The following is a work of fan-fiction. Though it goes without saying, "The Legend of Zelda" video game franchise as well as its characters are owned by Nintendo. This work is not for sale. The author reserves all applicable rights and will not stand for any attempts at monetary gain via this work. The following would not be possible without the creativity and vision of the well-known individuals responsible for the source material. Please continue to support the official releases this work merely attempts to pay homage to. Thank you, and enjoy.

This story follows the "child timeline" of the games. It is not meant to be canon content.

I say again. It is NOT meant to be canon content.

Still, without an intimate knowledge of Ocarina of Time, Majora's Mask, and Twilight Princess in particular, some parts of the plot may not make sense. Obviously you should expect spoilers if you've yet to play these games.

The Legend of Zelda: Forgotten Goddess

By: N Felts

Copyright N Felts 2012

Available everywhere e-books are sold!

Prologue

The lingering sun of late afternoon cooks the flatstone walkways of Hyrule Castle Town. A visible wave of heat waves lazily, streaming up and out of the worn grooves of a thousand horse drawn carriages. The town itself seems critically ill. Symptoms of a deteriorating civilization are everywhere. Overgrown grass hangs over alleyways. Fallen leaves crowd the south side of every building, the consistent breeze from Lake Hylia to the south ending here after its long journey across Hyrule Field. The lively music and bustling crowds are a distant memory. Now the shop keepers rest lazily in their stalls, praying tomorrow brings more sales. Brings any sales at all. The days of townspeople fighting over the latest trend, the rupees flowing like Zora's River, are long gone. Children used to fill their pockets with sweets from spare change accidentally dropped into pots or thrown into the fountain at the heart of the market, but now they scamper through alleyways, stealing when they've grown hungry enough. The town has known neither order nor wealth for many months. The only remaining haven of prosperity is the church on the east side of town. Stained glass shimmering above the massive, wooden double doors depicts mighty Hylia with her Goddess sword in hand. Inside the pews are rarely empty. Even at this odd hour, several of the townspeople remain seated, their hands clasped in hope of their savior delivering them from this depression. There is no dark force to be slain this time around. No reemergence of evil to be suppressed. A blade, no matter how divine, cannot pull crops from their parched seeds, nor rain from the cloudless sky. The people give offering, and they pray, but for months their prayers have gone unanswered.

Resting in a dark corner behind the organ, a young boy named Rift spins a small, wooden box between his thumb and index finger. Watching the shanty piece of craftsmanship slowly turn in his grasp, his mind remains blank, simply waiting for yet another day to pass. His emotionless face is shrouded beneath an old, damaged cowl. Hanging from his shoulders is a black cloak donning the royal crest on both the front and back in faded gold stitching. Resting lightly on his chest and back, it ends in a short, triangular point in his lap. Given to him by the priest, the cloak primarily conceals the gaping holes in his cheap outfit of faded cotton. Taken in as a toddler, Rift remembers little of his parents. The priest has told the story several times, casualties of the plague of darkness brought about by the dark lord Ganondorf years ago. Now his time is spent waiting. Not waiting for anything in particular, just endlessly waiting for the night to fall, and the dawn to break. A general uneasiness sounds from the pews as a group of children enter the building.

"Rift, you in here?" The leader of the gang calls out, glancing around the massive room. Making no effort to conceal or reveal him, the tired old priest simply stares at the troublemakers dumbly. The boy's words echo in the profoundly silent room, disturbing the peaceful ambiance.

"Don't cause trouble," a gruff voice sounds from beside the doors. One of the few town guards has been posted at the church to keep the peace. Scowling lazily from beneath his traditional helm, he briefly stamps his spear on the wooden floor before cocking his head toward the door. "Go on," he commands, not particularly eager to incite a confrontation.

"We're gonna find you!" A young girl in the group calls as they collectively march out of the structure with an air of superiority. Hobbling over to Rift's hiding place, the priest simply isn't spirited enough to protect the boy any longer. Years of fear and hiding have made the church a target of vandalism, the children practically running the town with no one especially willing to discipline them.

"Rift," the old man sighs, palming the dusty organ for balance. "You know you're like a son to me, but this can't go on any longer. I won't always be here to protect you. Please," he continues, coughing briefly. "You've got to stand up for yourself. Pray to Hylia, and she will protect you." Watching the old man with sad eyes, Rift climbs to his feet and pockets his treasured box. The wooden boards beneath the decorative rug creak with every step as he slowly exits the church. Peeking through the single opened door, a rapid series of anxious breaths are halted when the sentry breaks the silence.

"They headed north toward the castle," the guard points out, caring little for the boy's fate, but offering the information all the same.

"Thanks," Rift smirks, aiming to sound genuine, but coming off as abrasively sarcastic. Without another word he quickly trots through the lifeless, stone streets toward the massive drawbridge at the gate. He will spend the brief portion of the day that remains outside the confines of town. In the distance, the gang of children passes from alley to alley near the twisting path leading up to the castle. Once a symbol of hope and unity, its many spires seem to hang their heads in shame at the current state of the kingdom.

Pacing near the balcony of his room, King Harkinian has never looked less healthy. A thick, white beard hangs down from his wrinkled face. Once the visage of a hardened warrior, time has done what it does to men of any status. The darkest of days has come and gone. The king of thieves had stolen his very throne, but just as the prophecy foretold, the hero of time struck him down. He had seen the tinge of deceit in the Gerudo's eyes so long ago, but never expected such an uprising in his own kingdom. Between the civil war and Ganondorf's treachery, Hyrule has enjoyed very little peace during his time on the throne. Now, the distant land of Arcadia would dare move to threaten Gamelon, assuming Hyrule in a state of weakness. Duke Onkled received the might of Hyrule's army immediately, but the cost has proven far greater than assumed. The time of darkness has passed, but the drought continues. The able bodied men march to war, and now the kingdom is trapped in a veil of decay. The people of Castle Town remain disparaged, and the further one travels from the castle gate, the more uneasy the inhabitants of the kingdom become. A period of prosperity is long overdue to them, but with the hand the King's been dealt, it's simply not in the cards. His lovely Princess has shied away from a life of politics, and he has never needed her beauty and natural charm more than now. The people need a symbol of hope now more than ever, and his tired old face is far from reassuring these days. The light continues to fade, the beams piercing through the tall windows lining the hallways growing longer by the minute. Another thick bead of sweat crawls from beneath his crown as his perpetual angst refuses to relent.

A raven soars past the balcony, continuing over the church's steeple, and into the open air of Hyrule Field. No matter how unproductive and desolate it becomes, the landscape remains a gargantuan display of beauty. Gradual hills stretch out as far as the eye can see as the setting sun dances on the golden grass. Resting listlessly in the only place he can feel at ease, Rift watches the rolling puffs of dust twinkle in the last of the days light. Resting against a particular rock face near the river pouring down from Zora's Domain to the north, he listens to the subtle music, only discernible when the wind is just right. The reeds on the small plateau overhead seem to hum a blissful melody while the cattails beside the bridge knock on the dry wood rhythmically. Reaching into his pocket, he produces the wooden box. A metallic protrusion on the side is twisted, the soft clang of thin metal sounding between turns. Finally letting his palm rest on the dry grass next to his thigh, the box plays his favorite song, and memories of his mother invade his thoughts. The only thing he can remember clearly is darkness. A blanket of shadow enveloping everything around him. However, the feeling of a profound warmth against his cheek kept the fear at bay. The sensation of impossible comfort only offered by a mother's embrace. The feeling he lost so very long ago. The current times promote selfishness and survival of the fittest. Lacking these traits is certain to lead him to an early grave.

"Found him!" A girl yells from above. Shaken from his trance, Rift scrambles to his feet to find familiar faces arriving from multiple directions. Failing to hang on to his spikey black hair, his hood collapses onto his back. The leader arrives after the rest of the group has congregated on the ledge, parting them to look down upon his prey. An athletic boy named Rho, always carrying the wooden sword his father gave him before leaving to join the defense of Gamelon. An aggressive child destined to rise to power, however small the extent of his reign may be. The other children obey him without question, knowing his potential violence is much more than a mere threat.

"I told you not to hide from us," Rho shrugs, his stoic face especially intimidating in the fading light. The only child with a respectable ensemble, his baggy, brown overalls end in a pair of boots no one could afford these days. His surprisingly clean, white shirt has only one long sleeve, the other removed to imitate the elite soldiers his father has joined. "You think you can stay in our town without paying up?"

"We're not in," the girl on his right starts, clamping her hands over her mouth as Rho shifts his glance to her. A bit of a know-it-all for Rho's taste, Ona has a difficult time keeping her mouth shut. A year or two younger than Rift, she can be even more aggressive than Rho at times, knowing her fearless leader will back up any threat she can conjure. Waiting hopelessly, Rift grips his music box tightly behind his back, afraid sliding it back into his pocket would be noticed.

"I don't want to see your face around here anymore," Rho continues, hopping off the small plateau and forcibly prodding Rift in the chest with his sword. Remaining silent, Rift grimaces painfully, but continues to carefully conceal his treasure. Stumbling away, he is denied a chance to run as the rest of the group quickly encircles him. Looking back to Rho, he sees the jig is up. "What's that?" He demands, prodding Rift with the sword once again. Oblivious to his approach, Rift is taken by surprise when one of the boys sneaks up behind him and snatches the music box away. Dahn, a human from Ordon Village, is the original member of Rho's posse. Always eager to pick a fight, he couldn't have been happier to help Rho take over.

"Got it!" He shouts excitedly, turning it over in his hands. "It's some kind of box. Looks stupid."

"Give it here," Rho commands, prompting the boy to toss it over Rift's head. Gripped with panic, Rift watches in horror as his only possession of value is idly inspected by his worst enemy. A much stronger breeze pushes through the field as the sun has nearly set. Unable to find the courage to speak, Rift utters a weak whine, grabbing Rho's attention.

"Oh, does the baby want his toy back?" Rho teases, tossing it to another kid.

"Over here!" Another calls as they continue to toss the box to each other, just out of his reach. Straining to catch a wayward throw, Rift fails over and over again as the children continue to taunt and tease him. Stumbling after a missed catch that just grazes his fingertips, he is on his back looking up before the sting of pain is registered. A heavy swing landed on the bridge of his nose as Rho nearly managed to knock him out with his trusty sword. Tears of pain welling up in his eyes, Rift weakly grabs at his face while Rho dangles his music box over him.

"Awwww, is the baby gonna cry now?" He continues to taunt.

"Rho," Ona calls, afraid to interrupt, but clearly wanting to point something out.

"Shut up," he absently responds, poking Rift mercilessly as he is denied the chance to get back to his feet.

"But, the sun," Ona pleads. Pointing at the sparse light, dipping into the desert beyond the canyon to the west.

"I said shut up!" He demands, enjoying the power too much to be distracted. Without another word, she flees back toward the bridge, still down for the time being. The pain and humiliation is too much for Rift to handle, curling into a fetal position and waiting for the children to lose interest. As the yellow glow of the sun fades into the dim, blue glow of the moon, a Wolfos howls somewhere in the distance. It is only now that Rho realizes the danger he is in. A rumble of earth to the group's left is all it takes to incite a panic. The remaining children begin to run for the bridge, only to be cut off by a bony hand springing from the earth. They've strayed from the safety of the castle walls, and now the Stalchildren are upon them. Scrambling to his feet, Rift finds Rho gripping his sword tensely, unsure if he should fight or run. Making a move to take back his music box ends in disaster as Rho's quick reflexes allow him to dodge Rift's advance and trip him back to the ground effortlessly. "Pssh! Take it," Rho shrugs, tossing the box toward the small bridge leading to Kakariko Village. Thoughtlessly chasing after his most prized possession, Rift is unaware of Rho's plot to save his gang at Rift's expense. Charging toward the multiple tiny skeletons, clumsily marching after the kids with glowing orange eyes, Rho beats them down with a rapid succession of strikes. Beckoning the group to join him he continues to knock the weak apparitions aside as they close the distance to the bridge. The endless parade of fleshless anatomy continues to emerge, their jawless mouths seeming to grin at the easy prey.

Finally locating his box, Rift turns back toward Castle Town to find the bridge is already beginning its ascent, the chains connected to the old wood loudly cranking while the children's hearts collectively sink. The dry grass crunches beneath his sandals as Rift sprints toward the group of hoodlums, desperate for some level of security. Enemy or not, he needs Rho's protection if he intends to survive the night. Rho cracks yet another Stalchild's head open, the collection of bones collapsing like a house of cards and slowly seeping back into the ground like quicksand. The persistent demons seem to be defeated for the moment, the endless spawning of fresh enemies pausing for a time. Seconds from reaching the group, Rift is thrown off his feet when yet another deformed, skeletal head blasts upward from the earth. This Stalchild is twice the size of his predecessors, and proportionally aggressive. Slowly crawling away on his back, Rift can't help but utter a squeak of fear, unintentionally grabbing the ghoul's attention. Its large, soulless eyes lock on the helpless boy as it gracelessly turns to claim his life. Scrambling to his feet once again, Rift breaks into a sprint in no particular direction. Glancing over his shoulder, he is relieved to find the skeleton is much slower than him, his sights already turned back to the group of screaming kids. Rho attacks courageously, but his wooden blade snaps in half against the monster's forearm. A wave of defeat washes over the group, cowering above the rushing torrent of water beneath the raised bridge. Turning away and squeezing his eyes shut, Rift does his best to block out the screams of terror as the merciless monster bears down on them. Peeking into the dim night, he realizes his troubles are far from over as yet another Stalchild has surfaced, swinging a bony hand at him. Tripping to the side, he narrowly dodges the attack as more of the undead continue to climb into the haunting blue of the moon.

His eyes darting about in search of some kind of safety, he only finds the dark entrance of the Faron province, a dusty trail leading through an opening in the trees. The bouncing orange eyes seem to close in from all directions, and he is left with no alternative. Pulling his hood back onto his head, he flees into the dark forest, a place the Stalchildren will not venture. A plethora of insects spiral about the lush green landscape, and the chirping of life cascades over him like a coming storm. Unsure what he should do, Rift moves forward slowly, utilizing his dark clothing to fade into the shadows. The eerie glow of the moon pierces through the canopy in sporadic beams, the countless tales he's heard of the woodland creatures doing nothing to stifle his fear. Without warning, a seemingly harmless plant snaps to life, aggressively latching onto his arm with its hungry mouth. A shriek of pain echoes through the trees as the plant whips him back and forth through the air before launching him into a nearby tree trunk. Writhing in pain, he grabs at his arm, dripping with the nectar salivating from the plant's carnivorous mouth. The plant itself angrily snaps its toothless, blue jaws, straining to finish off its prey like a dog on a chain. Its long, flexible stem becomes a collar of sorts, Rift's leg just out of reach as the boy painfully climbs back to his feet. The hostile foliage seems to dare him to come closer as it returns to its passive stance, waiting for its next victim.

Another howl cuts through the night, and Rift begins to wonder if he'd be better off facing the Stalchildren. Being thrown through the air robbed him of his bearings, the already difficult to follow path nowhere to be seen. A mammoth, hollow tree trunk serves as a hallway of sorts, its moss covered bark glistening in the moonlight. Proceeding through as carefully as he's able, Rift holds his throbbing arm, failing to fight the tears of pain away. Somewhere in the distance, past the aggressive plant life and over the buzzing insects, he'd swear he hears music. Another massive tree trunk leads him left, and the song increases in volume. Some sort of flute generating an upbeat melody, a song of dance and celebration. A song of innocence. Yet another hollow passageway of wood and moss, and Rift's focus returns to reveal he is hopelessly lost. Even if he could summon the courage to return to Hyrule Field in the dark, he couldn't find his way if he tried. The forest itself seems to spin around him, the chipper music starting to fade as he decides to go right at a small clearing with multiple exits. Suddenly, a large object strikes him, bouncing off his shoulder blade like a wayward fastball. Wincing in pain, he turns to find a deku shrub waddling toward him angrily. Generally known for their passive nature, the tiny, armless creatures shrouded in leaves have grown increasingly hostile as the drought begins to threaten the forest. Its large spout of a mouth retracts, and before Rift can react, another deku nut blasts at him as if fired from a cannon. Striking him in the stomach, the force knocks him off his feet for a moment. Searching for a way out, he feels a rush of air whip past his head and realizes he is being fired upon from multiple directions. The shrubs prove every bit as relentless as the Stalchildren, emerging from every direction. Shielding his face, Rift sprints deeper into the forest, stumbling when yet another nut collides with the back of his knee.

Tripping forward, the boy has less than a second to collect the appropriate amount of dread as a massive gorge fills his vision. The cliff he is departing appeared no different than any other random span of forest, but his perception has betrayed him as he becomes certain this fall will be his last. Flailing through the air, a dangling vine catches his leg, utilizing his momentum and throwing him past the shallow pools of water far below. Landing harshly on a loft of roots and earth, he feels as though he may faint, the excessive adrenaline too much for him to take. A haunting mist hangs over the gorge. Caressing the walls of roots and foliage, it masks the path ahead, reflecting the dim glow of the moon like a haunted graveyard. Giving the prospect very little thought, Rift decides to stay put until morning. Attempting to travel in the night has brought him nothing but pain and misfortune. Through the thinning mist along the wall of his loft, Rift spots a fairy bobbing along an uncertain path. Moving steadily away from him, he remains resolute until yet another Wolfos howl creeps over his shoulders. The beasts are getting closer and closer every time he hears them. Unable to decide what he fears more, Rift scrambles to his feet to chase down the fairy. Rounding a corner along the wall of the colossal gorge, he catches a brief glimpse of the winged creature disappearing overhead. Trotting over to the wall of tangled roots, he realizes he can climb up with little difficulty. Never one for excessive physical activity, the events thus far have left him barely able to continue. Still, fairies are believed to be every bit as lucky as they are rare. He needs any amount of good fortune, however small it may prove to be.

Pulling himself up and out of the gorge with quite a bit of effort, he again spots the fairy dancing through the air, vanishing behind a group of trees to the northeast. Jogging through the valley at a steady, but cautious pace, Rift occasionally loses his footing atop the weaving roots underfoot. The ground itself is nowhere to be found beneath the intricate tangle of branches and vines, holding strong beneath the fine mist pressed against them. The valley has many trees, but they are bunched up in small collections leaving the bulk of the area open for traversing. Growing worried, Rift has failed to spot the fairy and realizes he must be moving too slowly to keep up. Circling another group of trees he jumps with fright to find a deku baba waiting. Its blue, salivating head rests on the ground motionlessly, and upon further inspection, Rift realizes it has been slain. Moving around the corpse as carefully as he would if it were still alive, he soon stumbles upon yet another leafy cadaver. The lofty valley becomes harder to traverse as the mist thickens at every turn. Following the path of death tentatively, he spots the fairy once again in the distance.

Veiled in the blue aura of the moonlight mist, a gargantuan temple of grey stone stands among the massive trees. Bitterly beaten by the hands of time, the structure looks as though it could collapse at any moment, the crafted slabs of stone and mighty pillars barely holding the structure upright. Bobbing up the ascending staircase, the fairy is barely perceptible through the dense fog. Delighted to find some degree of civilization, Rift advances forward, stopping short when his foot collides with something warm. A mighty Wolfos, cut down in its prime, rests atop the braid of roots forever. Its yellow eyes stare into space, void of the feral focus they once knew. His heart skipping a beat, Rift is forced to take a moment to find his breath as his panning vision spots yet another downed guardian of the forest. Suddenly unsure of who, or what he's following, the boy decides to proceed much more carefully. Regardless of what he may find inside the temple, he is certain it can't be as bad as the forest itself. Longing to be indoors once again, he climbs the dated stairs leading to the massive doorway of the structure.

Finding no door, only a large archway, Rift apprehensively steps through, baffled when his senses are fundamentally restarted. Passing through some sort of invisible portal, he only realizes how incredibly noisy the forest was now that all sound has ceased. The large room is impossibly quiet, and the interior is equally pristine, the stone floor and walls appearing as if they are immune to decay. Afraid to make a move, Rift feels reassured when he catches a glimpse of a man wearing green proceed through a large doorway on the opposite end of the room. Considering calling out to him, he quickly changes his mind, fearful of what else may hear him. Moving through the room as quietly as he's able, Rift notices a strange pedestal standing in front of the door. Odd symbols are etched into the stone atop the long, rectangular stand. A display for some sort of religious artifact. Proceeding up the short staircase, he finds the remains of what must have been thought to be an impassable door. Massive chunks of obliterated stone are scattered about the doorway, apparently blasted by some kind of weapon. Carefully stepping between the pieces of debris, Rift stops short when the spectacle within the next room grabs hold of his eyes. A series of torches line the walls of the tremendous room, each resting upon a pillar a short distance from the outer walls. Across the walkway leading between the pillars, hundreds of stairs climb high above the ground level leading to something just out of vision atop the plateau of stone.

A monstrous man moves up the staircase at a steady stride, his long, purple cape with gold trim billowing with every step, and concealing his form completely. Shrouding his head is a relic of a helmet with four horn-like protrusions reaching up from the top. The material is of unknown origin, a blend of dark colors coated in an array of symbols. Encircling his head, the helm reaches well down to his chest, ending with intricate designs. The upper-left portion of the helm seems to have been recently reconstructed, the section plagued with cracks and crevices. Unsure of where the man he saw moments ago has gone, Rift has no intention of getting the imposing warlord's attention as he steps back into the shadow of the doorway. An accidental step lands on a piece of rubble, causing a scrape of shifting stone to echo through the silent room. Spinning on his heels with impossible speed, the man on the staircase throws his encompassing cape off his chest, the material sliding around his shoulders within the custom pauldrons and resting on his back. His dark armor does little to deny his probable sinister nature as he rests both hands on the blades sheathed on his thighs. Ready for a fight, the emotionless face carved into his helm triples the already ample intimidation he is generating.

A series of sandals lightly striking stone sounds as a small squad of assassins drop from their imperceptible hiding places high above. Obviously Gerudo, their dark skin and fiery, red hair are illuminated as they emerge from the shadows. Dressed in the traditional garb of the Gerudo women, their baggy, silk pants end in a jeweled belt just below the navel. An alluring brassiere matches the red texture of the pants as well as the scarf tied beneath their matching ponytails, concealing everything below their intense eyes. Two of the women brandish large scimitars, while the third skillfully twirls one of her chakra as they search for the source of the noise. Shaking in horror, Rift cannot summon the courage to move as the two subordinates close in on him while the chakra wielding leader waits near the base of the stairs. Descending upon the bad intentioned duo like a spider, a shadowy figure suddenly whistles a three-note melody, pulling the attention of the women up to the dancing traces of light from the torches. Obfuscated by the large, cylindrical pillars just inside the doorway, the light and shadow waves to and fro in a black and orange theatre of stone. Finding nothing, the women remain vigilant, scowling past the rubble of the dark doorway. A torrent of spikes erupts from their left like a rain storm, impaling one of the warriors countless times. Frozen in place, the unfortunate Gerudo shakes mildly, paralyzed by the needles riddling her form. Stepping over to defend her ally, the warrior is nowhere near perceptive enough to notice the twisting shadow flip overhead, landing on her shoulders in a handstand. Unable to do anything but stare in horror, her paralyzed companion watches the figure snap her ally's neck effortlessly, dropping back into the shadows with the briefest glimpse of blond hair. Finally able to work her eyes about, the Gerudo searches between the cast shadows and flickering light furiously, desperately attempting to regain her motor functions. In the instant between heartbeats, the shadow is upon her, staring into her very soul with its red eyes. Frozen in fear himself, Rift clings to a large hunk of rock, remaining concealed for the time being. The shadow's hand gently takes hold of the Gerudo's ponytail at the base, and Rift's eyelids decide they desperately need to replenish moisture. Before the blink of his eye even reaches the halfway mark, they've both disappeared with a muffled squeak of pain.

Intimately aware of the certain doom moving into the darker places would bring upon her, the remaining warrior tensely grips her circular blades, waiting for the shadow to step into the light. A twirling dagger enters the torchlight from behind a pillar. Spun on an index finger via a loop at the base of the handle, it sheds the last of the blood it has claimed from its most recent victim. An arm wrapped in white cloth follows suit as the figure reluctantly rounds the pillar, and is revealed. A Sheikah, pulled strait from the legends of their almost forgotten race, decides her time in the dark is up. Her skintight, blue jumpsuit seems to let go of the darkness' embrace like a pair of lovers forced to part. A splash of blonde bangs conceals what little of her face isn't masked by the white collar of her cowl, rising up past her nose and hovering just below her single visible eye. The red symbol of the Sheikah, the tear-drop eye, stands out boldly on her tattered, white cloak. Bobbing forward, like a bird approaching a worm, her movements are too refined to be considered simply graceful. Her mannerisms are profoundly odd, but obviously well practiced as she seems to half-skip toward her opponents, a long, tightly wound braid bouncing on her back. Her ninja tabi style boots practically hover across the stone floor, touching the flat slabs briefly and soundlessly. It isn't a style or grace that defines her, nor is it excessive stealth or skill. It is timing. Utterly perfect timing that allows all of these concepts to radiate from her form like an aura of mastery. Having expected this turn of events, the helmed man upon the staircase prepares to engage the sly assassin.

The subtle twang of a bow string doesn't catch the man's attention, but in the instant before the arrow hits its mark, his dark, gauntlet covered hand whips up in a blur, batting the arrow aside like a pesky fly. Even with his senses shrouded by the helm, the man's reflexes are impossibly acute. Two more arrows scream through the air in rapid succession, fired from some unseen location at the room's perimeter. The first is slapped aside just as easily as the initial shot, but the second is caught, the dark man's absurd speed becoming even more obvious. Crushing the feathered bit of wood like an oversized toothpick, the man drops the pieces to the ground tauntingly, prompting their owner to emerge with a throaty war cry. A tunic of a deep, forest green rests upon a simple farmer's outfit, aside from the leather gauntlets and weaponry. An average Hylian kite shield hovers just above the ground in his right hand while an equally average broadsword skips along the stone in his left. Clearly having seen a hundred battles, the blade appears well past its prime, though dangerous as any weapon in the proper hands. His blonde hair is only partially concealed beneath a long green cap, flapping against the quiver on his back as he rapidly closes the distance to the staircase upon which his nemesis resides. Gliding just ahead of him, the very fairy Rift followed to the temple seems to lead the charge into battle.

A circular blade narrowly misses its target as the Sheikah twists left and continues to stalk the evasive Gerudo. The second chakra flies low along the ground, easily vaulted over by the nimble woman. Seeming to have overplayed her hand, the Gerudo waits for an ideal opportunity before summoning her weapons back to her palms. Taken by surprise, the Sheikah flips forward into a twirling display of athleticism as the blades simultaneously return along their trajectories. Catching the discs with a twirl of her own, the Gerudo advances to engage in combat of a more traditional nature. Meanwhile, the man in green leaps several stairs at a time to close the distance to his waiting antagonist. Faking a low, scooping swing, he suddenly changes into a spinning, vertical backslash, aiming to cleave the man in two. Reacting at the last possible moment, the dark man unsheathes the pair of daggers on his hips, catching the approaching blade between them. His movements are not fast in the typical sense, but appear meditated upon until their execution. His body seems to be moving as if it were submerged in water one second, and the next, a blur of dark purple, impossible to follow with untrained eyes. Throwing the young man's blade aside with a sudden blast of force, the helmed warrior stares at him curiously for only a moment, a torrent of metal clangs sounding the next as his blades bounce off the kite shield aggressively. Barely able to defend in time, the young man remains resolute, spinning into a whirlwind slash that forces his dark opponent back a step. Two successive slashes are batted aside with fierce, graceless movements, the dark man's speed and reflexes showing no openings in his guard.

Just below the battling men, the females continue to trade assaults, neither of them quite able to gain the upper hand. The Sheikah's skill and timing seem impossible to overcome, yet the Gerudo's tactics prove overwhelming, her ability to keep the ninja at range an invaluable asset in the fight. The bladed discs scream past the Sheikah at varying angles, but fail to find their mark time and time again. Managing to move in close, the assassin slashes diagonally, narrowly missing the Gerudo as she awaits her thrown blades to magnetically return to her empty hands. Seamlessly arching into a scorpion kick, the blonde ninja pulls a sharp groan of pain from her red headed combatant as her foot lands dead center in the Gerudo's armorless chest. Catching one of her returning blades, she immediately launches it back, missing the Sheikah's leg by a negligible margin. Spearing into the stone floor, the razor sharp disc remains useful, preventing the assassin's leg from returning from whence it came. Forced to warble off-balanced for only a moment, the ninja must push her elasticity to its limit as the second chakra is caught and thrown at her head. Watching a small tuft of hair drift away from her, the Sheikah decides this battle has gone on long enough. Twisting impossibly into a prone position on the floor, her red eye narrows as she finds her ideal footing in her spider-like pose. Skipping back a step, the Gerudo doesn't let her gaze wander, hoping the ninja will make the critical mistake of moving into the path of her returning projectile.

A storm of stabs is consistently deflected by the helmed man's twisting blades. The suddenness of his movements makes the task of reading ahead unachievable. His every instance of attack or defense seemingly conceived only an instant before it is carried out. Striving for the unorthodox, the young man scoops a low swing, knowing it will be easily deflected and appear to offer an opening. Catching the blade between his own once again, the dark man is taken by surprise for the first time as his spirited opponent throws an overhand right with his shield. Barely able to dodge in time, the shield nicks the man's helm as his head jerks backward to avoid the collision. Having expected a solid impact, the young man is temporarily off balance, over extending his reach with no assistance recoiling. Spotting his opening, the cloaked man dips forward, his blades ripping through the air at imperceptible speeds as he attempts to cleave the man's shield arm off at the elbow. Refusing to let panic dull his senses, the young man releases his heavy shield, the weightless effect allowing him to pull his arm out of harm's way just as the pair of swords slice by like a deadly pair of scissors. The razor sharp blades promote their sinister intentions as they manage to slice the tip of the young man's fingernail off like a heated blade through a stick of butter. Determined to keep the upper hand, the helmed man knocks the idly floating shield aside with a heavy back-fisted strike, sending it soaring away. Shaking off the minor setback, the young man elects to wield his sword with both hands, amping up his aggression ten-fold as he attempts to turn the tables.

Springing toward the Gerudo like a bloodthirsty frog, the Sheikah spins into a perpetual tornado of kicks. Another cry of pain escapes the desert dweller's lips as the final kick in the series connects with her jaw, causing her to backflip out of danger. Squeezing the handle of her unique dagger, the ninja nimbly closes the distance once again, but notices the twinkle of deception in the Gerudo's eyes. Her awe inspiring agility saves her life for the second time as she springs into a graceful gainer just as the blade returns to its owner. Landing on her wrapped knuckles directly in front of her enemy, the Sheikah pushes off the ground, spearing both heels deep into the Gerudo's exposed stomach before she can attempt another attack. The air knocked from her lungs, she inadvertently tosses her only chakra over her shoulder as she lands harshly on her back, gasping for air. Rolling off her downed opponent's chest, the ninja spins into a break-dancing maneuver, flipping back to her feet in an instant. Regaining her senses, the Gerudo summons her weapons, each of them embedded in the thick stone floor. Springing into the air, the assassin arcs her back with her dagger overhead, prepared to finish the fight once and for all. Both chakras leap up out of the floor simultaneously, taking an arching path through the air to return to the Gerudo's grip. Realizing the timing is perfect for an effective counter attack against her, the Sheikah twists her body one hundred eighty degrees before spreading her legs and reaching her idle hand downward. Her midair splits defense proves effective as the Gerudo waiting upon her back realizes her predicament far too late. Each of the chakra bite into the Sheikah's boots, but fail to return to their master's hands.

The ninja's hand lands upon the Gerudo's shoulder, pinning her to the floor as the dagger stabs between her breasts. The chakra dig back into the floor, vainly attempting to return to the defeated warrior, uttering her final raspy breath. Pressed against her slain opponent, the Sheikah steals a glance at the dark man battling her companion while she waits for the blades pushing against her soles to concede where they lie. The cloaked warrior knocks the man in green back a step with a powerful blow, earning himself a moment's reprieve to spot the ninja absently lowering the eyelids of his comrade while plucking the knife from her chest. Behind her golden bangs, her red eyes begin to study her new prey, angrily slashing at her courageous hero in sudden bursts of speed. Dodging another onslaught, the hero spins to the side, slashing and stabbing without restraint. The cloaked warrior catches the man's broadsword between his blades once again, thinking briefly of his fallen companions, then realizing the young man's shield rests far below near a distant pillar. A kick finds the hero's stomach, every bit as brutal as it is sudden. Wincing from the unpredictable attack, he strains to shield himself from the coming blow when his ally appears from nowhere, joining the fight from above. Her reflexes significantly more honed than her companions, the Sheikah attacks and dodges with ease despite the man's unorthodox style. Their strength combined, the duo quickly overpowers their helmed antagonist, finding himself permanently on the defensive.

Throwing his large cloak into the air, the man eludes a wayward stab from the ninja while parrying a heavy swing from her ally. The critical second of weakness allows only for a blunt strike to the hero's temple, knocking him to the ground with a grunt of pain. Wasting no time, the Sheikah takes full advantage of the man's overzealous attack, whipping her legs into a triangle lock around his forearm. Forced to use her entire body to generate enough momentum, she twists the man's entire arm just enough to force the blade from his grasp, the short sword thrown further up the staircase, and landing with a series of clangs. Instantly enraged, the man grabs hold of her vulnerable ankle as she attempts to disengage the leg lock. Able to maintain her balance, the Sheikah is still unable to pull her leg free of the man's powerful grip, catching her in a desperate position. Winding up for an amputating chop, a painful slash hacks across his back, almost able to penetrate his armor. Knocked forward, the man's balance is thrown when the woman backflip kicks his helm with her available leg, the momentum carrying her overhead and tearing her ankle free. Finishing the somersault she lands an additional back kick to the man's wobbling head before dropping down next to the determined young man, ready to finish the outnumbered warlord.

Tripping forward, the man's cloak billows, revealing the large gash cut diagonally through it. Catching himself before he tumbles onto the stairs, he lifts a shoulder to glance back at the duo. Already moving in for the kill, both the Hylian and the Sheikah strive to land the final blow. Refusing to admit defeat, the man's helm suddenly glows eerily, the symbols peeling outward as a dark aura emanates from its crevices. A sudden blast of invisible force pushes the duo back a step, giving the man a head start as he charges up the stairs. Their faces twitching with irritation in near unison, the pair quickly chase after him. Spotting his secondary blade resting upon a step, the man scoops it into his idle hand without losing an ounce of speed. The unintelligible glyphs and symbols continue to spread outward, projected into the open air around the helm, charging up for some unknown purpose. Sheathing his swords, the man has nearly reached the summit, moving with imposing speed toward his goal. Illuminated by the lone opening in the ceiling of the temple, the master sword, the blade of evil's bane rests within the pedestal of time at the center of the platform. Finally finishing his ascent, the man stops short, straining to harness the power radiating from his helm. Quickly focusing the swirling darkness into a concentrated beam, he fires a colossal blast of energy, tearing open the dimensional doorway to the Sacred Realm.

Kept at bay by the impressive power of the helm, the duo now continue their chase as the man sprints through the door, and into a dazzling golden light emanating from within. Eying the master sword with an impatient grimace, the young man decides there is no time, forcing his legs to carry him even faster as his blade wags in his wake like a metallic tail. The dark man's boots hit the soft dirt with rapid crunching noises as his eyes become entranced with the intoxicating wonder of the Triforce. Moments from his grasp, the relic erases the years of regret from his mind as the golden glow encompasses everything around him. The imprisonment, his botched execution, the accursed hero of time, all of it fades from his memory until an overwhelming pain drops him to his knees. He hadn't heard the man in green catch up to him with a cry that echoed throughout the realm. Glancing down through the slit on the front of his mask, he finds the broadsword almost completely through his chest, the hilt pressed against his back. With an assertive shove, the young man pushes him to his hands and knees, waiting for death to finally take him away forever. Everything was for naught. The years of struggle and planning. His resurrection and rise to power. Only to be stopped so close to his prize… No. As long as there is a breath in his lungs, he will not be stopped.

The primal roar of a beast tears out of his throat as he uppercuts the young man on the jaw, sending him sprawling into the approaching Sheikah. With the very last of his strength, he clumsily marches forward, his fingertip finding the glistening edge of the most sacred of relics before he collapses to the ground. As if the sun itself were blinked out of existence, the entire realm goes pitch black. The pyramid the Triforce once rested upon ceases to be discernible, the only source of light twinkling from the dimensional doorway behind them. Unsure how to react, the duo duck for cover when the hero's broadsword rockets between them like a whirling propeller. Spinning through the portal, and past the massive staircase, the sword spears deeply into the wall next to Rift's hiding place. Gasping with shock, he remains unable to move, aside from the endless shaking fits of adrenaline and fear. The forest will certainly kill him, but his chances of survival don't seem any better in his current setting. So he does the only thing he knows how. He hides. Praying to the deity he was told would save him from any peril.

The hero's boots kick black dirt in his wake as he makes a run for the master sword. Following suit, the Sheikah nimbly bobs backward, expecting an attack at any moment. The most sinister laughter booms from every direction of the Sacred Realm. Moments from seizing the blade, the man in green is lifted off the ground by some unseen force, his flailing arms reaching for the blue grip of the blade's handle. Kept just out of reach, the young man sails over the pedestal completely, lifted high into the air before he is thrown to the ground with a harsh landing. The wind knocked out of him, he grabs at his chest, attempting to catch his breath. Passing through the portal, the ninja dips off the side of the platform, vanishing into shadow while the dark man comes into view. An orb of powerful energy surrounds his form, the aura somehow glowing black and white at the same time. The glyphs and symbols from his helm begin to slowly spin about his head, his power continuing to grow exponentially. Stepping through the portal, the orb surrounding him wavers for a moment, the unbelievable strain to hold the might in balance beginning to take its toll. However, the cloaked man laughs again, exerting total control over the most potent power in existence just as the Sheikah descends upon him.

Screaming in agony, the assassin is stopped moments from landing upon the man's shoulders. The orb surrounding him assaults her with electricity, the buzzing and crackling light illuminating the entire room before she is thrown to the ground next to her hero. Making yet another dash for the sword, the young man is punched in the stomach with a bolt of lightning, throwing him back onto the staircase. The undeniable power causes the man to grin crazily beneath his helm, but even so he knows there is only one artifact capable of harming him. The helmed villain raises a single palm as the young man pulls the Sheikah to a sitting position. Shaking her head, she appears to be alright, but the duo have failed to keep the man from achieving his goals. Beginning to shake within its pedestal, the master sword cracks down the length of its blade, the almighty power of the Triforce proving too much for it to resist. His eyes widening, the hero can only stare in disbelief when the blade of evil's bane shatters to pieces, each of them blasting completely out of the temple in different directions. The only surviving fragment, the blue handle, dropping onto the pedestal with a weak thud while the owner of the Triforce barks more evil laughter. Multiple beams of blue light peer through the holes created in the thick walls, and the unsuccessful couple feel the verge of defeat upon them.

Never giving up for even a moment, the man in green pulls his bow from his back, lining up an arrow with its target. Thoroughly amused, the dark man chuckles at his misplaced bravery, crossing his arms and waiting for the pathetic attack to fail. Knowing they are out of options, the Sheikah scours her mind for anything to outwit her godlike opponent. Rarely failing her before this moment, her wisdom persists, knowing there must be a way to strip the warlock of his power. Unable to find the willpower to do anything at all, Rift sits with his knees to his forehead, hugging his shins tightly. The worst day of his life seems as though it will never end, the screams and blasts of light above paralyzing him with fear. As the arrow disintegrates the moment it enters the dark man's force field, his delight is palpable, relishing in his supremacy. As if the arrow struck some unseen weakness, his aura falters, warbling and flickering as if its source of strength has been disconnected. Seconds later, it disappears completely. Stricken with confusion, he drops to a single knee as his power flees from his body rapidly. A golden hue spreads through his veins, glowing through his armor as if it has turned translucent. Fighting to regain control, he lets out a roar of desperation as the entire room is consumed with a blinding light.

The vision-obliterating white fades from everyone's sight slowly, the room returning to the dim flicker of the torch-lit walls. The portal leading into the Sacred Realm has vanished, the three combatants standing about the empty pedestal of time. The Sheikah is no longer among them, a gorgeous Hylian Princess standing in her place. An elegant pink and white dress flows down from her jeweled necklace, the royal crest emblazoned upon it. Brownish-blonde hair flows down from her golden crown, her blue eyes fixated on her right hand. Removing his mighty helm, the former possessor of the complete Triforce reveals himself to be a Gerudo. Tightly braided red hair fades down into a short beard upon the man's angry face. Tossing his bow to the ground, the young man steals a glance at his sword hand, not expecting the Gerudo to launch yet another attack. Stopping at arm's length, the mighty punch hits a magic wall just before finding its target. Whipping his vision to the right, he finds the Princess' outstretched arm, her palm glowing with a small, golden triangle. Fuming with rage, he looks back to the hero to find his left hand risen, revealing a triangle of his own.

The infinite power of the Goddesses has been split once again, despite his best efforts. The resulting anger is nothing that can be controlled or stifled. He must kill them both. A garbled roar spills from his tongue as the evil Gerudo summons a dark vortex of energy around his glowing, golden hand. The next punch is not stopped so easily, shattering the Princess's force field and landing square in the young man's chest, sending him flying down the massive staircase. Wasting no time, he slaps his hand to the floor, a whirlwind of purple spawning around his feet as a fireball flies past his head and explodes. Preparing a second ball of fire to be thrown, the Princess fails to notice the dark energy forming around her feet. Unable to launch her second attack in time, a series of black chains leap from the ground beneath her, seizing her form and radiating with simmering purple energy. Fighting to break free of the constricting restraints, the Princess ceases her struggle when the man marches over, stopping inches from her face. An authoritative slap across her cheek leaves her wincing with her eye tightly shut, the blow meant to send a message more so than dealing damage. A heavy footstep betrays the sneak attack as they young man has returned with sword in hand, leaping through the air for a double handed finishing strike. Catching the blade in his hand at the last possible moment, the pain streaming up from the Gerudo's bleeding palm only serves to further enrage him. Tearing the sword from the hero's grasp, he summons another vortex of energy before punching the tested steel to pieces.

Without even flinching at the loss of his only remaining weapon, the young man leaps into the air, rocking the Gerudo's head to the side with a roundhouse kick. Continuing to trade blows, the Hylian hero is quickly overwhelmed by the man's brute strength. A rapid series of devastating punches and kicks leaves the relentless young man barely clinging to consciousness. Seizing him by his tunic, the power being summoned to the tyrant's fist for the final blow shrouds the entire room in darkness, the swirling hurricane of black and purple causing every loose object in the room to gravitate toward it. The boulders of the destroyed entrance, the torches attached to the pillars, even the weaponry of fallen comrades begins to slide toward the black hole high above the room's center. Prepared to obliterate his nemesis once and for all, a piercing ray of white light cuts through the darkness, grabbing his attention. Using every available ounce of energy to assault the man in green, the Princess has been freed from his dark restraints upon her. A conjured bow in hand, she has summoned an arrow of vibrant light, squaring up the shot carefully. Infected with memories of the pain the magic arrows have caused him, the Gerudo tosses the beaten hero aside, turning to face the new threat. Struggling to align her aim within the persistent pulling force of dark energy, the Princess fires the arrow just as the dark man pounces at her.

A power struggle of cataclysmic proportions ensues, the divine light colliding with the dark energy, blasting pulsing waves of intensity and color in every direction. Only able to alter the arrow's path, the man's arm burns with purifying light as the arrow pierces through his punch, colliding with the wall behind him. A whirlwind of light and darkness illuminates and obfuscates the room as a portal to the Sacred Realm is opened by the holy projectile. The lone soul of evil in the room is pulled into the air, the portal churning like a vacuum of light, sucking the Gerudo into the realm of darkness he created. Flailing through the air, he draws his blades, stabbing them into the two pillars directly in front of the hungry portal. Straining to pull himself away from the torrent of wind, clawing at his form with invisible hands, the man's arms are pushed to the brink of surrender while the portal slowly shrinks in circumference. The vacuum finally relents, the portal closing completely with a brief wink of light as it fails to claim a victim. Seemingly trapped in a crucified position, far too high above the grey floor to simply drop to ground level, the man rips his blades free without a second thought. Sprinting across the open air, large glyphs of purple light form beneath his feet, ushering him back into the fight. With another light arrow already pulled tightly back, the Princess shows no signs of hesitation as the man returns to the platform.

Waiting one second too long, the Princess loses her opening as the man scoops his helm up from its temporary resting place beside the pedestal, and forms a glyph beneath himself. In the blink of an eye, the glyph jumps upward, rocketing him through the lone opening in the ceiling. Aggravated by his successful retreat, the Princess drops to a knee, the mental stress of summoning successive light arrows proving too much for her to bear as the entity of divine power is reabsorbed into her hand. Limping to her side, her hero offers a hand, though his battered form is in no condition to carry her. Accepting with a smile, the Princess climbs to her feet, and the couple help each other descend the long staircase toward the exit. Now that the action has subsided, the room has grown extremely dark, all of the torches having been plucked off the wall. Through the small opening in the ceiling, moonlight casts a blue shape on the wall above the entrance, gradually descending to reveal a terrified child's hiding place. Unsure if he should stay or run, Rift's brief moment of calm has passed as the duo draws closer to him. Dipping into the room, and out of the thin beam of light's path, he presses his back against a nearby pillar, the cool stone relaxing him as best it can. The couple proceeds past without incident and Rift breathes a heavy sigh of relief. He doesn't know how, but he's survived. Reaching up to wipe the sweat from his brow, panic grabs hold of his heart one last time. He has received a triangle on his hand as well, but unlike the recently departed three, his does not possess the golden glow of the Triforce. The inverted pyramid glows a haunting, transparent blue, allowing him to see clearly through his own palm. His senses rapidly grow fuzzy as his balance wavers, the room tilting and rotating around him slowly. Thoroughly overwhelmed, the boy passes out in a bed of shadows.