod. Carefully, she ducked into the cell. The guard swung it shut behind her, locking the door. She stood silently, listening as the two of them moved away to a set of table and chairs on the opposite end of the hall where a deck of playing cards awaited them.

Secure in the knowledge that she was more or less abandoned, Coset now turned her attention to the occupant of the cell. She would have known it was Zelda, even without being told beforehand. There was absolutely no mistaking that figure, even after eighteen years of separation. To Coset, she seemed as regal as ever, unconscious on the floor though she was. Setting aside the fabric in her hands, Coset knelt beside Zelda, gathering her head in her arms. She pulled a handkerchief from Zelda’s sleeve and dipped it into a drinking cup, wetting it just a little bit. Gently, she pressed the hanky to Zelda’s forehead.

A soft moan escaped Zelda’s lips. Her head began to turn slowly as consciousness returned to her. “Easy,” Coset told her.

Zelda’s eyes flickered open. For a moment, her gaze was unfocused, half blind. Slowly, she honed in on the face staring down at her. “Coset?”

“It’s me,” Coset told her. Zelda began to sit up at once. “Easy, you’ve had a nasty blow to the head.”

“Where am I?” she asked in a hushed whisper. “Am I dead?”

“I’m afraid not,” Coset replied. “You’re in Calatia. In the palace of the Red Dragon. Easy.”

Zelda turned to face Coset. The two women regarded each other for a moment. With low, animal-like moans, they surged forward, pulling each other into a tight embrace. “I thought I would never see you again,” Zelda said softly.

“I’m not surprised,” Coset answered.

They pulled apart. “Have you been here this whole time?”

“Yes.” Coset wetted her lips, brushing her long brown hair behind her ears. “My sister?”

A scowl set upon Zelda’s face. “She’s dead, Coset.”

“Oh,” Coset mumbled a trembling hand pressing over her lips.

“I’m so sorry.”

“And her children?”

“I’ve taken care of them,” Zelda promised. “Mia, Jesse, and Sito are all wards of Hyrule. They live in my protection.”

Coset nodded absently. “Good. Good.”

By this point, Coset’s costume had caught Zelda’s attention. It might have been more accurate to call it Coset’s lack of costume however. There was little covering up the woman. Three long strips of muslin, dyed red, were wrapped around the upper half of her body, offering little protection from the elements and even less protection from exposure. The bottom half of her outfit consisted of a gauzy pair of red trousers, puffy, ending somewhere just below her knees. “Coset…” Zelda muttered.

Absently, Coset glanced down at her attire. “Oh.”

“What happened?”

“My body belongs to the Red Dragon, now,” she said dully.

“Oh gods…”

“As does yours.”

“What?”

Coset leaned over, picking up the bundle of fabric. “I was sent to prepare you,” she explained, unrolling the fabric. The outfit she had brought to Zelda was only somewhat more concealing than what Coset wore. It consisted of a bright blue crop top, with glittery silver fringe hanging from the hem, and a matching pair of pants, half see through.

Zelda looked down incredulously at the clothing. “I’m not getting into that,” she declared.

“This isn’t a matter of choice,” Coset told her.

“I refuse to take part in this.”

“If you don’t wear it, those guards will strip you naked and drag you like that to the Red Dragon’s chambers.”

She looked down at the clothing then looked up at Coset’s face, filled with earnest. A reluctant sigh escaping her lips, she picked up the skimpy ensemble and walked into a dark corner of the room. “This is humiliating.”

Coset turned her back to Zelda to give her some privacy. “This is nothing. The worst is yet to come.”

“You offer little comfort.”

“I wish I could offer more,” Coset told her genuinely.

“It’s not your fault,” Zelda sighed.

“It was a blessing that he chose me out to come prepare you. I was grateful.” A moment of uncomfortable silence followed. “He’s been waiting for you,” Coset finally said softly.

“What?”

“The Red Dragon. He’s been waiting for you, for this, for a very long time. From the first day, I think.”

“I cannot say the same, for my point of view.”

“Of course not.”

“I have no desire to see your master.” Softly, almost to herself, she added, “Not like this.”

“No one has any choice in the matter, Zelda. No one except for the Red Dragon himself.”

“I never expected I would end my day like this.”

“Surely you must have known you’d have to face him sooner or later,” Coset said absently.

“I did,” Zelda agreed. Dourly, she sighed, adding, “I just hoped it would be later, I guess.”

“So you would have time to prepare?”

“Yes, something like that. You can turn around now.”

Coset turned around. There stood Zelda, the glorious queen, dressed in a ridiculous harem get up. Coset had to admit, she was quite impressed. Zelda did not look a day over seventeen. Her body was as slender and as perfect as it had always been, if not more regal. “Would you absolutely kill me if I said you looked beautiful?” Coset asked.

“Yes,” Zelda replied, smiling despite herself. “Well, maybe I’ll let it slide, for old time’s sake. Besides, I can’t seem to use my powers anyway.”

“I know,” Coset sighed. “You’ve been injected with magical inhibitors. Shall I call the guards?”

“What?”

“They’re waiting to take you to the Red Dragon.”

“So soon? I’m not ready yet.”

“Will you ever be ready, Zelda?”

She frowned, considering this. “No, I suppose not.”

“Best to get it over with quickly.”

“Like a bandage.”

“Exactly.”

Zelda sighed. “I’m not ready.”

“I know,” Coset told her quietly. “Guards,” she called over her shoulder. From the other side of the door, the two women heard the guards rise from their seats, clanking their way over. The cell door was unlocked and they were motioned to come out, Coset first, followed by Zelda. Together, they were marched back through the dungeon, to the sound of the screaming of the poor Labrynna rebel. As they walked side by side, Zelda reached out to clutch Coset’s arm, her knuckles white with fear.



Although he had only tried it once before, Philip became fairly certain, fairly quickly, that he didn’t like Farore’s Wind. He hated the tingling sensation racing over his arms. His stomach did somersaults with the feeling of weightlessness. Luckily, the entire ordeal only lasted a few moments. Soon, he and Mia materialized on the rocky plains of Calatia. It turned out Mia was humble when she claimed to be a wizard in training. In truth, she was a full out mage, capable of some of the most difficult spells a Hylian could attempt, including Farore’s Wind.

The plain was deserted, allowing the travelers to breathe a sigh of relief. They had hoped against hope to arrive unnoticed by the populace. “Which way to the castle?” Philip asked with an air of boredom.

“That way,” Mia answered, pointing in a northern direction. Squinting his eyes slightly, Philip had to admit he could see the outlines of a tower on the horizon.

They began walking over the plain. Not only was it deserted, it seemed virtually dead. There were hardly any plants growing, just a few scrappy weeds and dry brushes. No apparent settlements could be seen, but Philip had a feeling that just beyond the ridge ahead of them, there would be civilization. He could see plumes of smoke rising up into the sky.

He felt rather ridiculous. Impa had outfitted him with a suit of leather armor, coal black, and a blue cape. Against his thigh, the sword she had given him thumped, feeling quite foreign. Oh, he knew how to use a sword all right. He had learned at a very young age, his mother afraid of what might befall him in life. Still, he hadn’t employed the skill in a very long time for anything other than the occasional spar. It had never been for real before.

“What do you suppose the Red Dragon wants with Zelda?” Mia asked, glancing from side to side at the decay.

Philip shrugged, not particularly caring. “Political hostage? Ransom? A fascinating conversation piece?”

“I think it must be more personal than that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Didn’t Impa tell you? The Red Dragon was once a member of the royal court of Hyrule.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“They knew each other for many years.”

“So what made him go psycho?”

“No one is entirely certain,” Mia replied.

Philip shoved his hands deep into his pockets, walking along with his eyes on the ground. “Go figure.”

Mia frowned. “He killed my mother, when I was three. Sometimes, I remember little bits and pieces from what happened that night.”

“You do?”

She nodded. “I remember that he came to our house with his flunkies. There was lots of screaming. They carried off my aunt. We were up in the nursery when it –”

“We?”

“Me and my brother Jesse.”

“Didn’t know you had a brother.”

“I have two. The other one was living with his father in Garden Place when it happened.”

Philip turned to look at her sharply. “Garden Place?”

Again, Mia nodded. “Ivy Villa. He lived there until he was ten when his father died.”

“His name isn’t Sito, is it?”

Mia’s eyes lit up with delighted surprise. “Yes!”

“I remember him. He lived across the lake from my mother’s estate. Sort of a funny kid. Lived with this drunk guy…”

“With his father. He died when Sito was ten, so Sito came to live with us in the castle.”

“You live in the castle?”
“Yeah. Zelda took us in as wards after our mother died.”

“A pretty nice deal for you, I guess.”

“Zelda’s been more than sympathetic to the youngest victims of the Red Dragon’s crimes,” Mia said passionately. “She’s taken in a lot of orphans as wards of the state. She even adopted one or two.”

“Sounds like a lot of work.”

“Well, she doesn’t do it on her own. I help to watch after the younger children now.” Mia eyed him critically. “What about you?”

“Me?”

“You must have an awfully interesting life story. Is it true that you’re the son of a goddess?”

“Everyone always feels the need to identify me in relation to my parents,” Philip grumbled.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“They never do.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing already.”

“Sor –”

“Stop.”

“I’m done.”

Philip glared down at the ground. “Yeah, it’s true.”

“How wonderfully fascinating that must be.”

“Oh yeah. It’s fun, fun, fun. Just ask my sister. She’ll tell you all about the wondrous joys of being the child of the goddess of beauty.”

“Striking a nerve?”

“With Ana? Yeah.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, she’s not beautiful. My sister is not a beautiful girl. And she knows it. And it’s really tough on her, living in the shadow of our mother.”

“Just like it’s tough on you, living in the shadow of your father?”

Philip was struck silent for a moment, with the pure and unadulterated clarity of that statement. Instantly, he felt a bit foolish. Why was it that he had never thought of it that way before? Suddenly, his sister seemed to make a bit more sense to him. “I guess so,” was all he said.

By this point they had arrived at the ridge. Out in the lead, Mia was the first to step up to the edge. She took one look down and let out an audible gasp, stumbling back a few paces into Philip, who caught her with some surprise. Once he was certain she had recovered her balance, Philip let go of her, walking up to the ominous ledge to look over it himself. Mia had had good reason to be so startled.

The village below was not exactly a village. Not anymore. The ground was black, charred by fires from years ago to the point where nothing could grow. Where once there had doubtlessly been cozy little cottages with curling plumes of fire coming from the chimneys, now there were makeshift tents, strung up on poles and the dead carcasses of gnarled trees on which no leaves grew. Arranged with no order or organization, the tents were everywhere, most of the fabric threadbare and patched sloppily.

What truly had managed to take Mia’s breath away, however, wasn’t the appearance of the settlement. No, it was the people. They weren’t inhabitants or even settlers. No, they were refugees in their own kingdom. There were no men to be seen. Sitting outside of the tents were women and children, war widows and their poor offspring, left over from when the Red Dragon first devastated Calatia. The clothes on their backs were no better than the threadbare tents. Many of the children, in fact, were running about naked in front of their little homes. Everyone was dirty and there was no sign of water. Mud and dirt streaked everyone’s faces, save for several of the older women who had two streaks clean on their faces, doubtlessly from the tears they had shed.

Looking closer, Philip saw even more terrors come to his eyes. As he watched the skeletal children run across the charred plain, he realized that all of them, every last one down to the youngest babe, were missing their right arms. Burned stubs remained as testimony to the fact that these children had been mutilated and not born this way.

“By Din,” Mia whispered, her eyes growing wide as she dared to take a second look.

Philip swallowed hard, finding the sight more sickening than anything he had ever seen before. “Yeah,” he agreed softly.

“This is the work of the Red Dragon,” she muttered. “It must be.”

“Rules of combat. Don’t leave anyone around to avenge what you’ve done to their fathers.”

“How could he do something so awful?”

“I don’t know,” Philip said, shaking his head mournfully.

“I wish there was something we could do for these people.”

“I think it’s too late for that.”

Mia looked at him. She turned back to the view. “We have to get Zelda back. Come on.”

Mia started walking down the hill, steadying herself to face the villagers below. Philip remained on the ridge for a moment longer though. His eyes roamed across the expanse, drinking in the wretched sight. There was a strange feeling, lurking in the pit of his stomach and creeping up into his chest. It was alien, something he had never felt before, or at least, not since the day when his mother told him the truth about who is father was.

“Mia,” he called after her.

She turned around. “What?”

“How exactly were you planning on getting us into the castle?”

“I…don’t know.”

“I have an idea.”



“This way, Lady Adriana,” the knight said, holding a door open for Ana to pass through.

She found herself side of a small, private chapel, the door closed behind her abruptly. Ana wasn’t entirely sure what had happened. She had been at home, discussing the latest fashion trends with Dagmar Hagen when the messenger arrived. He said it was urgent that Adriana report to the palace immediately. Stopping only to change her dress and gloat a bit in Dagmar Hagen’s face, Adriana rushed off to the castle where she was greeted by a knight who whiskered her off, down unfamiliar hallways and into the very back and most private part of the castle.

Now she stood there alone, confused, looking around the lovely, two storey chamber dedicated to Nayru. She paused to examine her reflection in the mirror, smoothing down the front of her remarkable scarlet gown. Satisfied that she looked acceptable, she started pacing the room, wondering what Phil had done this time. After awhile, she started to head for the stairwell leading up to the next floor when there was a knock on the door.

“Come in?” Ana called uncertainly, walking over to the entrance and patting down her hair.

Immediately, the door swung open, revealing an impossibly tall Sheikah woman on the other side. Briskly, the woman stepped in through the doorway, causing Adriana to involuntarily pace back. The Sheikah kicked the door shut behind her. “Do you know who I am?” she asked.

Ana nodded nervously. “Yes, you’re Lady Impa.”

“You don’t know me,” Impa commanded gruffly, waving her hand commandingly for emphasis.

“Never even heard of a Lady Impa in my entire life,” Adriana agreed very quickly.

“Sit down.”

Obediently, Ana sat down on the bottom step of the stairwell. She watched as Impa took a stroll about the perimeter of the room, glancing into the alcoves and searching for other people. Of course, she knew exactly who Impa was. Who didn’t? Being affiliated so closely with Hylian religion, Adriana knew all of the Sages on sight. Adding to that, Ana had been to court many times with her friends and so, easily recognized the queen’s top advisor.

The silence grew a little too uncomfortable for Ana’s tastes. “Are you the one who summoned me here?”

“Yes,” Impa answered, still busy scanning the room.

“Why?”

“I want to talk to you, privately.
“About?”

“About your brother.”

“Phil,” Ana sighed, dejectedly.

“Yes.”

“Listen,” Ana started standing up.

“Sit.”

Immediately, she dropped back down onto the stair. “Sitting. Listen, whatever Phil did…”

“That is exactly what I’m interested in talking about.”

“Huh?”

“About what he did. About his past.”

“Oh…you mean he’s not in trouble?”

Impa finally spared her a look. “No.”

Ana lofted her eyebrows, leaning back against the steps. “Well, what do you know? First time for everything.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I’m usually the one stuck cleaning up Phil’s messes.”

“He leaves many of them?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe!” Ana exclaimed. “His bar tabs alone are enough to scandalize you.”

This caused Impa to scowl. “Oh.”

“And sticky situations! There was this one time a blacksmith came home to find Phil in bed with both his wife and his sister!”

Impa’s face clouded over. “Oh.”

“We were pulling buckshot out of his trousers for weeks.”

“Is this his typical behavior?”

“More or less.”

“This is discouraging,” Impa muttered softly.

Ana blinked. “Discouraging?”

“Yes.”

“What was I supposed to be…encouraging?”

“What I’m about to say to you cannot leave this room. Do you understand me, Miss Adriana?”

Adriana sat up straight, licking her lips. “Yes,” she replied, becoming very serious. “Of course.”

Impa crouched down in front of Adriana, her knees popping loudly. She draped her wrists over her thighs, looking directly into Ana’s eyes with a frightful stare. “The queen is missing.”

“What?!”

Immediately, Impa surged forward, clapping a hand over Adriana’s mouth. “Keep quiet,” she hissed.

“Sorry,” Ana mumbled into the hand.

Slowly, Impa removed her hand. “There was an incident in court this morning. The courtiers have all been silenced.”

“What happened?”

“Are you familiar with the personage known as the Red Dragon?”

Ana nodded. “Vaguely. I’ve heard that Risan boy talking about him in the marketplace.”

“Well, he’s real.”

“The Risan?”

“The Red Dragon!”

“No kidding?”

“His left hand man broke in through the magical barrier around the throne room today and kidnapped the queen.”

“My gods…”

“We have a small team traveling to Calatia to try to retrieve her.”

“Of course.”

“Your brother is on that team.”

Ana stared at her for a moment. “Please tell me that’s a very bad joke.” Impa shook her head. “It’s not a joke,” Ana sighed. “Oh gods. Why would you do something like that?”

“I wanted to see what he’s capable of,” Impa explained. “I sent him with one of our mages.”

“What he’s capable of is heavy property damage.”

“That’s fine. As long as it’s the Red Dragon’s property and not mine,” Impa answered dourly.

“He’s very good at wrecking things,” Ana said, trying to put a positive twist in her words.

“I have no doubt about it,” Impa replied. “But is he trustworthy? Can I count on him to bring back my queen alive and in one piece?” She looked to Adriana, an expectant expression on her face.

“I wish I could give you an answer.”

“You can’t tell one way or the other.”

Adriana shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

Impa dropped down, sitting on the floor with her back resting against the stairs. “Can you guess?”

“I’d like to think that my brother is trustworthy, but the fact of the matter is that his record isn’t clean.”

“I feared as much.”

“He’s never done anything…unforgivable. Oh, he’s lied, cheated, indulged in a few nasty habits…”

“But?”

“But.” Ana scowled. “He’s never done anything that you would call redeemable either.”

“You said it yourself, there’s a first time for everything.”

“One can hope,” she said quietly.

“There is a lot more riding on the line than the queen’s life,” Impa told her.

“There is?”

“The hope for the entire realm rests on Hyrule right now. Without Zelda, we’re doomed.”

“The whole hope of the realm rests in the hands of a mage and my drunken lout of a brother? Not comforting.”

“Not supposed to be.”

“Good.”



“State your business in the court of the Red Dragon,” the stodgy herald demanded, eyeing Philip with a very unfriendly glare.

“I come representing a very powerful individual. My…employer wishes to make alliance with your master.”

The herald scoffed loudly. “The Red Dragon doesn’t need to make alliances with peons.”

“Of course not,” Philip replied casually. “I would hardly suggest it. He doesn’t need to make alliances at all. But sometimes, it’s a matter of desire. I may be able to make him an offer he can’t refuse.”

“You’ll be wasting your breath,” the herald said.

“That well may be,” Philip shrugged. “But it’s my breath to waste.”

“Suit yourself. And who may I introduce to the Red Dragon? What’s your name?”

“Philip,” he answered.

“Philip what?”

“Philip Dragmire.”

The herald was clearly thrown for a loop by this. “Dragmire, huh?” he asked, giving Philip another once over.

“Don’t make me repeat myself. You’ll just prove yourself both stubborn and foolish.”

“Very well,” the herald muttered. Throwing open the double doors of the throne room, he marched in.

“Are you sure this is going to work?” Mia hissed out of the corner of her mouth as she watched.

“No,” Philip admitted.

“Oh good.”

The herald cleared his throat, standing up to stiffest attention, nose high in the air. “My lord,” he announced formally, “you have a visiting envoy.”

From his throne, the Red Dragon sat up glaring down at his minion from behind his visor. “Announce them.”

“I present Philip Dragmire,” the herald said grandly, sweeping his arm out in the direction of the doors.

Taking that as his cue, Philip marched into the throne room, along the red carpet leading up to the black dais. Mia scuttled in, a pace behind him and making no attempts whatsoever to mask her fear. The Red Dragon didn’t bother to rise from his seat. He rested his chin in his palm, examining the newcomers. “Dragmire,” he muttered with a slight hint of bitterness in his voice.

“My lord,” Philip said, bowing. Behind him, Mia did likewise. “I come to you as an envoy on behalf of my father.”

“Your father is dead,” the Red Dragon snapped.

“A common misconception, my lord.”

“Really? I have it on excellent authority that the Hero of Time disposed of him many, many years ago.”

“Not entirely, my lord.”

“Indeed?”

“I needn’t waste your time with the tedious technicalities of the situation, I’ll say only this: My father is alive and has been taking great interest in your work.”

“Is that supposed to flatter me?”

“Not at all. I’m merely expressing his admiration. I admire it myself.”

“Is that so?”

“One cannot help but be impressed,” Philip fawned.

“Yes, I do a fine job, don’t I?”

“It is because of your work that my father sent me.”

“And what does your father want?”

Philip clasped his hands behind his back. He began to wander the throne room, rather aimlessly, as a tourist taking in the sights. “My father is rather interested in forming an alliance with you. You intend to invade Hyrule, do you not?”

“Of course I do. I’ve already begun preparations against an outpost called Maze Island. Once that falls, Hyrule will bow.”

“Despite the so called, common knowledge, my father is still a tremendously influential force in Hyrule.”

“And he’s offering to help me out of the evilness of his heart, I suppose,” the Red Dragon quipped.

“I’d be lying if I said as much.”

“And what are the terms of this proposed alliance?”

By this point, Philip had wandered over to a standing suit of armor, shining in black. He ran his finger along the visor of the helmet. “The first would be that he is named sole commander of the Gerudo, yielding the finest women and a large percent of plunder over to you.”

“He wants to be governor of the Gerudo Valley?”

“Something like that.”

“And the next term?”

Philip rapped his knuckles against the metal of the helmet, listening to the hollow clank. “He wishes to remain in the capacity of a silent partner.”

“Partner?” the Red Dragon repeated incredulously.

“Just a figure of speech,” Philip amended.

“I see.”

“He doesn’t want knowledge of his presence to be widespread. He’ll be content to have sovereignty over the Gerudo.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Well,” the Red Dragon mumbled, leaning back in his throne. “You’ve given me much to consider, young Dragmire.”

“There is one more thing my father wishes you to take into account as you consider the offer.”

“What’s that?”

“He sends you a gift.”

“What is this gift?”

Philip walked back to the center of the room. Roughly, he seized Mia’s arm, twisting it behind her back and pushing her down to her knees in front of the dais. “He sends this little token.”

The Red Dragon rose to his feet. “Indeed?”

“She’s a favorite of my father’s harem. He gives her to you as a sign of his eagerness to create discourse.”

“Pretty thing,” the Red Dragon muttered, slowly walking down the steps of the dais.

“She’s a gift, and belongs to you, regardless of your final decision on my father’s offer.”

“Release her,” the Red Dragon commanded Philip.

“Aye.” Obediently, Philip let go of Mia’s arm, taking a step back.

“Stand up.” Reluctantly, eyes downcast on the floor, Mia rose to her feet. The Red Dragon reached out, taking her chin in his hand. He lifted her face, forcing her eyes into his view. “What’s your name?”

She worked her mouth up and down for a moment, trying to conjure up an answer. “M-Mia.”

“Mia?” The Red Dragon seemed a bit taken aback by her answer.

“Y-yes.”

“Turn around, Mia,” he demanded, dropping her chin. Nervously, Mia obeyed, turning in a slow circle before him. He reached out his hand, touching her hair absently. “She pleases me,” he finally declared. “Guards.” Immediately, two guards snapped to attention and approached. “Take Mia to the dressing room.”

“Aye, my lord,” one of the guards said. The other reached out and gently took Mia’s arm, guiding her out of the room. She didn’t struggle as she was led away, but all the same, she looked over her shoulder, staring at Philip with an unreadable expression on her face.

“I’m sure you’ll find her more than adequate,” Philip muttered, watching them cart her off.

“She’ll do, though she’ll hardly be the star attraction of my harem. I assure you, it will dwarf your father’s by far.”

“I have no doubt.”

“I will take some time to consider your father’s offer,” the Red Dragon said sternly, turning around and marching back up the stairs.

“Take as much time as you need.”

“In the meanwhile, you will remain here as my guest.”

Philip bowed again. “Thank you.”

“Tonight, you will sit at my dinner table.”

“As you command.”

“And after our supper, you will attend the evening court, if you have no objections.”

“None.”

“Good.” The Red Dragon sat down in his throne again. “Guards!” he barked loudly.

Two more guards snapped to attention before approaching. “My lord?” one of them asked.

“Escort young Dragmire to guest quarters.”

“Aye, my lord,” the guard replied. He turned to Philip, gesturing to the door. “This way, please.”

“You will not be able to hold audience with me before dinner,” the Red Dragon called as Philip followed his escorts from the room. “I have a guest that I must attend to until then.”

“I’ll await your summons,” Philip responded. As he allowed himself to be led away, he wondered what the Red Dragon meant by that.



As second in command to the Red Dragon, War was entitled to certain luxuries that most of the other underlings were denied. In the very castle of the Red Dragon, War had what he supposed was a throne room of his own, though it was hidden from most of the rest of the castle. Unlike his master, however, War had no interest in harems or pleasure palaces. The only kinds of servants he had ever requested were the Andorian Demons that attended him now.

The Andorians were a unique breed, trembling dangerously close to extinction in the realm nowadays. To War, they were a beautiful, remarkable people. Andorians, though some could change their appearances through magical training, boasted light green skin and cold gray eyes. Each creature was endowed with remarkable hair, of any imaginable pastel hue. Sadly, they were easy prey for hunters, who collected the hair for the black market. All the Andorians had to defend themselves were long, retractable talons, not very good against ranged attacks.

“Ersina,” he called to one of his favorite servants. She approached him slowly, hatred seething out of her eyes. That was another thing War loved about Andorians, aside from their natural beauty: They never took kindly to enslavement. Even after eight years of servitude, Ersina’s spirit had not been broken. She still loathed him with a fiery passion. The only thing that kept her in servitude was the fact that War held her mother’s life in his hands. After she approached, War lingered a long moment, waiting for her to answer his summons verbally. Of course, she didn’t. “Bring me my books,” he commanded her.

Silently, exuding raw anger, Ersina stalked away to carry out his instructions. War chuckled softly. He loved the way she did that. Settling back against his seat, War reached up, removing his helmet. Lief, another servant approached him and took the helmet. He was a bit tamer than Ersina, though no less resentful as War well knew by this point.

The sound of footsteps approaching made War sit up straight. As he turned his gaze to the arched entrance, he saw a third servant, Galen enter the room. “You have a visitor,” he said to War. The Andorians refused to call anyone master.

“Who is it?” War asked.

“I don’t know,” Galen replied obstinately.

“Cloaked?”

“Yes.”

“And I suppose it was too much trouble for you to lift up the hood. A man or a woman?”

“A woman.”

“Send her in.” Without response, Galen disappeared down the hallway again. A few moments passed before the footsteps sounded again. The hooded woman entered alone, no sign of Galen escorting her. “Is that you?” War questioned her, rising to his feet.

“Maybe,” she replied coyly.

A broad smile broke out across War’s face. He stepped down from his own mini throne platform and crossed to her, pulling away the hood. “Amorette,” he gushed merrily. “You’re back sooner than expected.”

“I was presented with the opportune moment to get away,” she replied, running a hand through her hair.

“Sit down, sit down,” War insisted, gesturing for Lief to bring a chair. Just at this point, Ersina had returned with a stack of books. “Not now, Ersina,” War said, gruffly dismissing her with a wave of his hand, “can’t you see I have a visitor?”

Amorette sat down in the chair Lief brought, ignoring Ersina’s loud grumblings as she walked away. “I’m sorry I didn’t send word, Master.”

“It’s best that you didn’t. We don’t want your movements falling into the hands of the enemy. Best to keep it off paper entirely.”

“Of course.”

“I have wonderful news for you, news that may change our plans entirely,” he told her.

“What news?”

“We have Princess Zelda in our custody.”

Amorette blinked her wide, red eyes in surprise. “You kidnapped the queen?” she sputtered.

“Indeed we did.”

“To what end?”

War rolled his eyes at this. “You know how the Red Dragon is.”

“Of course, Master.”

“In any case, we’ll soon be marching on Hyrule, you know.”

“That’s what everyone keeps saying.”

“You were born in Hyrule as I recall. Your mother lived right outside of North Castle. Do you remember much?”

“Nothing really.”

“Well, you’re going to have to become an expert on Hyrule.” He turned over his shoulder. “Ersina!” After a moment, she appeared in the doorway. “Fetch some books about Hylian history.”

“And where shall I get those?” Ersina snapped.

“In the library. You know, the big room where we keep all the other books,” he replied calmly.

Immediately, Ersina disappeared again. Amorette watched her go. “Why do you let her talk to you like that, Master?”

“It amuses me,” he answered briefly. “We should begin with Sheikah history. It’s very important to know the history of your own people. The first monarch of the Hylian people, according to written history, was Queen Dasha Harkin. Her line has been reigning for as long as anyone can remember.”

“Up until now.”

“Up until soon. Though Princess Zel –”

“Queen, Master.”

“I will call her Princess.”

“Of course.”

“Now, where was I?”

“Dasha Harkin.”

“Right.” War stroked his chin thoughtfully, lapsing into a moment of complete silence. “Now, the Sheikah. At one point, there were hundreds of Sheikah littering Hyrule. Now, that is not the case. There are so few remaining, many people believe us to be a myth.”

“Except for Impa.”

“Impa.” War chuckled. “Impa is the rare exception to almost every rule, you’ll find.”

“She’s known to be a Sheikah, isn’t she?”

“Indeed she is. I will amend my statement. There are so few remaining, many people believe us to be a myth. Impa is considered the sole survivor of the Sheikah race.”

“What caused the disappearance of so many of our people?”

“A great war wiped most of them out. The Shadow War. Which is why our people are called the Shadow People sometimes.”

“The Shadow War?

“That is what we call it. Other people call it by different names. Regardless, we are the Shadow People.”

“Which is why Impa is the Sage of Shadows?”

War smile approvingly. “Yes.”

“And why the Temple of Shadows is our primary place of worship?”

“You learn quickly.”

“Thank you, Master.”

Ersina returned, carrying a new stack of books. “Yes, bring those here, Ersina,” War commanded. She set the books down at his feet and stood up straight, spitting directly into War’s face. As she turned to walk away, War reached out and grabbed her arm, pulling her back fiercely. “You’d be wise to remember your place,” he said in a very dangerous, very calm voice. With that, he released her, roughly pushing her away from him. “Now,” he turned back to Amorette, “you are going to become an expert in all things Hyrule before the invasion begins. I want you to know exactly what we’re going to be fighting against.”

“As you wish, Master.”

“There are more where these came from,” he told her, patting the stack of books by his feet.

“This will be sufficient to begin.”

“Then get to it.” War rose to his feet, lifting off the ground an inch or so, and started for the hall.

“Master,” Amorette stopped him.

“Yes?” He turned around to face her. “What is it, Amor?”
“I have some information, collected from channels.”

“Yes?” he muttered, drifting back to her.

“It could be important.”

“What is it?”

“Apparently, before being kidnapped, Zelda and Impa were working on a new project. A group of…Guardians.”

“Tell me more.”



Coset ran a hand through her silky brown hair. She couldn’t believe she was being sent to outfit yet another addition to the harem! As if having to hobble Zelda hadn’t been bad enough! But there was another unfortunate girl to add to the ever increasing collection. When she arrived to the dressing room, she paused outside of the door, resting a hand on the handle. She didn’t need escort to go to this part of the castle, so for the first time all day, she was alone.

Her thoughts drifted back to Zelda. They had been separated halfway back to the dressing room, the guards taking Zelda off to the Red Dragon’s private apartments. Over and over again, a single image kept flashing through her mind, playing on the enormous stage of memory. She could very clearly see the look in Zelda’s eyes, although there was no way to name it. It was not fear. But it most certainly wasn’t pleasure or any form of desire. Coset wished she were an empath, even if only just for that one moment, so she could have understood what Zelda was feeling.

With this rushing through her head, she turned the handle, walking into the dressing room. It was a bit like walking into an enormous closet. Dozens of racks ran down the middle of the room, hung with the ridiculous costumes the Red Dragon insisted on dressing his girls in. The back wall was lined with nothing but mirrors, probably two way, if Coset knew the Red Dragon, which she did. On the sides were several vanities, laden with vials of rich Risan perfumes and expensive bottles of rogue.

Hovering close to the entrance was the girl. “You there,” Coset said briskly, getting to business. “We have little time to…” She turned around and Coset was struck mute. Her eyes widened, taking in the image of the girl, her long brown hair and soft blue eyes. She had a round, heart shaped face, slightly flushed, but very pretty all the same. “Kara?” she whispered.

Mia frowned. “No…”

Coset blinked, quickly composing herself. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled hoarsely. “You look just like…”

“My mother’s name was Kara.”

Slowly, Coset took a step forward, taking Mia’s face in her hands. “Mia?” she asked carefully.

“That’s my name.”

“By the gods.” Coset started tearing up visibly, still clutching Mia’s face. “You look just like the spitting image of your mother.”

“Thank you…I think.” Mia pulled back politely, stepping out of reach of Coset’s hands.

“By the gods…”

“You knew my mother?”

Coset had to put a hand over her mouth for a moment to compose herself. “My…” she cleared her throat. “My sister.”

This time, Mia’s eyes went wide. “Aunt Coset?”

“You remember me.”

“Of course I do!” Mia cried passionately. With that, she flung herself forward into Coset’s arms. The women embraced, both of them laughing for fear that they should cry.

“I never thought I’d see you again!”

“My aunt…”

Abruptly, Coset drew back, holding Mia out at arm’s length. “Let me look at you,” she declared in a motherly tone of voice. “You’re all grown up. You look so pretty.”

“Thank you,” Mia responded, ducking her head.

“How old are you now?”

“Twenty two.”

Positively beaming, Coset swept some hair out of Mia’s face, staring at the strange temporal reflection of her sister. Suddenly, it hit her. “What are you doing here?”

Mia frowned a little. “I came from Hyrule,” she explained.

“Yes, I heard you were living in the royal palace.”

“Queen Zelda’s been kidnapped.”

Coset nodded. “I know.”

“You do?”

“I saw her myself. It’s my duty to prepare the new girls for…”

“For what?”

“For the Red Dragon.”

Mia shifted her weight uncomfortably. “Oh.”

“She’s with him right now.”

“That’s bad.”

“But why are you here?”

“I was sent to rescue her,” Mia said.

“You?”

“I’m a mage now.”

This caused Coset to smile again. “Your mother had always hoped you would grow up to do something important.”

“I remember.”

“But you were captured?”

“Not exactly.”

“What do you mean?”
“I was presented to the Red Dragon as a gift.”

“By whom?”

“Philip Summer.”

“Who’s he?”

“The boy I came with to rescue the princess.”

“Traitor!”

“No!” Mia said quickly. She then turned, looking from side to side; afraid her outburst might have drawn attention. “No,” she said in a softer tone. “It was all part of the plan.”

“Well, that’s a relief. What is the plan exactly?”

“Philip’s going to distract the Red Dragon as much as possible while I try to locate Zelda.”

“She’s to be kept in the dungeon.”

“Then I’ll have to go there.”

“She won’t be back for awhile. And getting into the dungeon is no easy task. The doors are always locked.”

“Where do they keep the keys?”

“What do you intend to do?”

“I have to rescue the queen,” Mia said. “At any cost.”

“At any risk, you mean.”

“Perhaps.”

Coset shook her head. “You’ll never get to the keys. They’re kept hidden away by War. At the end of the night, all the guards give them to him.”

Mia sighed heavily. “I wish there were some sort of magical skeleton key I could conjure,” she muttered.

“You know…” Coset said softly, her mind racing, “there may be something to that.”

“What do you mean?”

“All the prisoners in the dungeon are put under a magic inhibition by the royal mages before they regain consciousness.”

“And?”

“And normally, the concubines of the Red Dragon are outfitted with inhibitors as well.” She walked briskly over to the vanity and picked up a gaudy gold bracelet, bejeweled with bright red rhinestones. “It’s my job to outfit the new girls with them,” she explained.

“And?”

“Suppose I accidentally forget to give you one.”

Mia’s eyes lit up as she suddenly grasped what Coset was saying. “Then I could use Farore’s Wind to teleport down to the dungeon.”

“Right into Zelda’s cell, if need be.”

“It’s perfect!”

“Shhh…” Coset glanced at the door. “Stay in here,” she said firmly. “I’ll go back to the harem and wait until I know that the Red Dragon is dining. Then I’ll come to you and we can go down to the dungeon.”

“It’s a big risk, aunt.”

“One that I’m willing to take for Zelda. It was for my sake that she took care of you and your brothers. I want to return the favor.”

“Thank you.”

“But I want you to promise me one thing, Mia.”

“Anything.”

“When we go to rescue Zelda, you’ll do exactly as I tell you to, understand?”
“No, not entirely.”

“I want you to do as I say.”

“All right.”

“Promise me.”

“I promise you.”

“Swear on the name of your mother.”

“I swear.”

Coset leaned forward and kissed Mia on the forehead. Without another word, she turned around, swiftly ducking out of the room and disappearing down the hall. Mia stood there, stunned, watching as the door closed behind her. Uneasily, she pulled her pink hood up, over her head. She wondered how long it would be before Coset came to fetch her. Waiting was not something Mia enjoyed and she had a feeling that she was in store for a whole lot of it.



The Red Dragon seemed to be in an impossibly good mood at dinner. Gone was his aloof, detached air from the throne room. As he sat at the head of the table, he chattered incessantly, indulging in wine and food to an excessive degree. Philip was more than surprised at the transformation. He sat in his seat, trying to say as little as possible, keeping his head low and his hands to the good feast set in front of him. The Red Dragon, however, was not inclined to allow him a low profile.

And so the meal wore on, growing increasingly difficult for Philip to bear. Again and again, the Red Dragon would boast of the size of his army or the number of women in his harem. He would throw food at the hapless servants lining the room, chuckling in bemusement as they scrambled out of the way, or worse, suffered to let him humiliate them. After the meal had ended, the Red Dragon insisted that Philip join him for an after supper salon with a few of his closest advisors. Philip breathed a sigh of relief that War was not in attendance.

“I tell you,” the Red Dragon declared, lifting a goblet of wine into the air, “that life goes by so quickly. We must enjoy the rich rewards that come to us while we still have breath in our bones. We must evolve and mature and create a better form of life for ourselves.”

“Here, here,” several of the officials and their wives chorused, lifting their own chalices. Philip copied them, only a second or two behind.

They all raised their goblets to their lips to drink, but the Red Dragon stopped them abruptly. “They say we all forget about the simple pleasures of life. From time to time we lose track of what really matters.”

“Here, here.”

“Well, here’s what I say to people who remind me of this…actually, I don’t say anything to them, I just kill them, but if I stopped to talk, I’d say…there is nothing simple about life.”

“Here, he –”

“No. Life is a series of twists and turns and how you begin it is most certainly not how it’s going to end. Not for you, not for the people you know.”

“He –”

“And so,” he barreled on, “I wish to make a toast tonight. Though life has thrown us all a lot of surprises, pleasant or otherwise, we have managed to climb to the top of the heap, the dung heap of civilization. We are the ones that all envy belongs to. We weren’t given our riches; we earned them by outlasting those who would have stolen them away from us. We are the very images of the gods. To us, I say. A toast to the invincible ones. To the survivors. To the strong.”

A great, heavy moment of silence hung in the air, all of the guests of the Red Dragon staring at him, waiting for him to speak on. When he didn’t, they began to exchange nervous glances among themselves. It was Philip, finally, who rose to his feet, raising his glass high in the air. “To the strong,” he declared.

“To the strong,” everybody echoed.

Relief filled the room immediately. They all began to down their drinks, except for the Red Dragon, who glanced intently at Philip over the bespangled lip of his wine goblet. “Come sit over here, Dragmire,” he said as the usual after dinner chatter began to rise.

Philip rose to his feet slowly, crossing the room to take a seat by the Red Dragon himself. “My lord?”

“I have been considering your father’s offer,” he said, lifting his visor just enough so that his mouth could be seen. With that, he took a deep, long drink from his goblet, nearly draining it entirely.

Forcing a cruel smile, Philip gestured to one of the courtesans standing against the wall with a pitcher of wine. “And what do you think?” he asked. He noticed, with some morbid fascination, that the lower half of the Red Dragon’s face, which he could now see clearly, seemed heavily scarred. His chin was sharp and surprisingly small for all the showmanship of the helmet. Long, red scars never completely healed ran up either side from the sharp point.

The Red Dragon held out his goblet to be refilled. “I think there’s great promise in such an alliance. And a sense of irony as well.”

“What do you mean?”

“Never mind. It’s my own personal amusement, nothing more.” The Red Dragon dismissed the girl who had refilled his cup.

Philip raised his goblet. “To irony, then.”

“To irony,” the Red Dragon agreed, toasting Philip before downing the entire contents of wine.

Again, Philip signaled for the girl to come refill the Red Dragon’s chalice. “I’m glad to hear you’re mulling over the possibility.”

“I would only name a governor for the area anyway,” the Red Dragon replied, letting the girl approach again. “In my opinion, your father would be as good a selection as any from my own men. He knows the area, he’s familiar with the customs of the people, and I certainly won’t have to worry about him being a loyalist to the Hylian throne now, will I?”

Chuckling, Philip agreed. “Of course.”

“I haven’t made up my mind yet,” the Red Dragon cautioned him.

“There’s certainly no hurry. I do admit, I rather enjoy staying here as your guest. Your palace is…impressive.” He raised his goblet. “May you enjoy it for many years to come.”

“Thank you,” the Red Dragon answered, lifting his own goblet and again draining the contents.

“The story of your rise to power has become…something of legend,” Philip told him, leaning back in his seat and running his finger along the edge of his chalice. “More than a legend. A myth.”

“A myth? Myth implies something untrue.”

“Many people in Hyrule don’t believe you exist.”

“And how did you and your father catch wind of my little campaign?”

It was in that moment that Philip’s mind went completely blank. The fact of the matter was that he didn’t even know how to fake his way out of this one. Not only did he have no idea what sort of channels Ganondorf used, but the fact of the matter was that despite all his angst and anger, he had never actually met the man. “Well…he has certain, shall we say, allies with their ears in royal business. And of course, our gracious queen knows all about you.”

“I would hope so,” the Red Dragon said proudly.

Relief washing over him, Philip beckoned the concubine to refill the Red Dragon’s wine, again. “I am a little curious about your most noteworthy accomplice however. This War fellow, where did you pick him up?”

“That,” the Red Dragon said, enunciating every single consonant in the word, “is something you will have to wonder at.”

“Is he entirely trustworthy, I wonder?” It certainly didn’t help to raise a little trouble in the ranks, if he could, Philip decided.

“I trust War with my life,” the Red Dragon declared proudly. “Which,” he added, raising his voice so that the entire room could hear him, “is more than I can say for anyone else in this room. You’re all a bunch of worthless parasites, sponging off of my hard work. Useless, all of you. All of you get out!” The guests all turned to stare at him in confusion. “That’s right, all of you! This isn’t a drill. Everyone, get out! Not you, Dragmire. I want all of you out of my sight!” Some of them fearful, others disgruntled, and still others almost indignant, the courtiers all began to clear out. The servants too began to exit. “Leave the wine!” the Red Dragon bellowed. Obediently, the serving girls placed their respective pitchers of wine down on the floor before scuttling out of the room.

“Are you sure that was wise?” Philip asked, watching as the Red Dragon rose, staggering over to the wall to pick up a pitcher.

“What do I care? They won’t do anything about it. They’re all just riding on my coattails.” The Red Dragon glanced over his shoulder. “Which is metaphorical, since I don’t wear any coattails.” He chuckled loudly, forcing Philip to join in. A good laugh accomplished, the Red Dragon lifted the pitcher in the air. “To metaphor,” he declared before pouring the pitcher on his face.

“To metaphor,” Philip mumbled, pretending to drink his wine.

“I’ll drink to that.”

“You made the toast.”

“Oh.” The Red Dragon began to make his way to the next pitcher. “Double the reason, then.”

“Reason as little to do with this,” Philip said, more to himself than the Red Dragon who didn’t hear him anyway.

“I have had such a wonderful day, today,” the Red Dragon proclaimed very loudly.

“So naturally, you’re drinking yourself into a stupor,” Philip whispered under his breath.

“This is a day I will never forget,” he babbled on before pouring the second pitcher on himself.

“That’s debatable,” Philip said, trying to calculate how much the Red Dragon had consumed. He didn’t need to add for very long. Finished with the second pitcher, the Red Dragon stumbled forward a little bit then froze, holding his hand up as if he were about to declare something else. No words came out of his mouth. Instead, he slowly fell, face first, to the ground with the loud clattered of armor falling around him. Philip cringed at the noise. He turned to look at the door, wondering if perhaps some guards would come rushing in. To his surprise, none came.

Slowly, he rose to his feet, setting his own goblet down on the floor. He made his way to the Red Dragon, standing over him and looking down. There was no doubt about it, the tyrant was down for the count and would most certainly wake up with a horrid headache. Philip may not have had powerful armies or large harems, but at least he could hold his wine better. Without sparing the Red Dragon a second glance, he made his way out of the room, briefly wondering why it was that the Red Dragon was having such a wonderful day.



When the green light from Farore’s Wind faded, Coset had to blink several times to clear the afterimage from her eyes. Mia, however, wouldn’t afford herself that luxury until she looked around to be certain that there was no one in the dungeon to witness their spectacular entrance. “That was…surreal,” Coset muttered, rubbing her hands along her arms to rid herself of the strange tingle.

“You get used to it,” Mia answered, relaxing a bit when she saw there were no guards.

“Zelda?” Coset whispered crossing over to the cell’s simple cot. On top of it was a big fleece blanket and at one end, Zelda’s hair could just be seen falling out in long, tangled locks.

“Zelda!” Mia hissed, coming to her aunt’s side and gently prodding the prone from under the blanket.

With a soft groan, Zelda rolled over, pulling the blanket away from her face. She opened her eyes, though one of them was now circled with a bright purple ring, swelling slightly by this point. “Mia?”

“We came to rescue you,” Mia told her, reaching underneath the covers to pull Zelda up by the arm.

“We?” Zelda mumbled.

“Me and Philip.”

“Philip?”

“Impa talked him into it.”

“You’ve got to get up,” Coset urged Zelda, taking her other arm.

Together, both Mia and Coset pulled Zelda off of the bed. The blanket fell away and Mia had to avert her eyes. Zelda’s body was battered beyond recognition. Large, red welts popped out from her waist, as if she had been struck repeatedly with a whip. There were several small bruises, about the size of fingertips, running in a ring around her neck. A good chunk of hair had been pulled out of her head, leaving behind patches of red scalp, some of them bloody. Her legs were covered with dry blood, a lot of it absorbed into the rich fabric of her pants.

“Oh, Zelda…” Mia gasped.

“I’m fine,” Zelda told her firmly.

“We have to get you out of here,” Coset said.

“Excellent idea,” Zelda agreed.

Mia pulled the blanket up from the cot, draping it over Zelda’s shoulders. “I’ll Farore us out of here.”

There was a scratching noise from the other side of the door. “Someone’s coming in!” Coset whispered fiercely.

“No,” Zelda moaned. “No more.”

“Get her out of here, Mia,” Coset commanded, taking a step back away from Zelda.

Mia blinked. “What? What about you?”

“I’ll stall them.”

“I’m not leaving you behind.”

“If you don’t, they’ll only follow you. The foot soldiers have powers too, now go!”

“No.”

“You promised me,” Coset told her. “You swore on your mother, you gave me your word, now do as I say.”

“But…”

“Go!”

Stepping closer to Zelda, her eyes wide, Mia nodded. Whispering words only she could hear she began to summon Farore’s Wind. The customary green light of the teleportation spell filled up the entire cell, radiating out through the bars of the tiny window in the door. “What?” someone from the outside grunted, “What’s going on in there?”

As they began to vanish, dread filled Zelda’s heart. “That’s War,” she groaned, recognizing the voice.

“No!” Mia screamed, but it was too late. Her voice dissipated into nothingness as she and Zelda disappeared.

“Who’s using magic in there?” War demanded angrily, fumbling audibly with his keys.

“Goodbye,” Coset said softly, holding her hand up for a moment to the place where she saw Zelda and Mia last.

A key turned and the door swung open. Instantly, five soldiers rushed into the room, fanning out to race to the very corners of the cell. War floated in after them, sword drawn, looking from side to side. “Search the cell, find the princess!”

“She’s not here, sir,” one of the guards replied.

War’s gaze fell on Coset. “You,” he boomed.

“Me,” Coset said proudly.

“Where is she?”

“Gone.”

“On your knees.”

“Long live Hyrule,” she whispered fiercely.

“Guards.” Instantly, the five guards descended on Coset, throwing her down to her knees. War lifted his sword, resting it on Coset’s shoulder, right next to her neck. “You should know better than to be so stubborn. Where is the princess?”

“She’s gone.”

“Fan out,” War barked to his officers. “Find the princess.”

“Queen,” one of the guards corrected him.

“Whatever. Just find her!”

The guards began trooping out. “One last chance, Coset,” War muttered very quietly.

“You know I cannot.”

“Then you know what I must do.”

“Yes.”

War pulled his sword back. “It didn’t have to be this way, Coset.”

“May the gods for –”



There was no time to lament the loss of Coset. Mia and Zelda rematerialized as planned, in the royal gardens just outside of the palace. It was curious that the Red Dragon even had gardens, but when they appeared, Mia quickly realized why they were in place. These gardens were not the blooming, thriving celebrations of life she was accustomed to back home. No, this was a memorial to what had once been. Everything was dead; gray, cold, and dead. Brittle and dry ivy wound its way up the high spikes of the iron gate. Frozen black earth, tightly packed and exposed was beneath their feet. The air reeked with the smell of dead earth.

“Come on,” Mia mumbled softly, putting her arms around Zelda to provide some support.

They cut a path through the dormant flower beds, careful to avoid the watchful eyes of the handful of soldiers patrolling the area. Night had fallen, mercifully shadowing their escape but Zelda was limping badly which slowed them considerably. “Where are we going?”

“We have to find Philip,” Mia replied.

“Where is he?”

“He was distracting the Red Dragon.”

“How?”

“I don’t know,” Mia answered earnestly. “He said he’d find a way. So far so good.”

“Optimist.”

“Always.”

For a moment, they paused by a dead, leafless tree, Zelda clutching the bark as she caught her breath. Mia moved away somewhat, looking from side to side to take note of where the guards stood. Unfortunately, she didn’t notice the one behind her. “Mia! Look out!” Zelda cried.

Too late. The burly knight made a grab for her, wrapping his thick arms around her waist and lifting her clean off of the ground. She struggled against him, her legs wheeling about in the air. He began to squeeze her ribcage, forcing the air out of her lungs. “I whisper Enjolras, when I decree,” Mia wheezed, her face turning pink, “by his power, set me free.” Instantly, a flash of light burst from the middle of Mia’s body, sending a shockwave out which seemed to physically strike the guard. He let go of her, flying back into the gate. Merely angered, but not hobbled, the soldier grunted, racing back at Mia, arms wide to sweep her up. “Enemies, curse, and fall, Nayru’s arms raise a wall.” The poor guard suddenly fell backward, crashing into an invisible wall formed by Mia’s incantation.

By this point, the scuffle had caught the attention of a few more guards. They began racing in the direction of the tree, shouting out to the castle for reinforcements. As Zelda looked around the trunk of the tree she was leaning against, she caught sight of them approaching. “Mia!”

Mia whirled around, her hair wrapping around her body. “Spirit of Impa now appear, hissing, coiling, striking fear.” With that, Mia’s eyes turned completely white. An orb formed in her hands which she threw out in the direction of the minions. Instantly, as it hit the first one, it expanded, flying out to encircle all of them in a dark, tangible shadow. From inside the writhing mass, shouts could be heard, but the words were muffled.

“You!” the guard behind the invisible wall shouted, pounding his meaty fists against it.

“Me,” Mia said, turning around, her eyes still ablaze.

Visibly thrown, the soldier stepped back a pace and gulped. “Stop that,” he told her weakly.

“Philomel with melody, set the sacred –”

A fist lurched forward, punching the soldier in the jaw. He dropped like a rock and Philip appeared, setting his foot down on the prone form. “Are you all right?” he asked Mia.

“We’ll live,” Mia replied, indicating Zelda with her head.

Philip took a step in Zelda’s direction. He immediately crashed into the invisible wall with a loud thunk. “Mia.”

“Oh, sorry.” She held her hands up. “Hear my plea, circling arms enfolding me. Discharge.”

He waited for a moment. “That’s it?”

“Wall’s gone.”

Tentatively, Philip stepped forward. He did not, once more, crash into the barrier. Instead, he mad his way over to Zelda. “Shall we?”

Zelda nodded. “Let’s go home.”

Philip picked up Zelda gently, hooking his arm under her knees. Mia joined them, putting a hand on each of their shoulders. As she began the spell for Farore’s Wind, Philip looked to one side, noticing the writhing black mass of soldiers. “What happened to them?” he asked.

“They got on my nerves,” Mia answered. With that, the three of them vanished, swept away in the halo of a bright green light.



When the sun rose the next morning, the soldiers were both skittish and sleep deprived. They moved like zombies, trudging up and down the corridors with vacant expressions on their faces. War floated among them, silently making his way to the salon. At the door, he turned to his honor guard and dismissed them with a wave of his hand. “I’ll go in alone.”

Once they were gone, he opened the door and drifted into the salon. There were surprisingly few items out of place. True, there was an enormous puddle of wine on the floor, in which the Red Dragon was sleeping, but other than that, War had to admit that things looked fairly neat. He made his way to the Red Dragon’s side, dropping down to allow his feet to touch the floor. Kneeling down with as much respect and care as he could muster, he touched his master’s back, shaking him slightly. The Red Dragon let out a low groan, rolling over onto his back. From the inside of his helmet came the clang of his skull hitting metal. “I could have you killed for waking me,” he moaned hoarsely to War.

“That would be counter productive,” War replied.

“What do you want?”

“I have news to report to you.”

“Couldn’t it wait?”

“It could not.”

Slowly, the Red Dragon sat up. The back of his armor was sticky, dripping with the remaining wine that had somehow failed to pass his lips. He pulled down his visor over his twisted mouth, glaring out at War from behind the narrow eye slits. “Yes? What is it?”

“Amorette has returned with some valuable information regarding Impa’s plans for Hyrule’s defense.”

“What’s the information?”

“I’ll tell you in a moment. One thing first.”

“What?”

“Zelda has escaped.”

This got the Red Dragon to his feet. “What? How?”

“Coset was found in her cell, last night,” War explained very calmly, without backing up.

“Coset! How could she?”

“What’s more, several knights spotted her in the garden.”

“And they didn’t stop her?”

“She was accompanied by help.”

“Who?”
“Dragmire and the girl he brought as a gift.”

The Red Dragon stalked to one end of the room then back, his body moving in swift, sharp motions. “They betrayed me. They betrayed me!”

“Betrayal by a Dragmire. Unheard of.”

“Don’t talk back to me!”

“I apologize.”

“What happened in the garden?”

“Our men were stopped by several spells.”

“The inhibitors?”

“They weren’t in place.”

“Coset…”

“Zelda, Dragmire, and the girl teleported away with Farore’s Wind after a brief scuffle. No fatalities among the guards.”

“They must be back to Hyrule by now,” the Red Dragon grumbled.

“Undoubtedly.”

He folded his hands behind his back. “No matter,” the Red Dragon sighed after a long moment.

“Sire?”

“We have to turn our attention to the capture of Maze Island for now,” he decided.

“The army will be ready to depart within four months time,” War told him proudly.

“Good. Good. We’ll take them first, Hyrule can wait.”

“As you wish.”

“Now. Tell me about the secret plans Amorette uncovered.”



No one in Hyrule would ever know that Zelda had gone missing. Back before sunrise, Zelda was cleaned up and dressed to attend court the following morning with only the slightest traces of a limp detectable to anyone who knew to look. She dressed in black mourning, out of remembrance for Coset, her hair pulled back into a loose bun at the base of her neck. When she entered the throne room, heralded by trumpets, she insisted that Mia and Philip walk in beside her, out of respect for the debt Hyrule owed them, but would never know about.

“That’s my brother,” Adriana whispered proudly to the gaggle of young girls crowded around her.

As the normal court activity resumed, Mia and Philip followed Zelda up to her throne platform. That part of the room was relatively deserted, except for two young boys, the first with long brown hair, the second with untidy titian locks. Mia positively beamed. “Jesse! Sito!” she called, running over to them to pull her brother into a tight embrace.

Zelda and Philip drifted away, allowing the siblings their reunion in private. “You’ve had a busy day,” Zelda said absently, glancing around the room.

“I guess so,” Philip replied.

“Lend me your thoughts, Philip.”

“I think…” he started lowly, choosing his words with great care, “that there is much work to be done.”

“I couldn’t agree with you more.” She looked at him. “I won’t force it on you, but I want you to be a part of it. You showed your true colors when you came to Calatia.”

“It’s more like the Red Dragon showed me his.”

She glanced at him. “Perhaps.”

“His madness showed me what I don’t want to be.”

“You know, blood isn’t destiny. Your father was Ganondorf Dragmire, true, but that doesn’t mean you have to be.”

“How do I avoid it?”

“By doing the right thing.” Zelda clasped her hands behind her back, looking out at the courtiers. “These people, here, they have no idea, they don’t know what you know, Philip.” She frowned. “When the time comes to test their mettle against the Red Dragon, and it will come, they’re going to be helpless.”

“I know.”

“But not everyone is helpless. There are members of my court who know what’s going on. I have spies, the League of the Triforce. They keep me well informed about what’s happening.”

“You want me to be a spy?”

Zelda shook her head. “No. What I have in mind for you is something more…secretive.”

“More secret than a spy?” Philip asked a slight hint of bemusement in his tone of voice.

“You are going to be a leader of a new league, one I’m forming now, even as we speak.”

“What sort of league?”

“The last spark of hope in Hyrule, should the worst happen. Our final chance at salvation. You and your people will be…Guardians…of some sort.”

“Guardians of what?”

“Of tomorrow.” She turned to look at him. “I won’t thrust this upon you. Leadership is a difficult charge. But if you’re willing…”

“Yes?”

“I can think of no one better suited for the task.”

“I’ve spent my life among a great many fools,” Philip told her, “maybe it’s time for something different.”

“Is that a yes?”

Philip nodded. “It is.”

“Excellent.”

“Who will I be leading into this battle?”

“Mia, for a start. And her brothers.”

“I want my sister to be with us.”

“Which one is she?”

He pointed out into the crowd at Ana, dressed in her finest gown, a pink taffeta overlaid with a sheer white veil. “That one. She’s excellent with magic.”

“Then we’ll have her.” Zelda folded her arms across her chest. “We have the makings of a fine group.”

“We do.”

“Then the great work begins.” With great ceremony, she held her hands out in front of her, touching her index fingers and thumbs together to form the shape of a triangle. The Triforce.

The Hylians have no conception of hell. I don’t know if that’s really common knowledge to outsiders. There’s the Sacred Realm of course, but that’s neither good nor bad. I think the reason that our mystics never cooked up a notion of punishment for the wicked was because they viewed life as just that. Punishment. If you learned from what life had to offer, then you would be rewarded. But if you didn’t…well, the missionaries never got that far.

My last year was a year of torment. I knew the end was coming, I could feel it in my bones. A part of me wishes I could have accepted the fact, given in to the inevitable, and lived it up. But that just wasn’t an option. Like Zelda, I had to fight. And not just because it was the patriotic thing to do. I love Hyrule, but I wouldn’t just die for it at the drop of a hat. No, I fought because I knew it was right. I fought because simple decency compelled me to.

You might think that what I went through caused me to lose faith, but it didn’t. Instead, I think it strengthened my belief in the Triforce, in the Sages, and in the power of virtue. There may not be a reward waiting for me in the next life, but at least, if some part of my mind is kept going, I’ll have the satisfaction of knowing that I did what was right.



The Lost Testimony of

Tranns Harkin





A blood curdling scream echoed across the alleyway, swelling in volume. From the roof of the café, a body dropped, a young boy. His head was dashed against the pavement below and cracked open, gore staining the concrete. Over the makeshift wall that had been erected across the northern opening of the alley, soldiers spilled in, like ants, racing across the street and brandishing a wide variety of sharp weapons. They stabbed in discriminately, striking down anyone who was not dressed in uniform; men, women, children. Screams of horror filled the air, joined by the thick scent of smoke as the buildings on either side burst into hot flames.

The call for retreat was sounded. At once, the civilian militia began to flee, heading south as fast as their feet could take them. A solitary figure fought against the tide, racing north to the wall and the soldiers. She couldn’t have been much more than twenty five, this lone girl with flashing green eyes. Without thought of death or disaster, she plunged headlong into the fray, her intention set, like her eyes, forward at all times. As she swept ahead, brandishing two fine daggers of platinum, she made a point of cutting down the soldiers who were chasing after the militia. She wouldn’t go so far as to kill any of them, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to let them kill. Swiping at arms and kneecaps, she cut them down, sending them out of the way with powerful kicks and punches.

“Retreat!” the herald was shouting. “Retreat!”

She moved forward, ramming her elbow into the head of one of the soldiers. He fell over and she trampled him. Another made a grab for her. She ducked and he caught hold of her red hair. The soldier tried to drag her to one side, but she merely swiped her dagger through the air, cutting off her hair. He fell from the sudden release, knocking into one of his comrades and toppling him.

“Retreat!”

By this point, she was near the front lines. The barricade was burning, coal black smoke lifting up into the moonlit night, blocking out the stars. From here, she could see the leader of the enemy army through a whole in the wall, a well respected and rather famous woman, barking out various orders from the other side of the remains, far from the line of fire. Tranns scowled, sparing a moment to look at her. Disgust and indignation filled her chest. What sort of commander sent her troops ahead of her instead of leading the charge?

“Retreat!”

There was no time to think about it, not now. Delving forward again, Tranns knelt in front of the burning barricade, heaving bodies up and tossing them to the side. She would have liked to have handled the work in a more delicate manner, but there was precious little time left. Though it burned her, knowing the names of each individual and now seeing their faces mauled and bloodied, she had no choice.

Finally, after roughly pushing aside the corpse of a Human girl she knew well, Tranns uncovered what she had been looking for. There, lying prone in the rubble was a Risan boy, handsome although unnaturally pale for a Risan, with neat blond hair, currently falling over the celestial Risan symbol on his forehead. Tranns leaned forward, pressing her ear to his chest. A moment of panic seized her, but then she heard it, a strong, steady heartbeat.

Silently thanking the goddesses, Tranns struck his face. The boy moaned softly, but did not stir. Tranns slapped him again. He turned his face to one side. “Come on,” she whispered fiercely, “come on.” With that, she hit him once more. Immediately, his eyes snapped open, his bright green eyes, perfectly matching those of Tranns. “You’re awake.”

“What was that for?”

“Get up, Aden.”

“Why?”

“We have to get out of here.”

“Are we winning?”

“Not exactly.”

Aden sat up. As he looked about at the destruction, his eyes grew wide, fear penetrating his noble heart. “By the gods…”

“We have to run.”

“What?” he cried incredulously.

“Aden, there’s no choice; we have to get out of here.”

“And abandon the cause?”

“The cause is lost, Aden. And if you die, everything you stood for will die with you.”

“If the cause is lost, so am I.”

“Don’t be a bloody martyr.”

“Leave me. Save yourself.” Tranns slapped Aden. “I’m already awake!” he shouted.

“That was to knock some sense into you.”

“Tranns…”

A flaming chunk of plaster fell from the nearest building. Tranns threw herself over Aden’s body as it smashed into the barricade, sending debris flying in all directions. Painful wooden splints bounced off of Tranns’ back. “We’re running out of time,” she winced, pulling away from him.

“Save yourself.”

“Am I going to have to carry you?”

“You can’t force feed salvation!”
“Watch me.” With that, Tranns pulled her fist back, punching Aden in the face, directly on the bridge of his nose. His eyes rolled up into the sockets and he slumped over, unconscious against the barricade. Grunting, Tranns hefted Aden up, holding into his wrists. She slung him over her shoulder, pain renewed as his head hit against her wounded and bleeding back. Slowly, she got to her feet, turning around and starting the long trudge back to the southern end of the alley.

She looked up. The towering buildings above were almost entirely obscured with smoke. All around her, she could smell the stench of battle. A losing battle. Maze Island would fall by morning, she was certain of it. The fact broke her heart a little bit. They had fought so hard. So hard…

“In the name of the Red Dragon,” the commander of the army declared, “you are all hereby considered citizens of his empire and traitors.”

“To the depths with the Red Dragon!” one of the remaining militiamen cried in a shrill voice.

“Long live Hyrule!” another shouted.

“Long live Hyrule!” the remaining survivors all began to chant. “Long live Hyrule!”

“Death to each and every traitor!” the commander shouted. As if there hadn’t been a massacre already.

Tranns continued her trek, silently chanting the same refrain under her breath. She heard a soldier running to assault her and swiftly turned around. Aden’s legs flew out slapping the attacker in the face and throwing him back enough for Tranns to land a solid kick in his stomach.

A second officer made a grab for her. She turned around in time to see him, but not fast enough to recover her balance. Left with no other choice, she ducked, letting him go flying over her head. He landed on the bloody pavement with a loud crack and didn’t get up again. Tranns looked down at him in regret, but didn’t waste much time resuming her trek.

The bricks of the building to the east began to cascade, sliding loose from the pressure and spewing out into the middle of the alley. They impacted against the ground, shattering like glass. Small bits and pieces flew into Tranns’ face, cutting up her delicate Hylian skin. As blood dripped down into her eyes, she squeezed them tightly shut, bringing a hand to her face. She wiped her eyes clean, blood smearing over the gold Triforce tattoo on the palm of her left hand. The sight of the tattoo was enough to renew her sense of purpose.

All around her, the surviving rebels had begun to sing, their voices low and mournful amidst the destruction. “In a realm beyond sight, the sky shines gold, not blue. There the Triforce’s might makes mortal dreams come true.”

That was it. That was the death knell. Now Tranns knew for a certain that not only were the people of Maze Island doomed, but now the people of Hyrule awaited a terrible fate. Those poor, pathetic citizens of Hyrule, who, until just now had been dreadfully ignorant of what was happening in the world around them. If nothing else, Maze Island would serve to show them reality. Now there was no possible way the Hylians could ignore the advances of the Red Dragon.

Though hindered under Aden’s weight, Tranns was almost at the southern end of the alley. The sight she saw there was enough to make her blood run cold. She froze, watching, to her horror, as two of the Red Dragon’s men held a hostage in between them. The hostage was a regal Sheikah woman. Impa.

“Take this one alive,” the higher ranking of the two said.

Impa spat in his face. “Long live Hyrule.”

The second soldier pulled back his arm and slapped her. “Silence.”

“Let her go!” Tranns screamed, breaking into a run, Aden’s limp arms slapping against her back.

“Tranns, stop!” Impa shouted. It was too late for warnings however. Some nearby soldiers heard Tranns’ cries and began to descend upon her. With a primal grunt, Impa reared back, twisting her leg up over her shoulder to kick the first of the two soldiers holding her down. He reeled back, holding his nose as blood spurted out from in between his fingers. Impa turned on the second, delivering a powerful head butt that knocked him clean off his feet.

“Impa!” Tranns cried.

“There’s no time now, Tranns,” Impa said. With that, she began whispering to herself, winding her hands around each other in the air. A glimmering ball of green energy formed in between her fingers. She thrust her hands forward, shooting the energy directly at Tranns. It consumed both her hand Aden, bursting into a peak of energy before completely vanishing, whisking the two of them off to some unknown location. The Farore’s Wind accomplished, the soldiers making a dive for Tranns found themselves hurtling through the air, falling on their faces. With her mission accomplished, Impa merely held up her arms when several more soldiers came to replace her captors.



Zelda had dismissed all of her valets. Tonight, she didn’t much care to be fawned over and elected to dress herself for bed. It was far later than she normally retired, but for some reason, her mind was troubled so she had remained awake, restlessly wandering the halls of North Castle before several of her wards all banded together, insisting that she went to sleep. She felt guilty that her attendants had actually stayed awake to serve her and so sent them to bed.

Alone in her room, Zelda let her hair down, putting away the elaborate tiara she wore. Without much ceremony, she slipped into her nightgown, discarding the heavy, formal dress she had donned for court. Now, she stood in front of the mirror, examining her reflection. Never, in all her life, had she imagined she would feel this aged. Still, as she poked and prodded her face, she had to admit she didn’t look all that bad. Certainly, the skin beneath her eyes was a bit more delicate than in days past, but that was only natural. No, she didn’t look that bad at all.

Slowly, she ran her hands down, smoothing out her nightgown. Her fingers curled around the swollen mound of her belly, which had grown in size quite a lot in the last few days. She was beginning to show, something that bothered her perhaps more than it should have. No one in court knew, aside from a few of her most trusted companions. Soon, though, everyone would find out.

There was a knock on the door. “Just a minute,” Zelda called. She crossed the room to her closet and pulled out a heavy robe. “Be right there,” she said, slipping it on and tying the sash loosely around her waist to thoroughly hide her figure. Pulling her hair out from the neckline, Zelda made her way to the door, pulling it open. “Oh, it’s you.”

“Disappointed?” Looking into the room was a young girl, barely nineteen years old. Unlike her queen, she was not in her nightdress and her long brown hair was bound up into a tight braid that hung over her left shoulder.

“Of course not, Ariadne, come in.”

Ariadne stepped lightly into the room. “Did I wake you?”

“No.” Zelda watched her young ward in a silent moment. The girl’s gray eyes became downcast as she examined her fingernails absently. “What is it?”

“Bad news,” Ariadne replied.

Zelda paced across the room to the glass doorways leading out to her balcony. For a moment, she stared into the darkness of the night, her arms folded across her chest. “Maze Island?”

“Destroyed,” Ariadne said.

“I knew it.”

Ariadne herself couldn’t bear to look up. “Initial reports indicate that there were no survivors.”

“Probably just the Dragon’s propaganda,” Zelda muttered. “He wants us to believe that no one can resist him and live.”

“Probably,” Ariadne agreed.

“This means he’s coming for us next.”

“There are no other kingdoms left to conquer.”

“And once he has destroyed us, no doubt, his empire will turn on itself. A snake devouring its tail.”

“Are there no avenues of escape left?”

“Hyrule’s fall seems inevitable, Ariadne. Our forces are no match for the size of the Red Dragon’s army.”

“Are we just going to surrender?”

“That’s not an option.”

“So why fight the impossible?”

“There’s still one option available, but I’m not sure if I want to take it yet.”

“What?”

“The Guardians.”

Ariadne frowned. “That’s a drastic step.”

“Not only,” Zelda replied turning around, “is it drastic, but it’s a one shot opportunity. I’m not ready to waste the one shot just yet.”

“I understand.”

Zelda smiled gently. “It’s late. You should be in bed.”

“So should you,” Ariadne countered.

Laughing softly, Zelda crossed back to the younger woman, putting her hands on her shoulders and kissing the top of her head. “I’m still the elder. Let me play the parent just a little bit longer with you.”

Finally, Ariadne’s lips broke into a small smile. “Of course.”

“Off to bed. We’ll worry about such things in the morning.”

“Goodnight, Zelda,” Ariadne said.

“Goodnight.”

And she was gone. Alone, Zelda slowly made her way back to the mirror staring into her own blue eyes for a long while. Pulling her robe tighter around her body, she opened the doors to her balcony and walked out to the railing. There, she rested her arms on the banister. Arrayed before her, all of Hyrule was asleep. Spring was just beginning and the apple blossoms perfumed the air. Zelda breathed in deeply, the rich scent sliding down her throat.

A breeze brushed against her face, like a kiss, both gentle and at the same time significant. It was funny that Zelda should think of something so simply complex at this time. She was now thirty seven years old, and according to the people, well past the prime age for marriage. In all honesty, Zelda no longer spared much thought to finding a husband. She knew now, with a fatalistic pleasure, that she would never know the joys of bridal chambers, nor would she likely to kiss a man once more and have it mean something.

“It’s amazing how you do that,” she said quietly, never taking her eyes off of the sleeping village below.

“Do what?” a male voice answered from the shadows.

“Manage to sidle up to me without causing Hylian shivers.”

“It’s rare, nowadays, that you can find someone who still believes that Hylians shiver in the presence of the foe.”

“What’s even rarer is finding someone who still believes in the foe.” Zelda turned around. Behind her, standing on top of the railing, leaning against the outside wall of the castle, she could see a dark figure, arms folded across his chest, enormous metal horns rising out of the heavy helmet covering his face. “Fortunately, I fall into both those categories.”

“You always have been an extraordinary example of the Hylian traditionalist,” he told her.

“Not necessarily.”

“Ah, you’re referring to your Risan stooge. He’s dead now, along with the rest of Maze Island.”

“You’re not going to get a rise out of me.”

“Of course not. You’ve no more compassion in you than a stone. A very pebble stone.”

“We both know that’s not true.”

“So be it.”

“Why have you come here?”

He hopped down, off of the railing and onto the balcony. As he did, moonlight fell on his helmet, the very trademark from which his name had been coined. The Red Dragon glanced into Zelda’s bedchamber. “Which one was that? Mia? Adriana?”

“Ariadne,” Zelda supplied.

“She’s cute. I think I’ll want to keep her alive.”

“What makes you think you can take her?”

“A little thing like that shouldn’t be much trouble.”

“You’d have to get into the castle first.”

“I intend to,” he responded. Gesturing to Zora Harbor with his head, he continued. “My fleet is out there right now, just beyond the rocks. When I give the signal, they’ll be coming into the harbor.”

“You would really march against Hyrule?”

“I have no sentimental loyalties, Zelda.”

“I believe you’ve convinced yourself of that.”

“The problem with loyalty is the inevitable defeat of being betrayed.”

“I know about that all very well,” Zelda replied. “I live with a daily reminder of what you did to me.” She brushed her hair back behind her ears. “Why do you delay in signaling your fleet?”

“War is a messy business,” the Red Dragon said. “I’d rather not have to deal with a slaughter. I’ve come to negotiate a settlement.”

“Really?”

“We can settle this without bloodshed. I’ll spare your life and all of your little wards.”

“And what are the terms of this agreement?”

“The unconditional submission of Hyrule, of course.”

“Of course.”

“And you must hand the Triforce over to me.”

“Naturally.”

“And the surrender of your body to me. Just those three terms.”

Zelda laughed. “Oh? Is that all?”

“Don’t take this so lightly, Zelda. I don’t usually compromise with monarchs. I’m making an exception for you.”

“You call that a compromise? Compromise entails an agreement which satisfies both parties. What’s in this deal for me?”

“Your people get to live.”

“What kind of life is that?”

“Most of them won’t even notice the difference.”

“If it were in my power, I might consider your offer,” Zelda told him. “But the surrender of Hyrule and the handing over of the Triforce are just out of the question right now. And they’ll be out of the question forever.”

“And what about the third term?”

Zelda stared at him for a long moment. “If it were enough to protect my people, I would surrender.”

The Red Dragon seemed a little taken aback. “You are worth all the treasures of Risa,” he told her after a moment, “but that is still not enough.”

“Then there’s no deal.” She glanced out at the harbor. “You send for your men and I’ll send for mine.”

“History will record that as your decision. Not mine.”

“So be it.”



The moonlight was reflected in the water, shining up into the eyes of the Sage of Water. Ruto sat on the edge of the little islet, gently splashing water up onto her arms and legs to keep from drying out. She looked down at her own reflection, watching the ways the moonlight bounced off the smooth, silvery surface of her bald scalp. The long fins on her arms waved in the kissing breeze like veils. Back in her youth, these fins had been stubby and awkward, but now, mature and grown, they were magnificent, in her opinion, billowy and fine.

Something was in the air tonight, but for all of her experience, Ruto couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was. There was a certain sense of…oh, but what it was, she couldn’t say. For some odd reason, for the last few weeks, she had been bombarded with the overwhelming urge to go ashore and visit Zelda. But why? Certainly, there was no good diplomatic reason. The situation between her people and Zelda’s was relatively peaceful, bordering on completely isolated, though the Zora nation was still, and always would be, part of Hyrule.

No, there was some deeper reasoning for her desire to visit Zelda. Something personal. Oh, but what personal business could they possibly still have? It had been years, well over ten, since they last saw each other. True, they would still correspond on occasion via carriers, but that was the extent of it. Their letters were nothing but business, no talk of anything remotely personal, to talk about…

Well, Ruto didn’t even dare to think it, much less to say it. How long had it been now? Almost twenty years. Funny, it felt like less time than that. As if it were only yesterday, she could remember visiting the village, spending time laughing and gamboling with Link, Zelda, Tulsa, and the others. The simplicity of it seemed remote, but the memory was still lingering on the surface.

A noise shook her from the reverie. She craned her neck, looking around behind her shoulder. All she could see was a long stretch of horizon, going for miles and miles, interrupted only by the breakers. Aside from that, there was nothing: Only the islet with its single tree, stretching up into the sky. Ruto returned her gaze to the waters, staring past the mirror of a surface, deep into the depths. There was no one below, none of her servants, sent to fetch her on some urgent business.

The burden of rule had made her jumpy, she decided firmly, once more returning to her own reflection. That must have been why she had such an intense desire to visit Zelda. It hadn’t been more than three months since her father died, mysteriously, in seemingly perfect health. The not quite healed wound ached in her stomach when she thought about it. There was just no explanation for what had happened! Ill prepared and scared to death, she had been forced to assume the throne.

Something moved in the murky reflection. Ruto’s brow furrowed. She leaned in closer, pretending to examine her own face, but her focus shifted to the tree behind her. Even in the moving image, she could certainly make out a figure up there, looking down at her. Slowly, being as careful as she could not to seem afraid, she rose to her feet, now pretending to admire her figure, which was certainly something worth admiring. A branch creaked. Instinctively, Ruto whirled around. Too late! She saw the figure and now the figure saw her looking back.

In the blink of an eye, a sticky net fell from the trees, landing on top of Ruto and pulling her to the ground. She thrashed about wildly, fighting to untangle herself, but the more she moved, the more the viscous substance coating the fibers clung to her skin. From the tree, a shadowy figure dropped to the ground, landing in a crouch beside her. The figure, whoever he or she was, dressed in solid black, head to toe. It was a wonder Ruto could have seen him at all. He brandished a sharp knife, a kris blade which glinted in the moonlight.

Ruto let out a scream. She knew it was in vain. So did her attacker. There was no one around for miles. The islet was isolated. That’s the reason why Ruto had chosen it. He was coming upon her fast, the knife poised to strike. Becoming more tangled than before, Ruto began to drag herself along the ground, inching her way to the water. She would be safe there, she just knew it!

He was on top of her now. Violently, he rammed the knife down, intent on stabbing her in between the eyes. At the last moment, Ruto rolled out of the way and the knife embedded itself in the ground, just an inch away from her ear. Cursing, the attacker pulled the weapon out again. Ruto was prepared for him. He struck again and she dodged, kicking his feet out from under him. With a cry, he fell over, knife flying up into the air.

This was the chance she needed. As the stranger went to retrieve his weapon, Ruto dug her fingernails into the ground, throwing herself forward. She could feel the water lap up against her scalp. This was her salvation! She crawled into the surf, quickly dropping down into the depths. She expected the net to fall away, but to her dismay, the adhesive seemed as strong underwater as above. Maybe even stronger.

Pumping her powerful legs, Ruto began to propel herself forward, swimming directly for Zora territory. The weight of the net slowed her down considerably but she managed to make good headway. She was beyond surprised when she felt the waters surge forward from behind her. Looking back over her shoulder, she caught sight of her attacker. He had taken the plunge into the water right after her, still brandishing the terrible blade in one hand.

He couldn’t possibly keep up with her…could he? Ruto certainly didn’t want to find out. Gritting her teeth, she pumped her legs harder, speeding up as much as she could. The weight of the net was wearing her out faster than she would have liked. It had been a long time since she attempted to move this quickly. There had been no need for it and as it was, the onset of gout was already upon her, due in part to inactivity and in part to a rich diet.

The water grew colder as Ruto swam deeper. Her limbs were aching now, screaming to her brain to slow down. She tried to tug the net off of her, but it clung to her skin as if it were a part of her body. What was coated on the fibers? Grunting silently in the water, she looked over her shoulder again, resting her tired legs momentarily. Not only was the attacker still underwater, he was gaining on her! Was he a Zora?

Ruto started pumping her tired legs again, but found that they wouldn’t budge. The net had gotten tighter in the water, pressing her legs together so fiercely that she couldn’t move them. She tried to claw at the water with her arms, but they were held firm against her body. Bending at the torso, struggling to free herself, she began dropping, falling deeper and deeper into the water with no control over herself whatsoever.

The man was on top of her now. Catching Ruto in the crook of his elbow, he dragged her deeper, landing with his feet on the seabed. She struggled to break free of his grip, but it was iron. Fiercely, he threw her down onto the sand, planting a foot on her stomach and pinning her. Ruto let out shrieks, carried through the water, though silent to those above the surface. The stranger kicked her in the face. At once, cold blood trickled from her nose, drifting up in iridescent purple hues.

Planting a hand firmly on her collarbone, the man knelt beside her, raising the knife. Savagely, he plunged it down, lodging the blade firmly in her belly, directly beneath her ribcage. Ruto’s eyes went wide and she cried out in pain. Her attacker didn’t slow down. He ripped the knife out of her, fresh flows of blood billowing to the surface. Again he struck, this time stabbing her in the side, yanking the blade forward to completely severe the delicate fin on her thigh.

Was the water beginning to grow murky? Ruto’s body was numb with the pain, her thoughts getting dull. She stared up, looking at the sinister moon shining down. The light seemed to be purple, but how was that possible? The water was blue. Wasn’t it? Ruto’s eyes began to glaze over. No! She scolded herself, feeling the knife cut through her skin a third time. There was no choice in the matter; she couldn’t surrender, not to the stranger, not to the far stranger death. Who are you? Ruto’s mind screamed to the stranger, but her lips remained shut. She spoke volumes with her eyes, staring condemningly up at him as he yanked the knife’s blade free and plunged it in again and again.

Dark shadows began to drift over the scene. The attacker stopped, looking up as he spied a fleet of vessels slowly going by, heading inland with swift purpose. When he looked down at Ruto, he knew his work had been accomplished. She was completely still now, only her severed fin moving in the water. Satisfied, he tucked the kris blade into his black belt and rose to his feet. He pushed off of the sand and began propelling himself up, heading for the dark cloud of a black ship above him. Never, not once did he look back. If he had, perhaps even he would have been moved by the pitiful sight of the Sage of Water, motionless on the seabed.



“You’re only making it harder on yourself.” This was the constant refrain that had been ringing across the stark chamber for hours. The walls were made of concrete, allowing the words to echo, bouncing back and forth as if they had a life of their own. There was nothing soft, nothing fabric about the warehouse. Everything was hard: Hard walls, hard floors, and hard crates, leftover from the days of commerce that Maze Island had once known.

War had been at it for hours, pacing to and fro in front of the makeshift torture rack that had been assembled for his private use. He condescended to walk this night, his footsteps stabbing the silence. Well, the near silence. There was forever the constant sound of pained, sharp breathing as Impa, stretched out on the rack, struggled to stay alive.

Amorette sat in a dark corner of the room, watching the scene progress. She tried to look as aloof and detached as she could, but her heart leapt up into her throat every time Impa’s head turned. Of course, Impa couldn’t see her there. War had gouged out the poor woman’s eyes before Amorette arrived. Still, she trembled, her resolve buckling under the stress. To ease the situation, she busied herself, staring at a stain on the wall. She fancied it was shaped a bit like a rabbit.

“You’re only making it harder on yourself.” Amorette cringed. War said it again. She glanced over in his general direction. Her master had come to a halt, standing right beside Impa’s head. Tenderly, he caressed his fingers across her cheek before pulling back and slapping her. Impa’s face turned sharply to one side, her pale skin turning slightly pink with the mark of War’s iron glove.

“How much longer?” Impa asked in a hoarse voice.

“I’m sorry?” War replied.

“How much longer do you intend to carry on?”

“Until it stops being fun.”

“You’ve been waiting for this a long time, haven’t you? You want to savor every moment.”

“Don’t cheapen the moment with cliché.”

“If you were worried about cliché, you should never have resorted to the rack,” she answered.

War chuckled. “How are you holding up, Impa?”

“Never been better,” she lied.

He turned in Amorette’s direction. “Canteen,” he barked. Amorette obediently picked up the canteen at her side, tossing it over to him. War caught it with one hand and turned around to face Impa again. “I have to say,” he mumbled, unscrewing the cap, “I admire you.” He held the nozzle over Impa’s face and poured the water down. Like a ravenous dog, she lapped up the trickle. “A lesser woman would have cracked by now. Literally and mentally. But you…you are a true Sheikah.”

“One of us had to be.”

“Sticks and stones.” War turned the canteen upright again, watching for a few moments as Impa flicked her tongue, desperate for one more drink. “You’ve been a trooper. You’ve held up well and proved your honor. Now, it’s time for you to rest, Impa.”

“Rest…”

“Tell me where the girl is.”

A long moment of silence followed before Impa slowly responded with, “What girl?”

War threw his hands up in disgust. With a growl, he turned the wheel on the wrack, tightening it another notch. “You know very well what girl!” he shouted over Impa’s renewed cries of pain. “The redhead. The last member of the League of the Triforce. Where is she?”

*Master,* Amorette called telepathically to War.

*What is it, Amor?* he asked, turning to regard her from behind the slats of his helmet.

*If you kill her, you won’t get any information.*

*I’m well aware of the situation, Amor.* With that, he released his hold on the wheel, letting it go slack a notch. Impa gasped, her breath sharp as she tried to recover from the pain. “You’re only making it harder on yourself.”

“You…you want to know about Tranns,” Impa whispered, slowly catching her breath.

“The redhead. Yes, I see your memory has been jarred.”

“You want to find Tranns?”

“Tell me where she is, Impa.”

“She’s…she’s…”

“Yes?”

“She’s located directly up your –”

War turned the wheel again. A fresh bout of screaming erupted from Impa’s lips. “I just don’t feel you’re being sincere, Impa,” he said.

“Can’t imagine…where you got that impression.”

Folding his hands behind his back, War lifted up an inch off of the ground. He drifted casually around the rack, occasionally plucking at one of the springs as if it were a musical instrument. “You know, being difficult won’t do you any good. And it’ll hardly save Hyrule. Ask me why.”

“Why?”

Gleefully, War leaned over, bringing his lips to hover right above her ear. “Because Hyrule is already a lost cause.”

Impa actually forced a laugh at that. “That’s what you think.”

“Wrong,” War shot back. “That’s what I know.”

“You know nothing.”

“I know that even as we speak, the first strike team of the Red Dragon’s fleet is on its way to send Hyrule…and Princess Zelda…a message.”

“That’s Queen Zelda.”

“Whatever.”

“Do you really think you’ll take Hyrule like that?”

“Tonight? No. The fleet is just a warning. The full cavalry will take a few months to actually arrive.”

“You’re both traitors. You and your master.”

“Old crimes die hard.”

“Hyrule has always repelled traitors. You’re no different.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. Not only am I very different, but Hyrule will pose no threat to me or the Red Dragon. I know the numbers. The Red Dragon has ten thousand men.”

“And how many of them were brought into his command under forced conscription?”

“You make that sound so ugly. I like to think of it as security for their families and loved ones.”

“You’re a disgrace to the Sheikah people.”

War slapped her again. “You’re only making it harder on yourself.”

“Kill me,” Impa demanded.

“Why should I?”

“Because I won’t tell you where Tranns is.”

“Then tell me about the information she knew.”

“I won’t do that.”

“I have ways of convincing you.”

“You know they won’t work. You said it yourself, I’m a true Sheikah. I’ll die before I betray Zelda.”

“She’s been betrayed already. You can’t possibly make it much worse now, can you?” Impa spat in his face. “I’ll kill you for that!”

“Why delay?”

“What?”

“Your speeches disgust me. And, as in the natural order of things, everything I say displeases you too.”

“I’m warning you Impa…”

“Enough. Give me honor.”

After a moment, War sighed heavily. “If that is your wish.”

“It is.”

“So be it.” He rested his hand on the wheel, lifting his head slightly, a gesture Amorette knew to be thoughtful. “You know,” he said softly, his voice almost sounding like that of a stranger, “there is one thing I’ve always wanted to tell you.”

“What’s that?”
“I think, in all that time I was afraid of you, I was also a little bit in love with you. Isn’t that funny?”

Not another word was exchanged between the two. Perhaps, before Impa could respond, War wrapped his fist tightly around the spoke of the wheel. He pulled it forward ferociously. As screams filled the air, Amorette was forced to look away. What horrified her more than the cruel sounds of bones cracking was the absence of one another sound, Impa’s voice. She knew, in that moment, the Sage of Shadows was no more.

“Come, Amor,” War said after an eternity, “we have work to do.”

“Yes, Master.”

War had approached her by this point. He touched her chin gently, lifting her eyes up to look at him. “Why hide your eyes?”

“I’m sorry, Master. I…”

“You feel the loss? I’m not surprised.”

“You’re not?”
“She is…she was…a true Sheikah. She was not like us.”

“No,” Amorette hissed dourly, “not like us.”



The bells in the middle of the village were ringing, but they were not sounding off the hour. No, instead, they were in a perpetual state of alarm, crying out into the darkness. From the highest tower of the castle, a horn was blasted repeatedly, screaming to the people who were not already alerted by the sound of the bells. Zora Harbor was on fire. Not the shops or the quaint little inns surrounding the docks. The actual harbor was on fire. A thin layer of oil, floating on top of the water had been laid down by the invisible fleet of ships that snuck in during the darkness. Now, it sent hungry flames into the air, along with a sickening smell: Boiling Zoras.

Indeed, the Zora population, which had been out searching fruitlessly for their leader halfway into the night quickly learned about their impending doom as the temperature of the water rose. Panic seized the population and they at once abandoned the water, beaching themselves on the islets and beaches within reach. But that wouldn’t save them. The flames from the fire grew so high that they reached into the high branches of the trees leaning lazily over the water, igniting them until their islets were also ablaze. There was nowhere to run, not to land. And those who dove down for the cool depths of the water knew they too wouldn’t last long, without being able to go up for air eventually.

Their screams soon alerted the fishermen. The fishermen, filled with panic, woke the curriers who rode into the village to wake everyone else, frantically ringing the bells until all of Hyrule, or at least all of North Castle’s city, was wide awake and filled with pure fear. Now, they gathered in the high places, watching with wide eyes while those closest to the blaze raced to collect what little they had and rush inland. The poor Zoras were left to fend for themselves.

Perhaps the worst of it was the fact that no one was quite certain how to put out the fire. The water was burning. It was so absurd and improbable that most of the onlookers were at a complete loss for what to make of it. They screamed and groaned and cried, but that was the extent of any action they could take.

Zelda stood on her balcony, clutching the neck of her robe tightly around her throat. She had dispatched all of her knights on active duty to try and put out the fire with sand, but she knew very well it might be hours before they managed to even arrive near Zora Harbor. The flames danced in her blue eyes. She knew exactly what this display was supposed to be. A warning. The Red Dragon wasn’t quite ready to take the dreadful step and act against Hyrule outright, but he had no trouble destroying the Zora nation. Perhaps he was still hoping that Zelda would concede to his demands and prevent the war from happening. No matter. Surrendering Hyrule and the Triforce were two acts Zelda was not willing to take.

She rested her hands on the balcony, almost feeling the heat from the flames, though she knew it was too far away. For a moment, she wondered if this is what creation was like. Fire and water merged into one, finally separated by the hands of the goddesses. Oh the goddesses! She would not allow herself to believe, not for a moment, that they had betrayed their chosen people. But where were they now?

There was a knock on the door behind her. “Come in,” Zelda called, glancing over her shoulder. The door opened. In the light that spilled in from the hallway, Philip entered, growing dim as the door shut behind him. “Philip,” Zelda said gently, turning her eyes back to the scene below.

Philip shoved his hands deep into his pockets, taking the liberty of walking out to the balcony. “The knights just left,” he told her.

Zelda nodded slightly, never taking her eyes away from the fire. “Thank you,” she murmured.

He came to rest at her side. “The people are panicking.”

“I suspected they would.”

“They think it’s a great portent of evil.”

“No,” Zelda sighed. “Just a great portent of a man.”

“The Red Dragon.”

“Yes.” Zelda frowned a little. “He’s coming for us, Phil. This was merely the beginning.”

“A warning.”

“Yes.”

“I think it’s time Hyrule took steps in preparation of a real defense.”

“I agree. Tomorrow, I’ll address the people regarding the situation.” She turned to look at him. “And then I’m going to assemble the Guardians.”

Philip’s eyebrows leapt up. “So soon?”

“I want you all to be prepared for what’s to come.” She turned away from him, back to the scene below. “In addition, I’m going to add some new members to your ranks.”

“New members?”

“You need a lookout, someone to watch your back when I no longer can. And a little bit more muscle.”

“I trust your judgment.”

Zelda smiled slightly, with a grim look clouding over her eyes. “I assumed you’d say that.”

“Who are they?”

In response, Zelda lifted her chin. A little bit confused, Philip turned his clean shaven face to look down. Below them, in the castle yard just before the moat, he spotted two figures approaching at full gallop, mounted on thoroughbred stallions. In the lead of the pair was a handsome looking woman with short, chin length red hair, just peeking out from underneath the hood of a purple cloak. She rose astride, clad in a suit of leather armor, heavy boots on her feet. From the tops of the boots, he saw two silver hilts of daggers, reflecting the moonlight.

Behind her rode a boy, perhaps a bit older than Philip himself. He had wispy blond hair that was blown back by the wind, revealing a blue bandana that encircled his head. He also wore a blue cape, trailing behind him in the darkness. A sword rested against his thigh, beating out a steady rhythm as his horse surged forward. Philip noticed that the duo had the exact same eyes, electric green.

“The muscle?” Philip asked.

Zelda nodded. “Brains and brawn, really.”

Philip squinted, looking closer at the man. “I know him,” he said finally, drawing back. “That’s the Risan boy from the marketplace.”

“Aden Barr,” Zelda supplied.

“I remember listening to him preach about…”

“About…”

“The Red Dragon. He knew. No one believed him, but he knew all about the Red Dragon.” Philip felt a slight wash of shame rush upon him, realizing that he too had once jeered the warnings which now proved all too true.

“Aden’s been an activist for years.”

“Who is she?” he asked, turning his attention to the woman.

“Tranns Harkin,” Zelda replied. “Aden’s half sister.”

“Harkin?” Philip looked at Zelda.

She nodded grimly. “My niece. Daughter of my sister.”

“I didn’t know you had a sister.”

“She left Hyrule before you were born to marry a Risan gentleman. She was his second wife, after Aden’s mother. When Tranns was born, she was sent to Hyrule to be raised as a Hylian. And then her father was killed by the Red Dragon, so she remained in Hyrule.”

“Where are they coming from?”

“Maze Island,” Zelda said.

“It was just taken, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“What were they doing there?”

“Tranns volunteered to go there on assignment.”

“Assignment?”

“She, I fear, is the only surviving member of the League of the Triforce, my elite spies. I sent her to Maze Island to collect information on the Red Dragon’s next maneuver.”

“What about him?”

“Aden?”

“Yes.”

Zelda shook her head. “I have no idea what he was doing on Maze Island. I intend to find out.”

“At least they got out alive.”

“Yes,” Zelda muttered, “there is that.”

The riders were disappearing out of sight now, having crossed over the moat, against the flow of traffic, winding around the castle toward the stables hidden away in the back. To Philip, Zelda seemed uneasy. “What is it?”

“I have a feeling the Red Dragon let them get away.”

“Why?”

“Tranns has some valuable information, that might well led them to a far better reward than the mere killing off of the last of the Triforce spies.”

“What’s that?”

“It’ll be your first assignment as leader of the Guardians. You’ll work with Tranns.”

“To do what?”

“We’ll worry about it in the morning, when I assemble the Guardians.”

“They’re the muscle. Who’s the look out?”

“In the morning,” Zelda repeated calmly. “It’s late. We should both try to get some rest. There’s nothing more we can do.”

“Zelda? Is there something else? Something you’re not telling me?”

“Nothing,” Zelda assured him, forcing a smile. “Just some old ghosts coming back to haunt me in my dotage.”

“You’re not old.”

“What is that saying? ‘You’re only as old as you feel,’ right?”

“I think so.”

“Well, Phil, I feel ancient.”

“You look good.”

“If you tell me I’m glowing, so help me…”

Philip chuckled. “You look like a woman ready to face a demon.”

“I wish it were that simple, Philip.”

“It’s not?”

“The Red Dragon isn’t just a demon. If only things were so simple.”

“Then what is he?”

“The past.”

“The past is another land, Zelda. You taught me that.”

“That sounds like something I would say.”

“You’re wise that way.”

Zelda smiled again, this time, a real genuine smile. “Go to bed, Philip. You’ll need your strength in the morning.”

“Why? Tough assignment.”

“As many of my people have told me in the past, it’s going to be very hard toil working with Tranns Harkin.”



There was something weighing heavily on his mind that kept the Sage of Fire awake all night. He paced back and forth across his chamber, hands clasped behind his back. It was a difficult task. Darunia had grown so great in the last few years that he feared he would soon be larger than the chamber door and completely incapable of leaving. He was unmolested by this thought however, as he pondered a more difficult question. What was going on?

He had heard rumblings all night, strange musical sounds coming from the distance. Finally both curious and frustrated, he dispatched his sleepy son to go investigate. The boy, though now a man (he would always be a boy to his father), had not yet returned with news of any kind. The other Gorons were all safely asleep, dreaming peacefully. In a way, Darunia envied them. They were so juvenile now, most of them didn’t remember the old days, they didn’t remember the troubles he had faced as the young chieftain of his people.

For some reason, Darunia was remembering the old days tonight. He had been dreaming about them, his memories blurring together to make no sense whatsoever. Try as he might, he could not sort it out. If it kept up, he was resolved to travel to North Castle and ask Zelda what she made of them. Of all the Hylians Darunia had ever met, there was none whose judgment he valued so highly as Zelda’s unmistakably wise judgment.

Leaning against the stone wall of his chamber, Darunia ran a hand through his thinning white hair. A few months ago, he had been visited by Impa. She warned him that great danger was coming to the land of the Hylians and asked him if he would be willing to come to their aid. Darunia had been baffled by such a request. Were not Gorons Hylians? He was shocked that she had thought to ask and, had she been anyone other than Impa, he might well have been insulted. Now, has he pondered over what could possibly be keeping him awake, he wondered if, perhaps, the doom she had foretold of was coming to fruition.

There was the sound of pebbles scraping against the ground outside of his chamber. Hopeful his son had returned Darunia stood upright, making his way to the entrance. He peered out, leading with his head to see into the hallway, but found to his surprise that no one was there. The corridor was deserted, glowing with the iridescent gleam of a nearby lava flow. Just as he was about to back in once more, he heard the scraping again. Was it coming from above him? Darunia craned his neck around to look over the entry to his chamber. But there was nothing there.

Sighing heavily, he backed up, returning to his chamber. He started to turn around when he felt an abrupt, painful blow to his temple. Whirling around, he saw a strange figure drop to the ground in a crouch, one leg out, the leg this creature had just used to kick Darunia. For the life of him, Darunia could not distinguish anything about this stranger, not gender or race or age, as he was clad completely in black. The one odd thing he did take note of, however, was that he seemed completely unarmed, except for a silvery stake in his left hand.

Now was not the time for idle curiosity. Feeble though the attack had been, it was an attack nevertheless and Darunia felt obliged to teach this stranger just how strong a Goron elder could be. He leaned over, planting his meaty hand directly on top of the attacker’s head and squeezed his fingers, beginning to lift him clean off the floor. The visitor responded by jabbing the back of his hand with the stake. It was cold to the touch, but barely broke his skin.

Grunting, mostly with indignation and not really of effort, Darunia swung the stranger by the head, into the nearest wall. Like rubber, the black figure seemed to bounce, springing back to his feet and ostensibly suffering no damage. A smile twisted Darunia’s face. Perhaps this would be more interesting than he had anticipated. He started to curl his fingers into a fist when he heard a loud crack. Looking down at his hand, he was met by a frightening sight. Stemming out from where the stake had penetrated his flesh, small blue lines were running just beneath his skin, spreading out slowly across his hand. He realized with a new sense of alarm that his fingers felt freezing cold, growing more so as the lines veined through his flesh.

The stranger rushed at him again, stomping down hard on his foot. Darunia looked down and as he did so, the stranger jerked his knee up, catching the Goron in the nose. Darunia stumbled back, hands grasping his face. The cold touch of his infected hand hurt, causing him to howl, blood rushing to his cheeks. Like a bull, he charged forward, catching his attacker around the middle. Securing him under his arm, Darunia ran to the wall, slamming the stranger’s head into it.

There was a loud snap. Darunia dropped the stranger, satisfied to see him fall limp on the floor, limbs akimbo. Snorting, Darunia kicked him in the back then turned around, walking to the chamber door. He stopped halfway there to look down at his hand again. His smooth, goldenrod skin had taken a chilly blue color. As he opened and closed his fist, he could hear it cracking like ice when it was thrown into water for the first time. He kept working his fingers, pain increasing with each new pop. What’s more, he felt horridly cold, despite his constant proximity to the lava flows of the Goron homestead.

A rustling sound alerted Darunia’s ears. He turned around, stunning as he saw the attacker rising to his feet, alive and well. It wasn’t possible. Despite his indignation, Darunia knew better than to take on such an invincible foe by himself. He would call the others, he decided, turning around to leave the chamber. No one was indomitable enough to stand up to an entire drove of Gorons.

Behind him, a whizzing noise came. Instinctively, Darunia ducked, just in time as the silver stake went flying over his head. It embedded itself in the rocks above the entry way and they began to shake, loudly dropping down and sealing off the chamber from the rest of the homestead. So that’s how it would be, Darunia thought wearily. Man to man. Goron to…whatever it was that was attacking him.

He leaned over and carefully picked up the silver stake, dropping it on the floor and crushing it with his foot. An icy blast filled the room as the metal, whatever it was, was ground to a fine dust on the ground. Darunia kicked the powder in his attacker’s direction, satisfied to see the stranger hold his hands up, shielding himself against the cold blast. If the metal had the same effect on the stranger it had had on him though, Darunia could not tell for sure.

Pounding his fist into his open palm, Darunia advanced on the small man, drawing back his arm to strike. The stranger caught the punch in both hands, managing to block his face. Darunia’s arm was so strong and direct that the stranger used it as a stable beam, swinging up into the air and knocking his heel into Darunia’s collarbone. Stumbling back, Darunia swung his arm, throwing the attacker off of him and hurtling into a wall.

In this action, there was another crack, louder than any before. Darunia saw to his horror that his entire arm had turned blue. He couldn’t bend his elbow or his fingers. They were frozen completely. What was worse, he saw that the blue was still inching its way under his skin, spreading up through his chest. What was that silvery stake he had smashed? Magic, he realized grimly. This was something Darunia simply could not abide. An unfair fight.

Once again, the stranger was back, moving in wide circles around Darunia. The Goron turned, trying to keep his eyes on this unpredictable and unprecedented man, but the strain was becoming too great on his heart. How quickly the blue lines were spreading now! Already, his legs were turning numb, making it more difficult to move. He let loose a few sloppy, unrestrained punches, missing the nimble attacker completely. His chest ached from the strain. The stranger, by contrast, seemed tireless, orbiting around his prey like a lion.

Darunia’s movements began to slow. With a fatalistic sense, he knew that soon, his long days of hard work and service to the Goron people were over. The strange thing was, as he felt his body ice over and give way to the powerful potion, he didn’t feel at all afraid. No, instead he felt what could almost be described as relief. Darunia was tired. Now, it was finally time for him to rest. Strangely enough, his final thoughts, as the spell reached up into his brain and closed darkness over his eyes, wasn’t about the last twenty years at all. No, instead, he remembered the day when a young Hylian boy had come to visit him, seeking help against the encroaching evil of a dark lord called Ganondorf Dragmire. How odd it was that Darunia should remember that now.

The Goron turned to ice, completely motionless, lifeless before his assailant. Slowly, almost uncertainly, the stranger moved about a bit more, testing to make sure his job was done. There was no response left in the hulking mass that had once been flesh. Satisfied, the stranger reached over and landed a solid punch into his chest. The ice cracked, shattering on impact. That which was not destroyed by the blow fell over, crashing to the ground and breaking into pieces, like a display of fireworks, which burst in a fabulous explosion, then fell from the heavens. Such was what happened to the remains of the Sage of Fire.



Philip liked to sit in dark corners these days. Unfortunately, the room Zelda had asked him to bring the others lacked dark corners. It was a bright room, the walls coated in white stucco. One window overlooked the courtyard, ailing though it was. Bright sunlight spilled in this morning, bathing the room in warmth. Directly in the middle of the room was a round table, a dozen polished oak chairs circling it. The rest of the room was relatively stark, but dazzling lights hung from the ceiling, banishing shadows almost completely.

Adriana, Philip’s older sister, stood in one of the corners, making small talk with the Risan boy, Aden, Philip had seen from the balcony last night. He was somewhat sullen, but clearly intelligent, politely listening to Ana, though Philip was certain that Aden didn’t care one way or another that the color red was in fashion these days. Across the room, in the opposite corner, Mia stood next to her brother Jesse. Neither of them had slept much, during the chaos of the previous night. They didn’t exchange anything, not even weary glances. They just stood together, like zombies, staring off into space with tired eyes. Mia’s other brother, Sito, sat on top of the table, tossing a small rubber ball against the wall with his left hand and catching it in his right.

“Of course,” Ana was saying, “red never works for people with my complexion. I’ve been thinking of dying my hair.”

“Oh, who cares?” Sito muttered.

Ana threw him a murderous look. “Says the biggest fashion victim of the century,” she snapped.

A third corner was occupied by Tranns. From his place by the window, Philip had been watching her for a long time. She seemed distracted, but not in the same way as Mia and Jesse. Tranns was completely withdrawn into herself, armed folded across her chest, her emerald eyes downcast and staring at her shoulder. A large bruise had formed on her forehead, clearly, she had seen some action.

“There’s nothing wrong with my clothing,” Sito declared, running his hands lovingly across the folds of his black leather jacket.

“Leather is so out,” Adriana replied. She glanced over at Tranns, who was, in fact, still wearing a suit of leather armor. “Sorry.”

Tranns shrugged. “It’s okay,” she muttered.

“What’s wrong with leather?” Sito shouted.

“Who wants to wear an animal?”

“What about you?” Sito asked, gesturing to the fur trimmed collar of her fancy gown.

Ana banged her fists together twice. “Enough you two,” Aden said softly. “We’re all on edge after last night. Let’s just calm down.”

“I will if you will,” Sito said to Ana.

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

The latch on the door released. Philip looked over to see Zelda walk in followed closely behind by a beautiful girl he had never seen before. She had delicate, nymph-like features and two sharp gray eyes, looking like glass. “I see you’re all assembled,” Zelda said, turning around to be certain the door was closed behind her.

“We heard your speech, Zelda,” Mia said, moving to the center of the room. “It was wonderful.”

“Yes,” Aden agreed, “you certainly rallied the people.”

Zelda pursed her lips. “Aden. It’s been some time.”

Aden bowed. “A year at least.”

“I suppose I should make some introductions,” Zelda said, addressing the whole room. “Philip Summer,” she began, gesturing in his direction. “You’ll all be taking orders from him in due time.” Philip let out a bit of a grunt that seemed to pass for a greeting. “And his sister Adriana,” Zelda continued.

“Ana, if you please,” she said smugly.

“My wards, of course,” Zelda went on, gesturing in their direction. “Mia, Jesse, and Sito.” Ana snorted loudly at the mention of Sito. “Aden Barr.” Aden stood up, politely nodding to the others in the room. “My niece, Tranns.”

“Another fashion victim,” Adriana mumbled to herself.

“Ana,” Philip said under his breath, a clear warning.

“Sorry.”

Zelda glanced in Philip’s direction. Since she had entered, she noticed to her bemusement, he had not taken his eyes off of the girl standing behind her. “To my right,” Zelda said aloud, “is Miss Ariadne. A firm loyalist. I’ve decided to add her to your team, Philip. She’ll be the best look out you could ask for.”

By this point, Sito had slid off of the table and sidled up to Ariadne, offering her a hand. “Hello,” he said.

“Hello,” Ariadne replied, staring at his hand uncertainly.

“If you will all take a seat,” Zelda cut in, “we’ll begin our conference.” With grumblings and pleasantries, the assembly took their seats. Sito made certain that he was sitting next to Ariadne, who he ogled shamelessly. “This is an historic occasion,” Zelda said, standing behind her own seat. This is the first time that all of the Guardians have come together. You are a special group of people, chosen for one simple purpose, the final line against the dark night.”

“Skip the inspirational speeches,” Tranns said dourly, looking up, perhaps, for the first time. “You gave that to the masses already this morning. Let’s just get down to business.”

Zelda glanced at her niece, rather nonplussed by the breech in etiquette. “So be it,” she said. “As you all know, the Red Dragon has set his sights on Hyrule, as we expected.”

“Zora Harbor can attest to that,” Aden said.

“Shhh!” Mia hissed at him. “Don’t interrupt.”

“On the contrary,” Zelda said with a small smile, “I hope that you will always feel as if you have enough freedom to interrupt. It establishes trust, and we must all trust each other in this.”

“Sorry,” Mia yelped quickly.

“Now, the Red Dragon.” Zelda paused, taking a moment to examine the face of each of the young people seated around the table. “His intention, naturally, is to conquer and destroy anything that gets in his way. It’s what he does. But what Hyrule has to offer him is more than just territory.”

“It’s the final piece of the puzzle,” Aden muttered with a shrug.

“Don’t interrupt just for the sake of interrupting,” Sito grumbled.

Ana sighed loudly, clearly annoyed. “What does Hyrule have to offer him, Zelda?” She took a great deal of joy in calling the queen by her first name and everyone could see it in her eyes.

“That should be obvious,” Mia said. “The Triforce.”

“Yes,” Zelda said with a nod.

Philip ran his fingers through his hair. “The Triforce.”

“He intends to take it. It would increase his power immeasurably.” Zelda looked at them. “I don’t intend to let him.” There was a dangerous tint to her final words, causing a chill to pass through all of the Guardians as they stared intently at her, unblinking.

It was Mia, finally, who voiced their collective question. “What are you going to do?”

“I’ll destroy the Triforce before I’ll see it fall into his hands,” Zelda answered.

“Destroy it?” Ana repeated incredulously.

“Is that even possible?” Sito asked.

“It’s more than possible,” Tranns spoke up. “It’s fairly simple.”

“How do you know?” Ana sneered.

“I sent Tranns to Maze Island to find out. A man living there knew the ritual,” Zelda supplied quickly, diffusing the situation.

“Okay,” Ana said, backing down. “So how do you destroy the Triforce?”

“There’s a dormant volcano in the Death Mountain range,” Tranns addressed the whole room. “It’s not as dormant as it looks. At the bottom of the crater are some powerful lava beds churning ether. Fall down there and you’ll be dead a long time. It’ll destroy the Triforce. Or, if you want to be more euphemistic about it, it’ll send the Triforce back to the Sacred Realm.”

“That sounds way too easy,” Mia retorted.

“It’s not so easy. There are tons of craters up there. Finding the right one could be a problem.”

“Fortunately,” Zelda said, “I have a friend who knows where you need to go. I’ve already contacted her. She’s agreed to meet you up there.”

“Meet who?” Ana asked. “I’m not going up there.”

“No,” Zelda agreed, “you’re not. I’m sending Philip and Tranns to take care of this.”

Sito’s eyes went wide. “You’re giving them the Triforce?”

Zelda sighed. “That is not within my power. You two,” she turned to Philip and Tranns, “will have to go to the Temple of Time. A man named Rauru will be waiting for you. He’ll be the one to give you the Triforce.”

Finally, Philip spoke up. “Who is this friend of yours we’re supposed to be meeting up there?”

She glanced at Philip, silent for a long moment with intent, blue eyes. “Her name is Nabooru,” she answered. Quickly, she went on. “The rest of you will stay here while they’re gone.”

“What are we supposed to do?” Mia asked.

“Get to know one another,” Zelda replied. “You are all going to be working very closely together. It’s important that you establish a trustful relationship from the start.” Her eyes fell on Ariadne for a moment. “When the worst happens, if it happens, you will be all that stands between the Red Dragon and complete domination of the realm. I hope you won’t take that lightly.”

“No,” Mia promised, “not at all.”
Zelda nodded with a slight smile. “That is why I chose you. Are there any matters we need to address here?” She was met by eight silent gazes. “Then you are all dismissed.”

Slowly, the Guardians started to drift out of the room, pairing off and whispering quietly. Philip walked over to Zelda, touching her arm and going to the darkest of the corners of the room. Her face set, Zelda followed him. “Nabooru,” he grunted darkly, glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one was eavesdropping.

“Nabooru,” Zelda told him with a nod.

“The leader of the Gerudo.”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“I trust Nabooru with my life.”

“I know. But will she trust me?”

“Is there any reason she shouldn’t?”



The Sacred Forest Meadow was the prettiest part of the Kokiri Village. It was at the peak of beauty right around noon when the sun was directly overhead and filtered through the leaves, casting green beams of light down on the forest floor. Few people knew about the sheer radiance of this secluded spot, but the Sage of the Forest counted herself among the blessed few. This was her special spot, where she came to reflect and to remember. Saria had many things to remember, hundreds of memories, both happy and sad, but today, she seemed more focused on the sad ones.

She was thinking about Link, Tulsa, and Zelda today. About their wild adventures and fun conversations in the stillness of the summer nights they spent together. A part of her missed those times so much that it hurt. Tulsa and Link were gone now, remaining only in her memory. And recent events had certainly jarred her memory.

Of course, she had heard about the attack on Zora Harbor. While the Kokiri were secluded, they weren’t isolated. It troubled her a great deal more than the rest of the Kokiri. Aside from Mido, everyone was merely grateful that the forest hadn’t been attacked. Saria and Mido alone remained in a state of trepidation, mulling over the significance of what had happened. Then again, the two of them knew a lot more about the outside than the others.

Around midmorning, Saria decided to remove herself from the daily activity and slip away to her special place. She sat on a vine looped around an overhanging tree branch, forming a swing, one leg propped up on the cord, the other dangling over the grass. Her fairy fluttered around her head like a butterfly, riding the breeze, swooping down low then shooting straight up into the air to perform little somersaults and loop de loops. For the most part, Saria ignored her lifelong companion, swinging her dangling leg absently to rock the vine back and forth.

Gossip was normally beneath her, but a certain rumor regarding Zelda had been passed around the forest lately and Saria could not fail to take note. She desperately wished Zelda would pay them a visit to either prove or disprove what people were saying about her. It had been nearly a year since her last visit and Saria was growing antsy. Once again, she sighed softly, lamenting the Kokiri curse. For twenty years or so, Saria had longed to leave the forest behind, never looking back. Everything she saw now reminded her of a past she would just as soon have forgotten.

Dropping her other leg, Saria began pumping, swaying her body back and forth to start the swing. This disgruntled her fairy slightly, who zipped around her head once before flying over her shoulder and disappearing somewhere behind her head. Leaning back, she lay horizontal against the swing, watching as the forest canopy shifted back and forth before her eyes.

An old lullaby came to Saria’s mind abruptly. She hadn’t heard it in years, but she could remember every word: He will keep. Feigning sleep. Open his jaws and away he’ll creep. Skin like a rose. Where ere he goes. He’s gonna leave destruction and step on your toes.

To be certain, it was an eerie little melody. Why it had come to Saria’s mind now, of all times, was beyond her limited comprehension. She may have been the wisest of the Kokiri, but she feared that wasn’t saying much. What was that song called again anyway? Oh yes. Ballad of the Red Dragon.

The swing lurched backward violently and Saria fell off, tumbling face first into the grassy knoll beneath her. After the moment of initial shock wore off, she rolled over onto her back, blinking her eyes rapidly to clear the stars. When her vision finally came into focus, she noticed a stranger in her midst. It was a man, she supposed, dressed in all black so that his face couldn’t be seen. He stood next to the swing, holding the vine in one hand.

Well, that wasn’t very nice. Saria sat up, opening her mouth to reproach him, but she was stopped by a curious action. Paying absolutely no attention to the Kokiri girl, the stranger was following her fairy’s movements, his head jerking about as he struggled to keep his eyes locked on the tiny ball of light. Suddenly, at an impossibly fast speed, his hand shot out, latching around the fairy. He managed to catch her, speedy though she was. Green light gleamed out from in between the black gloves on his fingers. As Saria watched in horror, he began squeezing. She could hear soft popping from his fist and the shrill shrieks of her fairy.

She let out a scream, trying to stop him, but the aggressor continued. Saria jumped to her feet and he finally seemed to notice her. Casually, without much regard for the sacred haunts of the Kokiri, he tossed the broken fairy to the side. She hit a tree trunk and dropped to the ground, disappearing in the tall grass. Her heart pounded in her chest and Saria turned to race to her companion. The stranger was quicker, cutting off her path.

Saria rushed at him, stomping down hard on his foot and knocking him off to one side when his balance faltered. Without looking back, she raced to where she had last seen her fairy fall, parting through the grass in a panic. Suddenly, she felt two hands on her, grabbing either side of her body and hefting her clean up into the air. The attacker, it seemed, had regained his balance.

He started to carry her away. Saria kicked and struggled, finally managing to nail him in the jaw. Out of surprise more than pain, he dropped her. She tumbled to the ground, quickly throwing her weight to one side to roll across the grass. In a flash, she jumped to her feet, observing as the attacker recovered. There were only two directions she could take. One led back to the village, where the other Kokiri were playfully assembled and going about their business. If Saria ran that way, she might risk exposing the others to this clearly dangerous man. The other path headed to the village. With heavy foliage, there was a slim possibility that she could lose him. If that didn’t work however, she’d have no place left to run, because the forest ended in less than fifty paces away.

Determined to protect her friends, Saria took fight into the trees, weaving and cutting the most indirect path she could manage. Behind her, she could hear the heavy footfall of the stranger, chasing after her in determination. She glanced over her shoulder. Though she could see him, she wasn’t entirely convinced that he could see her. Taking the risk, she ran around a tree and doubled back, shimmying her way up into the highest branches.

Holding her breath, she looked down, watching as the enemy ran straight past her tree. Closing her eyes, Saria clung to the trunk, allowing herself a few shaky, silent breaths. Suddenly, the tree began to rock. Saria opened her eyes and looked down to see the stranger shaking the trunk. He was surprisingly strong and Saria found it a struggle to stay up in the branches. There was a low moan from beneath the bark. Her branch was giving under the stress.

Completely aware that her fall was inevitable, Saria began screaming at the top of her lungs, hoping to draw the attention of the others. The attacker seemed nonplussed about her cries. He continued shaking the trunk violently, clearly intent on the branch breaking under her weight. And it did.

Violently, Saria tumbled down, scraping her arms and legs on the lower branches and twigs as she fell. When she hit the ground, it was with a loud grunt. Stars clouded her vision again and she could feel warm blood trickling down her face from an open wound on her forehead. As she slapped her hand over the cut, she felt the foe’s hands fall on her again, lifting her into the air. She let out a scream. He clamped a hand over her mouth. She bit his fingers. He hurled her clean across the forest, out into a clearing.

Saria landed, dazed and confused. She could feel sunlight fall on her face and for a moment, she felt her heart burst with an unexplained joy. Then, she looked up. The trees were gone now. Overhead, all she could see was a clear blue sky. Oddly enough, the attacker stopped advancing, remaining where he stood, watching her with his blacked out face. Suddenly, Saria realized the cruel twist of fate that had befallen her. She was no longer in the Kokiri forest.

She looked down at her hands. Before her eyes, the smooth, firm flesh of her palms began to wither, aging like overripe peaches and growing wrinkled. The phenomenon spread to her arms, causing her skin to sag. Up into her chest and face, her cheeks sinking in, her eyes bugging out. Out of control, her hair grew, spiraling down her frail body in long white locks. She felt her back hunch, her bones growing too brittle to support the weight of her body. As her hide slowly turned to ash, she looked up one last time at the stranger, the forest, and the sky. A single tear managed to work its way down her cracked and dry cheek. Against all expectations, the Sage of the Forest felt nothing but joy as her body deteriorated.



For Philip, Tranns Harkin was a wide range of paradoxes. At times she was sullen and silent, but then she would suddenly burst into a string of curses. She was very pretty but made it very clear she did not want to be treated feminine. He wondered about the warning Zelda had given him, how working with her would be difficult, but so far, it had been mostly silent.

The two of them, after receiving some additional information from Zelda, made their way out of the castle, heading into the heart of Hyrule. After last night’s attack, things were unsettling. Although Zora Harbor had been the only place to witness the power of the Red Dragon, panic had risen in the rest of the kingdom, leading to excessive looting and violence. Today, the villagers returned home from Zelda’s speech to clean up the broken glass, showered across the landscape.

Tranns and Philip passed through the mess, more or less unnoticed. Well, as unnoticed as such a pair could get. It was very difficult for Philip to be anonymous. Not only was he a foot taller than most of the citizens of Hyrule, but he was Gerudo through and through. Tranns, meanwhile, was not a ravishing beauty (like that girl Zelda had made the lookout, Philip couldn’t stop thinking about her) but she had a striking appearance to her. She dressed in leather, slacks and a crop top that tied up like a bustier. On her left hand she wore a glove, but on her right none. Philip wondered about this slightly. Completing her ensemble was a bright, shimmering purple cape. Though there was a hood, she elected not to wear it.

The Temple of Time loomed in the distance. “Have you ever been?” Tranns asked, breaking the long silence.

Philip looked at her. “What?”

Tranns jerked her head in the direction of the three spires reaching up into the sky. “Have you ever been?”

“To the temple?”

“Yeah.”

“No.”

“It’s beautiful. Real moving.”

“Moving?”

“Yeah, like a piece of art or something.”

“I don’t know much about art.”

She shrugged. “Me neither. Except for those illuminated manuscripts in the Hylian missions.”

“I’ve never been very religious.”

“Isn’t your mother a goddess or something?”

Philip bit his lip for a moment. “Or something.”

“That’s probably why.”

“What?”

“That’s probably why you’re not religious. My mother was a princess, so I’m not very royal. We always want to be the opposite of our parents.”

“You have no idea,” Philip grunted. “Is that why you volunteered for the mission to Maze Island?”

“What?”

“Zelda told me you were one of her spies. The League of the Triforce.”

“What’s it to you?”

“I’m just wondering why you went to Maze Island. Was it because you knew he was after the Triforce?”

“No.”

They walked on in silence. None of the villagers seemed to notice them. Fear was so tangible in the land, Philip could smell it. It came from everyone. Everyone except for Tranns Harkin. “Why did you go?”

“Aden.”

“Aden?”

“I knew he was there. And he’s way too stubborn to do something like save his own hide. So I went.”

“Why was he there?”

“Aden started the militia.”

“He’s always been obsessed with the Red Dragon, hasn’t he?”

“The Red Dragon killed our father when Aden was four. Burned down the palace. So, Aden was smuggled out by one of his dad’s best friends and her fiancé. They get to the dock and Aden and a few other kids are thrown into the ship. One of the Red Dragon’s flunkies showed up and started attacking the friend and fiancé. Aden saw all of it from the window. The fiancé jumps in the way of an attack and gets killed, dying in her arms. You don’t forget something like that.”

“No,” Philip mumbled. “I guess not.”

By this point, they had arrived outside of the Temple of Time. It was, indeed, a remarkable display of architecture, safely nestled away from the rest of the village, in a grove surrounded by tall trees, with a view of Death Mountain looming in the distance. Three spires soared up into the air, crowned in stone triangles. The center spire hosted a stained glass window illustrating some myth Philip had long forgotten. Stone steps led up to the arched entrance, accented by a frieze of the Triforce and the three major goddesses of Hyrule.

Tranns and Philip exchanged a look. Philip nodded and together, they began climbing the steps. It could not fail to hit even Philip that they were walking in the footsteps of the Hero of Time. Though he was long gone, his memory still penetrated Hyrule. There was a set of wooden double doors underneath the frieze. Tranns pressed her left hand, the one with the glove, to the handle and pushed it inward for the two to step through.

The interior of the temple was surprisingly dark, the light very feeble through the windows. A long red carpet with gold lining led from the doors, across the checkerboard tiles, to a dais in the center of the sanctuary. The platform was shaped like a hexagon, the icon of the Triforce laid in with gold leaf. Beyond the platform, there was the door to another chamber, crowned in yet another Triforce. Before it was an altar where three gleaming jewels rested, shining in blue, green, and red.

“Hello?” Tranns called into the shadows. Her question echoed off of the walls, bouncing back to them.

“Doesn’t look like anyone’s here,” Philip muttered, turning his gaze up to the ribbed vaults of the ceiling.

Right on cue, the door to the far chamber opened. A powerful and large figure appeared, silhouetted against whatever light was coming from the chamber. It was a strong light, blacking out the man’s features entirely until he turned around and closed the door behind him. Rauru was a sturdy man, to be certain. He took up almost the entire doorway. Philip wasn’t entirely sure how much of the bulk was the man himself and how much was the heavy priestly robes he wore. The old man’s face was grizzled and hard, a white mustache farming his cheekbones and upper lip. He had incredible jowls, like a pug dog.

“Who’s there?” he barked.

“Zelda sent us,” Tranns answered.

Rauru stepped down, walking around the altar and taking the stairs down to the checkerboard floor. “What does she want?”

This was the hard part. Tranns closed her eyes, trying to remember exactly what Zelda had told her to say. “The power of gold.”

Immediately, Rauru’s eyebrows shot up. “From days of old?”

“Sharper than scythe.”

“Keener than eye.”

“Greater than…” Tranns faltered for a moment, trying to remember the word. “War.”

“Riches of the poor.” Rauru’s frightful face finally broke into a small smile. Instantly, his look transformed from a stern disciplinarian to a more grandfatherly figure. “Zelda did send you.”

“Yes,” Tranns replied. For emphasis, she removed the glove on her left hand and held it up. Tattooed on the heel of her palm was a small Triforce, glittering in the weak sunlight.

“I wish it were under better circumstances,” Philip said gruffly.

Rauru looked him over. “You must be Philip Summer.”

“I must be.”

“Zelda’s written me about you.” He eyed Tranns critically for a moment. “Mia or Ariadne?”

Tranns shook her head. “Neither.”

“Tranns then?”

“Yes.”

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you both finally. I’m sure you don’t have much time to waste with pleasantries however.”

“You could say that,” Philip mumbled.

“Then tell me why Zelda sent you.”

“The Red Dragon’s on the move,” Tranns told him.

“Yes, I know. I saw what happened last night.”

“He means to take over Hyrule but he won’t do it until he secures the Triforce. Zelda wants to keep it from falling into his hands.”

“And how will she do that?”

“By…sending it back to the Sacred Realm.”

Rauru pursed his lips together. “I see.”

“She’s sent us to collect it. We’re supposed to meet with Nabooru up in the mountains.”

“Very well,” Rauru said. He turned around, walking back up the steps beside the altar. Philip and Tranns exchanged a look then started after him, following all the way to the door. Rauru raised his hands, palms facing the doorway, fingers spread wide. The stone doorway shuddered and then opened. Again, the blinding light from the second chamber spilled over into the dark sanctuary, forcing both Tranns and Philip to shield their eyes. It was not until the rumbling stopped that either of them dared to look into the luminosity.

The room was built of stone. There were no decorations, no windows, no doors. In the center of the room was a beacon of blue light. Where it was coming from, no one was entirely sure. Suspended in midair, within the confines of the beacon, floated three gold triangles. A warmth radiated out from these shining shapes, penetrating their skin and flying around their heads until all three felt dizzy. There it was: The object of so much conflict, so much strife in Hylian history. The Triforce.

“I thought…” Philip trailed off, his voice thick.

“Yes?” Rauru prompted, never tearing his eyes off of the sacred relic.

“I thought it would be bigger.”



“And so after that, I came to North Castle,” Sito concluded proudly, a smug smile on his face.

“Wow,” Ana said. “That story certainly was…long.”

Ariadne giggled, putting a hand over her mouth. Sito looked over at her, his ears turning slightly pink. “Hey!” he cried indignantly to Ana. “That was mean.”

Ana shrugged. “I’m Adriana. I think it, I say it. It’s my way.”

“Well, you’re the one who asked me where I came from.”

“I was hoping for the short version.”

“Well excuse me.” Sito glanced over at Ariadne as she walked on between them, smiling slightly. He rubbed the back of his neck. “What about you?”

“Me?”

“Where do you come from?”

The three of them had been going in circles around the palace grounds for nearly an hour now. It began when Sito tried to follow Ariadne. Distraught by her brother’s absence, Adriana tagged along, quickly falling into a verbal spar with Sito that ended up with a sarcastic retort about not knowing where he was from.

Now, they were out in the courtyard for the third time. Castle life was relatively quite today. Zelda had given almost all of the servants permission to take the day off and attend to their own families. As for the knights, they were out in the village, helping to repair the damage of last night. And certainly, no courtiers dared to stray from their estates today. So, aside from a few cooks and maids who decided to stick around, the wards of Zelda were very much on their own. All of them were occupied with the heavy duty on Tranns and Philip’s shoulders.

“I live in the castle,” Ariadne replied.

“I’ve never seen you before,” Sito told her. “And I’ve been living here for about ten years.”

Ariadne shrugged. “I keep to myself.”

Ana gave her a funny look. “You don’t say much, do you?”

“No.”

“Well, that’s all right,” Sito said quickly. “Adriana can talk enough for both of you.”

“Hey!” Ana cried resentfully.

“What’s the deal with your brother anyway?” Sito continued, oblivious to her indignation. “He’s kind of…”

“Broody?” Ana supplied.

“I was going to say taciturn, but your word works too.”

Ana put her hand to her chest in mock surprise. “That’s an awfully big word for you, Sito. Where did you hear it?”

“Shove it! I know lots of words.”

“And yet the best insult you could come up with was ‘shove it?’ You’ve got quite the vocabulary, Sito.”

“I’m not trying to impress anyone,” he said nonchalantly. His blue eyes drifted over in Ariadne’s direction. She didn’t seem to be paying much attention to the roasting he was receiving at Ana’s hands.

“As for Phil,” Ana sighed, pressing on, “he’s a very complicated person. No one understands him.”

“Zelda must know something about him,” Sito said, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Otherwise, she wouldn’t have picked him for the leader.”

“Zelda works in mysterious ways,” Ana joked. “Then again,” she added, glancing in Ariadne’s direction, “she’s not the biggest mystery we have.”

As Sito followed Ana’s gaze, Ariadne looked up, squirming a little from the attention. “What? Why are you looking at me?”

“You’ve got to tell us something about you,” Sito said. “Where are you from, Airy?”

She looked a bit confused. “Airy?”

“What? Never had a nick name before?”

“Well…no.”

“Airy,” Ana repeated, letting the word roll off of her tongue. “I like it. It has a certainly waif-ish charm to it.”

“That settles it,” Sito declared. “The nick name is sticking.”

Ariadne shrugged. “If you like.”

“So where are you from, Airy?”

“Terabithia.”

“Tera-who?”

“Terabithia.” Ariadne set her jaw, looking straight ahead. “You probably haven’t heard of it.”

“Can’t say that I have.”

Ana smirk. “Terabithia? Now that is a pretty n –”

Ariadne suddenly stopped short. The others both took a step or two forward before realizing that she had stopped. She stood motionless, lifting her chin slightly, her gray eyes falling out of focus for a moment. “What?” Sito asked, taking a step back. “What is it, Airy?”

“Do you smell that?”

Sito sniffed the air. “Smell what? I don’t smell anything except for Ana’s cheap perfume.”

“Hey!” Ana shouted, slapping his arm. “I’ll have you know that my perfume is not cheap.”

“Sorry. I don’t smell anything except for Ana’s ridiculously and insanely expensive perfume.”

“That’s better,” Ana said with satisfaction.

“No,” Ariadne mumbled, more to herself than to them.

“What is it?” Sito asked.

Immediately, Ariadne turned around, heading back in the direction they had come from with intense determination in her steps. Ana and Sito scampered after her, both looking equally confused. She veered off the path suddenly, crossing the grass to a rose bush.

“Is now really the time to stop and smell the roses?” Ana muttered. “It’s just so morbid.”

Sito glared at her. “Shut up, Ana.”

Ariadne slowed down, stopping in front of the bushes. “Oh gods,” she whispered to herself.

“What? What is it?”

Cautiously, Ariadne leaned over, pulling aside the bush. As Sito and Ana caught up, they noticed something glistening. The grass was wet, but it wasn’t dew. There was something red over it. As Ariadne yanked more on the bush, they realized why. With a muted shriek, Ana turned away, pulling a perfumed handkerchief out of her pocket and pressing it over her mouth and nose. Sito’s eyes grew wide, his jaw falling open. Ariadne’s hand, holding back the leaves, visibly started trembling and she was finally forced to let go. The gruesome image was only half covered though. Even if it had disappeared completely, it would have remained burned into their memories.

“By the gods…” Sito hissed softly.

“I’m going to be sick,” Ana moaned into her handkerchief.

“That’s disgusting,” Sito continued, though not in response to what Adriana had said.

“How long has that been there?” Ana wondered, gulping hard.

“Not long,” Ariadne muttered, regaining her own composure.

“Who could do such a thing?”

“The Red Dragon.”

“I hate him,” Sito said quietly.

“Yeah…” Ana agreed. “Me too.”

Ariadne knelt down again. She didn’t want to look, but she forced herself. The grass was stained with blood. Scattered throughout the rose bush were what could only be described as pieces. Limbs, fingers, toes, and a head with eyes gouged out. Impa’s remains. She deserved so much better. At least, Ariadne supposed with a grim demeanor, at least she had been brought home.



“I can’t say I like this idea much,” Liandra said, throwing the cloak over her mistress’s shoulders.

“That’s the way you were brought up,” Nabooru answered, closing the clasp around her neck. “You’re supposed to question my decisions. That’s why you’re second in command.”

“Well, I don’t like it.”

Nabooru laughed throatily, sparing her companion a glance. Liandra was young and impetuous, which was without a question the reason Nabooru liked her so much. In a way, she reminded her of a certain other ambitious young Gerudo warrior from days gone by. “Zelda can be trusted,” Nabooru told her firmly, holding both her arms out to allow Liandra to tie her gauntlets.

“I have no doubt,” Liandra replied, dutifully sliding the pink gloves onto Nabooru’s arms.

“Then what is your objection?”

“It’s not safe for you to be venturing out unattended.”

“This is a personal meeting,” Nabooru explained. “I’m not going on a raid without the others. It should only take an hour anyway.”

“Why do they need you though? Why can’t you send someone else to guide them?”

“Because that would require me to tell someone else in the pride where they’re going and what they’re going to do there.”

“You shouldn’t hide things from the other sisters.”

“This is not Gerudo business,” Nabooru insisted.

“Then what is it?”
Nabooru lowered her arms, taking Liandra’s face in her hands. “It’s a matter of a favor, a personal favor.”

Liandra sighed. “To the queen.”

“Yes. To Zelda.”

“I just don’t want you getting hurt.”

“We’re going to take a walk up the mountain,” Nabooru assured her. “That’s it. Nothing else.”

“How long is it going to take you?”

Nabooru dropped her hands. “That all depends on how long you delay me,” she answered with a twinkle in her eye.

“Won’t you at least take a bodyguard with you? Take Briseis with you. She’s strong.”

“I thought I won this argument.”

“You know I’ll never let you win.”

“How silly of me,” Nabooru laughed. This caused Liandra to smile a bit. “While I’m gone, I want you to rally the others.”

“Why?”

“I want to make sure everyone is accounted for. I’ve been hearing whispers about going into the town to raid and pillage in the wake of the attack. I want it to be known that I expressly forbid it. We are not vultures.”

“Understood.”

“Now, hand me my swords.”

Liandra turned around, crossing Nabooru’s chambers. With great ceremony, she leaned over to pick up the weapons, but she was interrupted by a flash of green light beside her. Nabooru herself was forced to shield her eyes for a moment. A cold shiver ran down her spine and she looked up to see a man in a suit of purple armor standing beside Liandra, his foot on top of the swords.

“War…” Nabooru growled.

“Hello, Nabooru,” War said brightly. “Glad to see you still remember me after all these years.”

“It would be difficult to forget.”

“Mistress?” Liandra asked.

“Get out of here, Liandra,” Nabooru barked.

Liandra turned to run, but War caught her by the arm, pulling her back against his chest. “Please,” he purred dangerously. “Stay.”

“War, leave it between us.”

“Who is he, Mistress?” Liandra asked, struggling and War took her chin and attempted to turn her face in his direction.

“A very bad man,” Nabooru hissed.

“Oh, Nabooru,” War sighed. “Is that really all you have to say for me? I’d think you of all people could get more creative.”

“We’re not as young as we used to be.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

“Run, Mistress!” Liandra shouted. “Save yourself.”

“Yes, Nabooru,” War taunted her. “Save yourself.”

“You both know that I won’t do that.”

“That’s what I love about you, Nabooru. You’re so deliciously predictable in your nobility.”

“I consider that a compliment,” Nabooru said icily.

“No reason you should. Your petty scruples are a disgrace to the name of the Gerudo. And that’s why you lost control to Dragmire for seven years. Isn’t it? You refused to play dirty.”

“Enough, War.”

“Fortunately,” he continued, “I have no objection to playing dirty.”

“Swine!” Liandra howled angrily, trying to break free of War’s unyielding grip on her.

“Let her go, War,” Nabooru said calmly.

“As you wish,” War replied, bowing his head. He planted a hand firmly on top of Liandra’s skull, clasping her jaw. With a swift, jerking motion, he turned her head, a sickening snap cracking the air. Liandra crumpled to the ground, a bone protruding from the skin of her neck at a disgusting angle. War delivered a sharp kick to her middle, sending her skittering halfway across the chamber to Nabooru’s feet.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Nabooru said thickly.

“I was only doing what you asked.”

“You killed her, you monster.”

“I know,” he replied. “And I feel just awful about it.”

“What do you want?”

“Just you.”

“Come and get me.”

Nabooru abruptly made a break for the door. As predicted, War moved to block her path. That was the opportunity she needed. Whirling around, she fell to her knees, skidding across the room and grabbing one of her swords. War recovered from the fake by that point and came bearing down on her. Nabooru leapt to her feet, swinging the sword violently. It impacted with his armor, ringing loudly.

“Fighting is only going to make it harder,” War said, slamming Nabooru’s blade back with his gauntlet.

“On the contrary,” Nabooru insisted, coming to a ready stance. “Fighting is what comes easiest to me.”

“To you perhaps. But how long do you think your Gerudo sisters will be able to hold out?”

This threw Nabooru more than she would permit herself to reveal. “What do you mean?”

“One word from me and three battalions of the Red Dragon’s finest troops descends on the Gerudo Valley.”

“You’re bluffing.”

“Would you care to test that theory?”

“My people will fight.”

“Like her, you mean?” War asked coyly, jerking his head in the direction of the lifeless Liandra.

“Don’t speak of her.”

“Be smart, Nabooru. You know what will happen. Your Gerudos are no match for my men.” He paused before adding. “And I’ll make you watch. I’ll deny you an honorable death.”

“It seems to me that’s what you already had in store.”

“Not necessarily.”

“Oh really?”

“If everything goes according to plan, you’ll live free. But if you make it difficult, well, there are things worse than death.”

“What about my people?”

“The Red Dragon has no real interest in the Gerudo Valley. After he conquers Hyrule, he intends to let business as normal continue.” War took a step forward in Nabooru’s direction. “Don’t be stupid, Nabooru. Put down the sword.”

Nabooru held the sword up, aiming the tip directly at War’s chest. “No,” she declared.

He sighed in agitation. “Very well.”

With that, War clapped his hands twice. Two more bursts of green light appeared from above and two burly masked, warriors dropped down from the ceiling. Nabooru whirled around, aiming to take off the head of the nearer one. She caught Nabooru’s blade in between her palms. The second warrior then kicked the Gerudo queen’s knees, forcing her to fall to the ground. Meanwhile, the sword was wrenched free of Nabooru’s fingers. War’s flunky handed it to him. He pointed the tip down at Nabooru’s throat.

“Kill me,” she ordered him.

“No,” War replied sternly. “You don’t get off that easily.” He made a gesture with one hand. “Take her away.”

The two lackeys hefted Nabooru up, off of the floor, each holding one of her powerful arms. She struggled valiantly, her cape falling from her shoulders to the floor, but it was to no avail. The two younger assailants were just too strong. With a signal from War, they both muttered softly, summoning Farore’s Wind and vanishing from sight, Nabooru along with them. War took a quick walk about the chamber, making certain that no one had heard the fray. Once he was satisfied, he knelt down and picked up Nabooru’s cape. Tenderly, he laid it across the body of Liandra, before rising himself and vanishing from sight.



They all stood together, most of them trying as hard as possible not to look at the grisly sight. “How do you suppose it got here?” Mia asked. None of them could bear to use the word ‘she’ or ‘her’ to describe the remains. All of them, except for perhaps Aden, knew Impa exceptionally well, too well to relate the pile of body parts in the rose bush to the person they loved.

“The Red Dragon,” Aden replied. Everyone looked at him. He shrugged. “Probably to send Zelda a message.”

“Postcards are way too overrated apparently,” Ana deadpanned. Everyone stared at her in horror. “What?” she said with a shrug. “No time better than the present for a little humor.”

“She’s right,” Sito said.

“Thank you.”

“It had to happen eventually.”

“Hey!”

“Can we focus?” Aden questioned them loudly, giving the two of them a very stern look.

Mia looked at him. “What’s left to focus on?”

“Someone has to tell Zelda.”

This statement struck them all into a very long silence. They knew, of course, that the responsibility fell to them, but how could they possibly do it? Each and every one of them knew exactly what Impa meant to Zelda. She had been more than a friend or companion. Impa had been Zelda’s surrogate mother, father, sister, and mentor. Wanting a husband, Impa had been all that kept Zelda company many a night. This death wouldn’t fall hard on her, it might well shatter her.

“What do we do?”

Aden scowled. “I wish I knew.”

“It has to be one of us,” Mia asserted. “We can’t let her find out some other way. We can’t let her…”

“Find the body,” Sito supplied.

“Someone has to go tell her,” Aden said again.

“Who’s it going to be?” Ana asked quietly.

“Maybe we should all go together?” Mia supposed.

Both Jesse and Aden shook their heads. “If she breaks down, we don’t all want to be around watching her,” Aden said. “We have to maintain her dignity.”

“This isn’t about dignity!” Ana cried. “This is about the fact that Impa is dead. And Zelda needs our support. We shouldn’t just tip toe around it. I say we should be there if she breaks down.”

Everyone looked at her. “So…” Ariadne said slowly, “do we all agree?”

Finally, Aden nodded. “We all tell her.”

“Yeah,” Sito agreed.

Mia sighed. “All right.”

“So,” Aden clapped his hands together, “when do we tell her?”



Death Mountain really didn’t deserve its name. For all the terrifying stories told about it, the scenery was actually quite lovely. It looked more like a castle than a mountain really. High cliffs soared up into the sky like turrets, crowned in white caps. Admittedly, the road was a little rough to traverse, but it certainly wasn’t unbearable. Philip remembered tall tales from his youth about living rocks that would fall down to crush unwise travelers through the valleys. The fact of the matter was, had they not been on such a dire mission, he would have enjoyed the walk.

Tranns walked a pace ahead of him, carrying a box under her arm. Rauru had given it to them. He said it was the only container in the Known Worlds that could contain the power of the Triforce. And even then, it would only hold a few hours before the sheer power of the triangles burst through, reducing the box to splinters. Tranns cradled it carefully, with a surprisingly delicate touch.

“Where, exactly, are we supposed to be making the rendezvous?” Philip asked, carefully picking his way over a pile of pebbles.

“Near the Goron pass,” Tranns replied.

“And then we go up into the heights?”

“I guess so.”

“How does she know where this volcano is anyway?”

Tranns shrugged. “I don’t know. But she does and no one else can say the same.”

“Great…”

“You’re not a big fan of the Gerudos, are you?”

“Not in the least,” Philip answered.

“Well, at least you’re honest. Can I ask why?”

“My father was one.”

Blinking in surprise, Tranns turned to look over her shoulder. Whatever she was going to say on the matter, however, became lost quickly. “Bloody hell. Phil! Behind you!” Philip spun around, just in time to receive a solid left hook in the face. Three masked warriors had appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. Two of them immediately took on Philip while the third scrambled over the rocks to Tranns.

They both ran at Philip at the exact same moment. Using this to his advantage, Philip dropped to the ground, rolling out of the way. The warriors smashed into one another, stumbling back. Philip would have found it comical, had the situation not been so desperate. They were, after all, carrying precious cargo.

The third warrior advanced on Tranns, his arms spread wide, fingers apart. Letting out a primal grunt, she jerked her knee up, catching him in the stomach. As he doubled over, she flipped the box up, nailing his jaw and sending him flying back against a boulder. “Careful!” Philip shouted to her, climbing to his feet.

“No problem!” she screamed back, sweeping her leg at the warrior’s ankles. She managed to hook her foot around one and yank, pulling him headfirst to the ground. Once he was down, she slammed her foot on the small of his back and then knelt down, pressing a corner of the box against his spine.

Philip turned to face his own attackers who had just recovered from their collision. Much to his dismay, he found a knife, pointed at his chest, and a second one at his throat. “Tell her to back off,” the first one ordered.

“You can’t kill me,” Philip replied, watching the dagger wearily.

“We can knock you unconscious long enough to take out your little friend,” the warrior replied. “Three against one and she has the box.”

“Tranns,” Philip called wearily. She looked over to see the weapons trained on him. With a small sigh, she stood up, still cradling the box. The warrior she had been busy pummeling rose unsteadily to his feet.

“Come with us,” the leader of the warriors barked.

“Where are we going?” Philip asked.

“We’re taking you to War.”



Zelda sat alone in her room, filled with silence. She had drawn the curtains shut, so only a trace of light managed to enter. Her eyes were red and swollen, feeling very hot whenever she blinked. When she glanced into the mirror of her vanity, she saw two pink streaks going down her cheeks, where her tears had fallen. The fact of the matter was that she looked like a wreck, but quite frankly, she didn’t care. There was no call to impress.

She rose, crossing the room to her bed. Her fingers ran along the white stitches, so often repaired from her rambunctious childhood habit of jumping on the bed. A lump formed in her throat, threatening to spill out of her mouth in low, mournful cries. She was no longer a child anymore; she scolded herself, swallowing hard to banish the tears and the moans. A hand fluttered to her stomach, grounding her back in the reality of her adulthood.

What would Impa say to her now? She’d doubtlessly tell her to stop wallowing and focus on what was happening. Live in the present. Time was a funny thing, it was best not to try and manipulate it by moving forward or back. As Zelda turned to look at her oily reflection in the mirror, a new thought occurred to her. Time.

Briskly, she crossed the room, going to her oak desk against the far wall near the balcony. She yanked the middle drawer open, pushing aside papers and pens, searching amidst the chaos. Finally, just as she was about to give up, her fingers brushed against something smooth. She drew it out. The Ocarina of Time. It had been decades since she last spared a thought to the family heirloom. Now, as she stood there holding it, a flood of new possibilities rushed into her mind.

There was a knock on the door. Jarred abruptly from her thoughts, Zelda turned to look over her shoulder. “Who is it?”

“It’s us Zelda.” She recognized Mia’s voice.

“What is it?”

“Can we come in? There’s something we have to tell you.”



Philip and Tranns were led along a rocky path. Tranns tightly clutched the Triforce box, not allowing their captors to pry it out of her arms. Finally, sick of trying and impatient to get to their master, they decided to let her carry it. What did it matter if she carried it? She was just doing work for them. Philip, meanwhile, kept his hands up on top of his head. The warriors trusted him less than her, in part, because they remembered him from his daring rescue of Zelda from the Red Dragon’s palace in Calatia.

They finally came to a flat plain, quite high up on the peaks. There was a small congregation of masked warriors, milling around the plateau. Beside a crater, Philip caught sight of another prisoner, a majestic Gerudo matron, sitting on her knees, her hands tied behind her back. One warrior guarded her absently, not really bothering to pay her much heed. She looked up at the sound of approaching footsteps, making eye contact with Philip momentarily.

“Where’s the master?” one of the guards bringing Tranns and Philip asked, prodding them toward the crater.

“He’s checking in on the Red Dragon’s project,” another guard replied. “These them?”

“These are the ones.”

“Put them over here, by her majesty,” the leading warrior barked. He said the word ‘majesty’ mockingly.

Obediently, Tranns and Philip’s captors steered them to the crater, pushing them both down onto their knees. “Watch it!” Tranns growled.

“Watch yourself,” the warrior muttered, resting a hand on the hilt of the dagger in his belt.

As the guard walked away, Philip gritted his teeth. “Are you all right?” he asked Tranns softly.

“Fine,” she replied.

Trying to be as casual as possible, Philip looked around, examining their surroundings. “No place to head for cover.”

“The better for them to watch us.”

“Even if we could make a break for it, we’d have nowhere to go.”

“Not true.”

“What?”

“Farore’s Wind.”

“You can do that?”

“Yeah.” Tranns turned her face away from him as she continued. “Not very well, I mean, we might end up in the middle of the ocean, but at least we’d be away from here.”

“You there.” Both Tranns and Philip turned to look across the crater, where Nabooru knelt, staring at them intently. “You’re Gerudo.”

Philip set his jaw for a moment before answering. “Half Gerudo.”

“Would know that jaw anywhere.”

“I’m very sorry,” he spat bitterly.

“Now I understand why Zelda asked me to help.”

“I think it’s just because you know the location of where we needed to be,” Philip said dourly.

“No,” Nabooru shook her head. “There are others who know. All the Sages. But she chose me because of you.”

“I think you’re flattering yourself, your majesty.”

“I know what you’ve been through, better than you give me credit for, young master.”

“I highly doubt that,” Philip answered.

“Shame. Guilt. Longing to change your heritage. I know what the children of Ganondorf Dragmire have suffered.”

“Let’s leave my unfortunate parentage out of this.”

“My daughter went through the same thing.”

“Attention!” the commanding warrior barked. Philip’s head snapped to one side where he saw the imposing figure of War, hovering over the landscape, the final wisps of Farore’s Wind fading around him.

“Here comes trouble,” Tranns muttered, tightening her grip on the box in her arms.

War stood still a moment, taking in the scene. Finally, content he knew everything that was going on, he drifted across the plateau to the space behind Nabooru. “Master Dragmire, pleasure to see you again.”

“It’s Summer,” Philip bristled. Slowly, he rose to his feet, gesturing for Tranns to do likewise.

“You like to think that, don’t you?”

“Can we get this over with?”

“Right to the point. That’s something I like about you. Very well, we’ll play it to the point. I know why the princess –”

“Queen.”

“Queen sent you. And I know what’s in that box, Miss Harkin.”

“What’s it to you?” Tranns spat.

“There’s no need for tempers.”

“You can kiss my –”

“Let’s not be rude,” War cut her off. “I might be less inclined to be generous to you.”

“Generous,” Philip repeated.

“I have a proposal to make.”

“I really don’t see our parents approving.”

“Very funny, Dragmire.”

“Summer.”

“Whatever.” War clasped his hands behind his back. “No, I propose an exchange.”

“A trade of what?”

“You have something my master wants; I have something your princess…queen wants.”

“What?”

War drifted up behind Nabooru. Violently, he seized hold of her hair, pulling her head back and dragging her halfway to her feet. “Give me the Triforce,” he barked. “And I’ll spare her life.” To emphasize his point, War beckoned two warriors who quickly drew daggers, pointing them at Nabooru.

“Don’t trust him, Phil,” Tranns muttered.

“You’d do well to trust me,” War said evenly. “I will kill her.”

“If you hand over the Triforce he’ll just kill her anyway.”

“You have my word of honor, I won’t touch her.”

“You have no honor,” Nabooru said fiercely.

Philip gestured in Nabooru’s direction. “She’s got a point.”

“I swear by the Palamas River,” War said. “A vow impossible for a Sheikah to break.”

“What do you swear?” Philip asked, narrowing his eyes. “Word for word, what do you swear?”

“I swear by the Palamas River,” War replied, “I will not harm Nabooru in any way.”

Philip turned around to look at Tranns. “Put the box down.”

“But Phil!”

“Do it!” Grumbling in objection, Tranns stooped down, putting the box on the ground. “Now step away from it.” Both Philip and Tranns moved away from the container.

“Good boy,” War said approvingly. “Guards!”
“Wait!” Philip shouted, holding his hands up to stop the guards approaching the box. “Let Nabooru bring it to you.”

“You’re smarter than you look,” War told him. Roughly, he released Nabooru’s hair, pushing her forward.

Nabooru made her way to the box, holding her head up high as she passed the warriors who had been restraining her. The weight of a high honor overtook her as she leaned down to pick up the precious package. She could feel the power of the Triforce surging beneath the wood in her hands. Carefully, she made her way back to War, but stopped halfway, turning to look over her shoulder at Philip and Tranns. “You did well, Philip Summer.” With that, she broke out into a run, leaping up into the air and throwing herself, box in her arms, into the crater.

“Stop her!” War shouted.

The frantic soldiers began racing to the crater, some of them chanting softly to summon Farore’s Wind. “That’s it!” Tranns hissed to Philip.

“The volcano?”

“I think it must be!”

War ran to the edge of the crater, looking down. The fall was long, but already he had completely lost sight of Nabooru. Suddenly, from deep within the depths of the drop, he saw an explosion of orange fire. In that instant, he knew he was too late. The Sage of Spirit was gone for good.

Accompanied by a roaring noise, too deafeningly soft to be real, a wave of yellow ether flew out of the crater, spreading across the plateau like ripples in a pond, going out in all directions and covering everything in the path. War instinctively shielded himself from the blow, but he felt nothing, just a brush of wind against his armor as the ether passed.

“No, no,” he called to his flunkies. “It’s too late. She’s gone. As for you two,” he looked up. Tranns and Philip were nowhere to be seen, but his Hylian sixth sense could just barely make out the final green outlines of a Farore’s Wind spell, whisking them away.

“They’re gone, sir,” one of the guards said.
“Yes,” War muttered slowly. “I can see that.” Angrily, he cast his hand forward, telekinetically dragging the hapless soldier across the plateau and casting him into the depths of the crater.

Everyone stood silent, listening to his screams and he disappeared down the drop. Finally, an especially bold officer stepped forward. “Your orders, sir?” she asked very carefully.

“We won’t follow them. Withdraw; we’re going back to Calatia.” He scowled beneath his helmet. “The Red Dragon won’t be pleased about this.”

“What’s the status of the other project?”

“That is going surprisingly well. At least something is going to go right for us today.”



The sun would set early today. Despite the fact that Hyrule was in the height of spring, Rauru knew the sun would set soon. As he stood by the window, he clasped his hands behind his back, wondering at the peculiar nature of metaphor. Long ago, back in his impetuous youth, he had spared no thought to word play or riddles, but late in life, he chided himself for being so foolish. Words had a great deal of power, both for the wielder and the listener.

He sighed bitterly. The temple felt empty, wanting for the warmth of the Triforce. There was no question it had been destroyed. Rauru could feel it. A wave of ether had washed over the land, a final death knell for the greatest power the realm had ever seen. Although he knew it was a necessary evil, Rauru still felt the loss of the Triforce like an open wound in his side.

Reluctantly, he tore his eyes away from the window, looking in at the temple. In his memory, he went back in time, to years ago. As a silent observer, he watched his younger self greeting a small boy in Kokiri green who somehow had managed to wander into the sanctuary. How naïve they both seemed! And Rauru prided himself on being jaded. He replayed every syllable of their conversations, every detail of the events that had taken place. What had gone wrong? Had he somehow missed a step, a vital one that would have saved the Hero of Time from his destruction?

Of course, Rauru was just being silly. He knew all too well that he could not have prevented that death. There was certainly no use dwelling on the past. Still, like a child, he lavished the opportunity to play a game of ‘what if’ as he waited for the sun to set on Hyrule. It was one of the few luxuries left to him, the tired old Sage of Light, who had been through so much.

He heard the door to the temple open. Ah yes, he had been expecting this. Slowly, the old man wound his way through the sanctuary, old and dusty now. It had been a long time since anyone had come to offer libations. The faith of the people was gone now, something that should hardly surprise him. What was there left to believe in when there were no longer Heroes?

The doors were closed by the time Rauru reached the main part of the sanctuary. There was no one to be seen. He sighed softly, turning around and walking to the altar with the shining Spiritual Stones. It was a painful ordeal for him to kneel now, but he suffered the agony, dropping down before the stones and lacing his fingers together. Silently, he started to pray to the powers of the spirits within the stones, powers he alone knew the names of. They would soon be forgotten.

What did he wish to pray for? This gave Rauru pause. Of course, any fool might have asked to push back the sunset, but Rauru knew better than to ask the impossible. What was fated was fated. His thoughts drifted to the young people who had taken the Triforce away, never to return. Zelda had quite the collection of youths ready to do the impossible if called upon. He would pray for them, to give them the courage, wisdom, and power they needed to drive back the night.

As he prayed silently, a black clad figure dropped down from the vault of the ceiling. He stood before the Sage of Light, watching him, waiting for him to look up. Much to his vexation, the old man would not falter. Angrily, the stranger walked to the altar and picked up the Zora Sapphire. He spit on it sacrilegiously then hurled it to the ground. When the stone did not break, he brought his foot upon it, sending a thousand shards flying into the air.

Still, Rauru did not stir. The stranger picked up the Goron Ruby. With a grunt, he chucked it against the wall. Bright red slivers of glass, looking like drops of blood poured down to the floor. The Kokiri Emerald went next, lobbed directly up to the rose window above the door. Both the stone and the window exploded into showers of deadly glass.

Rauru finished his prayer. He looked up to watch as the stranger continued his desecration of the temple. Finished with the Spiritual Stones, he kicked the altar, overturning it. Beneath the slab were several sacred artifacts, a gold candlestick with the waxy remains of a blue candle, a copper spice box, a crystal decanter, a jade goblet, and two platinum daggers. These ceremonial implements had not been touched by living hands since their placement centuries ago. The stranger defiled them, picking each piece up severally and shattering it against the stone floor.

Wearily, Rauru rose to his feet, watching as the remains of the holy artifacts rolled carelessly to his feet. It was time for sunset. He made his way up to the altar as the stranger finished destroying the decanter. Next, he found the platinum daggers in his hands. It was then the stranger took note of Rauru, standing right in front of him. Though imposing, he was in no way humbled by the sight of the Sage. Gripping one of the daggers, the assailant jumped down from where he stood, taking two long strides over to the old man. Each of them held a look, Rauru’s blue eyes seeming to penetrate the black mask on the stranger.

Facing the stranger, Rauru spread his arms open wide, completely exposing his torso. With savage ferocity, the foe thrust his arm forward, sending the dagger deep into Rauru’s belly. If he felt any pain, Rauru showed no sign of it. Like a ripple, the stain of red blood spread across Rauru’s ceremonial robes. The stranger yanked back, pulling the knife out of him. What irritated him to no end was the fact that Rauru was completely silent. All the other had at least shown some sign of protestation. The old man stood there silently, watching with even eyes, his arms wide.

A strange thing happened then. The temple seemed to start humming. Both men clearly heard a noise, but neither could figure out exactly what it was or where it was coming from. The sound began to swell. All around them, where the shattered remains of the Spiritual Stones and sacred implements rested, light began to fill the room. The shards rose from the ground, glowing in their respective colors. Like a whirlwind, they began flying through the air, orbiting around Rauru.

The stranger backed up, holding his hands up to shield himself from the display. Gradually, the circles grew tighter around Rauru, half obscuring him from sight. Carefully, the stranger peered forward, straining his eyes to see. If he hadn’t been able to see it, he might never have believed it. Right there, amidst the flying glass and metal, the wounded Sage of Light started to vanish. It was not a parlor trick nor Farore’s Wind that carried him away. He simply dematerialized, leaving behind his old robes which fell to the floor.

In a bright blast of light, bright enough to force the stranger to shield his eyes, the rubbish and debris all vanished from the room. When he felt it was safe enough to look, the attacker found that in the place where Rauru’s robes had rested, an enormous brown owl perched, staring with an unblinking gaze at the assassin. Involuntarily, the stranger took a step back.

With a low, mournful hoot, the great owl spread his wings to their fullest, flapping them once for show before lifting off, into the air. He circled around the wide, open air of the temple, his temple, before making a sharp turn and flying in the direction of the shattered rose window. He swooped low one more time then shot up into the air, flying through the window. As he passed, the glass magically began to reassemble itself. No sunlight would stream in. The sun had set. But somehow, the darkness wasn’t sinister. For Rauru knew, in his prayers, that when the sun set, it had only to rise again in the morning.



Philip sat in the bright conference room, looking across the table. Zelda, dressed in her black mourning was busy absorbing everything he had told her. He felt a little silly, sitting there, dripping all over the counter. It turned out that Tranns hadn’t been joking about ending up in the middle of the ocean after Farore’s Wind whisked them away. Nevertheless, she had managed, on her second try, to return them to palace grounds and Philip had gone directly to Zelda to report everything that had occurred up on Death Mountain.

Now, the room yielded silence. Zelda seemed completely absorbed in her own thoughts. Philip looked up, inadvertently making eye contact with Ariadne, who had accompanied Zelda to the conference and now stood silently with her back to the wall. She shrugged silently, apparently also in great anticipation of hearing what Zelda would say to all of it.

“Nabooru died honorably,” Zelda finally pronounced softly, almost to herself rather than the two young Guardians.

“I guess,” Philip agreed.

“It’s what she wanted, I suppose.”

“Gerudos are funny that way.”

She sighed. “We’ll have to inform them of what happened. If nothing else, they may find the resolve to help us fight against the Red Dragon.”

“Yes.”

Zelda stood up. Aimlessly, she wandered to the far end of the room, pausing by the window. Philip and Ariadne watched her intently. “I’m sorry that it had to happen,” she muttered.

“It was tragic,” Philip agreed, “but it was her decision.”

“I wonder…”

“What?”

Turning around, Zelda glanced back, not really looking at him. “I trust you’ve been told what happened here in your absence?”

Philip cleared his throat, feeling rather uncomfortable with what he knew was bound to come up sooner or later. “Impa…”

“Yes,” Zelda said with a nod. “Impa and Nabooru are dead.” She frowned, turning back to the window. “And not two hours ago, I received a report that the Goron chief, Darunia, was killed.”

“The leader of the Gerudos and the leader of the Gorons…”

“I should also think that after the attack, the Zora leader would have come to North Castle by now.

“There’s a pattern here.”

“It seems,” Zelda sighed, “that the invasion of Hyrule has already begun. Zora Harbor was a distraction.”

“With the leadership falling apart, it’s going to be difficult for the rest of the citizens to put up much of a defense.”

“Too true.” Zelda clasped her hands in front of her chest. “Which is why we’re going to need a crazy solution to the problem of a mad man.”

Philip raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“Are you familiar with the legend of the Ocarina of Time?”

He scowled. “Vaguely. Not much more than a children’s bedtime story. It’s a myth, isn’t it?”

“I think you had best start brushing up on your mythology.”

“As you wish,” he replied, bowing his head.

“What I have in mind for the Guardians may be desperate, but it may just be the way to save Hyrule.”

“Understood,” Philip said uncertainly.

“I have something for you.”

“What?”

Zelda crossed back to the table, pulling a small box out of her black robes. She placed it down on top of the table and then lifted the lid off, sliding the rest forward to Philip. Resting inside of the box, on top of a layer of cotton, was an elaborate silver pin with eight tiny blue gems circling halfway around an enormous blue stone. “This will help you sometime in the future. Or the past.”

Philip blinked in surprise. “It’s extraordinary,” he told her, “but…”

“No but.”

About to protest further, Philip caught a stern look from Zelda and withdrew. “Thank you.” He accepted the pin, attaching it to his shoulder, against the fabric of his blue cape.

“It’s self indulgent,” Zelda said, “but I would like to hold a memorial for Impa. The least we can do for her is provide proper burial. Perhaps it wouldn’t be out of line to honor Nabooru as well.”

“Not self indulgent at all,” Philip assured her.

“Impa wouldn’t want it.”

“A person’s death is rarely about them in the end. It’s about the survivors, isn’t it?”

A small smile managed to fall upon Zelda’s lips. “That,” she said firmly, “Is a wise sentiment, if I’ve ever heard one.”

“Thank you.”

“Now, I’ve a few other loose ends to tie up tonight before we can indulge in a bit of mourning,” Zelda said. “Why don’t you rest? You’ve had a busy day and I think you’ve earned it.”

“I will,” Philip said with a nod.

Zelda glided past him, patting his shoulder lightly before leaving the room. The soft trailing of her gown’s train could be heard sliding down the hall long after she had disappeared from sight. When it fell silent at long last, Philip was suddenly struck with the fact that he was alone in a room with the mysterious girl Zelda had so abruptly added to his team.

That was a startling thought. His team. The enormity of those two simple words was vaster than he expected. He was responsible for the lives of other people when not five months ago, he could barely take care of himself. Now everything had changed, yet something was still in complete. There was an element to his coming of age that was still missing.

“Do you think she’ll be all right?”

Abruptly, Philip snapped out of his reverie, realizing that the girl was talking to him. “I hope so,” he mumbled.

“Impa meant so much to her.”

“To all of us,” Philip muttered.

“I think she’s proud of the work you did today, though.”

He glanced at her curiously. “Thank you, Ariadne.”

She smiled slightly. “Call me Airy.”

A blood curdling scream from down the hall caused both to turn their heads sharply. “Zelda,” Philip muttered, jumping to his feet.

“The armory.”

Both of them began running, tearing out of the room and winding down the hall in the direction of the armory. Philip got there first, Ariadne close at his heels. Zelda was on her knees in the middle of the room, clutching her stomach and doubled over. Above her towered a stranger clad only in black, holding a bloody kris blade in his hand. He was markedly surprised to see the two of them and even staggered back a step.

“Zelda!” Ariadne cried.

“I’m fine,” she said, gritting her teeth. “Stop him.”

Philip raced forward, pulling back his fist to punch the attacker. He caught Philip’s hand in both of his, hurling him off to one side with surprising strength. While Philip stumbled to regain his balance, Ariadne crept up behind the assailant. She whipped her head to one side, causing her long braid to wrap around his neck. Catching the other end, she lassoed him, pulling him closer and smashing her knee up into his face. By this point, Philip had steadied himself. He grabbed the stranger’s shoulders, pulling him into a tight choke hold.

The other Guardians, hearing the sounds of battle, started arriving on the scene, led first by Mia and her brothers. “Zelda!” Mia shouted, racing to her side and kneeling next to her.

Throwing his arms wide, the stranger broke out of Philip’s grip. He threw his head back, slamming the base of his skull into Philip’s nose. Ariadne took a step back with her right leg. “Duck!” she shouted. Obediently, Philip cowed down. Rapidly, Ariadne swung her leg up into a high roundhouse kick, nailing the foe in the side of the head. The force of the kick caused him to fall out of Philip’s grasp, smashing into the ground.

Meanwhile, Mia had begun examining Zelda’s wounds as Tranns and Ana arrived at the scene. “Oh Zelda…” Tranns whispered, a hand over her mouth. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

With a loud clatter, the stranger’s knife fell to the floor. Planting a knee on his stomach, Ariadne reached over and picked up the weapon, pointing it to his chest. “Who are you?” she demanded as Aden came huffing and puffing to the door.

In response, the attacker latched onto Ariadne’s wrist. With a grunt, he forced the dagger down, directly into his own chest. Ana shrieked, looking away. Philip exchanged a glance with Tranns then stalked over to the display in two long strides. Fiercely, he seized hold of the attacker’s stocking cap and pulled it off of his head. Ariadne let out a gasp, jumping up to her feet.

Lying prone on the ground was a very small, very delicate Andorian woman. Her face was light green, half covered in stringy locks of canary yellow hair, streaked with cyan blue. She stared up as the Guardians crowded around with wide gray eyes, struggling to breathe her very last few breaths. “I’m proud of you,” she wheezed in a light, airy voice, “you should be…”

“What?” Sito stuttered uncomprehendingly.

“Long live the Sage of the Triforce. The last of the…”

“Of the what?” Philip demanded.

“Sages,” Zelda supplied. They all looked to her then looked back to find the assassin dead. Zelda forced herself up on her elbows. “Hyrule is in more trouble than we thought.”

There are a lot of common misconceptions people have about Hyrule and her inhabitants. I’d like to clear a few of those up. The first is that we only worship three goddesses. While it’s true that Din, Nayru, and Farore are our primary deities and the basic foundation of our religion, there are dozens of other, minor gods and goddesses. I should know. My mother is one.

The second thing I’d like to clear up is the notion that there are only two kinds of creatures in Hyrule; Hylians and assorted demonoids. That’s just not true. Aside from the five categories of native Hylians, and assorted monsters, scores of other creatures frequent Hyrule, from the warrior race of Risans, to the peaceful Human poets.

Related to that is the third misconception, one that is very close to my heart. Many people believe that all demons are evil. Nothing could be further from the truth. You’ll understand that later.

Finally, I’d like to address the gross falsehoods regarding the Hylian obsession with Time. Yes, it’s true, we have our Hero of Time, our Ocarina of Time, our Temple of Time, but that doesn’t mean we can just manipulate Time on a whim. No, such an act requires the most dire of situations. And that’s exactly what this was…

The Lost Testimony of
Philip Summer



In its day, the Dancing Knight had been more than a tavern. Indeed, it had been the place to be. Night after night, it would fill to capacity with various citizens of Hyrule, travelers, and entertainers. It was opened by four Hylian girls, each of them beautiful and charismatic. Together, they had gained fame and worldwide recognition for their little watering hole and eventually, all but one met their future husbands within the walls of the bar.

That had been centuries ago. In the passage of time, the Dancing Knight had changed somewhat. After the death of the original four owners, it had been converted into a bed and breakfast. That endeavor proved a dismal failure and the building was put up to auction. It passed through various hands, all the while the foundation becoming weaker and the floors growing dustier. Eventually, the final owner walked out, never looking back.

For nearly fifty years now, the Dancing Knight stood vacant, a lonely pile of wood standing as testimony to the once brilliant and lively place. Stories arose that it was haunted in fact, that the ghosts of the owners and their patrons still remained in the great cantina, bemoaning the fate that had befallen their social home of so many years. No one dared to enter. Not until tonight.

From the skylight, broken and beyond repair from years of neglect, a single figure dropped down into the lonely tavern. She landed on the floor, crouching with her arms out for balance. A swirl of dust arose around her, dancing in the pale moonlight which flooded in from the large hole in the ceiling. For a moment, she was motionless before silently turning her head from side to side to watch the ethereal dance with her calm, gray eyes. With great care, she rose to her feet and began to walk the expanse of the room.

Ariadne was one of the few beings in all of creation who dared to peek into the shadows. She walked along the periphery of the room, her chin raised at a slightly higher angle than normal, peering into every corner of the room. Glancing up, she beheld the large, awkward rafters stretching across the ceiling. One of the rafters had half fallen off, an end of it firmly planted on the ground. Looking down, she noted the glossy footprints her steps left behind in the dust, so thick that it cushioned her tread, making her virtually silent.

She strained her ears, listening for a sound, any sound that might suggest the presence of another in the room. The silence bore into her, leaving her chest an empty, hollow pit. Loneliness played on her skin, giving her a creeping sensation that was anything but pleasant. As she turned in circles, she finally allowed herself to exhale, feeling certain that the room was empty.

Secure in this knowledge, she allowed herself, for the briefest of moments, to admire the room itself. There was nothing soft about the tavern. Everything fabric seemed to have melted away in the years of neglect. What remained were the hard surfaces; a long mahogany bar with glass over the top stretched against the back wall, just in front of rotted, door-less entryway which led into a small supply closet, several low rectangular tables meant to be kneeled at, a few high round tables, and dozens upon dozens of wooden sitting stools.

The supply closet seemed promising. Ariadne crossed the room silently, gracefully leaping up on top of the counter. Crouching on the glass surface, she leaned forward on her palms, looking into the dark alcove. Inside, she saw rows and rows of glass bottles, most of them empty. The few that still contained traces of liquid were sealed with wax around the corks. Beneath the shelves hosting the bottles were several piles of books and a few misshapen packing crates.

Effortlessly, Ariadne leapt off the counter and gilded into the dark room. She stood over the crates and at random chose on to try and pry open. The rotten wood gave way easily and Ariadne looked inside. She was greeted by the image of a gray-eyed girl with a long brown braid falling over her shoulder, her own reflection. The crate contained several misshapen lumps, wrapped in reflective paper. Carefully, she selected one and began to unwrap it. Underneath the shiny silver paper was an exquisite gold comb with a coral lily on top. Interwoven with the teeth of the comb were several delicate green hairs.

Quickly, she replaced the comb in the paper and put the package away. Immediately, she turned around and took a running start, leaping clean over the counter and landing in a squat on the other side, another tornado of dust flying up all around her. She rose gracefully, facing the door and whispered softly, “Clear.” At once, the door was kicked in.

Three figures charged full throttle into the room, shadowed almost entirely in the dust that flew up from the impact of the door. They stopped immediately, falling into a fit of coughing. “Was that really necessary, Tranns?” the first figure asked, a large burly man with blood red hair.

“Sorry,” the second replied, an Amazonian woman. Tranns clutched a pair of silver daggers in her fists, turning in a slow circle in a fruitless attempt to see through the dust into the room.

The third figure resigned herself to waving away the dust. She pulled the soft pink folds of her hood close around her face and mumbled a few inaudible words. At once, the cloud settled, allowing the moonlight to hit the three of them. “This is the place?” the man muttered, examining the scene with calculating blue eyes.

“Exactly as Zelda said it would be,” the cloaked girl responded.

“Well, she’s no liar,” Tranns retorted.

“It’s a fixer upper, but it’ll work,” the other girl replied.

Tranns looked at the man. “Shall we call the others in, Phil?”

He nodded slowly. Tranns scampered back out of the door and Philip turned to his other companion. “Mia,” he said gruffly, “I want you and Adriana to establish some sort of magical barrier once everyone is inside.”

“All right,” Mia submitted.

Philip glanced over his shoulder at Ariadne. “Good work.” Ariadne nodded and silently leapt up, jumping to the level of the rafters. She grabbed one of them with her fingernails and swung her body on top of it. Once she regained her balance, she sprawled comfortably across it, letting one arm dangle down.

“What dump!” came an exclamation from the door. Tranns led in three more individuals, the first of which, a slender red headed girl, had spoken.

“Don’t be shy, Ana,” Tranns chided her, turning around to walk backward. “Tell us how you really feel about it.”

“It’s filthy!” Adriana declared with a snort of disgust.

“It’s a hideout,” Philip said, turning on her with a long suffering sigh. “It’s not supposed to be a luxury hotel.”

“We’ll see about that,” she declared. With a casual gesture, five yellow sparks of ether shot out from her fingertips, flying in different directions around the room. The dust vanished, leaving behind a beautifully polished wood floor.

“Ana’s got her priorities,” Tranns laughed, sitting down on one of the bar stools and propping her elbow on the counter.

“This establishment must have been a handsome place in its time,” the boy who entered behind Adriana muttered. Ariadne smirked. This was vintage Aden. He was a clean cut, but somewhat handsome young man with a commanding presence, although not exceptionally tall, a tow head. As he strolled into the room, authority in each of his steps, he turned from side to side to admire the locale. His eyes matched those of Tranns, electric emerald green. The two of them shared a father, although everything else about them couldn’t have been more distinct.

Behind Aden, another boy entered, silently bending over to prop up the door that Tranns had kicked in. Mia looked over at him. “Where’s Sito?” she asked. The last boy finished leaning the door against the frame, then turned to her with an exaggerated shrug, holding his hands out to either side.

“He wandered off,” Aden supplied.

Philip turned to them in a flash. “Again?” he exclaimed incredulously.

Mia sighed, shaking her head. “You know Sito.”

“He’s a great solution if you don’t make him your problem,” Tranns scoffed.

Mia clasped her hands in front of her chest, turning to Philip. “Please don’t be upset with him.”

The boy by the door fished a pad of paper out of his pocket. He removed a pencil that had been propped over his ear, hidden under a mass of chocolate brown hair, and scribbled something on the pad. After he was finished, he walked over to the nearest person, Ana, and tugged on the sleeve of her elaborate pink toga. “What is it, Jesse?” she asked, turning to face him. He handed her the pad.

“What is it, Ana?” Philip mumbled.

“Jesse says, ‘He’ll come back, he always does.’”

“We’ll see.”

Mia lowered her hood, exposing her head to the rest of the assembly. “I’m sure he’s just gone off looking for supplies.”

“I ordered him to stay put, with the rest of you,” Philip said irritably.

“You know Sito,” Mia shrugged.

“Unfortunately, we all do,” Ana retorted.

Philip shook his head. “Fan out, search for any provisions,” he barked to the group. Immediately, Tranns, Aden, Mia, and Jesse scattered in various directions. Ana stubbornly remained where she was. She had discovered a mirror hanging on the wall. It was cracked and much of the silver had been worn away, but enough of it remained for her to busy herself with the folds of her dress. Ignoring her, Philip turned up to look at Ariadne in the rafters. “Airy? When would you say was the last time that someone came in here?”

“No less than forty eight years ago,” she replied.

“Good odds.” By that point, Jesse had returned to the middle of the room, empty handed. “Nothing?” Philip asked. Jesse shook his head.

“Philip,” Aden called from a corner of the room.

“Yes?”

“There’s a whole box of silverware here.”

“Wonderful,” Ana deadpanned. “If we get attacked by we can serve them lunch. ‘Tea and crumpets, you fiend?’”

Philip shook his head. “Knives, Ana. Knives.”

Mia flounced back into the room from the small closet she had disappeared to, hidden underneath the stairs. She wore a very satisfied smirk and carried in her arms a bucket of soaps and shampoos and perfumes. From the other side of the room, Ana saw this in the mirror and let out a loud shriek, dashing across the floor to Mia and grabbing the bucket out of her hands. “Shampoo!” she cried in ecstasy. “I can stop smelling like a Moblin, finally!”

“I don’t know, Ana,” Tranns said, coming out from the supply room behind the bar, “you’ve always smelled a bit like a Goron to me.”

Adriana shifted the bucket so that it was in between her elbows. Squeezing them together, she held her hands out into two fists which she soundly banged together with a glare at Tranns before promptly turning around and walking back to the mirror.

Tranns rolled her eyes. “Bad news, Phil,” she said.

“What is it?” he turned to address her.

From behind her back, Tranns produced the comb in one hand and a lock of bright lavender hair in the other hand. “Andorian Demons have been staying here,” she said evenly. There’s a whole box and there are bits of pastel hair everywhere.”

“Is there a lot of hair?” Mia asked.

“Not enough to be worth anything,” Tranns replied.

“Personally, I think the black-market Andorian Demon hair sellers are disgusting,” Ana said firmly. “Really? Who’d want to buy an ugly old demon’s hair? They can’t possibly make decent wigs. Who’d want to walk around with pastel hair?”

“The hair isn’t for wearing, Ana,” Mia corrected her. “Andorian Demons derive their magic from their hair. It’s quite powerful and very useful for spells and the like.”

“Do you think they’ll be back?” Philip wondered.

“No,” Ariadne called from above. “Andorians don’t return to old nesting grounds.”

“One less thing to worry about,” Mia said with relief.

Philip was looking around at the group. “Has anyone found any food?” he asked finally. They all exchanged blank looks with one another. “One more thing to worry about,” he sighed.

“As if the list isn’t long enough,” Tranns groaned. She began ticking off on her fingers, “Sito’s field trips, Moblins, Gerudo raids, and now starvation.”

“The Gerudos shouldn’t be much of a problem,” Ana sang. “One look at Phil and they’ll all go scampering.”

“Adriana…” Philip let out a low grumble.

“What?” she shot back. “You think they wouldn’t recognize one of their own, Dragmire?”

“Don’t call me that!” Philip roared.

“Ah, the love of a brother and sister,” Tranns said casually, diffusing the situation before it could get out of hand as it so often did.

“Half brother and half sister,” Ana mumbled.

“Something of which we have entirely too many,” Aden mused. “Tranns and I are half siblings, you and Philip are half siblings, Mia, Jesse, and Sito are all half siblings. We are certainly the incestuous group.”

Ana stared at him. “That’s disgusting, Aden.”

“I didn’t mean it literally.”

“All right, all right, enough of this,” Philip declared. “Remember Zelda’s instructions? She told us when we arrived we were supposed to barricade ourselves inside and use the crystal. Mia, Ana, put up a force field.”

“But what about Sito?” Mia asked.

“He decided to wander off.” He gave them a no nonsense nod which meant they ought to obey. Sadly, Mia walked over to Adriana and the two of them began a chant that would establish a barrier. Philip turned and caught Jesse’s eyes. Jesse looked forlorn, although he stood stoic as ever. “When he arrives, we’ll let him in,” Philip assured his companion. Jesse nodded.

“The barrier’s up,” Ana said needlessly, as an eerie green light was now seeping in through the dilapidated windows.

Holding Philip’s navy cloak to his shoulders was an elaborate silver pin with eight tiny blue gems circling halfway around an enormous blue stone. Philip gripped the largest jewel with two fingers and carefully twisted it. With a click, it came free of the silver setting. “Gather around children,” Aden beckoned. “It’s story time.” With that, he walked over to the bar and leaned against it, resting one arm on the counter behind Tranns. Adriana and Mia joined Jesse across from the counter. In the middle of the group, Philip placed the crystal on the floor and stood back a step.

There was a moment of breathless silence as the seven youngsters stared at the stone. Finally, after a nano-eternity, a light began to glow from the depths of the crystal. It grew in intensity until a column of light could clearly be seen, shooting its way up. The beacon began to shift, taking on the form of a woman in regal garb. “Auntie,” Tranns whispered, brushing some stray orange fringe out of her eyes. Behind her, Aden put a hand on her shoulder.

“She looks so different,” Mia muttered. “Zelda must have recorded this before the invasion began.”

“Shhh!” Ana hissed at her.

At this point, the holographic image of Zelda had begun speaking. “Guardians,” she said with a firm voice, “if you are watching this, then you must have arrived in the past. If our magic was accurate, you’re now twenty years before the present time.”

“The year Sito was born,” Mia thought aloud.

“A year before Ariadne was born,” Aden added, jerking his head up in Ariadne’s direction.

The image continued to speak. “I know what this means. This means that the rebellion is standing on its last legs. The Red Dragon has completely conquered the realm and if you are listening to this message, he has conquered Hyrule too.”

“You can say that again,” Mia sighed sadly.

“You are the last hope for our rebellion,” Zelda went on. “The only way to save Hyrule now is to stop the Red Dragon from rising to power in the first place. To do that, you need to find the Red Dragon before he became the Red Dragon.”

“How are we supposed to do that?” Tranns blurted out loudly. Everyone turned on her, chorusing angry hisses to be quiet.

“Of course, if you succeed, our timeline will cease to exist and you’ll be unable to return home. But I know your hearts and that you’ll think first of the greater good. I wish you luck Guardians, as we’ll never see each other again, know that I love each and every one of you as my own child and I pray you’ll find the way. May the Triforce protect you.”

The image faded away, retreating back into the blue crystal on the floor. “Sweet Nayru,” Mia whispered.

Philip crossed to the gem and picked it up, replacing it in the setting of his pin. “We have our orders,” he said gruffly.



There was a painful cracking noise as Link’s head went through the wall. For a moment his vision went fuzzy and the only sense that seemed to be operating was his auditory sense. He could very clearly hear the chortling and cheering of the crowd in the room behind him. That was only temporary and rather quickly another sense began to establish itself. Pain.

This was not how Link had intended to end his day, a day that had started out so well. For a treat, he left the Kokiri forest bright and early that morning. After passing by Lake Hylia for a brisk swim, he had paid a call on Zelda. The two of them spent an entire morning together before she had to leave on official business. From there, Link had taken a trip down to Zora Harbor for a relaxing, meditative boat ride around the peninsula.

The afternoon was devoted to fun and games. He met up with Tulsa, a friend of his, a Human studying at one of the local conservatories, and together the two of them had gone down to the marketplace to watch a local band of players perform a comedy in three acts. The sun was down by the time the farce had ended, so Link and Tulsa stepped into the nearest establishment, the Boar’s Head, for a quick bite to eat.

Somehow, their quick bite hadn’t gone quite according to plan. Link pulled his head out of the wall, blinking away the clouds from his eyes. He turned around quickly, stumbling with dizziness. By some blessing of Nayru, Link managed to regain his footing just in time to duck a fierce, albeit sloppy, left hook. The bully who had been aiming at him missed by a mile, soundly landing his fist into the wall which cracked, being made of little more than whitewash and plywood.

Across the room, another one of the thugs lunged at Tulsa. Deftly, he avoided the blow, causing the fool to land face first on the floor. “This is ridiculous!” Tulsa shouted, “Just because I disagree with you, doesn’t make me an anarch!”

He backed up a step and crashed right into the leader of the pack, a local ruffian known as Grisha. The hulking mass of muscle wrapped his arms around Tulsa’s slender shoulders, squeezing him so hard that a vein seemed to pop out of the brute’s forehead. “No,” he growled, “But you being a bleeding heart punk makes you an anarch.”

Link pulled a plank away from the wall. He charged at Grisha, whacking him in the forehead and effectively released Tulsa. “Actually,” he teased his companion who staggered forward, gasping for breath, “I got to agree with him on that one.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tulsa rolled his eyes, “Incoming behind you, Hero.”

Quickly, Link dropped down to the floor and his opponent from the wall went soaring over him, hitting a table and sending three glasses of colorful liquids up into the crowd on the periphery of the fray. “This is all your fault,” Link said pointedly, pulling Tulsa to one side as Grisha made a dive for him.

“It’s not my fault,” Tulsa replied firmly. “Almost all aggression can be cured with education.”

“Yeah?” Link muttered. The two of them came back to back, Link throwing an uppercut to one bully while Tulsa kicked another in the shins. “Then how come some of the best educated people in the kingdom serve as knights?”

“Knights don’t start bar brawls. Don’t you see?” Tulsa responded as the two of them switched places by grasping each other’s forearms and swinging around in a wide arc. “Doesn’t that prove exactly what I’ve been saying for years?”

“Couldn’t tell you,” Link rammed his elbow into Grisha’s ample belly. “I do my best not to listen.”

“What?!”

One of the brutes grabbed Link’s head in his meaty hand and started trying to push him down into the floor. Link gritted his teeth. “Don’t…touch…the hat!” he threw his fist up, catching the thug in the jaw. The man stumbled backward, crashing into Grisha who was doubled over behind him. Both of them tumbled to the ground.

Tulsa, meanwhile, soundly boxed the third bully’s ears and he too collapsed. Grabbing him under the armpits, Tulsa dragged him across the floor, roughly tossing him onto the pile. “There now,” he said, wiping his hands against each other. “If you had just been polite and agreed to disagree, you wouldn’t be writhing on the floor, grasping yourselves in pain.”

Link latched his arm out, locking Tulsa into a firm headlock. “And if you had just learned to keep your big mouth shut, we wouldn’t be standing on the floor, in equal amounts of pain.”

“You know I can’t keep my mouth shut,” Tulsa said, wriggling his way free. His long titian blond locks, in complete disarray, flopped over his eyes.

“Well,” Link drawled. “I’ll forgive you, this time.”

“You’re generous.” Tulsa smoothed back his hair and then clapped Link on the back, directing him over to the bar. Hermes, the barkeep, eyed him wearily. “A freckled lemonade for me and a frog juice for my friend, my good man.”

Hermes nodded and busied himself with mixing up the drinks. Link turned to Tulsa. “What’s a frog juice?”

Tulsa perched himself on a barstool. “You’ll see.”

“If there are real frogs in it, I’ll kill you.”

Tulsa offered him a good natured chuckle. “Wouldn’t that be something? A drink that actually has its own ingredients in the name. Bizarre.”

“Bizarre, like…orange juice?”

Tulsa grinned. “Link, my friend, you are far too literal.”

Hermes set down the two drinks in front of the boys and gruffly muttered, “Ten Rupees.”

“I assume I’m paying for this?” Tulsa questioned.

“You started the fight.”

“I will deny that,” Tulsa replied, even as he reached into the pocket of his over-sized gray coat and removed a sum of money. “Here you are, my good man,” he said cheerfully to Hermes, “please keep the change.” Hermes stalked away, muttering something under his breath about the need to repair the hole in the wall made by Link’s head. Tulsa chuckled again then raised his glass. “To anarchy,” he joked.

Link laughed softly, lifting his own glass. “To Zelda.”

“Ah, now there’s a fair thing to drink to,” Tulsa responded. He clicked their glasses together and then both of the boys threw their heads back to drink. Tulsa finally set his beverage down and turned to Link expectantly. “Well?”

Link looked considerate for a moment, smacking his lips together loudly. “It’s good,” he finally proclaimed. “What’s in it?”

“Kiwi juice, apple pulp, and seltzer water.”

“I’ve always liked apples.”

“See? Will I ever steer you wrong?”

“I won’t answer that.”

“It’s probably best that you don’t,” Tulsa laughed, hitching his foot up on one of the rungs of the stool he was sitting on. “So how is our fair princess?”

Link smiled bashfully. “She’s fine.”

“Very. I must say though, for a person such as yourself, in a position such as the one you inhabit, you tend to attract the attention of many young ladies besides.”

Groaning, Link pulled his cap down, over his eyes. “I don’t want to get into this conversation again.”

“Fair enough,” Tulsa chirped, sipping his drink.

“How’s Coset?” Link asked, pulling his hat back and propping himself up on his elbows, against the counter.

“Ah, Coset,” Tulsa replaced his drink and dramatically slapped an open palm to his chest. “She is light!”

“Light, huh?”

“Yes light. She is light and I am…”

“Dark?”

“Flame! I am flame. And where ever she is, I am rekindled.”

“Still haven’t spoken to her?”

“Not a word.”

Link nodded. “Yup, I’ve confirmed it. You’re insane.”

“True enough, true enough,” Tulsa grinned. Slowly, his grin faded. “Still, my parents would never approve. She’s a gypsy and they’re…”

“Snobs?”

Tulsa glanced at him. “Educated,” he corrected Link.

“Well I’m not educated and they love me.”

“That’s different. You are a prestigious individual.”

“Is there a vaccine I can take for that?” Link teased.

“But Coset,” Tulsa rambled on, “she has no prestige whatsoever. Perhaps that’s why I like her. That and the fact that she’s…”

“Light?”
“Beautiful.”

“Well, you’re lucky she didn’t see that show back there with Grisha.”

“And why’s that?”

“Girls are never impressed by the pacifist stand.”

Tulsa lofted an eyebrow. “I’m not a pacifist, I just think that violence is best left to the most dire of situations. And I’m not anarch because I think that soldiers are unnecessary.”

“What are you?”

“The best scientific minds of Calatia have yet to determine that.”

“I don’t understand this science business,” Link mumbled. “What’s the point of it all?”

“The point,” Tulsa answered, “Is that those of us born of a species unskilled with magic require science to evolve and mature and create a better form of life.”

“I don’t know,” Link muttered. “The way you Humans complain about your elec…ele…”

“Electricity,” Tulsa supplied.

“Electricity, it sounds like it’s more trouble than it’s worth.”

There was a loud crash from behind them, followed by a ringing noise. Tulsa and Link turned around sharply. To their surprise, Grisha was on the floor, out cold. Standing over him was a young boy in a black leather jacket, holding a ringing tin pint and looking down at Grisha with a satisfied smirk. “What the…” Link started.

“Grisha was going to take you gentlemen from behind,” Hermes grumbled from his place at the bar.

Tulsa touched his forehead and bowed from the waist. “Stranger, we owe you thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” the boy said.

“Hermes, a drink for my friend…”

“Sito.”

“A drink for Sito.”

“What’ll you have?” Hermes asked.

“Sun tapas,” Sito replied without hesitation.

“One sun tapas for my new friend Sito,” Tulsa chorused merrily. Hermes nodded and went to work. Tulsa, meanwhile, gestured to a barstool. “Join us,” he invited Sito with a warm smile.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Sito said, stepping over Grisha to sit beside Link.

“We were just talking about pretty women. Perhaps you have a song to sing? Any pretty girl in your life?” Sito laughed. “Ah ha!” Tulsa exclaimed. “He laughs. That means there’s truth in what he speaks!”

Sito rubbed the back of his neck, smiling. “Well, there is this one girl…”



Somewhere in the distance, a bell tower mournfully rang out the hour. One chime, two chimes, three, four…four in the morning. The moonlight had more or less vanished from the skylight above the cantina of the Dancing Knight, forcing Philip to move about with the aid of a candle.

Everyone else had retired to the precarious bedrooms above, but Philip walked down the stairs, robbed of sleep. He held the candle close to his eyes, the hot wax dripping down into an old, rusty copper plate. Carefully, he made his way over to the bar, setting the dish on top of the glass. As he leaned forward, he could see his reflection in the countertop; a young, handsome Hylian man with dark red hair hanging in long strands before his pale blue eyes. Earlier that night, he had abandoned the cumbersome navy cape, but he kept the elaborate silver pin attached to the shoulder of his black leather armor.

Something moved in the reflection. “Who’s there?” Philip asked harshly, turning around as if he expected an attack from behind.

“Me,” a voice from above replied.

Philip looked up. Sitting on her knees in the rafters was Ariadne. She had unbound her hair from the perpetual braid and it hung loosely, streaming down her shoulders all the way to her waist and beyond. “Airy,” he said, easing up. “What are you doing down here?”

“Mia was talking in her sleep,” she answered, swinging her legs to hang down from the rafters.

“Again? She must be worried about Sito.”

“What are you doing down here?” Ariadne countered.

“Just getting a drink.”

Ariadne jumped, landing on the ground in a squat. She rose swiftly and walked across the room until she came to Philip’s side. “I thought gods didn’t get thirsty.”

“They don’t,” Philip responded. “But I’m only semi-divine.”

“That’s right, you’re only half god.”

“Ana’s mother and my mother was Kallista, the goddess of beauty.”

“So demi-gods get thirsty?”

Philip struggled against smiling. “Yeah,” he shrugged.

Ariadne sat up on the counter. She had perfect balance. Philip found himself examining her posture, the arc of her back and the way she placed her hands near the base of her spine. She was dressed in a red tunic with gray leggings. Both articles seemed to be made out of a fabric that caught the firelight, shimmering. “What?” she asked, noticing his gaze.

“Nothing.”

“You’re preoccupied,” Ariadne told him.

“I’m always preoccupied.”

“Tonight more than ever. Are you thinking about our mission?”

“Yeah,” Philip admitted, sitting down on a barstool.

“No one knows how we’re going to accomplish what Zelda has asked of us.”

“That’s putting it lightly.”

“We’ll find a way.”

“We don’t have much of a choice,” Philip muttered dryly. “It’s a horrible reversal though. Before we only had to worry about the Red Dragon killing us. Now we don’t have to worry about the Red Dragon, but we have to worry about everything else under the sun. Everything on Tranns’ list and more. It’s sort of absurd when you think about it. We were safer back home, and yet we weren’t.”

“What Ana said today really upset you,” Ariadne commented.

Philip blinked, glancing up at her. “What?”

“She called you Dragmire after Tranns started the list.”

“Yeah. She did.”

“What did that mean?”

He sighed, leaning back against the counter. “Before the Red Dragon rose to power, there was another bad guy in the realm. He was sort of exclusive to Hyrule, I guess.”

“And his name was Dragmire.”

Philip nodded. “Ganondorf Dragmire. King of the Gerudos. He led a reign of terror for several years before being neutralized. I think, if the Red Dragon hadn’t taken over the realm, Ganondorf might have risen again, that’s how powerful he was.”

“And he was –”

“He was my father,” Philip finished for her. “Not something I’m particularly proud of, mind you. Ana never lets me forget it.”

“Who was her father?”

“A mortal. Our mother had several relationships. She had a reputation for being a bit irresistible. Unfortunately, she happened to catch Ganondorf’s eye.”

“Unfortunate for her perhaps, but fortunate for us. After all, if that hadn’t happened, we wouldn’t have a leader.”

Philip offered her a peculiar glance. “You have a funny way of looking at things, Airy.”

“I can relate. My parents weren’t exactly considered to be the noblest of people.”

“Who were your parents?”

“You wouldn’t know them.”

“What were your parents?”

“Don’t you know?”

He shook his head. “When Zelda added you to our team, she never told me a thing about you; just that you were a loyalist and that you would serve as the best lookout I could ask for. I’ve never asked questions before, but as this might be our last mission, I’m beginning to wonder for the first time.”

Ariadne nodded. Suddenly, her face contorted into a frown. “Your pin.”

“What?”

She pointed a delicate finger at his shoulder. “It’s glowing.”

Philip looked over at the silver pin on his shoulder. One of the eight small jewels, flanking the large stone was emitting a soft, iridescent light. “It does that. This pin was a gift to me from Zelda, the day she formed the Guardians of Tomorrow. See, there are eight stones, each one representing one of the people I command. They light up to show how close or far away from them I am.”

“So that stone –”

“Is you, yes.” Philip touched the glowing jewel. “This one is lighting up the most because you’re closest to me right now.” He paused for a moment, a frown marring his handsome features. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

“What question?”

“What are you, Ariadne? Human? Risan? Perhaps a Beigoran of some kind? I know you’re not Hylian. What are you?”

Ariadne smiled. “See if you can guess.”

He shook his head, setting a hand on the counter. “You’re a complete mystery to me, Airy.”

“Do you trust me?” she asked.

“Of course I do.”

“Isn’t that all that matters? I’ve been loyal to the team and will continue to be for a long while.”

“I’m not questioning your loyalty to the team,” Philip amended quickly. “I’m just curious.” He felt something brush against his hand. Looking down, he realized that his hand had drifted closer to hers, making a brief moment of contact with her pinky. He saw her look down too and then quickly, he removed his hand from the bar.

A heavy silence pervaded the air for a moment before Ariadne spoke again. “I’m unique,” she whispered.

“There is absolutely no question about that,” Philip replied.

“If you want the answer to your question,” she said slowly, “you have only to look into my eyes.” Philip stood up. With heavy footsteps, he walked around his stool and came to face Ariadne. Her soft gray eyes regarded him and he attempted to discern her features. “What do you see?” she asked.

He caught her eyes. “Ariadne.” She leaned over, across the counter, and picked up the comb, which Tranns had tossed there haphazardly, many hours ago. “I think I understand,” Philip said after awhile, still unable to break eye contact with her.

“Understand?”

“How it must bother you when people pry about you.”

“You’re not people,” she replied. “You’re Philip.”

He gave her one of his all-too-rare smiles. “Call me Phil,” he joked.

“Well, Phil, it’s going to be sunrise soon, so I suggest you get some sleep. We’re going to need our leader tomorrow.”

“You’re right, as always.” Clouds slowly started to darken Philip’s eyes and his smile began to fade, although a measure of it seemed to linger on his lips as he faced Ariadne. “Everyone’s going to expect me to have the answers to how we can stop the Red Dragon from rising.”

“There will be an answer,” Ariadne assured him.

“The question is whether or not I can find it.”

“Well,” she supplied thoughtfully, “maybe it’ll find you.”

“We’ll see.”

She leaned forward a little bit. “Goodnight, Phil.”

Philip watched her, the final traces of his smile remaining a moment more. Tenderly, he reached forward with two fingers and brushed a stray lock of hair out of her eyes. “Goodnight, Airy.” With that, he picked up his candle and began to ascend up the stairs again. At the top step, he turned around, looking down into the darkened room. Looking back up at him were Ariadne’s glowing eyes. Somehow, they seemed to soothe him in a way he could not yet understand.



The time portal collapsed in on itself, creating an obnoxious sucking noise that filled the field, shattering the morning silence. War glanced over his shoulder at the empty space, which only a few seconds earlier had been the site of the mouth of a swirling vortex. Amorette was standing there now, silhouetted against the golden light of the sunrise.

“Is this the place, Master?” she asked, looking up at him from under her auburn bangs.

War removed the cumbersome helmet from his head and tucked it under his arm, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “Yes Amorette, this is the place. But is it the time? That’s the real question.” Without another word, he began to move up a small hill in front of them. War never walked when he could levitate, so he crept up the landscape with his feet hanging eerily an inch or so off the ground.

Amorette trotted after him, the sword in her belt slapping against her thigh. “How will we know?” she called after him.

“I’ll know,” War explained, “when I see.”

“See what?”

He reached the top of the hill now and found himself looking down on a village. “We’re in the proper time,” he said slowly, his voice gravelly and blunt.

Amorette came to rest by his side. She looked down into the valley. There, below, was a quiet little town, somewhat quaint actually. The truth was that she had never seen the likes of it before. There were dozens upon dozens of little thatched rooftops, most of them brown or yellow or red. The cozy houses were all made of a white stucco material and each had several rectangular shaped windows with bright and colorful silk drapes. In the middle of the town was a beautiful marble fountain, a statue of the goddess Kallista holding a rose. Water spurted out from the frozen, marble petals, dripping down into the ornate pool below, filled with blue and green Rupees.

Behind the fountain was a large wooden building with enormous double doors, currently closed, although there was a long woven cord hanging right outside, attached to a bronze bell. The largest central spire of the structure shot up into the sky, tipped off with a shining gold replica of the Triforce. An enormous rose window, constructed of red, blue, and green glass pieces faced out, the first rays of the sun glinting off of the gold tracery in between the shards. Beyond the temple was an open field, emerald green and dotted with little yellow dandelions.

“There,” War said, pointing to the shimmering window.

Amorette followed his gaze. “What?”

“The temple with the stained glass window, over there.”

“I see it.”

“That window was called the Essence of the Virtues. Over three hundred years old. They say it was constructed under the commission of the very first queen of Hyrule.”

“Queen Dasha Harkin,” Amorette chirped without missing a beat.

War smiled, nodding his head. “Very good, Amorette. Before the Red Dragon left Hyrule to conquer the realm, he smashed that window to smithereens and it was never repaired.”

“So then we’ve come back to the right time?”
“Yes.”

Amorette squinted, trying to make out the shapes in the Essence of the Virtues window. After a few moments of staring, she saw an image appear out of the light. The window displayed yet another icon of the goddess Kallista, surrounded by the familiars of Din, Nayru, and Farore. “That’s a temple of Kallista?”

“Yes,” War grunted. “It burned down a few years after you were born, Amorette. You shouldn’t remember it.”

“I don’t…”

He glanced at her. “What do you remember of Hyrule?”

She shook her head. “Nothing.”

War nodded, folding his arms across his chest. “Well, you’ll learn quickly. For now, we must put our attention to other matters.”

“The Guardians.”

“Yes, the Guardians. Zelda made a rather horrible error, using the ocarina to send them here. Our pretty little princess didn’t count on the Red Dragon’s powers: Didn’t think he’d be able to send us after her pets.”

“Why has she sent the Guardians to this time?”

“No doubt out of desperation,” War muttered. He glanced at Amorette for a moment before looking down at the town again. “She knows Hyrule is doomed. Her last attempt to halt the Red Dragon is to stop his initial rise to power.” He lowered an iron clad hand down on top of Amorette’s head, his fingers spread out. With surprising gentleness, he stroked her hair. “We’ll throw a wrench in her plans.”

“Of course, Master,” Amorette replied.

War removed his hand from her head. “As soon as the sun rises, you’ll go down into the village and start asking the locals if they’ve seen a group matching the description of our little Guardians. I’m going to head south.”

“Why?”

“There’s an abandoned warehouse down there. That will be our homestead. After I’ve finished setting up, I’ll come to town and find you.”

Amorette nodded. “Yes, Master.”

“You’re hesitant, Amor.”

“No, Master.”

“You are. I can hear it in your tone.” He glanced at her. “Do not fall under the gross misconception that you can fool me, girl.”

She frowned slightly. “It just seems to me that we’re horribly out numbered. How will we find them all?”

“We don’t need to find them all, Amorette. Just one.”

“As you say, Master.”

War let out a small chuckle. Caressing the back of her shoulders with his glove, he turned, floating away, back down the hill. Amorette remained where she was, her eyes drinking in the beautiful town. Everything about it seemed so peaceful, so quiet and calm and unlike anything within the expansive empire of the Red Dragon, her master’s master.

Doing some quick calculations, she figured that they were now in a time when she was two months old. Two months old. Her mother was still around and probably still watching after her. She wondered if this was her home town. At this point, she couldn’t remember the name.

From the scabbard at her side, she drew the silver long sword that had once belonged to her mother. She adjusted the red bandanna around her neck, pulling it up around her mouth and nose so that it shaded half of her face. With a determined breath, she began to run down the dark side of the hill, heading in the direction of the village. She had Guardians to find.



How quickly the night had melted into day. Link and Tulsa stayed up until nearly an hour before dawn, carousing with Sito. The three of them strolled through the village streets and all the way out into the prairie, regaling each other with stories of pretty women and previous tavern scrapes like the one with Grisha and his crew. At the fourth strike of the bell, Sito had finally departed, leaving Link and Tulsa to wonder at where they would go. Too exhausted to return to either the forest or Tulsa’s academy dormitory, they had settled for a patch of yellow grass underneath a weeping willow just outside of the town.

Early in the morning they were awakened by the gibbering of a bright blue pixie that flew around Link’s head, squawking incessantly. “To the palace,” she repeated over and over again. Link swatted at her drowsily, but she persisted until he was finally awake.

“All right, already,” Link mumbled, rubbing his eyes, “I’m going I’m going.” He leaned over to slap Tulsa’s shoulder.

“Huh?” Tulsa awoke with a start. “What is it?”

“I have to go to the palace.”

“To the palace!” the pixie echoed. Link took off his hat. With practiced ease, he swung the brim out, catching the pixie and squeezing the cap shut so she couldn’t escape or even be heard.

Tulsa yawned loudly, his enormous mouth opening wide. “Why?”

“I’ve been sent for. Are you coming?”

Tulsa, the insufferable tagalong, of course, agreed to come. Sleepily, the two boys dragged their bodies up off the ground and began to troop back to the town. The early morning activity of the villagers seemed to revive both of them, though they were going on no more than two and a half hours of sleep each. They passed through the hustle and bustle of the marketplace, coming to the square.

In the square was a large wooden wagon with a thatched roof, painted neon orange. One side of the wagon was opened up and lying horizontal on a stand, exposing the innards of the vehicle. Vibrant yellow, pink, and orange silks were hung from the ceiling, billowing in the breeze while on the prone wall, several beautiful women danced with scarves and tambourines. A man in a brilliant pink leotard sat on the edge of this makeshift stage, plucking away at a mandolin and singing in a deep, mournful baritone.

Tulsa grabbed Link’s arm, pulling him back as he was about to pass the crowd assembled around the performance. “There she is!” he hissed, pointing excitedly to one of the girls on stage. She was strikingly beautiful, with sharp eyes that danced in front of her. Her hair was cut in a very attractive pageboy, although long strands from her temples whipped around her face as she twirled.

“That’s Coset?” Link asked.

“Yes,” Tulsa replied fondly. He clutched at his chest. “Be still my noble heart!”

“Noble? You’re not noble, you’re a pacifist.”

He threw Link a deadly glare. “I shall never win her heart by beating her senseless, Hero.”

“And you’ll never win her heart by hiding from her.”

“Touché.”

“Come on, we have to get going.”

“Lead the way, my friend.”

They departed from the spectacle, Tulsa throwing several more longing looks over his shoulder at the lovely Coset. The palace loomed in view up ahead. The drawbridge was down today as marketers crossed back and forth over the moat. Two burly guards stood on either side of the bridge, waving people through. They nodded to acknowledge Link, admitting him at once. Tulsa, they only allowed to pass after Link assured them for the twentieth time that he was perfectly harmless and a friend of Zelda’s as well.

“It’s my ears,” Tulsa lamented as they got across the bridge and onto the palace grounds. “They never trust us Humans.”

“I think it’s your mouth,” Link teased. “Or maybe your stance on organized militaries.”

“You know me better than that,” Tulsa replied. “I don’t preach my views to the condemned soldiers.”

“No, just to me.”

Tulsa chuckled good-naturedly. “Well, as we established long ago, you’re very different.”

Two knights held the doors open for the boys and they walked into the great hall of the castle. It was crowded today, packed with courtiers in their finest, mingling with the train of a visiting monarch, the young Prince Amonasro of the island kingdom of Risa, currently on unstable grounds with the Hylian government. It was easy to tell the Risans from the Hylians. The Risans seemed half dressed. All the men went about without shirts, in animal hide slacks or wraps while the women wore skimpy halter tops along with the hide pants. Setting them apart in addition was the fact that all the adults had, branded on their foreheads, celestial Risan symbols, famed for being the source of the Risan power with regards to the life force. The children, meanwhile, could have easily passed for regular Humans.

“Busy day,” Link muttered, looking around for a familiar face. He only knew a handful of courtiers. Most of his palace associations were the administrators and officials themselves.

“Any idea who sent for you?” Tulsa asked.

“Let’s find out.” Link cleared his throat loudly. “Excuse me?” he called over the murmur of casual conversation. “Who does this belong to?” He held up his hat and released the brim. Immediately, a very disgruntled pixie shot out into the air, chittering loudly to make known her displeasure.

“Link,” a husky female voice replied sharply from one of the side doorways. The boys turned to see a statuesque Sheikahn woman appear, as always sporting the slate armor of a warrior. She gave Link a harsh, cold glare from her red eyes then turned around abruptly, signaling for him to follow her out of the room.

“That Impa is one frightening woman,” Tulsa muttered as they two of them followed her into a side chamber.

“You get used to her,” Link replied with a shrug.

The side chamber was startlingly quiet in comparison to the grand hall. The walls and ceiling were constructed of the same stone that made up the outside of the castle. Three of the walls of the hexagon, the ones opposite the door, had large stain glass windows, each one depicting a different image of Din, Nayru, or Farore. There was a marble bench underneath each window, supporting a plush, red velvet cushion. Impa stood in front of the middle window, displaying the fire of Din. “Really, Link,” she said angrily, “you need to learn to be a bit more discrete.”

Tulsa playfully nudged Link in the ribs. “I’ve been telling him that for years,” he sang out.

Impa turned to glance at him for a moment before turning back to Link. “Why did you bring him?”

Link shrugged. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Time.” Impa sighed.

“Bad choice of words, mate,” Tulsa clapped Link on the back.

“Not another word out of you,” Impa barked.

Tulsa opened his mouth to reply, but Link quickly stepped forward, defusing the situation. “Why did you summon me, Impa?” he asked.

She seemed to immediately forget her hatred toward Tulsa. “There’s a problem Link, and it’s not a small one.”

“Just show me where to point a sword,” he said.

“It’s not that simple.” She stepped back then gestured to the floor. Link looked down. Etched in the stone was a scale map of Hyrule. “This chamber is used for locator spells,” she explained.

Tulsa scoffed. “What, pray tell, is a locator spell?”

Impa was about to reply, but Link beat her to it. “A locator spell is a special Sheikahn trick to find monsters and demons hidden across Hyrule. They take a magical sand, sprinkle it over the map, and say a few magic words. The map then spells out the demons.”

“That’s not quite accurate,” Impa corrected him. “The spell is meant to locate bad blood. Not your average, run of the mill demons.”

“I got the main idea,” Link replied defensively.

“So what’s the problem?” Tulsa insisted.

“Do not speak unless spoken to, Human.” Impa addressed Link again. “I performed the spell this morning. It’s something I do every day.”

Link scowled. “Something turned up?”

“You could say that,” she answered. She reached across her hip and into a small sack that was sewn into the side of her britches. From it, she withdrew the grainy, Sheikahn sand. “Upsy masee, tri tefee, oma tok depe gu,” she whispered, tossing the sand out over the map.

It seemed to fall in slow motion, raining down on the map in sparkles, caught from the sunlight filtering through the fiery window. As it alighted to the ground, each grain could be heard dropping with a ping. The sand scraped across the stone, swirling in a spiral as it gathered in several different small sections. A large amount of it began to cluster by the space on the map representing an uninhabited prairie that lay along the road to the castle and surrounding village. Link watched as the sand gathered, forming shimmering, yellow letters into a single word: Dragmire.

“No,” he whispered, exhaling sharply.

“Yes, I’m afraid,” Impa replied.

“It’s not possible.”

“The spell has never failed me,” she told him sternly.

“No! I refuse to believe…it’s not possible.”

“Dragmire,” Tulsa drawled, reading the map. “Isn’t that the big bad from several years back?”

“He’s gone,” Link said. “He can’t be back.”

“We always knew he would return one day,” Impa muttered.

“Not this soon!” Link exploded.

“Link, contain yourself.”

“It’s not fair,” he whined.

“Life is hardly fair, mate,” Tulsa said wisely.

“Shut up, Tulsa!” both Link and Impa shouted at the same time.

He held up his hands defensively. “All right, all right.”

“You have to go investigate, Link,” Impa sighed.

Link nodded, licking his lips. “I’ll go,” he agreed. “It’s my duty after all.”

“Another thing,” she added, holding up a finger. “Nobody knows about this, you mustn’t tell anyone.” She glanced at Tulsa. “That goes double for you.”

Tulsa dragged his finger across his heart. “You won’t hear a peep from me,” he swore.

“That would be a first.”

“The last thing we want is panic in the Kakariko Village,” Link muttered. “What about Zelda?”

Impa shook her head. “I haven’t even told her yet. I want to be certain first.”

“I thought you said this spell had never failed you,” Tulsa needled.

“It hasn’t,” she replied testily. “Maybe I’m just hoping that this will be the first time.”



“That’s ridiculous,” Mia scoffed, folding her arms across her chest. “The Great Hylian Earthquake couldn’t possibly have caused the Red Dragon to go evil.”

“How do you know?” Ana challenged her, leaning forward, her palms on the table. “Maybe something fell on his head during the earthquake. That could be what caused him to go insane.”

“You’re insane,” Mia shot back, brushing her long brown bangs away from her face.

“Ladies!” Aden interjected from his place to the side of the stand off. “This is an academic argument. The Great Hylian Earthquake didn’t take place until after the Red Dragon began his campaign against Risa.”

Ariadne sat on top of the bar counter, watching the argument taking place in the far corner of the cantina. A wry smile spread across her face. The three of them had been going at it all morning, attempting to determine the cause of the Red Dragon’s sudden lust for power. So far, they had eliminated the disastrous Catalan envoy, the Great Hylian Earthquake, and even the birth of Sito, but had come no closer to finding a reasonable solution.

“Look here,” Aden said, pointing to an open book on the table, in between Mia and Ana, “according to this, the event must have taken place between yesterday and the end of the month.”

“How do we know he isn’t evil already?” Ana asked.

“Your mother’s rose window is still intact,” Mia replied. “At least, that’s what we saw yesterday before arriving here.”

Ariadne lifted her chin, her attention suddenly drawn to the front door. “Someone’s approaching,” she said. Despite the fact that Airy was soft spoken, everyone immediately heard her. Aden jumped to his feet, drawing the sword by his side. Mia and Ana rose after him, moving to flank the door, pressing their backs to the wall. For her own part, Ariadne leapt up into the rafters again.

There was a knock, but before a second could follow it, the door fell off its weak hinges and crashed inward, hitting the ground with a loud smash. Sito stood on the other side, his fist poised to strike again. He looked down at the door. “Let me guess,” he muttered dryly, “Tranns opened the door?”

“It’s Sito,” Aden sighed, returning his sword to the sheath.

Sito stepped in, walking over the door. “Nice to see you all too.”

“Where have you been?” Mia exploded, following behind him.

“I went out for awhile,” he replied, waving his hand casually.

Aden stooped down to prop up the door again. “Philip’s going to have a word or two for you.”

“Which will be the most he’s spoken all day,” Ana muttered dryly.

Ariadne jumped down from the rafters onto the counter. Immediately, Sito turned his gaze toward her. “Hello, Airy,” he said with a smile.

“Hello, Sito,” she answered back.

He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his black leather jacket. “How are you?”

“I’m fine,” she responded, looking a little bit confused.

“That’s good.”

A series of loud thuds turned everyone’s attention to the stairs. Philip came tromping down. He stopped on the bottom step, seeing Sito for the first time. “Sito,” he grumbled.

“Look who decided to grace us with his ever-so-charming presence,” Ana chirped.

Philip ignored his sister. Instead, he stepped down to the floor and crossed the room in three strides, coming to rest directly in front of Sito. While Sito was far from scrawny, Philip dwarfed him by far, with his looming stature paired with his demeanor. “Where were you?” he growled.

“I went for a little patrol around the town,” Sito said, putting on a brave face to look back up at Philip.

“Who ordered you to do that?”

“No one.”

“Strike one!” Ana cried triumphantly. “Only Philip commands us. You do not disobey our fearless leader.”

“You should have stayed with the group,” Philip pressed on, trying his best to block out Ana.

“I just thought I’d have a look around,” Sito muttered.

“Your little look around has set us back.”

“Strike two!” Ana sounded. “You don’t waste Philip Summer’s time.”

“Adriana Jasmine Summer,” Philip rounded on her.

“Sorry.”

Sighing heavily, Philip turned to Sito again. “I sent Tranns and Jesse out looking for you. You’re wasting their time too.”

Sito sighed. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? It won’t happen again.”

“It better not.” With that, Philip walked over to the bar. Ariadne looked down and gave him a small smile. His back to the others, Philip secretly smiled back for a second.

“So where did you go, anyway?” Mia asked her little brother.

“Down to the village,” he said with a shrug.

“See anything interesting?”

“Well,” Sito drawled slowly. “There was this tavern called the Boar’s Head.”

“I remember hearing mother talk about that place,” Ana murmured, absently twirling a lock of red hair.

“It was fantastic!” Sito declared passionately. “A real tavern filled with real people.”
“As opposed to those pesky taverns with fake people,” Aden quipped.

“I spent the night with two great guys: Link and Tulsa.”

Silence filled the room. Philip turned around to join the others in staring, slack jawed at Sito. As always, Ana was the first to speak. “You idiot!” she cried, shoving Sito’s shoulders.

Sito maintained his balance. “What? What?”

“You spent the night drinking with the Red Dragon,” Aden said softly.

“Correction,” Sito replied, holding up a finger, “I spent the night drinking with the man who will eventually become the Red Dragon.”

“What were you thinking?” Mia asked.

“He wasn’t,” Ana deadpanned.

Sito gave her an appropriate glare. “I just wanted to see what he was like before he lost his marbles. And I’ve got to say, those were two incredibly nice guys.”

Aden folded his arms across his chest. “You know…that other name sounds vaguely familiar.”

“It ought to,” Mia reasoned. “Whoever that other guy was, he was apparently once a friend of the Red Dragon.”

“Look it up,” Philip said softly. All eyes turned on him. “Mia, Aden, Ana, continue your research on the history. Look for that other boy’s name.”

“Of course,” Aden nodded, moving across the room, back to the corner table, piled high with books.

“I’m going to go find Tranns and Jesse,” Philip continued. “You’re coming with me, Sito.”

“Is this my punishment?” Sito asked dryly.

“Let me come too,” Ariadne piped up.

Philip turned to look at her. “No.”

“Oh come on,” Sito pleaded, “let her come.”

“You know I can find them faster than your pin can,” Ariadne said evenly.

Philip sighed. “All right,” he conceded. As Ariadne jumped off the counter, Sito gave a wide, open grin.



Amorette passed by a fruit stand, inhaling deeply the rich aromas of citrus and berries. The marketplace, to her, was like an alien landscape, completely foreign in every sense of the word. And yet it was her home land. This was where her mother had been born. Where her parents had met. Where Amorette had been nursed. How different it seemed to her, so many years in the past.

As she scanned the bustling center of activity, she tried to conjure up the image of what it looked like in her time, in the reign of the great Red Dragon. There were no waving banners of pastel silk, she was certain of that, nor were there dancers performing in the square with jingling tambourines and lively stringed instruments. Things weren’t so pretty in her time.

She came upon the glorious statue of Kallista, just outside of the temple with the Essence of the Virtues. The craftsmanship was superb. As she examined the grand figure, she felt as if any second, the goddess would step off the pedestal and walk out into the crowd. The exquisite marble folds of fabric and the lifelike way in which her eyes were carved seemed more realistic than any statue of the Red Dragon.

Reaching into her pocket, she withdrew a red Rupee. As she tossed it into the basin of the fountain, she tried to think of something to wish for. Amorette drew a blank. A small scowl crept over her face as she whispered, “I wish…” and nothing else.

“Let’s try down the road, near the taverns,” a voice said from somewhere in the crowd. Amorette whirled around quickly. She knew that voice. “Sito was always a little too fond of the seedy areas,” the speaker continued.

Quickly, Amorette dove into the crowd of people pouring out of the temple after the morning libations. From the safety of the throng, she turned her head, sweeping her eyes out along the road, looking for the source. She found it quickly enough. Walking past the temple were Tranns and Jesse. An amused expression lingered on her lips. Tranns was wearing a bright purple scarf around her head, doubtlessly to cover up her ears which gave away her mixed Hylian and Risan heritage.

Careful to remain concealed from them, Amorette fell into step a few paces behind. She suddenly heard her master’s voice in her head. *So you’ve spotted Tranns and the Mute,* he chuckled.

*Aye, master,* she responded telepathically. At once and without waiting for instructions, Amorette surged forward, pushing people out of her way until she came upon Tranns and Jesse. She let out a war cry and jumped in the air, kicking Tranns into Jesse. The two of them toppled over just as a bright red blast of energy shot out of the air, flying over their heads.

Screams arose from the bystanders as War came charging through the market, his left hand poised to fire off another blast of red energy while his right hand held a beautiful battle staff. He was certainly a menacing figure, with his purple armor and a gold helmet that completely covered his face. As the people scattered, Tranns and Jesse got up to their feet. “Amorette?” Tranns cried in shock. Jesse grabbed her arm, pointing in the direction of the master. “War!” she screamed. With that, she pulled her silver daggers from the sheaths in her boots and turned to face him.

War came to a stop in front of them, a low chuckle echoing in the helmet which hid his face. “Hello Tranns,” he sneered.

“You followed us back…” she realized with dismay.
“I have a message for you,” War growled, “from the Red Dragon.”

“I have a message for him too. Tell him he can kiss my a-”

“The Red Dragon would like you to know that Zelda was left defenseless while you Guardians trotted off on this fruitless endeavor. She’s dead now.”

Tranns narrowed her eyes at him and charged forward, slashing her daggers to either side. War caught her on the right side with a long, majestic staff, throwing her across the road and into the field by the side. Meanwhile, Jesse drew his sword, swirling around to engage Amorette, also drawn. The two of them contended fiercely, matching blow for blow as if in a spar.

Deftly, Tranns rolled up, landing on the ground with one knee raised, her daggers at the ready. “Zelda will live,” she declared.

“What makes you so sure of that?” War asked merrily.

“The Guardians will see to it that the Red Dragon never rises,” she declared.

“Not if I kill you all first.”

In a flash, Tranns sprang to her feet, running at War. She threw her left dagger forward, lodging it firmly into the lower torso of his armor. This didn’t seem to have any effect though. Roughly she pulled the dagger out, taking a step back. War reached out and grabbed Tranns around the waist, pushing her down into the ground. He planted a foot on her back and began to twist his heel against her spine.

“Are you,” Tranns wheezed, grimacing in pain, “always…this…melodramatic?” She threw her arm back, trying to drive her dagger into the greaves on his leg, just below the knee. Tranns missed her mark and War grabbed her hand and began to squeeze it in his tight grip. With a grunt, Tranns lifted her other hand, driving the dagger into War’s foot.

War howled, releasing Tranns’ hand as he stepped back on his good foot, taking it off her back. Tranns rolled over onto her back and sprang to her feet, grabbing War around his thick waist and hurling him down to the ground. She turned to look at Jesse. “Need any help, Jess?”

Jesse, who was engaged in a deadlock with Amorette, both of them clutching each other’s wrists, swung his forehead forward, head butting her. Amorette stumbled back, releasing Jesse’s wrist. He glanced at Tranns and shook his head. Then, with alarm filling his blue eyes, he raised a hand to point behind her.

Tranns turned around just in time to receive a fierce kick to the face from War. She flew backward across the field, nearly toppling some bystanders who had gathered, fascinated by the fray. “Tranns!” someone cried from the crowd. Tranns looked up to see the heads of Philip, Airy, and Sito bobbing up and down as they raced through the throng to the scene.

War had his foot looming over Tranns, poised to smash it down on her head. As he came down, Tranns caught his boot, pushing back just long enough for Philip to fling himself forward, catching War with his shoulder and throwing him off balance. Tranns rolled out of the way and climbed to her feet. “Your timing is improbable.” She glanced at Sito. “Nice of you to join us.”

“You know me,” Sito muttered, racing forward to Jesse’s side. “Never one to miss a good fight.”

“By the gods,” Ariadne whispered as she looked from Amorette to War. “They followed us.”

War chortled, clambering to his feet with the loud ringing of armor. “Philip, Sito, Ariadne, so good of you to join us.”

“Come to stop us, old man?” Philip asked, throwing his cape over the five glowing gemstones of the pin.

War didn’t reply. Instead, he held his arm up, a swirling display of red energy forming over it. He grabbed the energy like a ball and pulled his arm back, ready to throw it at Philip. From behind, Ariadne leaned over and picked up a rock, loading it into her sling. She lengthened the string, swinging the device over her head before launching it at War. The stone hit him in the back of the helmet and his throw was put off target, sending the blast harmlessly into the grass.

He turned around. “Ariadne,” he cooed, “that hurt.” At once, he swung his polished staff at her. Ariadne turned and tried to run, but War managed to clip her in the back. She fell to the round, writhing in a disproportionate amount of pain.

“Airy!” Philip cried.

“Ariadne!” Sito yelled at exactly the same time.

War leaned over and scooped her up, tightly holding her throat in his iron clad hand. He pulled her close to his chest, chuckling as she tried to wriggle free. “You children will never learn. There’s no stopping the Red Dragon.”

“Airy,” Philip muttered, making direct eye contact with her. “Are you going to let him treat you like that?”

Ariadne pulled her hand behind her back, pressing it against War’s breastplate. Suddenly, there was a loud ripping noise that filled the field with a metallic echo. War shouted in surprise, dropping Ariadne who began to run back to the other Guardians. “Stop her, Amorette!” War barked. At once, Amorette stepped forward, catching Ariadne by the shoulders. War looked down at his breastplate. In the purple iron, there were five fairly large gashes that had not been there before.

“Let her go, Amorette,” Philip snarled.

“I think not,” War said icily. He walked over to Amorette and Ariadne, grabbing Ariadne fiercely by the wrist and yanking her closer. It seemed as though he were inspecting her like a museum curiosity.

“Let her go!” Sito hollered

“We have some things to discuss, you and I,” War said to Ariadne. He extended his staff out to Amorette. With a glance back at the Guardians, she took hold of the weapon. War whispered something under his breath and the bright green haze, signaling Farore’s Wind, appeared, enveloping the three of them.

“Ariadne!” Philip yelled. But it was too late. The three of them had disappeared in the mists.

“No…” Sito whispered, dropping down to his knees. Jesse silently put a hand on his brother’s shoulder, trying to comfort him.

“Oh Din…” Tranns muttered, shaking her head in horror. “What’s he going to do to her?”

Philip stood in silence.



Aden, Mia, and Ana sat in relative silence, each of them flipping through some of the dusty books they had transported with them on their journey from the future. Mia listlessly glanced up at Aden from time to time. A frown would form on her otherwise attractive face and she would turn her attention back to the book. This process was repeated several times before, in irritation, Aden shut his book and looked up at her. “What?”

Mia scowled, looking up. “Doesn’t it bother you?” she asked.

“What?”

“This mission.”

“What about it?”

“The fact that it’s a suicide mission.”

“How do you figure?”

“What’s going to happen to us if we succeed? Zelda said our timeline will cease to exist and we’ll be unable to return home. What does that mean? Will we cease to be as well?”

Aden shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” she exclaimed. “How can you say that so casually?”

“He’s a Risan,” Ana said dryly, flipping the page of her book. “They take everything stoically.”

“Now that’s no true,” Aden corrected her. “Risans are very passionate people; they just emphasize inner passion and outer calm.”

“Whatever.”

Mia glanced over at Ana. “Do you ever think about it?”

“It’s not worth stressing out over,” she sighed, closing her book. “If we fail, we’ll die. If we succeed, I imagine we’ll be swallowed up by a time bubble.”

“A what?”

“A time bubble: A rip in the time/space continuum which swallows up alternate futures which cease to be based on the actions of the present.” Both Aden and Mia stared at her. “What? I can’t have layers? I can be smart.”

After a few moments, Mia blinked rapidly once or twice. “What’s it like inside of a bubble like that?”

Ana shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Aden was looking over Ana’s shoulder at the window. “Ladies,” he said softly, “we have a problem and it’s not a small one.”

Both Mia and Ana turned to look out the dusty, fogged up window. Down the road, about fifty pace away, they saw two young boys walking in the direction of the Dancing Knight. The first was a slender Hylian boy with blond hair, wearing a green felt tunic with a large sword strapped to his back. The second was a strapping Human with titian blond hair in an oversized gray coat partly covering brown slacks and a cream colored poet’s shirt.

“The Red Dragon,” Mia whispered, her voice going an octave higher than normal in panic.

“In his pre-Red Dragon phase,” Ana replied.

“They’re heading this way.” Mia turned to each of the others. “What are we going to do?”

The boys were so close now that the Guardians could hear them talking. “You shouldn’t be tagging along,” the Hylian said, “if there’s trouble it’ll be no place for a pacifist.”

“I wouldn’t miss this for the world, Hero,” the Human replied. “Besides, despite my stance regarding organized militaries, I can put up plenty a good fight in self defense, as you saw last night.”

“Who are you kidding, Tulsa? I saved your miserable butt.”

“Link, Link, Link,” Tulsa chuckled. “Save your breath, nothing you say or do will make me turn back now. Not even if you told me that the Risan ambassador’s female train was prepared to wait on me hand and foot.”

“There’s a Risan envoy?” Aden muttered curiously.

Mia slapped his arm. “Stay focused on the crisis.”

“Wait a second…” Ana looked up at Aden. “You’re a Risan!”

“I don’t see how that’s particularly relevant right now,” Aden answered back. Ana reached forward, grabbing the blue bandana Aden wore around his forehead. Viciously, she yanked it off, exposing the small sun-shaped brand on his forehead. “Hey!” Aden shouted in protest.

“Shhh!” Mia pressed a finger to her lips.

“All right,” Ana said. “Take off your shirt.”

“What!?!”

Outside, Link and Tulsa approached the door. “So what’s the plan of action, Hero?” Tulsa asked. “Do you knock?”

Link frowned. “I’m not entirely sure,” he answered truthfully. He held up his hands, running his palms along the expanse of the door, careful not to touch it.

Tulsa folded his arms across his chest. “Certainly doesn’t present an ominous façade,” he commented.

“No.”

“The fact of the matter is it looks like a run down building.”

“It does.”

“So knock. Oh I forgot, you don’t like passive activity. Kick the door down then, my friend.”

Link rolled his eyes and knocked on the door. There was a soft cracking sound and the door fell inward, smashing to the ground. Looking inside, Link saw a slender Risan boy with blond hair and green eyes, standing over a pile of books. The boy looked over at Link and Tulsa with surprise. “Oh…”

“Hello there,” Tulsa said jovially.

The Risan walked to the door. He had no shirt, but wore a neat pair of black slacks with shiny leather books going up to just below the knees. “Funga, ala feya,” he said.

Tulsa and Link exchanged a glance. “I’m sorry to trouble you, my good man,” Tulsa began, “but we’re looking for a Gerudo. Have you seen any?” Link rammed his elbow into Tulsa’s ribs.

The Risan put a hand to his chest. “Ani Aden,” he told them proudly, lifting his chin to make sure they could see the symbol on his forehead.

Raising his voice, Tulsa once again said, “We’re looking for a Gerudo. Have you seen any?”

“Tera sura noah, na ja a na,” the Risan replied.

“Gerudo,” Link repeated.

“Chay co fe say?”

“I don’t believe he understands a word we’re saying,” Tulsa told Link.

“Do you speak any Common?” Link asked the Risan with a pleading tone of voice.

“Common?” he echoed.

“Yes!” Tulsa clapped his hands together. “Now we’re making progress. Do you speak Common?”

A blank stare came from the green eyes. “Common?”

“He doesn’t speak Common,” Link muttered.

“Common?”

“We’re so terribly sorry to have disturbed you,” Tulsa shouted. “Have a nice day.” He leaned over and grabbed the iron handle of the door, hefting it off the floor and putting it back in its proper place in the doorframe. “Well that was different,” he hissed to Link.

“You can say that again.” Link glanced at the door. “Something isn’t right.”

“What?”

“Hylians…when they sense evil...they get cold and shiver.”

“And?”

“And I’m not cold at all,” Link sighed.

“Perhaps Impa truly was mistaken,” Tulsa supplied.

“As happy as I know that would make you,” Link murmured, “I don’t think so.”

“So you think there is evil afoot?”

“Perhaps not evil, but certainly something.”

“Mischief?”
“Right.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Did you see what the Risan was doing right as I knocked the door down? And don’t make any comments about violence versus passivism right now.”

Tulsa frowned thoughtfully. “He was standing over a pile of books.”

“Exactly.”

Tulsa stroked his chin. “And Risans have an oral tradition. They don’t have any written language.”

“You’re smart for a student,” Link joked.

“So what’s the plan of action?”

“We go back to the castle,” Link said. “We’ll have a little talk with the Risan prince; see if he’s missing any of his courtiers.”

“Check up on this guy, clever.”

“And we’ll speak with Impa. If there was a Dragmire in this building, he’s not here now.”

Together, the two of them began to trudge back down the road to the castle. The sun was setting now, casting an eerie orange glow on the both of them. From the dingy window of the Dancing Knight, Mia, Ana, and Aden (grateful to have his shirt back on), watched them go. “I can’t believe he becomes the Red Dragon,” Mia whispered. “He seems so innocent and noble now.”

“Something traumatic triggers it,” Aden reasoned.

“What did you say to him, Aden?” Ana asked.

Aden shrugged. “At first I was just making idle chat, telling him who I was and welcoming him. But when I realized that neither of them spoke a word of Risan, I just started reciting some old traditional chants.” With that, he left his place by the window and walked over to the door to begin fixing the hinges, again.

“Do you think they’ll come back?” Mia wondered.



Somewhere in the distance, water dripping noisily against the cement could be heard. The warehouse was so dark that the leak couldn’t really be seen. Large wooden packing crates lined the walls, piled hastily on top of each other. The wood had rotted away from some of them, causing the ancient contents, decayed fruit, to spill out across the floor. A sickening odor lingered in the air for it.

There was one high window in the building, casting a silvery white beam of light directly into the middle of the room where a single chair was placed. It was built like a throne, although the material was hard and the design wasn’t ornate. This was the one foreign object in the room, glowing neon with the green swirl of Farore’s Wind that transported three visitors.

War roughly pushed Ariadne into the chair, holding her down by pressing his palm against her forehead. “Did you see how that simple slash to the back hurt her so much?” he asked Amorette who had stalked over to a shadowy corner, her sword still drawn.

“Yes,” she replied, glancing at Ariadne.

“She’s the youngest of them all,” he murmured. “Can’t be over twenty.”

Amorette looked down at her sword. She was squeezing the hilt so hard that her knuckles had turned white, gleaming ghostly in the darkness. “Yes…”

“Amorette, go to the potion shop and purchase a vile of red potion, the healing sort.”

“Aye, Master,” she said, bowing her head. Without further ceremony, she sheathed her sword and started to walk to the door.

Ariadne looked up at War, attempting defiance on her face. “So what is this? You heal me before the torture?” Amorette turned around to look at him.

War chuckled. “I've never liked my prisoners in bad conditions,” he replied. He waved a hand over Ariadne and suddenly the material of the throne grew warm, melting into her clothing until they melded together. Ariadne stifled a gasp. War, meanwhile, sat back on the air, as if an invisible chair were beneath him. He removed his helmet. His face showed faint traces of past handsomeness, although most of it was hidden beneath vicious red scars. All his hair had been shaved off, leaving his head smooth and making his sharp Hylian ears stand out. A bit of stubble masked his cheek though, giving him a somewhat dashing look for all his wounds.

“We’re just going to keep her in that chair?” Amorette asked.

He set his helmet levitating in the air. It flew over to a crate on the side of the room. “For now, Amor. This prisoner is a special case.” Amorette nodded. “Regain your energies. You fought very well today. I am proud of you. Now off to the potion shop.”

“Thank you, Master.” Amorette at once disappeared out the door. It closed, the bang echoing back and forth on the walls.

Ariadne began struggling, trying to pull herself free of the chair’s hold. “Don't make me secure you even further; your skin glued magically to the chair would result in nasty hurts later on,” he chuckled. Gradually, Ariadne stopped struggling, more for exhaustion than from his warning. War smiled wickedly. “That’s better.”

“What do you want?”

“Too many things to count.” He laughed softly, the sound coming from deep within his throat. Casually, he folded his arms across his chest, leaning back on his invisible seat. “But what I want doesn't matter. What do you want, Ariadne?”

“To go now,” she replied defiantly.

“Oh really?” His smile only grew wider. “That won't happen anytime soon. You might as well forget about it.” He propped his knuckles underneath his chin. “How’s your back?”

“Stuck.”

“Nice answer; how's your temper?”

Ariadne closed her gray eyes, leaning her head back as far as the chair would permit. “You may torture me, if you like,” she whispered softly, “but please, do not insult me.”

“How are your parents doing?” War questioned her with an evil gleam in his eyes.

She bit her lips together for a drawn out moment before slowly answering, “Six feet under.”

“Both of them?”

“Yes!” she screamed at him fiercely, baring her teeth. Her cry echoed across the room with deafening intensity.

“Did they die when you were young?” War persisted, undaunted by her outburst.

“Yes,” she said softly, opening her eyes again. “What's with the questions?

“Questions are my thing. What were their names?” Ariadne turned her face away from him. His smile loosening somewhat, War leaned forward again on his airy throne. “Doesn't really matter, they're dead anyways, right?” He folded his arms.

“Sure,” Ariadne said listlessly.

“You know full well what you are, don't you?”

She turned to face him again, her eyes blazing with fury. “Name: Ariadne. Age: Nineteen years old. Marital Status: Single. Rank: Lieutenant. Number: 24601.” She rattled the facts off quickly.

“Ah yes, Zelda's fun little army. The Guardians of Tomorrow. A bit of a tacky name, don’t you think?”

“Anything else you'd like? My shoe size?”

“How about you show me your hands?”

“I'd love to, but they seem to be stuck to this chair.”

War waved his hand across Ariadne’s body. Instantly, the chair seemed to loosen its grip on her left arm. He held his hand, palm up, toward her. Ariadne curled her fingers into a fist and swung out at him. War responded by ducking his head down and forward, allowing her fist to collide with the top of his skull, the hardest bone in his body. As she grimaced, her hand throbbing in pain, he swiftly shot out his own hand, grabbing her wrist. Squinting, he looked down at it. “What is your species, girl?”

“What do I look like?” she challenged.

“Looks don't always reveal the truth,” he replied. “What do I look like?”

“A fat pig,” she shot without missing a beat. War laughed, seeming to genuinely enjoy the jest at his expense. Ariadne yanked at her arm, trying to pull it free. War responded by holding it tighter, pressing his thumb into the middle of her hand so that the iron of his glove dug into her flesh. She groaned in pain and so he balled up her fingers, enclosing her entire fist in his grip.

“You are not Human,” he mumbled, “that’s for sure. You are part of a very admirable race which I'm sure is already falling down the abyss of extinction.”

“What do you know?” she asked with great difficulty, her teeth gritted in extreme discomfort.

Almost tenderly, he placed her arm back on the chair which didn’t absorb her sleeve again. “You are Andorian,” he whispered fondly.

Ariadne let out a loud laugh. “You’re funny.”

War smirked. “I’m no liar. You’re Andorian.”

“Prove it,” she hissed.

“I can, but do you want me to?”

“You’re trying to throw me.”

“Now why would I do that?” War rose from his invisible seat and walked across the warehouse to a small chest hidden among the crates. He kicked it open and removed a small object, a miniature trident about the length of an arm. With this, he returned to her, sitting down once more on the thin air.

Latching out, he grabbed her free hand. Though she struggled valiantly against him, he maintained his grip. Slowly, he pulled her arm up so that her hand was at eye level. At once, he thrust the trident into her arm, almost at a parallel angle. Squeezing the handle, he sent a blue current racing through the metal. Ariadne screamed as five long black talons shot out from her fingers, extending six inches each. These were visible for only a moment before Ariadne regained control and retracted them into her hand.

Satisfied, War plucked the trident from her arm. Ariadne pulled her fist in against her chest, panting in pain while War looked at her evenly, un-intimidated by the glares she threw in his direction. “Well, wasn't that a rush?”

“Shocking,” she gasped.

“I suppose you haven't had much electricity course through your veins many times in your life? Humans are so clever with this precious little invention of theirs, you know.”

“I hope you enjoyed that little display,” she said icily.

“I did,” War replied dusting off his hands as the trident floated back to the chest. From his metal boot, he withdrew a dagger. With menacing stride, he approached her, slipping the blade underneath her long brown braid. Ariadne watched him, panic slowly filling her eyes. “Zelda did me a favor, making you a part of the team.” He yanked his arm forward, slicing the braid off. The instant the bottom half was severed, the color changed, going from chocolate brown to a pale blue, so light it was almost white. “Now, for your sleeping arrangements,” he drawled, sending the lock of hair floating to the chest.

“I’m not tired,” she whispered, trying to keep up a brave façade as the strength slowly seeped out of her limbs.

“Do you want a blanket?” War asked. Ariadne replied with a dirty look. “Suit yourself,” he sighed. War waved his hand and the throne sprang to life, the back sliding backward until it was nearly flat. Heavy metal clamps sprang out of the sides of the seat, fastening themselves around Ariadne’s neck and waist. Once they had locked, the hold on her clothing loosened. War moved over to her, pulling something out of one of the greaves on his leg. It was a silver hairclip that he pinned to her sleeve.

The door opened. In walked Amorette, holding a fairly large bottle of red potion. “Master?” she questioned, looking at the scene.

“Amorette,” War turned to address her. “Tend to her wounds.” Without another word, he floated to the crate where his helmet was resting and put it on, brushing past her and out the door.

As it slammed shut, Amorette turned to look at Ariadne. “How are you doing?” she asked slowly.

“Your master has unusual ideas about torture,” Ariadne replied.

“He’s the best in the trade.”

“No wonder he’s the Red Dragon’s second in command.”

Amorette glanced back at the door. “The sun’s almost down. It’ll be dark soon.” She walked over to the throne. “He won’t see you.” With that, she grabbed one of the metal clamps and pried it open. “When you get back to, Phil,” she grunted, pulling the second one open, “tell him I have a message.”

Ariadne sat up weakly. Her hair, once going down past her waist, hung only to her chin now. “What is it?” she asked, moving unsteadily to dangle her feet over the floor.

“Tell him to get rid of that pin, it nearly gave me away.”

“I saw the five stones lighting up.” Ariadne shakily got to her feet, keeping her palms on the throne for a moment.

“Do you know what War would do to me if he found out that I was working with you guys?”

“I can imagine,” she said dryly. “Did you get the information?”

Amorette nodded. “I think so. The day the Red Dragon underwent his ‘glorious’ transformation…” She paused to roll her eyes. “Was the same day that his best friend was murdered.”

“You’re saying that the Red Dragon went insane because his best friend was killed?”

“I believe so. Tell that to Phil as well.”

“I will.”

“You’d better go now,” Amorette urged her. “There’s no telling when War will return.”

Ariadne nodded weakly. The two of them clasped each other’s wrists for a moment then Ariadne began to slowly stumble to the door. She couldn’t describe the sensation she was feeling. It was as if every fiber of her being was exhausted. Gently, she touched the tattered remains of her hair. Had this been an ordinary escape, then she would have unfolded the beautiful black wings hidden underneath the skin of her back, but War had cut that option off.



Seven Guardians sat around the main room of the Dancing Knight, each of them glancing at one another with identical forlorn looks. Philip was sitting in a far corner, his face half bathed in shadows. A few paces from him was Tranns, straddling a wooden chair with her arms over the back. Ana sat next to Tranns on the windowsill, leaning back on her elbows. Mia, in between her two brothers, sat on a wooden bench, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Finally, Aden stood to complete the circle, his hands clasped behind his back.

“War is here,” Mia said softly.

“And he has Ariadne,” Sito whispered.

“We’re in an awful lot of trouble,” Tranns said, resting her elbows on the back of the chair.

“Zelda’s in an awful lot of trouble,” Aden replied.

“What do you mean?” Ana asked him.

“What makes you think War came back in time to find us? Sure, maybe he did, but…what if he didn’t come for us.”

“You think he came here for Princess Zelda?” Jesse had scribbled on his notepad by this point. He held it up, pointing with wild gestures for everyone to see.

“Think about it,” Aden told them simply. “Come back in time and kill Princess Zelda before the Red Dragon rises. Cut off the source of the resistance before it even has time to grow.”

“Brilliant in its simplicity,” Tranns chimed. “Kill a thousand people by just killing one.”

“Have I mentioned that I really hate this guy?” Sito groaned.

“You know what we have to do,” Ana said to Philip, completely ignoring Sito’s comment.

Philip looked up at her darkly, his eyes blazing in the shadows. Without answering, he folded his arms, scowling. Tranns raised an eyebrow. “You got a real addiction to the brooding part of life; did anyone ever tell you that?”

“He has Ariadne,” he grumbled.

“And she’ll be fine,” Ana assured him. “I mean, last time I checked Amorette was on our side, right?”

“Think about all the awful things that monster could to do her!” Sito shouted passionately.

“I think the two of you have lost sight of the fact that Airy is Airy,” Ana said. “She’s a big girl; she can take care of herself. The one we need to be worrying about, the one who can’t take care of herself is Princess Zelda.” She glanced pointedly at Philip. “And what’s more, you know what we have to do.”

“Kidnap Zelda before War can get to her,” Aden answered for all of them.

“Oh the irony of it all,” Ana droned.

Philip finally turned to her. “Thank you, Adriana. My lifelong search for irony is now complete.” In light of the ferocity of his tone, everyone was struck dumb with the notion that they would soon be following in the footsteps of Philip’s estranged father in kidnapping the Princess of Destiny.

“Don’t worry, Phil,” Tranns chimed in after a moment. “Jess and I will take care of everything. I know the castle better than anyone else. I can slip in and out without anyone knowing that we were even there.” For emphasis, she removed the leather glove that she wore on her left hand, showing them a gleaming gold tattoo on the heel of her palm in the shape of the Triforce.

“Do you think you can do it without weapons?” Aden asked. “We don’t want Zelda to think that we’re terrorists.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” Tranns replied. Jesse nodded enthusiastically in agreement with her.

“Of course, this all depends on your decision, Philip,” Aden added rather quickly. “You are, after all, in command.”

“We’ll do what we have to do. Our duty is to Zelda,” he said, the scowl never departing from his face.

“What about Ariadne?” Sito insisted.

Philip slammed his fist against the wall. There was such force in his gesture that his entire hand went clean through the decaying wood. Everyone was struck dumb, staring at him. Slowly, he seemed to become aware of their looks. With great care he removed his hand from the wall, shaking the dust free from his fingers. “I have every faith in Amorette,” he said softly, in an entirely unconvincing tone of voice. “Right now, we need to focus on getting Zelda someplace safe and on the fact that the Red Dragon and his companion were here today.”

“We found his companion in the books,” Mia said carefully.

Tranns cleared her throat delicately. “Anything interesting about him that we need to know?”

“A regular of Zelda’s court. Had a couple of prestigious titles. Approximately seventeen or eighteen in this time period. Died before the Red Dragon rose.”

“How did he die?” Ana wondered.

“Murdered.”

“We’ll worry about this later,” Philip said bluntly. “Tranns, Jesse, get yourselves in and out of the castle as fast as you can.”

“Where should we bring Zelda?” Tranns asked.

“Bring her back here.”

Aden frowned. “Are you sure that’s wise?”

“He’s right,” Mia chirped. “After all, the Red Dragon w –”

“The Red Dragon is not our concern,” Philip said loudly. “As far as we’re concerned, he doesn’t exist in this time. Our problem is War.”

“As you say, Philip,” Aden conceded.

“Phil,” Ana said suddenly. “Phil there’s something off about your pin.”

“Leave it to Ana to pay more attention to a person’s accessories than the crisis at hand,” Sito deadpanned.

“No really.” Ana pointed to Philip’s pin. Six of the small gems were lit brightly, glowing from the shadows that hid half of his face. A seventh stone was flickering weakly, growing steadily stronger and stronger.

Philip looked down at his pin. When he looked up again, his eyes were wide and the scowl had disappeared, replaced by a slightly open mouth. “Ariadne,” he whispered, jumping to his feet.

“What?” Ana spat incredulously.

Paying her no heed, Philip bounded across the room. He came to the door and pulled it open so roughly that the hinges came undone once more and the door clattered to the ground. “There another hour of my life goes to waste,” Aden lamented.

“What is he doing?” Ana sighed in annoyance.

“Ariadne!” Philip shouted. He suddenly began running out of the building. Sito sprang up from the bench behind him and followed as the other Guardians slowly gathered around the door. Lying in the middle of the road was Ariadne, her hair chopped off. Philip knelt down beside her, gently gathering her up in his arms while Sito fell to the other side, clutching her limp hand.



They would have made it back to the village before sunset. In fact, they would have made it all the way back through the gates of the castle before sunset. But the fact of the matter was that they didn’t make it. Link and Tulsa encountered trouble after trouble on the way home. First, they had seen a rather large Moblin gorging itself on the harvest of a local farmer. Link, the insufferable do-gooder, had insisted on chasing it back up into the northern foothills. After that, they came upon a pack of Andorian Demons raiding a broken down wagon by the side of the road. Link had scattered them as well.

By the time the boys reached the city limits, the sun had sunken down beneath the horizon and the village gates had been sealed for the night. Reluctantly, they located a patch of soft dirt on a hill overlooking the town and collapsed there, too exhausted to look for one of the quaint inns just outside of the walls.

Link awoke while it was still dark out. For a long while, he lay on the ground, waiting for the clock to strike the hour. At long last, he began to hear it ring. He counted the gongs. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen? That wasn’t right.

He sat up stiffly. The bells were still sounding. Added to the toll was a new sound, the sharp bellowing of a horn from a tower of the castle. “Tulsa,” Link hissed, slapping his friend with the back of his hand. “Tulsa get up.”

“What?” Tulsa moaned groggily. He opened his eyes and glanced up. “One of these days I’m going to wake up and you won’t be hitting me.”

“Something’s wrong.”

Tulsa seemed to gradually become aware of the cacophony coming from the village. As he sat up, he saw dozens of lights flaring up in the windows of the little houses with their thatched roofs. “What’s happening?”

“Whatever it is, it can’t be good.”

“That goes without saying. What shall we do?”

“We need to get into the city,” Link decided, standing up.

Tulsa rose beside him. “Right behind you.”

They sprinted down the hill, heading straight for the village wall. The gates were always locked in an emergency so using the tip of his sword Link bore several holes into the wall. Using the holes for toe-holds, he climbed up and over, falling down on the other side of the barrier. Tulsa was right behind him, scrambling up with an athleticism not apparent from his outward appearance.

Together, they started running through the outskirts of the town, heading to the marketplace. All around them, confused and sleepy citizens poked their heads out of windows or walked down their lawns, all dressed in night clothing. They chattered and babbled with each other, trying to determine the cause of the alarm, but no one seemed to finger any one feasible explanation.

Arriving in the market, the boys were greeted by increased confusion. No one seemed to have the faintest notion of what was going on. “Link!” a voice shouted from the throng. Link’s old friend Malon came running up to the boys, wearing a white chemise with her hair back in plaits. “Link what’s happening?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” Link replied, raking a hand through his hair as he looked from side to side at the scene.

“We were hoping someone would tell us,” Tulsa shouted over the roar of the crowd.

“Everyone’s gathering here to see if there’s a proclamation from the castle, explaining all of this,” Malon told them.

“We can’t wait around for an emissary to tell us what’s going on,” Link muttered. He turned to Tulsa. “Come on, let’s go to the castle.”

“All right.”

Both of them waving goodbye to Malon, they took flight again, running to the castle in great haste. When they arrived, the drawbridge was up. “Hello?” Link yelled, cupping his hands around his mouth, “Hello out there?”

“Lower the drawbridge!” Tulsa cried. A moment later, Tulsa turned to Link with a wry smile. “They’re obviously a little too preoccupied to hear us.”

“Fine. We’ll do this the hard way.” Link grabbed Tulsa’s shoulder and opened the channels of his mind. Instantly, the green mists of Farore’s Wind surrounded the two of them. There was a cold, tickling sort of sensation that rushed up and down Link’s skin. His vision was obscured for a second before it cleared again and the mist disappeared. They were on the other side of the moat.

All too quickly, they heard the scraping of metal on metal and found three burly knights drawn, pointing their weapons at the two of them. “We come in peace,” Tulsa yelped, holding his hands up. Link silently thanked the goddesses his friend hadn’t added a clever little epitaph like ‘you stupid knights.’

“Link? Is that you?” The knights quickly lowered their swords as Impa appeared from the darkness of one of the castle entrances. “Return to your stations,” Impa barked to them. Obediently, they walked away.

Link stepped forward. “Impa, boy am I glad to see you. What’s going on?”

“Come inside,” she said crisply. She turned on heel and stalked back into the castle, the boys following behind her.

Inside the grand hall, there seemed to be a great deal of confusion. Knights swarmed all over the place like ants, one pacing in front of each window and each door. Several confused Risan ambassadors shouted rapidly at the Hylian translators who appeared to be dressed in their bedclothes. Prince Amonasro stood out from all the others, stumbling over broken Common in his deep baritone while his oldest son, Terry, clung to the animal skin hanging on his back as a cape.

“What’s going on?” Link asked again.

“Not here,” she said sharply. She led them through a narrow, winding passageway where the echoes of the grand hall chaos could be heard bouncing off the stones. Eventually, she turned into a larger hall, a richly decorated wooden corridor boasting portraits of the ancient royal family all the way back to Daphne.

“Impa!” Link nagged.

“That’s the way to do it, mate,” Tulsa jested. “Whine the answers out of her.”

“In here,” Impa ordered them, pulling open a door.

Link blinked in surprise. “But that’s Zelda’s be –” Before he had a chance to finish the sentence, Impa roughly pushed Tulsa who in turn bumped into Link, sending them both toppling down over the threshold in the room. Impa stepped in after, closing the door behind her.

Zelda’s bedchamber was fairly modest by royal standards. Against the right hand wall was a large queen sized bed with a sheer white canopy and curtains. On the left wall was a squishy white couch, resting underneath an enormous portrait of the entire extended royal family. Opposite of the door was a pair of glass doors leading out to a balcony. These doors were currently open, swinging with a loud creak in the wind which blew the gossamer curtains.

“Where’s Zelda?” Tulsa asked innocently enough.

“Gone,” Impa replied.

“Gone?”

“Gone?” Link repeated. “What do you mean, gone?”

“I mean, someone slipped in here undetected and kidnapped her while my back was turned.”

“How do you know she was kidnapped?” Tulsa questioned her carefully. “How do you know she didn’t just decide to go for a late night stroll with one of those dashing Risan gentlemen?”

“Zelda wouldn’t do that!” Link snapped defensively.

“He’s quite correct,” Impa sighed. “Zelda wouldn’t leave the castle grounds without telling me first. What’s more, I found this.” Impa walked over to the large bed. The sheets were disarrayed, falling over the floor. She lifted one corner of a sheet. On the floor, there was a large, tangled pile of red hair.

“Gerudos,” Link grumbled.

“That’s what I believe,” Impa answered, nodding gravely.

“Excuse me for being a layman,” Tulsa persisted, “but how could a pack of Gerudos get in here without being detected?”

“Well that’s the troubling part now, isn’t it?” Impa sneered at him, as if condemning him.

“What I mean,” Tulsa replied, showing no signs of intimidation, “is if what Link told me is correct, that you Hylians shiver when they’re evil around, how come no one thought to look in up here?”

“He has a point there, Impa,” Link said.

“There was no shivering,” she responded. “No sign of them whatsoever. They snuck in here like they didn’t exist and vanished before we knew what was happening.”

“How can anyone block a Hylian’s natural awareness of evil?” Link wondered aloud.

“The better question, my friend,” Tulsa said breezily, “is who can block a Hylian’s natural awareness of evil?”

“Ganondorf,” Link told him without hesitation. “If anyone can do it, Ganondorf Dragmire can.”

“Did you encounter him outside of the village?” Impa inquired urgently.

“No, not a trace of him.”

“This is beginning to make less and less sense,” Tulsa proclaimed.

“It all makes perfect sense!” Impa barked back at him. “Ganondorf Dragmire has returned to kidnap Zelda and reign supreme over Hyrule.”

“You have no evidence of that other than a name on a piece of rock.”

“And the red hair.”

“Anyone can have red hair!”

“Quiet!” Link bellowed, silencing the two of them. “I need to think,” he whispered, cradling his head in his hands. In truth, Link wasn’t sure which side to take in his friends’ argument. Both of them were convincing.



Ariadne’s eyes slowly opened. At first all she was able to see was a big white blur. Slowly, the haze began to dissolve into colors, pale at first, but quickly becoming brighter. She blinked, trying to clear her vision. Her body ached somewhat, but she felt a soft fleece beneath her. Carefully, she turned her head to the side. There was a figure pacing back and forth across her field of vision. Blinking rapidly, she made out the shape of a Hylian body with arms clasped behind the back, slowly marching across the far side of the room.

“Phil?” she whispered softly, sitting up on her elbows.

Immediately, Philip stopped pacing and turned to look at her. His face was gaunt but the second he saw her, it transformed. A look of relief washed over his blue eyes. Quickly, he walked over to her, kneeling down by the side of the windowsill that she had been stretched out on. “You gave us a scare,” he said.

“I was exhausted,” she muttered. Carefully, she rose to sit up. Philip stood, putting a hand on her back for support. As she righted herself, she ran a hand through her hair. It was hanging around her shoulders now.

“Your hair grows fast,” Philip told her.

“Like a weed when I’m injured.” She frowned, looking up at him with her soft eyes. “War figured out what I was.”

“I figured as much,” he replied, sitting down on the sill next to her.

“The others?”

“They just think you were brutally tortured.”

She lifted her chin, inhaling deeply. “There’s someone new in the house,” she said after a moment. “Zelda?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Make it short.”

“We figured that if War was following us, he might try to take advantage of the situation and kill Zelda while she was defenseless.”

“So you kidnapped her?”

“Something like that.”

Ariadne smiled weakly. “I can imagine she isn’t taking kindly to it.”

Philip shrugged. “What can I say? I’m living up to my father’s legacy after all.”
“But in a good way,” she corrected him. “How long have you been pacing over there?”

“I don’t know. A couple of…hours.”

“You were that worried about me?”

“Well…yeah.”

Ariadne lowered her arms to her sides, pressing her palms against the fleece on top of the windowsill. “Amorette turned me loose.”

“I knew she would.” He frowned slightly. “At least, I wouldn’t allow myself to believe otherwise.”

She felt his little finger brush against the side of her hand. “Are we any closer to finding a solution?” she asked.

“No. If anything, we’re only even more enmeshed in a web of lies and confusions.”

“Nothing like looking on the bright side,” she deadpanned.

“Pessimism is a survival trait.”

“No it’s not,” she replied firmly.

He looked at her. “It is.”

Defiantly, she looked right back at him. “You can have joy and happiness and still survive. You can have hope. Pessimism isn’t the only way.”

“You always have to hope for the best but expect the worst.”

“There are other ways, Phil.”

“Prove it.” Ariadne shifted, turned to face Philip dead on. She reached out her hands across him and lifted his wrists into the air. “What are you doing?” he asked her in confusion.

“Proving it.” She turned both his hands palm up then lifted her hands to hover an inch or so above his, her palms facing down. A soft humming sound emitted from Ariadne. After a moment, a soft white light began to form in between their hands. Philip watched in fascination, his eyes widening in surprise.

The ball of light grew brighter. Philip could feel heat emitting from it, warming his hands. From that heat, a new sensation started to creep through his veins. He felt an alarming sense of stillness, a calm that he had never known in twenty two years of life. This soothing sensation soon gave way to something else. A pleasant tingle, starting at his fingertips emerged, wrapping around his body like a warm blanket. He felt weightless, as if floating an inch above his own form, suspended by a warm, thick air current. The muscles of his face, generally tightly clenched in a scowl relaxed, though his eyes remained fixed on the energy. Meanwhile the soft humming he had heard just before the experience began had turned into a strange and wonderful kind of music, so alien to him that he didn’t dare to name it.

All this was in little more than five seconds. Abruptly, the light faded and the music vanished from the nothingness it had originated from. “I feel…” he whispered breathlessly.

“What?” she asked.

“Happy.” Suddenly, Philip became acutely aware of the fact that he was actually grinning.

“And yet you’re continuing to survive,” Ariadne chided Philip with a gentle smile.

“What was that?”

“Oomox,” she said.

“What?”

“It’s my people’s sincerest display of affection,” she told him, withdrawing her hands.

He glanced at her, slowly raising a hand to her face. He brushed his palm against her cheek, sweeping it back behind her head with surprising gentleness. “This is my people’s sincerest display of affection,” he said. Tenderly, he leaned forward, pressing his lips against hers. After a prolonged moment, he pulled back looking at her shining eyes.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

“For what?”

“For treating me like one of your kind. For not treating me like a freak. Like someone who’s so different.”

“You aren’t a freak.”

“I’m not like you.”

“Yes you are.”

“You don’t know.” Ariadne glanced nervously at the door to the tiny room. When she saw that it was shut, she turned back to him. “I have to make you understand.” Instantly, without any warning or herald, Ariadne changed before Philip’s eyes.

The messy hair falling around her shoulders turned light blue, almost white, with two long cyan streaks running down either side of her head. Her skin became pale, lime green except for her lips which instead turned lavender. Long black talons grew out from her fingers and her posture changed, forcing her to hunch over a little bit. Everything about her was completely transformed except for her eyes which remained steely gray, still glazed slightly in the moonlight.

Philip stared at her, completely transfixed. After a moment of working his jaw, he slowly said, “You’re beautiful.”

“I’m Andorian,” she replied mournfully.

“So what?” Philip leaned forward, cupping a hand to her face. “Do you think that matters?”

“Yes.”

“It doesn’t. And don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

As quickly as she changed the first time, Ariadne resumed her humanoid appearance. “You can’t tell the others.”

“I won’t,” he swore.

“You should probably go. They need their leader.”

“And you need to rest,” he told her firmly.

Ariadne nodded, slowly leaning down on her elbow. She rested her head on the soft blanket beneath her. Philip swiftly rose, crossing the room to a stack of blankets he had collected. He picked up the top sheet, a soft green throw and gently laid it over her. That accomplished, he turned and started heading to the door. He was about to cross over the threshold, but suddenly he turned around, looking over at her again. “Hey Airy?” he called.

She looked up at him. “Yes?”

“I love you.” He frowned a little bit. “I think I’ve always loved you.”

“I love you too,” she said with a gentle smile.



“It’s beyond hope,” Ana pronounced with a dramatic sigh. With that, she removed her hands from Tranns’ hair, literally and metaphorically wiping her hands of the matter. While Tranns had never been overly concerned with her physical appearance, she felt rather naked with the large chunk of hair missing from the left side of her head. It wasn’t a bald spot so much as an inconsistency.

“It’s the effort that counts,” Mia said with a comforting smile.

“You’re just a lost cause,” Ana sighed, looking at Tranns who had straightened herself out.

“That’s what they’ve been saying about me my entire life,” Tranns laughed good-naturedly, pulling her hair back into a ponytail.

“Well now your hair is consistent with the rest of you.”

The three girls attempted to laugh. Somehow, none of them showed any signs of genuine mirth. Sitting across the room from them was Zelda. She was tied to a chair by the arms and legs, dressed in nothing more than a silk nightdress. With fiercely condemning eyes, she glared at the three of them.

It was so strange. Somehow, none of them could adjust to seeing Zelda a good twenty years younger than the version they were familiar with, the version that - if War was telling the truth - had died trying to save Hyrule. She stared at them now without recognition.

Kidnapping her had been more than an ordeal. Jesse and Tranns had had an easy enough time stealing into the castle. Tranns knew a secret passage that led from the rose garden directly into a panel behind Zelda’s vanity. With Farore’s Wind, they had crossed the moat and taken the hidden route, coming upon the sleeping princess. Unfortunately for Tranns, Zelda had woken right as they were about to lay hands on her. Jesse managed to get a hand over her mouth before she could scream, but Zelda still put up a fight, taking out a good amount of Tranns’ hair in the process. They had managed to subdue her long enough to crawl back through the passageway, but getting her into the chair had been another matter.

The village’s alarm could be heard all the way on the second floor of the Dancing Knight. Tensely, the Guardians sat around, nervously anticipating a possible rescue attempt that might land a group of Hylian knights, or worse, the Red Dragon and his friend at their doorstep.

“Where’s Phil?” Ana asked loudly, planting her hands on her hips.

“He said he wanted to check on Airy,” Mia replied.

“Again?”

“She passed out on the front lawn,” Tranns muttered with a shrug. “War must have done some serious damage before Amorette was able to turn her loose.”

“He wouldn’t be worrying so much if it had been me,” Ana whined.

“That’s because you’re immortal, stupid,” Tranns shot back.

Ana briefly stuck her tongue out at Tranns, banging her two fists together in front of her. “Jerk.”

“Brat.”

“Nag.”

“Cow.”

“Enough you two!” Mia hissed.

“The Hylian government won’t give you any ransom.” Everyone turned around to see Zelda sitting up as straight as possible, trying to maintain a semblance of dignity in an otherwise undignified position.

“We don’t want a ransom,” Tranns said carefully.

“Then you have a political agenda. My father won’t listen to your demands, whatever they might be.”

“We don’t have demands,” Mia told her.

“Then what do you want with me?” Zelda asked crisply.

“We told you,” Tranns moaned. “We’re just trying to protect you.”

“I have guards to protect me.”

Ana leaned against the wall, smoothing down her yellow sundress. “Believe me, Princess, you wouldn’t understand.”

“No, I don’t understand. I demand that you release me.”

“We can’t do that,” Tranns answered automatically.

“I hate this,” Mia muttered, turning her face away so Zelda couldn’t hear. “This wasn’t part of the plan.”

“Neither was War following us,” Ana hissed back. “Plans change.”

“I don’t understand why she hasn’t unleashed her mental powers yet,” Tranns murmured softly. “Zelda could fry us in an instant in our time.”

“I don’t think her powers have developed enough yet,” Mia supposed.

“Thank Farore for small favors,” Tranns deadpanned.

“Hello? Are you listening to me?” Zelda was eyeing them with a look of annoyance.

“Loud and clear, Princess,” Ana called.

“Answer my questions.”

“We can’t do that,” Tranns said again.

“You have got to be, without a question, the worst kidnappers in the history of Hyrule.”

“I imagine there will be worse in the times to come,” Mia sighed.

“Will you at least tell me who you are?”

Mia opened her mouth and started to step forward, but Tranns shot her arm out, gently clothes-lining her. Mia shut her mouth. “We can’t tell you that,” Tranns replied. “But maybe this will prove to you that we have good intentions.” Tranns withdrew her hand from Mia’s torso and gently pried off her leather glove, displaying her Triforce tattoo for Zelda.

“How is that tattoo supposed to prove anything to me?” Zelda asked them incredulously.

“Nice try, genius,” Ana hissed to Tranns. “The League of the Triforce doesn’t exist in this time.”

Tranns flushed slightly. “My mistake.”

The door opened. In stalked Philip, his cape swept over his shoulder, making him look dashing. He crossed the floor, walking directly in front of Zelda who gasped audibly at the sight of him, with his blood red hair. “How’s Airy?” Mia questioned, looking up at him.

“She’ll be fine,” he said. He threw a glance over his shoulder at Zelda before glancing at Tranns. *How’s our prisoner?*

*Disgruntled,* Tranns responded telepathically.

*No surprise there.* Philip cleared his throat, turning around to face Zelda. “Is there anything you require, Princess?” he asked her, bowing his head with extreme respect.

Zelda stared at him in morbid fascination. “Who are you?”

“A friend, I assure you.”

“You’re a Gerudo.”

“No,” he spat quickly. Behind him, he could feel the condemning, gleeful gaze of Ana. “Half Gerudo,” he amended quickly. Carefully, he took a few steps in Zelda’s direction. She tensed, withdrawing back in her seat so Philip stopped, holding up his hands defensively. “I assure you, Princess, I mean no ill against you. My friends and I have noble intentions.”

“Why am I not comforted?”

“Ouch,” Ana whispered, nudging Mia gently.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Philip told her.

“I highly doubt that.”

Philip withdrew with a wounded expression. “You’ll be released very soon.” With that, he walked out of the room.

“That hurt him,” Mia whispered.

“Phil will never get used to the way people look at him,” Ana muttered. “The fact of the matter is that he has the word Dragmire printed on his forehead.”

“Please, Ana, speak up a little bit louder,” Tranns growled. Across the room, Zelda’s eyes were filled with horror.

“This is getting all blown out of proportion,” Mia lamented.

Ana scoffed. “This got blown out of proportion a long time ago. We’re just experiencing the aftershock.”

“The Hylian government is going to think that we’re agents of Ganondorf and we’re holding the Princess for some twisted purpose.”

“Better that they think that than suspecting the truth.”

“But they’ll think we’re the bad guys, but we’re not.”

“Oh right, Mia. What would you tell the knights? ‘We’re not agents of the Gerudo, we’re time warriors come from an apocalyptic future to save Hyrule and the realm from the hands of a tyrant that doesn’t exist yet.’”

“But that’s the truth!” Mia exclaimed softly.

“They’d never believe it. They’d think you were daft and then they’d lock you away in a padded dungeon cell.”

“Shut up, both of you,” Tranns barked. “We have enough to worry about right now as it is.”

Mia took a deep breath, nodding firmly. “You’re right.”

“The sooner we figure out what causes the Red Dragon to rise, the sooner this will all be over with and Zelda can be returned to her family.”

“Yeah,” Mia mumbled. “But then what happens to us?”



Stillness had finally settled upon the castle. The Risan visitors had been heralded back to their guest quarters. All around was complete silence. Even the tolling of the great bell had ceased. No one could sleep. Everyone would lie awake in bed for the rest of the night, staring up at the ceiling and wondering about what had come to pass. Still, at least they were in bed.

Two young boys remained awake and active. They sat in the small side chamber with the enormous stone map of Hyrule. Moonlight drifted lazily through the three glorious windows, illuminating the figures of Din, Nayru, and Farore. In this eerie glow, the trio seemed alive and vibrant. Their red, blue, and green eyes, respectively, lit up, possessed by the spirits of the night. Together, these silent figures watched the mortals in their discourse.

Link sat on the bench beneath Din’s window. He had rolled up one of his gauntlets enough to expose his arm. Many years ago, Impa had fashioned him a spring loaded mechanism which was to be loaded with an arrow. At the flick of a wrist, Link could fire an arrow straight from this device, hidden under his glove, directly at an opponent. Now he sat there tying the straps around his arm, tightly so the aim wouldn’t slip.

“I’m begging you,” Tulsa said, pacing back and forth in front of him, “don’t do this.”

Fiercely, Link threw his wrist back to test the tool. There was a loud scraping noise and the spring sprang, thrusting forward the empty trigger reserved for the arrow. Certain that it was in working order, Link pushed the device back into position and loaded an arrow into it, rolling his gauntlet back into place. “There is a time to be passive and a time to fight. Now we fight.”

“Link, use your head!” Tulsa exploded, throwing his arms up. “You absolutely cannot do this.”

Loosening the strings of his boots, Link slipped a dagger into each. As he tied them again, he pulled at the laces fiercely, grunting a bit with the effort. “What would you have me do?” he asked angrily.

“Wait a little while,” Tulsa implored him.

“Zelda may not have a little while.”

“At least wait until you have some help. Some…what do you warrior types call it? Some back up.”

There was a loud click as Link clamped his longshot into the clip for it on his belt. “No time,” he said.

“There’s always time, you yourself should know that.” Link busily attempted to shove his boomerang into the gauntlet without the arrow device. Rolling his eyes, Tulsa walked over to him and snatched the boomerang out of his hand.

“Give…that…back…” Link said in a very low, deadly voice.

Reluctantly, Tulsa handed it over. At once, Link pushed it down into his gauntlet then drew the Master Sword from the sheath on his back, sharpening it with a small, flat stone from his pocket. “You’re angry,” Tulsa muttered as he watched him work.

“You think so?” Link growled back.

“In all our discussions of battles and strategies, Link, you always told me that the most important thing to remember is that you don’t charge into a fight when you’re angry.”

“Well, what did I know?” Link spat bitterly.

Tulsa glanced up at the stain glass window, the one in the middle with the fire of Din blazing in frozen red shards. “You look like her,” he commented, gesturing vaguely to the image.

“She’s my patron,” Link replied.

“No, your patron has always been Farore.” He paused, frowning slightly. “It certain hasn’t been Nayru,” he added with a wry smirk.

Link didn’t seem amused. “Are you done talking?”

“Never. You know that my mouth will always run away with me, if given half a chance.” Putting the stone away, Link sheathed the Master Sword. He picked up a poacher’s saw and swung it experimentally, grunting in satisfaction at the noise it made as the blade slashed through the air. “Link!” Tulsa shouted, stepping forward. Carefully, he put his hand on Link’s shoulder. “Don’t you think you already have enough in the way of weapons?”

Link looked up at Tulsa. The rage in his eyes melted. “It’s Zelda,” he whispered softly. As quickly as it had vanished, the fire returned and he roughly shrugged away from Tulsa. “You’d do the same if it were Coset or your parents or someone you cared about.”

Tulsa stared at him as if struck. “I care about Zelda,” he said firmly, seething anger threatening to bubble to the placid exterior he almost always conveyed.

“Yeah,” Link mumbled, stepping into the iron soles which immediately bonded to the bottoms of his boots. “Sure you do.”

With surprising force, Tulsa grabbed Link’s forearm, holding him very tightly. “She’s my friend too,” he declared angrily. “If you think you’re the only one that’s upset by this situation, then I think you are officially the most selfish individual in all of Hyrule and the rest of the realm.”

Link stared at him in surprise. Finally, after a painful, drawn out pause, he exhaled. “I know,” he said quietly. “Of course you’re upset.” He gently put the poacher’s saw down. “I know you’re upset.”

“You have to calm down, Link.”

“I can’t do that,” Link replied.

“Then nothing I can say will convince you to wait until you have help for retrieving her?”

“Nothing.”

“All right then.” Tulsa took a deep breath, drawing his hand away from Link’s arm. “In that case, I’m coming with you.”

“You can’t do that.”

“Are you going to try and stop me?”

“If I have to.”

“Link, Link, Link,” Tulsa laughed gently. “I know you’re stubborn and you know you’re stubborn but we both know that I’m ten times worse than you are.”

“You’ll only get hurt or slow me down.”

“Do you think I’m so passive that I don’t know about fights? I’ve listened to you for years, Link.”

“This isn’t some bar brawl or Moblin skirmish,” Link insisted. “This is real battle, good versus evil.”

“I long to destroy the forces of evil just the same as you,” Tulsa told him passionately. “We may have different ways of going about it, but our goals are exactly the same.”

“This is one fight that can’t be won with brave talk about philosophy.”

“I know that.”

“So you know why you can’t come.”

Tulsa frowned. “In the academy we have a saying. ‘Never study alone.’ Do you know why that is? Because in exploring ancient philosophies, people used to believe that students would see the meaning of life and go mad from the experience, unless they had someone with them to serve as an anchor.”

“What does that have to do with this?”

“Part of the meaning of life is the face of evil,” Tulsa explained. “If you’re about to face evil, you shouldn’t do it alone.”

Link sighed, his resolve weakening. “You could be killed,” he muttered desperately.

“I’m prepared to deal with that. What is death if not an adventure?” Tulsa chuckled. “Why should you be the only one to have all the fun?”

After a pause, a small smile appeared on Link’s face. “I should know better than to argue with you.”

“That’s true,” Tulsa proclaimed proudly. “It’s a completely futile endeavor, you know.”

Link laughed. “Yeah, I should know that by now.”

Tulsa gently nudged Link in the ribs. “It’s time our roles were reversed, my friend.”

“What do you mean?”

“Before tonight, I was the one showing you the universal truths of my world. Tonight our roles are reversed. You’ll show me your world.”

“It’s a lot quieter.”

“Really? I would think that with all the battles and weapons clashing it would be a great deal louder.”

“Well, it’s true there are weapons and battles and other loud noises, but at least in my world there isn’t so much talking.”

The both of them laughed good naturedly at Tulsa’s expense. Shaking his head, Link started to walk to the door. “Link!” Tulsa called after him.

He stopped and turned to look at Tulsa. “What?”

Tulsa crossed the room, walking to the wall underneath Farore’s image. Link’s brazen shield, etched with the Hylian symbol, a great red bird flanking the golden Triforce, was leaning against the wall. The red metal of the bird was illuminated in the silvery light, haunting the darkness. Tulsa picked up the shield. With great care and ceremony, he walked over to Link, proudly handing it to him. “Don’t forget this,” he said.

Link took the shield, slipping his left arm through the leather straps affixed to the back. “Thanks.”

Clapping Link on the back, Tulsa started to walk to the door. Link scurried after him, catching up at once. Together, the two of them disappeared in to the darkness of the portal leading into the chamber, black like an open, yawning mouth. All around, there was complete stillness once more. The figures of Din, Nayru, and Farore continued to glow. They looked down onto the map of their beloved land, the mountaintops somewhat worn away by centuries of traffic back and forth. Still, the map was impressive. Glowing in the yellow sand, directly over the abandoned Dancing Knight however, the word Dragmire remained.



There was a soft rapping on the door. Ariadne sat up, pulling the blanket around her shoulders. Outside, the moon was beginning to descend to the horizon. It shone at just such an angle that a pale beam of moonlight fell into the room, lighting it up as in daytime. Ariadne had been lying directly in the pool where the moonlight fell

The knock came again. “Come in,” she called.

With a loud creak, the door opened. Sito’s round face appeared in the small gap between the door and the wall. “Hi, Airy,” he said.

“Hello, Sito.”

“Do you mind if I come in for a second?”

“Not at all.”

Sito sauntered in, closing the door behind him. “I just came to check up on you,” he told her.

“That’s very considerate, Sito. But I’m fine, honestly.”

He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his leather jacket, uneasily shifting his weight. “I know,” he said. “I was just worried, that’s all.”

Ariadne smiled a little bit. “Thank you.”

“I can’t believe you stood up to War,” Sito muttered, walking over to a dilapidated stool in the middle of the room. He sat down carefully, holding out his arms for balance.

“I didn’t really stand up to him,” she replied.

“I remember my dad telling me stories about what War was like before he became the Red Dragon’s second in command.”

“Your father knew War?”

Sito nodded. “Dad used to tell stories about him. He was a courtier of the Hylian royal family.”

“Your father was a knight?”

“Yeah, he was until he was blinded by this maniac. War used to visit him…before he turned evil. War that is, not my father. My father never turned evil. He was just a drunk.”

“So what was War like before he turned evil?” Ariadne asked.

He leaned back a bit, the stool groaning in protest. “From what dad says, he was a pretty nice guy: Soft spoken, loved to ask people questions.”

Ariadne scowled. “He did say that questions were his thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Nothing.”

“Oh. Well, anyway, dad said War was real smart too.”

“That’s what makes him such a dangerous enemy,” Ariadne supposed. “It’s easier to fight someone whose method is slash and burn than someone capable of plotting and planning and using tactics.”

“Well, War was certainly no slobbering Andorian Demon,” Sito chuckled. Ariadne looked at him darkly but said nothing. Oblivious, Sito shrugged. “It doesn’t matter though. We just have to beat him before he can beat us in beating the Red Dragon.”

“Before any more of us take a sound beating,” Ariadne quipped.

Sito laughed slightly. “Yeah, that would be nice. Then we can march happily off to oblivion.”

“Or whatever lies beyond it.”

“Mia and Aden keep debating about it,” Sito muttered. “About what it’s going to be like to enter a time bubble or whatever Ana calls it.”

“What is there to debate?”

“What it’ll be like I guess.” Sito shrugged. “Will it be like going to sleep and dying or will it be like entering a new world?”

“There’s only one way to find out.”

“Yeah. Yeah. I hope we’re aware…wherever we are. I don’t want to walk into a bubble having any regrets.”

“What kind of regrets could you possibly have?” Ariadne asked.

He looked up at her, examining her face with his exquisite Hylian blue eyes. “Things left unsaid,” he told her softly.

Ariadne coughed. “What do you mean?”

“Listen…Airy…there’s something that I’ve wanted to tell you.”

She continued coughing, bringing a fist to her lower lip. “What?” she wheezed in between coughs.

“I wanted to tell you that…” Ariadne’s fit was growing louder. “Are you all right? No, you’re not. Do you want me to get you some water?” Ariadne nodded weakly. “All right. I’ll be right back, okay? Don’t go anywhere.” Sito stood up carefully, the stool moaning with relief. He turned around and sauntered back to the door. As he opened it, he threw a quick glance back at her before going out, leaving the door open behind him.

Stumbling to her feet, Ariadne crossed the room, clutching the blanket around her throat. Against the far wall was an old vanity, complete with a dingy, fogged up mirror. She leaned over the counter, her head down as she violently coughed her last cough. Finally, at long last, her nerves seemed to settle down. She took several deep breaths before straightening herself out again.

Immediately, she came face to face with her own reflection in the dull mirror. Somehow, in the middle of her fit, she had reverted back to her demon form. She breathed a silent, grateful sigh of relief that Sito hadn’t stayed to see. Ariadne regarded her reflection. In truth, she had spent precious little time in her natural state since Zelda had adopted her when she was ten years old. Zelda alone knew the truth, how her home village had been destroyed by the Red Dragon and how Ariadne had wandered alone for months, crying out the names of her brothers and sisters. She had been discovered in a clover field, huddling in the dark. While any other right minded Hylian would have slaughtered a solitary Andorian right then and there, Zelda had taken pity on the child and brought her up as her own, teaching her how to conceal her form from others. Andorians could change everything about themselves, if they learned properly, everything except for their gray eyes.

Ariadne spent so much time hiding in a Human body that she sometimes forgot what her true form was. Now, as she gazed upon her own reflection, she noticed a change. Philip had called her beautiful. Never, not in her wildest dreams, had she ever considered herself to be anything other than ugly, a hideous monster. She wasn’t a monster though, no Andorian Demon, but rather Andorian.

Regaining her focus, she transformed, becoming her humanoid self again. As she looked in the mirror, she noticed a shadow by the door. “Hello,” she said, looking at the reflection of the figure.

“Hello,” Philip replied, taking a step in her direction.

“How long have you been standing there?”

He shrugged his broad shoulders. “A moment.”

Ariadne turned around. She placed her hands behind her back, leaning against the vanity. “You don’t have to hide in shadows.”

“Neither do you.”

“Touché.”

“How are you doing?”

She lifted one shoulder slightly. “I’m regaining my strength, I think.”

Philip walked over to her. “You look better. A little less –”

“Green?” she challenged him.

Smirking, Philip leaned forward, planting his hands on the vanity on either side of her. “I was going to say weak.”

“I know, I was just teasing.”

“It’s dangerous to tease a Gerudo.”

Ariadne glanced down for a moment. “I was wondering, about what you said before.” She looked up at him. “Did you really mean it?”

“Yeah. Did you?”

“Yeah.” She smiled sadly. “What remarkable timing we have. Just as we’re about to enter into oblivion, we make this discovery.”

“Timing is everything.”

“But you’re looking forward to it, aren’t you?”

“To what?”

“Disappearing. It’ll make all the shame and anger of being Ganondorf Dragmire’s son go away.”

“The thought had occurred to me.” Ariadne lowered her gaze. Philip quickly caught her chin in his fingers, lifting her head up so that she looked him in the eyes. “Don’t fall under the misconception that my hatred for who I am outweighs the things I feel about you, Airy.”

“I never said a word.”

“Your eyes gave you away.”

“They always do.”

Slowly, Philip turned his head to the side, leaning forward. His lips brushed gently against Ariadne’s for a moment then he pulled back. “Mine too,” he whispered. Again, he leaned forward, this time engaging her in a passionate kiss. Ariadne kissed him back, resting one of her hands on top of one of his, while she brushed the side of his face with the other.

There was the sound of glass shattering. Philip quickly pulled back, turning his head in the direction of the door. Standing over the threshold was Sito, a broken glass of water at his feet. He stared at the two of them in horror, his eyes wide, his lips quivering wildly. Numbly, he took one step backward, then another. Rapidly, he turned around, running down the hallway, his footsteps echoing through the room.

Philip looked at Ariadne. “What was that?”

“Sito.”

“I know it was Sito. What just happened?”

“I don’t know. We were talking then he went to get me a glass of water and then you came.”

“And he shattered a glass. Why do I have a bad feeling about this?”



Behind the Dancing Knight was a sizeable property. In the glory days, the four maidens of the cantina would host elaborate celebrations on the festivals of the goddesses there, under the glowing orange light of tiki torches and paper lamps. As the tavern passed from owner to owner, the backyard had become increasingly neglected. Wild flowers and weeds sprang up from in between the planks of the patio until finally the wood had rotted away, letting a great garden emerge.

One of the previous owners had decided to use the back lot as storage, keeping packing crates and rolled up carpets there. As the ownership changed, the yard became a trash heap, gathering up old junk, broken bits and pieces of this and that. Flies swarmed around the garbage, intermingled with wild plants. Finally, one owner decided to build a shack around the mess as the neighbors complained of the smells. This shack as shoddy and most of it deteriorated until all that remained was a lopsided roof supported by four pillars, over a pile of waste.

Sito stalked out of the back door of the Dancing Knight and marched to this disgusting display, not entirely conscious that it was there. Angrily, he paced back and forth in the spot where once the eastern wall had been. A few frustrated tears dropped from the corners of his eyes. Violently, he wiped them away with the back of his hand, sniffling loudly as he did so. “Idiot!” he shouted to himself, kicking one of the pillars. He stubbed his toe and hopped up and down, clutching his foot. Meanwhile, a light shower of dust rained down from the dilapidated roof, lightly covering the trash, Sito, and another figure.

“Hello, Sito,” a deep voice said from the darkness.

Sito turned around in a flash, a startled look on his face as a chill ran down his spine. Narrowing his eyes, he took a step closer to the shack, trying to make out who was calling his name. There was a snap that broke the silence. A lit match traveled up from a pair of gauntleted hands, illuminating a golden helmet. Sito stumbled back, his hands reaching instinctively into his pocket as he pulled out an old switchblade. “Wh-what do you want?” he asked, puffing out his chest.

War floated forward, holding his hands up. “I don't care to fight, if that's what you’re asking.” The match was dropped to the ground and War snuffed it out with the heel of his boot. “I’m just here to talk.”

“Go away!” Sito shouted at him, swinging his blade sloppily, unable to concentrate for the tempest of emotions that were beating upon him.

War easily dodged the blows. “Calm down, boy.”

“Don’t call me boy!” Sito barked.

“What’s wrong?”

“None of your business.”

“Were you just crying now?”

“No!” Sito snarled fiercely.

“It’s okay to admit to weaknesses, boy.” War took another few weightless steps in Sito’s direction, his hands still out in the open.

Sito backed away, holding the blade up and pointed at War. “Not to you,” he insisted.

“Fine,” War replied with a shrug. “Keep quiet.” He reached his hands up to the sides of his helmet and slowly removed it. Sito’s eyebrows involuntarily jumped a bit. He had never seen War’s face before. In many ways, the bald man seemed like a perfectly normal Hylian. True, he had many scars crisscrossing his skin, but other than that, he had the same laugh lines as Sito’s own mother. “You have been wronged by others, have you not?”

“It’s none of your business…” Sito whispered.

“You have great potential, Sito.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment. Now go away.” Sito jabbed the blade forward for emphasis.

“Does your little team take your importance into account?”

“Stop it!”

“Just think about it, Sito. You would be of much use on the right side. On the side of power. On the side of understanding.”

“Shut up!”

“Why aren’t you back with your friends?” War asked suddenly, shifting his tactics.

“Would you stop asking me questions!?”

“Questions are my thing.”

Sito turned around and started to walk to the open road. Floating above the ground, War followed after him, quickly gaining ground and catching up. Abruptly, he grabbed Sito by the collar of his jacket, jerking him back roughly. “Hey!” Sito shouted, wriggling. “Let go!”

“Do not try and run,” War scolded him. “I have an offer for you.”

“You can’t make me stay.”

“Yes I can, Sito.” Sito maneuvered himself out of the jacket and took off for the road. War followed after him a few paces, holding the jacket before calling out “It’s not fair is it? Ariadne picking Philip over you.”

Sito stopped dead in his tracks. Slowly, he turned over his shoulder, looking at War. “How…”

“How did I know about that?” War chuckled. “Sito, there’s nothing about your little group that I don’t know.”

Sito curled his fingers, slowly clenching his hands into tight fists. “I hate him!” he roared, punching an imaginary image of Philip in front of him. “She should have chosen me!”

War smiled. “Your bitterness will be what turns you...yes…” He clasped his hands behind his back. “Don’t worry, you can trust me, Sito. I won’t tell.”

“Why should I trust you?”

“I knew your father, Sito.”

“My father…”

“Isn’t that proof enough? I would never do a thing to hurt one of my companion’s sons.”

Sito scowled. “My father…” he whispered again.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like someone ran over me with a horse.”

“Well, realization can do that sometimes.”

“Realization?”

“You’ve only now just realized the truth.”

“What’s that?”

“That you don’t belong with Zelda’s pathetic Guardians. What have they ever done for you? Only berated and held you back. And now your old friend Philip has stolen the woman you were supposed to have.”

“Some realization,” Sito grumbled.

“But don’t you see? Now is the opportune moment.”

“What do you mean?”

“Now is your chance.”

“My chance for what?”

“Revenge,” War declared with a grin. “Glorious revenge. Take her back, Sito. It’s within your power to do so.”

“Yes…” Sito replied slowly, drinking in the words of his foe.

“You are so much better than they are. You’re sly and crafty, you scout out things they would never even notice. It should be a snap to ease your way through, like a knife.”

“I have so much rage,” Sito hissed, squeezing the fists at his side.

“Which is why you hide it. With this.” War made an elaborate gesture with his hand. Resting on the flat of his palm, a mask appeared. It was old and made of tree bark. There was nothing ornate to it, only two holes for eyes and one for a mouth. In the setting moonlight, it took on a spooky aura.

War extended his arm in Sito’s direction. After a brief moment of hesitation, Sito walked forward in War’s direction, snatching the mask out of his hand. He put it on, hiding his face. “How do I look?” he asked darkly.

“Good enough. Now, tell me what we’re going to do.”

“You’re the one in charge,” Sito said grimly.

“I like to be open to ideas,” War breezed. “You know your past team much better than I do, after all.”

Sito scoffed. “So you want info, huh?”

“I want intelligence, boy!” War snapped. “There’s a difference between info and intelligence. I demand the latter. How can we hurt the Guardians?”

Rage clouded Sito’s eyes. “Phil's really strong and powerful, so be careful around him.”

“I can avoid his attacks. I want to get to their minds…”

“I know Phil gets really touchy when something's going on with Airy. He proved that very well when he kissed her.”

A wicked grin curled War’s lips as he twisted what appeared to be a small, silver hairpin in his fingers. “What happened?” he asked.

“Well, she got hurt; Phil and I were trying to cheer her up. Apparently, Phil caught on to the fact that I lo -- like! That I like Airy, so he kissed her.”

“I see…” War chuckled. “All against you, wasn’t he? Not very nice of him, was it?”

“No, not at all.”

“Did Airy suspect anything? Your feelings? His treachery?”

“No, she can’t know what he’s really like.”

“Wouldn't you want beautiful little Airy for yourself?”

“Yes,” he snarled angrily.



Mia paced back and forth across the dusty room, pulling her cloak tightly around her shoulders. Firmly, she rubbed her upper arms. Glancing across the room, she saw Jesse huddling in a corner behind Zelda (still tied to a chair), a tattered blanket over his shoulders. Ana sat beside him in a stunning mink she had conjured for herself. The two of them stared straight ahead, watching the poor princess with keen interest. Aden, meanwhile, sat by the window, looking out as the moon began to disappear. He alone seemed unaffected by the chilly gusts that swept through the room.

“It’s freezing!” Ana pronounced loudly for what must have been the tenth time in the last five minutes.

“It’s always coldest right before the sunrise,” Aden told her wisely.

“You should talk,” Ana scoffed. “You’re from a tropical island. You should be colder than the rest of us.” Jesse laughed silently beside her.

Aden merely shrugged his slender shoulders, glancing out the window again. “Maybe,” he muttered.

Mia sighed, plopping herself down on another crate. “I wish the sun would rise,” she intoned evenly.

“It always does,” Aden remarked. “Eventually.” He looked over at Mia, shivering on her packing crate. Gallantly, he removed the light blue cape from around his neck and walked up behind her, resting it on her shoulders.

She turned to him with a small smile. “Thanks.”

The door opened and Tranns walked into the room, holding a leather pouch in one fist. “Found something,” she said through chattering teeth.

Ana leaned over and picked up a rather large dust bunny. “Look, I found something too!” she smirked in triumph.

Tranns knocked her fists together then opened the sack. “Some Ember Seeds,” she said.

Immediately, Ana shot up out of her seat. “Give me!” she cried lunging for the bag.

Quickly, Tranns held it up over her head, just out of Ana’s reach. “Now I’m popular,” she sneered. With a small laugh, she reached into the bag and removed two seeds, handing them to Ana. Adriana took them, placing one in each hand and squeezed her fists tightly, groaning with satisfaction as the warmth spread through her body.

“How much longer until sunrise?” Mia asked, accepting a pair of seeds herself, which she happily squeezed.

“It shouldn’t be long,” Tranns supposed.

In his corner, Jesse scribbled out, “About half an hour,” on his ever-constant pad of paper. He stood up, waving the pad in the air until everyone turned and acknowledged it.

Tranns finished doling out the seeds to all the Guardians except for Aden who politely declined. She turned to Zelda. “Are you cold, Princess?” Zelda defiantly turned her to one side, refusing to even look at Tranns. Still, it was obvious to everyone that she was indeed shivering. Gently, Tranns walked over to Zelda and pried open her hand, placing an Ember Seed in her palm and then closing her fingers over it.

“Let it be known,” Ana pronounced sarcastically, “that we are humane kidnappers of princesses.” Everyone in the room glared at her for a moment, banging their fists together. “Just seeking some levity,” she shrugged.

“That’s a big word for you, Ana,” Tranns quipped.

“I know some bigger ones.”

“Ladies,” Aden diffused the situation. “The last thing we need right now is to fight amongst ourselves.”

“We’re not doing anything,” Tranns muttered. “That’s the problem.”

“I have to agree,” Mia added. “We should be doing more research or something. We’re losing time.”

“Time…” Aden sighed poetically.

“Please, Aden,” Tranns moaned, “no sonnets today.”

“The thought never crossed my mind.”

Ana was looking down at her fists. “I think these things are defective,” she said loudly.

Aden looked over at her. “What do you mean?”

“I’m still freezing.”

Mia scowled. “Me too.” Jesse nodded from across the room.

Tranns stared at the sack of Ember Seeds. Finally, after sighting heavily, she nodded, “Yeah…me too.”

Although she said nothing, it became obvious that Zelda was the one suffering most of all. Everyone turned to glance at her. She was shivering violently in her chair, causing the legs to rattle against the floor noisily. There wasn’t a single part of her anatomy that didn’t quiver. Her teeth even chattered, though they could see she was putting a great deal of effort into silencing them.

“Something isn’t right,” Mia whispered.

A bright flash of green light filled the room, emanating from the corner opposite of Jesse. The Guardians shielded their eyes, though Aden and Jesse both drew their swords while Tranns reached for her daggers. The light faded, green mists drifting up through the ceiling and into oblivion. In the corner was a Hylian girl, holding her palms out slightly.

“Amorette!” Mia cried in shock.

Ana bounded across the room, throwing her arms around Amorette’s neck in a great, big hug. “I thought we’d never see you again!”

Amorette stiffened, gently pulling back from Ana. It quickly became obvious that she too was suffering from the terrible cold in the room. She glanced from Ana to the other Guardians to Zelda, tied to her chair. “It’s a long story,” Aden told her, following her gaze.

“We kidnapped the Princess,” Tranns said.

“It’s a short story,” Aden amended.

“Where’s Phil?” Amorette asked, stepping out of the corner, her sword hitting against her thigh.

“He’s seeing to Airy right now,” Mia told her. “We can’t thank you enough for saving her life.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” Aden said to her. “What will happen if War notices you’re absent? He’ll try to find you.”

“That’s why I came,” Amorette explained. “War’s gone out to look for you guys.”

“And?” Ana prompted her.

“He planted a tracking device on Ariadne.”

“Oh no…” Mia whispered.

“A tracking device?” Tranns repeated incredulously. “What do you mean a tracking device?”

“A magical apparatus that allows him to see and hear everything Ariadne sees or hears.”

“That’s bad,” Ana said. “That’s very bad.”

“He’s going to find us no matter what,” Mia lamented.

“Do you have any idea what this device looks like?” Aden addressed Amorette seriously.

“No,” she replied, shaking her head. “I only knew it existed when War told me he was going out to look for you and that I was to remain in the warehouse and prepare for more possible hostages.”

“We’ve got to tell Phil,” Tranns said, heading for the door.

“Why is it freezing in here?” Amorette asked.

“That should be obvious.” Tranns stopped, turning around. Everyone else looked at Zelda who had finally spoken.

Aden frowned. “What do you mean, Princess?”

“The cold is being caused by your Gerudo friend.”

Ana’s eyebrows shot up. “Phil? How can Phil be causing the cold? Better yet, why would he be causing the cold?”

“He’s not causing it by magic; he’s simply causing it by being.”

Amorette stared at her blankly. “What?”

Zelda shrugged to the best of her ability. “Hylians always shiver when there’s evil present.”

“Well…” Mia scowled, “That would explain why Aden isn’t feeling cold.”

“Yeah,” Ana said hotly, “but Phil isn’t evil.”

“He most certainly is not!” Tranns agreed.

Amorette’s eyes went wide. “What is it, Amorette?” Mia asked, noticing her sudden panic.

“He’s here,” Amorette whispered. “War is here.”

“Oh no…”

“We have to tell Phil,” Tranns said, turning back to the door. She grabbed the doorknob and turned it fiercely, but nothing happened. Frowning, she tried again. She jiggled the knob back and forth, but the door wouldn’t open. “We’re locked in!” she cried.

“That’s not the only problem,” Aden said, staring out the window.



Ariadne had descended the stairs into the main cantina of the Dancing Knight, insisting that she ‘smelled something.’ Philip followed after her, trying his best to ignore the biting cold creeping into his muscles. “I wish you would elaborate,” he told her, looking around in the darkness.

“I can’t,” she replied.

“Is that how you’ve always been able to detect intruders?” Philip asked. “You can smell them?”

“Andorians have heightened senses,” she explained, peering into the alcove behind the bar.

Philip opened the door to the closet under the stairs, poking his head in before withdrawing again. “Nothing.” He closed the door and walked away from the stairs, over to Ariadne.

She was standing in the middle of the room, looking around with a confused expression on her face. “I don’t understand,” she muttered.

Gently, Philip put his hands on her shoulders. “You’re probably still just in shock from what War did to you.”

“Don’t you dare dismiss my feelings like that, Philip,” she warned him. “Have you ever known me to be wrong?”

He frowned. “No.”

The sound of hollow footsteps interrupted them. Ariadne and Philip looked up to the sound, staring straight up the staircase. At the top of the steps was a dark silhouette which slowly descended, taking each step with a powerful, authoritative air. Finally, the weak, last glimmers of moonlight fell upon a face. Well, it wasn’t a face. It was a mask. Cold, blue eyes glared out of the bark, falling directly on Philip in a hateful, disgruntled way.

“Who are you?” Philip demanded.

The man in the mask chuckled softly. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” he asked sardonically.

Ariadne blinked. “Sito?” She leaned forward, examining the figure. To be certain, he sounded like Sito. He even smelled like Sito, but the way he walked, and the way he demeanor had changed, suggested a different person entirely.

“The name’s Strife,” he replied coolly.

“Strife,” Philip repeated slowly.

“What’s going on here?” Ariadne asked.

Strife laughed, coming to rest on the bottom step. “I was given orders by War to get rid of one of the Guardians, and who better than my rival Phil?”

“War?” Ariadne said evenly. “The man who tried to dissect me.”

“I’m not your rival,” Philip said.

“You are,” Strife replied. “After all, who other than my rival would steal from me that which is most precious?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You stole Ariadne!” Strife bellowed. “You took her from me and for that I’ll have to make you suffer.”

Ariadne’s eyebrow shot up. “Stole me? When was I yours to steal?”

“War is manipulating him,” Philip decided.

“War, has done nothing. Nothing except open my eyes. You knew that I loved Ariadne, Philly. But you wouldn’t let me have anything better than what you had. So you took her.”

“Sito!” Ariadne exclaimed.

“It’s Strife!” he shouted.

She squared her shoulders to face him. “You can't change who you are. The gods know I wish you could, but you can't. We are who we are.”

“But I have changed, Airy,” Strife whispered. “I’m no longer the vulnerable little runt, Sito.”

Philip stepped forward, holding his arms at his sides. “You can change your name, but you're the same stuck up, self involved, spoiled brat you've always been.”

“Shut up!” Strife roared, lunging forward.

Ariadne placed herself in between the two men. “Stop it!”

Strife stopped himself short, before he could punch Ariadne. Philip’s eyebrows shot up. “What is your childhood trauma?” he asked.

Suddenly, Strife roughly seized hold of Ariadne’s shoulders. He threw her off to one side. In a flash, his switchblade was out, pointed at Philip’s throat. “Any last words, Fearless Leader?”

“Just one,” Philip said calmly. He shot his hand forward, grabbing the knife by the blade and pushing it back up. “Immortal.” Strife took a step back, still clutching the handle. Philip stepped forward, twisting the blade slightly. “You, however, are not. Trying to kill me isn't the courageous thing to do, Sito. That's the cowardly thing. The courageous thing to do would have been to come talk to me.”

“I have my orders,” he grimaced, still trying to maintain a good grip on his switchblade.

“So you’re working for the people that killed your father. Nice.”

The front door flew open. Philip thrust the blade back with such force that it sent Strife flying across the room. Meanwhile, he turned around just in time to see two boys charge into the Dancing Knight, the future Red Dragon and his friend.

“Where is she?” Link demanded, sweeping the point of his sword across the room. His eyes fell on Philip and so too did the aim of his blade.

“I don’t have time for this,” Philip sighed, looking back at Link.

“Don’t mouth off to me, Gerudo,” he snarled.

Ariadne was on her feet now. “This is not a Gerudo encampment,” she said diplomatically. “There’s been some sort of mistake.”

“No mistake,” Link replied. “We know you’re holding Princess Zelda against her will and we know that Ganondorf is here.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Philip muttered.

Strife laughed, clambering back to his feet. “Well this makes things interesting, doesn’t it?”

Tulsa, who was standing against the wall, out of the way, frowned, eyeing him. “Your voice sounds familiar,” he said.

Ignoring him, Strife continued. “Looks like Link is mistaking you for dear old dad, Philly.”

“Shut up,” Philip barked.

“Listen, Ganondorf…Philly…Dragmire…whoever you are!” Link shouted. “Tell me where Zelda is!”

“Sito?” Tulsa asked carefully, squinting to look at Strife. “Is that you?”

“The name is Strife!” he roared. “I have something I’ve wanted to give you for a long time, pacifist!” With that, he began to race in Tulsa’s direction.

It was difficult to see what happened next. Only Ariadne, with her enhanced senses, clearly made out the situation. As Strife charged forward at Tulsa, his fist pulled back to strike, Philip turned to watch. Link took advantage of Phil letting his guard down to advance, aiming the sword for Philip’s back. Ariadne called out Phil’s name and he quickly turned around, swinging a powerful arm forward to catch Link in the middle. Link stumbled back, both his arms flailing. His left wrist snapped back and there was a mechanical twang. The loaded arrow, hidden under his gauntlet fired, flying over Philip’s shoulder and across the room. Aiming directly at Tulsa, it would have embedded itself between his eyes, had not Strife, at that very instant, landed his punch. The arrow instead impaled Strife through the fist.

A low rumble sounded in the distance. Everyone seemed to freeze, listening to the call of a sound that was not quite thunder, yet similar at the same time. With a cry of pain, Strife dropped to his knees, holding his injured hand out in front of him. Blood dripped down to the floor from the place where the arrow was still firmly lodged in his skin.

Tulsa stepped forward, grabbing the mask on Stife’s face. He ripped it off, revealing Sito, who’s eyes were squeezed shut, his mouth contorted with pain. “It is you!” Tulsa exclaimed. “What the bloody hell is going on here?”

Philip walked forward, kneeling down at eye level with Sito. Ashamed, the smaller boy looked up to return a gaze. “I’m not going to touch you,” Philip said softly. “I'm above that. But I'm warning you, if you do anything that could even hurt anyone in the slightest, I'll kick your ass from here to Calatia.” He gave Sito a condescending pat on the head and stood up again.

A loud crash echoed from above. Everyone turned to look up at the staircase as a loud rumbling of footsteps came from the upstairs hall. A stream of people came flooding down the stairs: Ana was first, followed closely behind by Jesse, then Mia and Aden. “Phil!” Mia shouted, “Someone broke into the room upstairs. He’s fighting Tranns for the Princess!”

“Link,” Tulsa supplied. Indeed, as everyone looked around they realized that Link was absent from the scene.

“Go,” Ariadne called to Philip. He nodded and raced up the stairs.

“What happened down here?” Ana asked, looking at Sito on the floor, clutching his hand. Mia saw her brother in pain and raced over to him, kneeling on the floor. Gently, she took his hand and cracked the arrow, pulling both halves out of his skin.

“A bloody fight is what happened down here,” Tulsa said. “Link nearly killed me.”

“You call that a fight?” Everyone looked at the front door. Leaning against the doorframe was War, his helmet back on his head.

“You again, War?” Ana sighed.

War ignored her, turning to Ariadne. “Hello again, pretty Airy.”

“Leave her alone!” Sito suddenly roared, jumping to his feet.

With a bored air, War glanced over at Sito. “Changed sides again?”

Sito walked over to Jesse, yanking his brother’s sword from his hands. “Jesse, get them out of here. I've got a score to settle with him.” He turned around, pointing the sword at War. “Two words buddy. Shut. Up.”

Mia returned to the others. “Should we get out of here?” she asked softly.

“I’m not abandoning my teammates here,” Ariadne said firmly.

“Me neither,” Ana chirped. Jesse nodded in agreement.

War had turned his attention to Sito. “You were much more agreeable when you were running away.”

“I’m not running anymore.”

“That's good. You can't deny in part it's thanks to me.”

“No thanks to you! You made me hurt my friends!”

War laughed a little bit. “I did,” he said proudly. “But now you aren't sniffling and complaining.”

Sito swung Jesse’s sword forward, hitting War’s armor over his left rib with a loud clang. “That’s for Airy!”

Floating forward, War shoved Sito roughly, pushing him back several paces. The other Guardians braced themselves to charge, but then War pulled back. “How much do you know about your little friend Ariadne?”

Sito glared at him. “As much as she wants to tell me.”

“Any idea why she was put on your little team?”

Ariadne clenched her fists as Sito responded, “No, but I'd rather have her tell me than you!”

“I'd rather you all died, but I'm not going to get that, am I?”

Grunting, Sito swung the sword sloppily at War. The ogre of a man backed up, his armor clanking. “Now who’s on the run?” Sito asked with a cocky grin.

“You know,” War drawled, “I'm sure she feels attached to this place somewhat.”

“You have no idea what you’re saying,” Ariadne said quietly.

War turned to her. “I don’t?” Sito slashed at him again. War side stepped the blow, still focused on Ariadne. “Perhaps I don't, but if you're not going to tell them an important fact about yourself, I will!”

As Ariadne’s eyes widened, Sito shouted, “I thought I told you to shut up!”

Ignoring him, War addressed the other Guardians. “Surely it’s obvious to all of you that Ariadne is a little more than secretive.”

“Stop it…” Ariadne pleaded helplessly. The others, for their own part, couldn’t find an argument.

“Shut up!” Sito screamed, thrusting the blade at War.

Easily parrying with his wrist guard, War chuckled. “Oh, the heroic Sito. Seems he really wants to clear his name.”

“Stop!”

War reached out, clamping his right hand around Sito’s throat. He hefted him clean off the ground, causing him to drop the sword in his hand. “Go to sleep, brat,” he said, firmly planting his other hand over Sito’s mouth and nose.

“Sito!” Mia screamed.

Ariadne ran across the room, grabbing the sword. Grunting, she took a swing at the back of War’s knees, where the armor seemed thinnest. Jesse’s sword sliced through the metal, cutting into War’s skin. He dropped Sito, falling down to the ground. Swiftly, Ariadne placed the tip of the sword on the back of War’s neck. Jesse rushed over to Sito’s side and the other Guardians gathered around. “How does it feel when the positions are reversed?” Ariadne asked coldly.

“When you're on the ouch end of a pointy object!” Ana shouted.

“Sito…wake up…” Mia muttered, joining Jesse on the floor.

War shook his head. “It feels the same to me, girl...Well, Ariadne, are you going to tell them?”

“Shut up,” she said icily, driving the tip of the sword a little bit deeper into War’s neck.

Ana looked at Mia. “Mia, you're the highest ranking person here. What do we do with this?” She jerked her head in War’s direction.

“Tie him up,” Mia supposed. “See if we can get information out of him regarding the Red Dragon’s rise. Or anything else useful.”

“I'm not sure we'll want the information he has to give,” Ariadne whispered quietly.

“We have an additional problem,” Ana commented, looking up at Tulsa.

The confused boy held his hands up. “Don’t look at me,” he said hastily. “I just came here with the Hero. I don’t know what’s going on.”

“Who are you?” Mia asked.

“His name is Tulsa,” Sito supplied weakly, coughing a bit. “He’s a pacifist, he won’t hurt us.”

“I’m not a pacifist!”

War slowly straightened himself out, his neck still pushing against the blade. “Ariadne…” he said slowly, “is a demon.”

Ariadne dropped the sword. Her eyes going wide as saucers, she stumbled backwards. “No…” she muttered to herself, shaking her head from side to side. “No, no, no…”

“She's not human at all.”

“You’re the only demon here, War,” Aden said icily.

Tulsa looked at Aden, looked away then did a double take. “Hey! You do speak Common!”

War started laughing. He fell over onto his back, chortling loudly, the laughter echoing in his iron helmet. “You’re mad,” Sito whispered, staring at War.

“Perhaps,” War chuckled.

Mia looked over at Ariadne. “What’s he talking about?”

“An...Andorian...Demon...still around...” War struggled to get words out from in between his laughs.

“I’ll never be an aunt now!” Ana lamented, throwing her arms up.

“Ana, now is not the time to complain about the physiology of your brother’s girlfriend while there’s a mad man in our midst,” Aden said.

War sat up, all laughter stopping at once. “I’m also mad as in angry. Perhaps I’ll kill you to calm my nerves.” He tried to stand up, but weakened by the loss of blood, along with the pain in the back of his knees from Ariadne’s blow, he fell back onto his hands.

“Serves you right,” Sito coughed, getting to his feet with the help of his brother and sister.

Slowly, War started to crawl toward Ariadne, moving with a trancelike quality. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” At the top of the stairs was Philip. He stood with Link in front of him, one of Tranns’ daggers tightly held in his hand, now pressed against Link’s throat.

“Link!” Tulsa shouted.

War stopped crawling, turning to watch. Philip carefully made his way down the stairs, pulling Link along with him. “That’s what I thought,” he said coolly, “you won’t go so far as to risk the life of your future master.”

Suddenly, Sito let out a war cry. He had picked up the fallen sword and now held it in both hands, over his head. With savage rage, he slammed the weapon down, driving it in between War’s shoulders, straight through the armor. There were no last words, no glorious final threats. War dropped dead on impact.

Philip finished dragging Link down the stairs. The Hylian Hero had a thoroughly confused expression on his face. “What are you talking about?” he asked, still struggling against Philip’s firm hold.

“We’re not evil,” Philip said. “We’re from another time and another place and we’ve come here to stop something bad from happening. That man you see on the floor, he was going to kill your Princess. That’s why we kidnapped her, to protect her.” He released Link then turned to the stairs. “Amorette! Tranns!” he called.

Amorette immediately appeared at the top of the steps. She gasped, running down as fast as she could. “That’s him!” she said, pointing excitedly at Tulsa.

“Me?” Tulsa blinked.

“What about him?” Ana questioned.

“He’s the one, the trigger that gives rise to the Red Dragon.”

“The pacifist?” Sito inquired.

“The day the Red Dragon rose was the same day that he murdered his best friend.”

“Who’s the Red Dragon?” Link demanded in frustration.

“You!” all of the Guardians shouted at the same time.

“Me?” Link stared at them in surprise. “I would never murder Tulsa!”

“Wait a second,” Philip held up his hand. “I’m not so sure.” He turned to Amorette. “How was the corpse found?”

Amorette shrugged. “With an arrow in between the eyes.”

“We did it,” Philip said softly.

“We did what?” Ana asked.

“We stopped the Red Dragon’s rise.”

“We did?”

Philip moved around exciting, illustrating his story. “Link was attacking me and I hit him in the stomach. He fell backward and an arrow came out of his gauntlet. It would have hit Tulsa exactly in the forehead, but Sito got in the way.”

“That’s why there was an arrow in your hand!” Mia exclaimed, grabbing Sito’s shoulder proudly.

Tulsa looked a little bit faint. Ana glanced at him. “Oh relax,” she muttered, “you aren’t dead.”

“Somehow I don’t feel like that’s the case,” he replied.

“Link! Tulsa!” Tranns was at the top of the stairs. Beside her was Zelda, being held firmly with her arms behind her back.

“Zelda!” Link shouted, running to the bottom step.

“Release her, Tranns,” Philip ordered.

At once, Tranns let go of Zelda’s arms. Zelda ran down the stairs and Link took her hand, pulling her over to the corner with Tulsa. The three of them stood huddled together, watching the Guardians. “Do you understand any of this, Link?” she asked him.

“No,” he replied honestly.

“Tulsa? Do you?”

Tulsa shrugged slightly. “The big one in charge is Philip Dragmire. That one is Sito who’s in love with the one in the corner who’s a demon. That one with the brown hair doesn’t say much of anything and the dead guy was evil.”

“You’re wrong on two accounts,” Sito said.

“Which two did I miss?”

Sito pointed to Philip. “That is not Philip Dragmire. His name is Philip Summer.”

“That’s one account,” Tulsa ticked off.

“What’s the other?” Zelda questioned.

Philip looked at Ariadne. “She’s no demon,” he said softly. Carefully, he walked over to Ariadne who was still huddling in a corner. He extended his hand in her direction. For a moment, she watched his hand before gingerly placing hers inside of it.

“She’s Andorian,” Sito said.

Philip led Ariadne back to the rest of the group. She looked up at them in amazement. “You…you’re not afraid of me?”

Tranns sauntered down the stairs, swinging her arms casually. “Afraid of a little thing like you? Yeah right.”

“Who’d be afraid of Ariadne?” Aden inquired, looking around.

“I for one,” Ana said haughtily, “never get afraid of my own friends.”

“Me neither,” Mia agreed. Beside her Jesse nodded.

A thin thread of white light suddenly appeared, hovering in the air on the far side of the room. With a gust of wind accompanying it, the thread began to expand, opening like a mouth. Purple and blue streaks appeared as the light took the form of a doorway. “That’s it,” Ana whispered, “That’s the bubble.”

“Where do we go from here?” Tranns asked.

“I don’t know,” Ana replied.

“Oblivion,” Sito supposed.

“Infinity,” Aden said.

“Then I think,” Tranns drawled, “that it will be our greatest adventure of them all.”

Amorette looked at the rest of them. “I’m ready to start.” Without another backward glance, she turned to the glowing doorway and walked to it, allowing herself to become enveloped in the light. Her entire body glowed for a moment, then became a silhouette, then vanished into nothingness.

Sito licked his lips. He began to walk to the portal. Stopping at the entrance, he turned to face Ariadne, then Philip. With a tight, morbid smile, he turned his head away from them and walked through, “no regrets” echoing behind him.

Ana was next. She walked first to Link, Tulsa, and Zelda, careful to remain a respectable distance from them. “Try to be good,” she said, looking at Link. “Try not to kill people.” As she started for the portal, Jesse came to her side. She glanced up at him and smiled slightly, squeezing his hand. Together, the two of them entered.

Mia kicked War’s head, the helmet ringing loudly. “Mia,” Aden scolded her, “he’s down.”

“I know,” she said looking up at him. “I know.” Her face wrinkled up and she burst into tears. Tenderly, Aden draped his arm over her shoulders. He steered her to the yawning bubble and they entered.

“My turn,” Tranns muttered. She squared her shoulders proudly and marched to the light. Just as she was about to enter, she turned around and walked back over to Philip, holding out her hand, palm up. Grinning, Philip placed her missing dagger in her hand. She ducked her head once, stuck the dagger into her boot, and ran, plunging herself headfirst into the opening.

“And then there were two,” Tulsa muttered dryly, watching Ariadne and Philip who still remained.

Ariadne turned to look at Philip. She rose on her tip toes, caressing his face. “Are you ready?” she asked.

He shook his head. “No.”

She leaned forward, kissing him gently. When she pulled away, her eyes were glossy, but she smiled. “Everything you have ever done has led to this. Perhaps you were not made for times like these. Then again, perhaps you will go where I will be waiting.”

Philip placed his hand over hers. “I will see you again,” he promised her. “We will be together.”

Ariadne nodded. After a long pause, she turned around and began to walk to the portal. At the threshold, she held her arms at her sides and let her head fall back. As she entered the abyss, Philip could just see her hair turn light blue, almost white, and her hands turn pale green. And then she was gone.

Fighting to suppress everything he was feeling, Philip addressed the trio huddled in the corner. He made eye contact with each and every one of them before slowly trudging to the portal, going out of his way to walk over War’s body. When he entered, a great wave of light poured out of the rip, filling the entire space. Link, Tulsa, and Zelda shielded their eyes, closing them tightly until the light faded away.

The Dancing Knight seemed different somehow. War’s body was gone and the sun was peeking over the horizon, pouring several golden rays of light into the cramped space. No trace seemed to remain of the Guardians, not even the blood from Sito’s hand that had stained the two halves of Link’s arrow.

“What happened?” Zelda asked slowly, looking from Tulsa to Link then back again.

“I don’t know,” Tulsa shrugged.

“Whoever they were,” Zelda muttered, “they saved us from what must have been an awful future.”

“A future without me,” Tulsa quipped. “Honestly, how could anyone survive in this world without me?”

Link laughed, clapping Tulsa on the back. “It would be a quiet world,” he teased.

“I think I’ve just been insulted!” Tulsa scoffed. “Beware, Red Dragon, I’m the one that keeps you sane.”

“Insane is more like it,” Link shot back. “Any sane and rational person would murder you!”

As the two of them began to air box, playfully insulting each other, Zelda stepped away, moving to the space where the light doorway had been. With great ceremony and respect, she held her hands out in front of her, touching her index fingers and thumbs together to form the shape of a triangle. She gave their departed saviors this Hylian salute. Once that was done, she turned around, smiling as she watched Link and Tulsa having fun.