PART ONE: FARON

Lonin stood slowly. It was dim—perhaps evening. He hadn't felt this bruised since he was roughed up by that gang of Roblins. What had happened to him?

He focused and looked around, and he remembered. He'd been running. Running from something monstrous, the size of a small castle, and then something had hit him, and he had fallen through the air and blacked out on impact. Now he was remembering.

Lonin looked back in the direction of his village but he couldn't even be sure it was there anymore. The creature had attacked. He had taken his girlfriend's hand in one hand and his little brother's hand in the other, and tried to get them out, but they were all separated when the monster pursued. And he had been forced to run one way, and them another, and then the monster pursued him and he realized that it was after him and not the village. He had used up every last inch of his strength trying to outrun it but then it had just about caught up and then he had no strength to keep running and he'd tripped on something and fallen and this had happened.

But he didn't seem to be above the ground. The light was coming from candles, and a small dripping noise coming from his right informed him that it was raining. He turned to see a small shaft, which was dripping water into a small bucket that was overflowing. He walked over to it and looked up.

There were clouds, and low rumbles of thunder. That was all he could see and hear. There was a storm outside. Not a big one, but, a storm.

He had to figure out where he was. He looked around the small room, and saw nothing indicative of his location—just small tables with plates that had something resembling food on them, a few strange artifacts, and a box containing Sriimakuv, one of his favorite childhood games. But what was a kid's game doing here? For the millionth time, where was he?

He took a candle from a holder and brought it around. There were absolutely no windows or doors in this room. And there was nothing on the ceiling to suggest he could have gotten in some other way. All that was there was a small shaft for air with bars across the top.

Lonin grasped his wavy black hair and pulled at it in frustration. Hot wax from the candle dripped onto his hand, and he cursed and scooped it off, burning his other hand and cursing again. Now he was totally baffled as to how he'd gotten in here, in addition to as to where he was! Firstly, though, his main priority was to figure out how to get out. It wouldn't do much good, knowing where he was, if he died in here.

A mirror stood in the corner and he walked over to it. It was the fanciest thing in here, and if years of experience studying magic had done nothing for him, it had taught him to figure out what was the most interesting thing in the room and test it for special properties. If that didn't work, try the least interesting thing. He touched the surface of the cool mirror, wiped off some dust, and scanned his image, staring into his own cool gray eyes. Nothing seemed special. He looked around the room again.

There was a small wheel in the corner. He picked it up and rolled it, but it triggered no fantastic magical reaction or anything. What to do now?

He scanned the walls, and his eyes stopped on some words written on the wall. He approached the wall cautiously, and squinted to read.

Kallo|s Therida|r

What did that mean? This was Hylian—Adapted Hylian. Written to be spoken in the ancient tongue, but using present-day letters. He counted in his head in Hylian.

Eep, Uub, Uv, Ast, Kall.

Kallo|s sounded like "five."

Five. Five what?

He tried to think of the solution as his candle dripped again, but he tipped it this time to avoid burning his hand. He sat down on the dirty floor in front of the wall and stared. Five. Five. What did he associate with five? There were the five lakes of Faron woods, the forest that he'd grown up near. There were the five spirits of the feast, Drink, Beast, Music, Family, and Friends.

Lonin frowned, and stood up again, and brushed his hand against the letters.

Well, he tried to brush his hands against the letters, but they sank right through the rock. He leapt backwards and dropped his candle and stared at his hand. What in Hylia's name…?

Five fingers. Of course. He leaned forward, passing his hand through the stone. He could feel something on the other side, something cool and, and, odd. It wasn't air; his hand seemed lighter and heavier at the same time. He withdrew his hand and stared at it, but nothing was different.

He passed his arm through the wall again and swished his hand. It must have been water; he could feel it pushing against his hand when he moved it. Or was this just what solid rock felt like on the inside?

He took a deep breath and leaned slowly towards the wall, and when his nose should have touched the wall, that went through as well.

He emerged on the other side to find that he was indeed immersed in water. The pressure surrounded him and made his ears hurt; he kicked his way up to the surface. It was warmer in this part of the cave, and darker. There were only a few candles in here.

Something grabbed hold of his attention and smacked it across the face. If there were candles in here—lit candles—and they weren't melted all the way down—then someone must have been in here a very short time ago. They weren't perpetual candles—wax had been dripping. His slightly burnt hand was proof of that. So who else was here?

WHUMP.

"We've been waiting for you."

The voice came from behind him. Lonin sprang forwards, half-turned in the air, and whipped out his long knife. A young man was standing there—very tall and very skinny. He had absolutely not been standing there a second ago. Next to him was a slightly younger lady. Their hair was all white, and their garments were all ocean blue.

"Who're you?" Lonin demanded, backing away. "And where did you come from?"

The woman pointed up. Lonin glanced up quickly—he didn't want to be attacked when he wasn't paying attention, but he had to at least take a quick gander—there was a hammock hanging from the ceiling. How had he forgotten to check the ceiling?

"You are Lonin?" The woman spoke this time.

Lonin glared suspiciously. "How do you know that?"

"Because I know you," she replied. "We were brought here by the Blind Hydra of Faron."

Lonin gasped, and he stood immediately. His expression shifted from suspicion to reverence in half of a second as he realized a friend from youth. "Tayna?"

"I did not suspect that you were the cataloguer of magic of whom the prophecy spoke," Tayna said, smiling.

"And I'd never suspected that you were going to be chosen by the gods to accompany the Blind Hydra," said Lonin. Every fifty years, the Blind Hydra of Faron would come to the largest lake, Lake Skanoa, and choose a couple to take to a secret cave, where they would guard an ancient treasure. It was considered one of the highest honors of the land. Four years ago, fourteen-year-old Tayna and her fifteen-year-old boyfriend Jozome had been chosen by the Blind Hydra, and they were taken away and never seen again. It had been extremely sad for Lonin but he knew they were performing a noble task.

"How did I get here, then?" Lonin asked.

"Isn't it obvious?" Jozome asked. "You were chosen by the goddesses—given the power to pass through the walls which have been treated with the nectar of the Hero's Call."

He held up a little flower—the light green beauty known as the Hero's Call, so named for the distinctive whistle it gave when the end of the stem was placed to the mouth and blown through; a soothing, melodic sound that simultaneously relaxed a person and gave them courage to take action. It was a plant that bloomed all over their village and the world.

"I was—was chosen?" Lonin choked.

"Just like us," Tayna said, still smiling. "Except you were chosen for a far nobler purpose. You will guide the chosen hero to his destiny, and rid the world of the evil force known as Ganon."

Lonin was not comprehending this. How was he—an eighteen-year-old with almost no combat experience—going to defeat the great evil power against which no man had ever stood and lived?

"It is your destiny, Lonin," Tayna said. "If you still do not believe me believe this: We were told by the Blind Hydra of the ancient prophecy. The reason people are taken here by the Blind Hydra is because we were told that one day, a cataloguer of magic would appear, whose knowledge and abilities would help the hero achieve his destiny, defeating the evil Ganon and sealing him away—for as long as possible."

"That can't be me," Lonin moaned. "I'm useless. I'm ridiculed back at home for my studies, people think it's worthless to catalogue magic because magic is unpredictable and always changing. I can't do archery, or—or track and field, or anything! I can't do anything!"

"The goddesses apparently disagree," Tayna said, "and forgive me, but I'm going to side with the all-knowing goddesses."

"This is crazy," Lonin said.

"It may be, but there is a method to the madness," Jozome said. "Otherwise you would not have been granted the power to pass through the Hero's Walls. So here—take this."

He threw a small pouch at Lonin.

"What is this?" Lonin asked. He felt a liquid slosh around inside.

"It's nectar of Hero's Call," Jozome replied. "Use it wisely, there is only so much. Of course, wherever you run across Hero's Call, you can milk it for its nectar and replenish your supplies. Dip your five fingers in the nectar and rub them across any surface, and you can pass through it."

"Any surface?" Lonin replied, incredulously.

"Any surface. That's how you fell in here, in fact."

And then Lonin realized how he had ended up in a room with no doors or windows. He had fallen as the monster was chasing him.

"The monster!" Lonin cried. "There's something that attacked our village—I need to get back—Meva and Kalor—" He needed to save his girlfriend and his little brother.

"No, Lonin," Jozome said sharply. "You cannot go that way. You must find the hero and guide him to his—"

"I won't leave my village to die," Lonin said. "Wait—our village! Your parents, your brothers and sisters are there too!"

"Think of the greater good, Lonin," Tayna said sadly. "They will die if the prophecy is not fulfilled."

"If it's a prophecy, isn't it going to happen no matter what?"

"Absolutely not."

"What?"

"The prophecy states that the cataloguer of magic is faced with the choice of whether to fulfill the prophecy or let the world fall into chaos," Jozome said. "You are going to have to make that choice right now. One village which is probably lost already, or the entire world?"

"I choose to fulfill the prophecy," Lonin said. "But I choose to help my friends and family first."

"NO, Lonin!" Jozome shouted. But Lonin had already dipped his hands into the pouch and he spread the nectar along the closest wall. He ran through it and burst out the side of a cliff by the sea, and he fell thirty feet into the crashing waves.

The storm had picked up now—the tide was brutal. Rain lashed his face and he was pounded against the rock as he tried to make his way to a foothold or to the shore.

Except, there was no shore. He grabbed at the sheer cliff and started to climb, but was slapped off the side of the cliff by the biggest wave yet. He grabbed the cliff again, and this time he made it above the tossing waves. He scaled the cliff and when his strength was about to expire he reached the top. He gasped for breath and then gathered himself to start the run back to his village. If these were the Paizian Cliffs and the Empiral Sea, as he thought they were, his village was in the direction exactly opposite the sea.

Lightning exploded in the sky and the sound was so fierce he had to clap hands over his ears. He almost stumbled and fell again. He looked around to his left and saw a tree in flames. He had to get to his village fast before all of those people were lost forever… Meva, his girlfriend… Kalor, his brother… Desi, his mother…

In his head, his mother was singing the Song of Storms to him as he drifted off to sleep in her lap as a child, and he knew he couldn't bear to live with himself if he lost her. The only thing keeping him running was timing his footsteps to the beat of the Song of Storms that his mother taught him…

Evil cries at the skies;

Lightning takes no alibis.

Farore, Din, Nayru,

Show what you can do.

Wind and rain, hurricane,

Summoned by the storm refrain.

Hero has been born anew.