AN: This is the start of a Zelda fanfic I've been nursing for awhile. It isn't much right now, just setting the stage, but I hope you will enjoy it for now. Next chapter should be up within a few days. Thank you for your interest. Reviews appreciated. Also, this story is pretty AU. The Link featured is an original character and the town of Narice/kingdom of Kiril are original places. Please keep this in mind as you read.

It was a beautiful day in Narice, the sun shining through the leaves of the orderly apple orchards that filled up the fertile cliffside overlooking the valley. The village sat in this valley, a clean stream flowing down from the high orchards and through the town. Following the river led you to rolling hills of farms where many of Narice's residents made their living. But it was in the orchards that the town's fame laid; it was said that no apple was as large or as sweet as those grown on the cliffs above the small town.

Link was sitting high up in one of the apple trees, looking over the village. Link was about sixteen years of age, long ears poking out of his shaggy blonde hair. He wore a plain cotton shirt and pants, a pair of sandals cast aside near the base of the tree in favor of bare feet.

Link lived with his aunt, uncle and younger cousin in Narice. He had always lived in this quaint, picturesque village; it had the distinction of being the westernmost settlement in Kiril, a small, prosperous kingdom and the easterly neighbor of Hyrule. Hyrule was separated from Kiril by the Death Mountains; travelers going back and forth between the two countries would often come through Narice.

Link was half-Hylian himself, though he had never been to the great kingdom. He had never left his hometown; he was always exploring the craggy caves and cliffs, climbing the apple trees and swimming in the river. The world was never too big for Link, no stone left unturned and no path untread. What lay beyond the mountains in Hyrule tantalized his imagination.

Link descended from the tree, the sun beginning its descent through the sky. It was getting later and Aunt Raya would want him home. Replacing his sandals onto his filthy feet, he trekked down the sloped path that led down to the village, and found Raya standing on their home's threshold, a stern look on her face and her arms crossed menacingly over her chest.

"Where have you been, Link!" she yelled. "I haven't seen you all day. You just up and vanished this morning. What am I going to do with you? Don't give me that look! You have chores! Get to them or Gods help you, you won't get any dinner!" the woman threatened. Link sheepishly went towards their barn, setting about his shirked tasks.

"What first," he sighed. He saw that the animals needed to be fed. He went to find some corn to feed the chickens, but no sooner had he returned were the chickens already feasting happily. He thought he saw a flicker of movement near the side of the coop, but when he looked again, no one was there.

"That's odd," Link thought aloud, but he set about feeding the horse and completing his other chores with no other disturbances. He finished them quickly; he was an efficient worker when he could be bothered to work.

"Done," Link declared as he entered the house. Raya gave him a doubtful glance, but when she checked his handiwork all the chores were indeed finished.

"I'm going out," Link informed his aunt. He was gone before bothering to receive a confirmation. He never felt welcome in his aunt's house, not since his mother had died. He had been only six years old at the time, but he'd never forget finding her floating in the river, lifeless and empty…

It wasn't Link that his aunt so despised, per se. It was him. Once, Link had made the mistake of asking Aunt Raya about his father. Scowling, she had spitefully replied:

"Your father was the lowest kind of scum who I ever had the displeasure to meet. For whatever reason, your poor mother was totally in love with him. Ultimately, he dumped her here and the scoundrel flew the coop."

All Link knew of him was that he was a Hylian who shared his name. He had been born after his father had already left, and his mother, Lorette, had named their son after her lost love. It was no wonder his aunt didn't like him. He was the product of the union that ruined her sister's life, even sharing his name.

How long would he stay here, in this town, trapped, hated? He had no friends to speak of. Everyone spoke of him only in hushed tones, the orphan boy, whose mother drowned herself in the river; the long-passed scandal that was spoken of as if it were last week's gossip. Things nearly never happened in this town, so when they did, people didn't forget. Things didn't blow over.

And did he need them? No. He didn't need friendship. All his life, the only person that probably ever loved him had been his mother And even still, it must not have been very much. Or she would still be around.

Link sat on the edge of the riverbank, his bare toes dipped into the water. The Mansa River flowed through Narice, a huge river that originated in the Death Mountains and trickled downstream towards the ocean. Even if he were to leave Narice, where would he go? He had no one else.

He stood up, gazing off into the horizon where the sun was setting. Hyrule. That mysterious land on the other side of the mountains. What might be lying in wait there for him? What undiscovered worlds and untaken opportunities?

Link reflexively looked over his shoulder. He often felt like someone was watching him; that looming feeling that someone lies in silent judgment just behind you, their eyes setting an itch on your shoulder. But no one was ever there. Link sighed, shaking off his paranoia and heading back towards his house.

He entered the wooden house quietly, the door creaking as he stepped inside. "Link's back!" a boy's voice called and an excited eight-year-old rushed to the door and latched onto Link's leg.

"Hey, Rore," Link sighed apathetically. Rore was Link's cousin, and he worshiped the ground that Link walked on. He was probably the only person in town with a positive opinion of him. But an eight-year-old's adoration wasn't comforting nor wanted. He had managed to dodge hero worship for most of the day, but it looked like that was ending here.

"Link! You'll never guess what I did!"

"What-"

"I ate a bug!"

"That's…great, Rore."

"Have you ever eaten a bug?"

"Um…no."

"They taste funny."

"Wonderful."

Link pulled away from the chattering child, making his way upstairs to the attic, where he slept. As he climbed up the ladder, that familiar feeling of being watched set in once again. It was worse than usual tonight. Was Rore following him? No, he lacked the attention span. Then who?

Link glanced down the ladder. No one was there. Who could have followed him inside without being noticed? However, that nagging feeling wouldn't dissipate. He crawled into bed, staring at the wall anxiously.

"…Whoever you are," he called softly. "Goodnight."

He knew it was silly. No one was there.

Darc sat motionlessly in the attic's corner, invisible in the dark room. The only light was a small moonbeam that came through the tiny window, and moonlight was hardly unkind to shadows. He grinned, whispering almost inaudibly in response to Link's call.

"Goodnight to you too."

He waited for Link to doze off, listening quietly to his dull rhythmic breathing. After he was sure Link was fast asleep, he crawled out of his hiding place. Darc was a carbon copy of the slender teen, but his hair was jet black rather than honey blonde, his eyes a dark red and not a watery blue, his skin a deep slate instead of a rosy peach. Darc was, quite simply, the boy's shadow. He had always been one step behind the boy, following and guarding closely. It was his nature; the shadow world was a dark reflection of the world of light, existing within two dimensions rather than three. Shadows trailed like tails pinned to their light counterparts.

Darc, a name the shadow had fashioned for himself, kneeled by Link's bedside. He brushed his dark gray hand across the boy's face, moving aside a few stray locks of hair. A slight sizzle could be heard, like water on a hot pan.

Light and dark never really were meant to mix, especially those of this world of light and their shadowy counterparts. Even the slightest touch of Darc's skin to Link's could burn Darc; because that's what light did. It banished darkness. Light a candle in a dark room; it doesn't matter that the shadows well outnumber the light. The candle would push away all the shadows, unharmed and untouched. No matter how strong a darkness, it would always bend to light. Link was never harmed when Darc touched his skin. Only Darc was.

Darc grasped his light's hand, ignoring the hissing sound and wisps of steam. Paradoxically, Darc craved this contact with his light. He didn't fully understand it himself; a derived masochistic pleasure, an unexplainable draw to the interaction between him and his light. Forced to inhabit this world of light as a shadow, Darc felt closer to it as Link's power of light burned his ashen gray skin. Closer to his light, to whom he was bound to watch from afar. Most shadows never were granted the capacity to ponder their connection with their light; but animated as he was, Darc's thoughts often trailed down this path. Why, of all the humans in the world of light, should this somewhat average boy be cursed with a sentient shadow? And why was he, little more than a shadow, a weak presence in this world, charged with his protection? He had never known.

Link possessed an innocence Darc envied, a guileless naivety Darc never could know. He had been born knowing the evils of this world; born from the shadows that haunted it. Link was pure, chaste and untainted; perhaps Darc acted as a kind of shield from those sinister truths. However, while the boy was innocent, he was also haunted. Ghosts of the past plagued him every day. Darc knew him well. A kind, bright soul lay beneath his bitter apathy, a lust for adventure under his distaste for the world's inhabitants.

There wasn't a soul on this world Link could call a friend. While Darc always watched over him, he was only a silent angel, or demon, rather. Link had no one to turn to, no one to reveal the inner workings of his heart. Dark moved Link's blonde bangs out of his face, pressing his shadowy lips to his forehead. Wisps of black-colored steam rose from the kiss's site for a few moments. Darc took one last look at him before disappearing back into the eaves of the attic.

"Sleep well, my light," he said, and Darc laid on the wooden floor, pulling a shadow from the wall over his dark body and closing his pupiless red eyes.

The shadow grinned slightly to himself. He didn't sleep.