Hyrule.
The name provokes images of a utopia. A magical realm whose inhabitants are eternally joyful. Lakes shimmering azure with the reflections of the smiling sun. Fields lush green and teeming with all manner of fantastical creatures. One can always find peace among the tranquil, picturesque scenery of the land.
But that time is long past.
It has been millennia since the legendary hero failed to defeat the forces of evil. The land of Hyrule was laid to ruin. Millions died at the birth of the Dark Age. Monsters came and went as they pleased through towns once untouched by the scourge. Travellers found themselves attacked by passing hordes and their corpses were made to join the undead legions. For the people of Hyrule, it was like the end of the world. Somehow, they were not wiped out, instead forced into a worse fate: to live unhappy lives in a world ravaged by evil. Once, they were full of hope that the legendary hero would one day return. But as the centuries passed, even that became just a fickle dream. At least, they consoled themselves, it couldn't get any worse.
But it got worse.
The plague came.
A cold wind wails through the town, carrying with it the stench of dead. A child lies on the derelict street, flies buzzing about him. His body wracked by black sores and boils. His stomach aches from a hunger he cannot satiate, for he can hardly move for the pain. He lies awaiting death. And he is ignored, like all the others: hundreds of bodies lying in the street, as well as those victims of the plague who haven't yet died. Few pass him by. Most stay in their houses these days, afraid to go outside. Not only due to the plague. No, there are worse things than the plague. Worse things than slow, agonising death.
The boy closes his eyes, a difficult task owing to the considerable pain and his weariness. He tries to block out the world around him. The death and decay, the misery of this world…
A blue light flickers before his eyes.
"Hey, kid." A small, feminine voice.
The boy strains to lift his eyelid. Through half-closed eyes, he sees a flighty blue creature before him.
A fairy.
The fairy turns around and looks back at a large man covered head to toe in golden armour, although scratched, dusty and dented. The figure carries an enormous broadsword upon his back.
"…Are you sure this is a good idea?" the fairy enquires.
The helmet on the knight's head nods with a clank.
"Any old kid will do, provided he's blond. So long as he's wearing the tunic, the King of Evil won't know the difference."
The fairy looks back at the dying boy in the street.
"I can heal you."
The boy coughs, and the fairy swiftly backs off in the air, returning once she's sure the bacteria are gone.
"…I just need you to do…a small favour for me."
The fairy looks back again at the large knight.
"Where's the sword?"
The knight tosses with relative ease a shoddy-looking replica of some legendary weapon.
The fairy sighs.
"Poor kid…I don't know if I can do this."
"It'll buy us time. Even if it's only a few minutes."
"Take the sword, kid." The knight growls.
The boy glances down at the weapon, covered in dirt and mud.
With all of his remaining strength, he reaches out and holds the hilt in his hand.
The field is a stark grey, the grass long dead. Fresh corpses lie strewn across the soil, their heads split. A Stalchild feasts on the remains as a heavily-built warlock looks on.
The Stalchild looks up from its meal and barks. Someone approaches.
Ganondorf turns as a small figure looms over the horizon. A boy garbed in green running towards him, wielding a sword.
The King of Evil waits as the boy draws near. He picks up speed and runs screaming towards Ganondorf.
Ganondorf snorts. The child held out his weapon like a lance as he approaches haphazardly. He really has no idea what he's doing…
The boy jumps to the side right in front of Ganondorf and swings the abnormally light sword to hit him-
-Ganondorf punches the child in the face, and he is thrown to the ground.
The warlock sneers.
"No Hero are you."
The boy gets up with difficulty. With fear in his eyes, he holds his weapon out in front of him as his only defence.
"Pitiful."
The boy screamed as the sound of thunder boomed out, and electricity ran down his body. He dropped the sword and fell to the ground, a fresh scar running deep across his face.
The next moment, he was flung into the air by some unseen force. Shivers ran all down his body as he fell into the ice-cold waters of the river. Shadows and reflections played upon his eyes from beneath the water as he looked up towards the sky. As the sunlight faded from his eyes, he lapsed into unconsciousness.
"Hey, wake up."
The boy slowly opened his eyes. His vision was heavily blurred, but what he could make out- a quaint wooden house, and some hooded figure in front of him…
"Goddesses be praised. You're lucky to be alive, kid."
"I found you floating in the river and saved you from certain death. Whatever you thought you were doing out there…don't try to be a hero. It's dangerous enough as it is…but facing up to the Evil King? You must have a death wish."
The man grabbed a flask from the floor and chugged it. He held it out to the boy.
"Want a drink?"
The canister reeked with the smell of bad alcohol. Nauseous, the boy shook his head.
"Hm. Good choice. Not a good idea in your state."
The figure got up from the bed, and now the boy's vision was coming back. He saw his saviour's dark brown eyes above the cloth that covered the rest of his face. He felt suddenly paranoid, uncomfortable in his presence. Did this man have the plague?
The man threw the canister into the fireplace and turned to face the boy.
"Now I'm not about to ask too many questions. The state you're in, it's best not to make you talk. But you're probably gonna be here a while healing up. So tell me at least what your name is."
Silence answered him.
The child opened and closed his mouth repeatedly trying to speak. Heavy breaths croaked out. Eventually the boy gave up and merely shook his head.
"You don't remember?"
The hooded figure smirked.
"In this day and age…maybe it's good to forget. You can start new. Myself, I forgot my name quite some time ago. But you may call me Gaspar."
He took a seat in a conveniently placed wooden chair and slumped down in it, surveying the child.
"And what about you? What you would like to be called?"
He paused for a moment before remembering the child couldn't speak.
"Hmph."
The awkward silence was broken by an odd sound. Something clawing into the wooden door. Animal sounds could be heard from outside: fierce barks and growls.
Gaspar leapt up from the chair and snatched up a sword resting on the wall.
He gestured towards the boy.
"Hide. Behind those barrels over there."
The child got up slowly and crawled into the corner as commanded.
The creak of old hinges reverberated as Gaspar opened the door.
From behind the barrels the boy could see little of the small room, only a tiny part from a sliver between the containers. Fierce growls went around the room, accompanied by the sounds of tearing flesh.
The unearthly howl of whatever was attacking signalled its demise as the boy saw the body of a Wolfos collapse onto the floor in front of the slit in the barrels.
He heard Gaspar sigh relief. The boy heard the sound of squeaking hinges as the door closed.
Suddenly, a voice punctured the silence.
"Arrgh!"
The boy jolted at the cry. What had happened?
The answer soon arrived as he caught a glimpse through the space in between the barrels.
The Wolfos, not quite dead yet, had leapt up and sunk its teeth deep into Gaspar's leg. Blood was everywhere.
Gaspar thrashed around to prise off the creature, whose grip only became tighter. He picked up his dropped sword from the floor and smashed its skull in with its hilt. He sat down again, and the boy could see no more of the scene. There was a sound of flesh being slashed apart.
"Pass me those bandages, will you." Gaspar growled. The boy grabbed various cheap pieces of cloth from the floor and threw it over the barrels. He heard Gaspar muttering to himself irritably.
Silence.
"You can get out from there, now, you know." Gaspar huffed.
The boy got up and surveyed the scene. Blood and fur spattered Gaspar's blade and he now wrapped bandages around a bloodied stump on his leg. The rest of it was presumedly in the fireplace.
"Extreme, but necessary." Gaspar huffed in response to the boy's shocked expression.
"Wolfos' bite contains a deadly poison. It's better to cut it off then let it take you." He wiped his blade off with the remaining gauze.
The boy didn't want to ponder what that meant for too long. He sat on the bed, feeling queasy.
"You'd better get some rest, kid. You've been through a lot today, but you'll get used to it soon enough."
"Say, I still haven't gotten a name for you." He grinned. "How does Aulus sound?"
The boy nodded approval.
"Aulus it is then. Well, Aulus, I'd best put the fire out. It'll attract more of those hellspawn. Goddesses have mercy."