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 get