A long time ago from now, in a land that perhaps has only existed in your dreams, a golden power ruled supreme. This golden power kept the world alive and magic plentiful, and while there was still strife - for there will always be strife - by and large, this mystical kingdom knew peace.

But there are those who would seize that golden power for their own ends, and they coveted it. They clashed against each other often, each of them vying for the golden light, reaching their oily, slick fingers to rip it from the sky and claim its power for their own.

And so the light protected itself; From the heart of it a hero was born whose courage would stand the test of time, a priestess pure of heart and wise in spirit, and a powerful warrior who could stand firm and resolute against the darkness. And for a while, the golden power was safe again.

But there were some times, throughout the course of history, when the hero would fall or the priestess would fade into nothing - but most often, it was the warrior who would succumb to temptation; for power is the hardest line to toe and remain true. Power is as power does - and what it does is corrupt.

Such is the ebb and flow of the hearts and minds of mortal creatures.

After a millennia, and then a millennia more, the golden power faded from the minds of the mythical kingdom - but the legends of the hero, the priestess, and the warrior lived on in their hearts and minds.

You know them too, child - don't you?

Here is another one.

—

When Ganondorf was merely ten years old, his life changed forever, on a day he would later note as the best day of his life - and later still, the day the world he knew and loved was forever doomed.

The Gerudo tribe had wandered into the desert, far beyond its historical territory, all in a bid to escape the everlasting war that had taken over Hyrule some three hundred years previous. The war had consumed everything it touched, and all of the mythical kingdom had been thrown into shadow. The Gerudo elders whispered in hushed voices, when they thought that Ganondorf could not hear, about the kingdom to the east, a home he had never known, and the legendary peace that once reigned there.

They whispered about a hero, sometimes. They whispered less and less about the hero as Ganondorf grew older.

When he was eight, when the soles of his feet were still scorched from the hot desert sands and his skin was still pink around the edges with sunburn, the Gerudo stumbled across the scattered, routed remnants of a group of people that called themselves the Sheikah. They were different from everything Ganondorf had ever known - tall, proud, pale and blonde, with high noses and strange blue eyes. They terrified him. But there was strength in numbers, and the Gerudo - for all of their harsh ways, their magic, and their witchy history, were also cunning and clever, and they knew the strength of the Sheikah would be a welcome addition to their slowly dwindling desert band.

And there were children, and babies, and Ganondorf had never really seen another child before, so he was happy to have someone other than boring grown ups to play with. He was responsible enough, as the lone boy in a tribe of female warriors, and so the Sheikah were soon comfortable letting him watch their children.

One little girl was named Zelda, and she confused Ganondorf from the very beginning.

She had come with Impa, who said she was her aunt, though there was little familial resemblance. As far as Ganondorf could tell, Impa was Zelda's only immediate family. The little girl never pointed out anyone as her parents, and Ganondorf knew better than to ask, even then. She was a strange creature, tiny, with masses of yellow hair and bright blue eyes and her ears were pointed, and she liked to laugh and pull on his red hair and tell him his name was silly.

"It's not," he protested. He always did. "It's traditional. It's Gerudo. Don't you know anything?"

"But I'm not Gerudo," she'd say back in her sing-song voice, "And it sounds silly to me!"

"It's traditional," he would repeat, with all the gravitas of his eight years. "It means Evil's Bane. My mother told me all the Gerudo kings were named this."

"Then you have silly kings," Zelda would reply, and laugh when he got mad, and tell him that he was as red as his hair. He would storm off because he knew that if he yelled then he would get in trouble more than she would, and there was a part of Ganondorf that felt this was wholly unfair, and why did he always have to walk away just because he was the older one?

He often promised himself, and his mothers, that when his time as king of the Gerudo came, things would be more fair.

His mothers would laugh and pat him on the head, and tell him that he would understand when he got a little older.

And life, for the Sheikah and the Gerudo and the mismatched tribe they became, and all other living things aside continued on, as life is want to do. They wandered by night when the sun was not so hot, slept during the day, conserved water, and hunted the sparse wildlife, and such things became routine.

Then Ganondorf turned ten years old, and the world as he knew it crumbled away like sand on the desert breeze.

The morning after his tenth birthday the sun rose red, and the elders around him - both Sheikah and Gerudo - murmured behind their hands about omens and portentous signs and all sorts of other things. Ganondorf paid no attention to them - no, he had children to look after, and he had spent his whole life being talked about as the next High King of the Gerudo, and he was frankly quite sick and tired of omens and portentous signs.

This feeling would not fade with time.

The bloodstain sun had only just risen, and was still sitting on the horizon like a baleful red eye, when two small figures stumbled out from the east into their encampment within hot desert sands.

The immediate silence was palpable.

It was a woman, barely grown, with tattered dirty hair and a ripped dress that sported awful, dark, wet stains. But none of the grime or damage could hide her elegant pointed ears or the clear blue of her eyes, and an immediate ripple washed through the gathered tribe as they all looked upon her - And her child. For indeed, the boy at her side, who could not have been more than seven or eight, sported the same defined features and the same resolute expression. These were not just refugees - these were people who had fought for most of their lives to simply survive.

Ganondorf knew that look, even at ten. He'd seen it in the Sheikah, of course. He'd seen it in Impa's eyes, and Zelda's eyes.

Zelda's eyes, so like the crystal blue of the woman and the boy in front of him. Zelda, with the same ears, the same hair, the same high nose and carved cheekbones -

Ganondorf realized two things in quick succession, then: One, that Zelda was not Sheikah, not by blood. And two, that she had come to the Gerudo for the same reason that these elven-featured strangers had now appeared.

Whatever fate this pair had faced was the fate from which Zelda had fled in the arms of the Sheikah tribe three years before.

"Please," said the young boy, his quiet plea finally breaking the oppressive silence. "Please, my mother - she's dying, she -"

In an instant, Impa was on her feet, and within moments had slung an arm around her shoulders. "On your feet," she said, but the order was a kind one. The minute the Sheikah spoke, the silence that had stalled the Gerudo shattered and instantly, the camp was full of swiftly moving women. "We'll have you in our medical tent in a moment. Zelda! Help the healers. This woman is injured, and badly. It will take work, but -"

"Wait!"

The cry broke out above the clamor of the camp, and once again, everything stilled.

"Please," said the woman, her voice haggard and breaking. "Listen. Listen to me. My son - protect my son. He is - they're hunting him. Please." Her fingers, bruised and chapped, grabbed at Impa's tunic. Her blue eyes were wide and pale, and desperate. "Please. Keep him safe. You must. You must!"

She said this, and then her hands dropped from their grip in the fabric of Impa's clothes, and she shuddered, and she collapsed.

And the little boy took a step back, his hands clenched into fists and face twisted into a grimace of the purest heartrending pain that Ganondorf had ever borne witness in his life.

"Mama - " he whispered, then bit down so hard that his jaw might have creaked with the effort of keeping his words locked within him -

But he did not cry.

Impa slowly lowered herself to her knees and laid the woman on her back, and brushed some of her dirty hair from her face. She closed the woman's sightless eyes with gentle fingers, and then, still on her knees, turned to the little boy.

"Child," she said, after a long moment of silence, "What's your name?"

The little boy stared at her with defiance and grief radiating from his every pore, and Ganondorf thought for a moment that he might not answer. But he did.

"Link," he said, and his voice was very small. "My name is Link."

"Link," Impa repeated, and Ganondorf wondered why, then, for she seemed to almost expect this answer. "Link. We will keep you safe, Link. You don't have to worry about that." She glanced over at Marin, the leader of the Gerudo, and Marin nodded silently. No - the Gerudo would not turn away a child, not one so obviously in distress.

Something in the little boy seemed to deflate. "Thank you," he whispered. "But - what about my mother?"

"We will not leave her," Marin said, and walked closer. Link looked at her, and Ganondorf had to commend him for taking the appearance of the Gerudo Witch Queen in stride. She was an imposing figure, but a fair one, and the tribe had come to depend on her even political hand. "She will have a desert funeral."

Marin bent and picked up the body of the woman, and turned back toward the tribe. "She will stay in the infirmary tent for now. Tonight, we will - we will deal with this. In the meantime, Link, come with me. We will find a place for you to stay."

The little boy nodded and followed Marin, his eyes never leaving the body of his mother, but for one second when his gaze dropped, and he seemed to notice Ganondorf for the first time -

And the seconds slowed to an absolute halt as golden eyes met blue, and a bright light burst between them.

Ganondorf barely noticed the light itself, but he heard the reaction of the tribe around him. Still, even this was faint and far away, for a searing heat had burst from the back of his left hand and branded itself onto muscle, bone, and memory. He would never forget the white-hot pain tearing through his desert browned skin, nor would he forget the first sight of it - the golden triangle etched on the back of his hand like it had always been there. The golden triangle of light that he would later curse so often, for giving him a destiny that he had never, ever asked for.

He looked up again and saw the utter shock on Link's face, and knew that this child, this young stranger whose life already contained so much tragedy 0- he had a golden triangle too.

Everyone stared at them, surprise and fear naked on the faces of all gathered Gerudo and Sheikah -

Except for Impa. No, her jaw was set, and her expression was resolute, but there was something sad about her eyes - as if she had expected all of this.

"Ganondorf," she asked, when the light had calmed and the pain faded away, though the triangle was still bright and glimmering on the back of his hand. He looked at her, silent.

"Ganondorf, where is Zelda?"