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