The only thing certain in life is time. Time does not alter its flow when a baby is born, nor does it cease when an elder dies. Time is no slower or faster, despite what we may think. It remains constant, always has, and always will. Time was here long before the Earth was formed and it will still be here long after it has crumbled to dust. It is the ultimate symbol of order.

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So if someone, some entropic individual were to interrupt the flow of time…

EPISODE ONE: ACTIVATION

The dream begins again, much in the manner it always does. I'm in a hall, a great stone hall, and the ceilings are high and the floors are smooth. A single shaft of light shines in the center, but I cannot see what it illuminates. All around me I hear… something. It sounds like singing, but the voices are not human. In fact, they aren't even really there. It's as if I hear the song in my heart, but not with my ears. The melody is very conflicting. It sounds large and imposing, but at the same time soothing and clear. No words are given, nor are they necessary. I wait awhile, standing in the shaft of the light, letting the music fill me up and trying to figure out what it all means. Then I hear it again. The sliding, the horrible grinding of the stone doors on the floor. I turn around, knowing I can't stop them from closing, but unable to stop myself from trying. I pull on them until my fingers blister, and they shut. The song is cut short and all I hear is laughter, horrible laughter unlike any I've heard before.

I awaken with it still ringing in my ears. Slightly shaken, I stretch out my limbs, getting over it relatively quickly.

I have had the same dream every night for the last three years.

I pull myself out of bed with an odd mixture of reluctance and haste. The room is not unclean, but certainly not pristine. I have, after all, lived in it as long as I can remember. The same window, the same wallpaper, same bedclothes (they get washed occasionally) and the same hand-scanner by the door. Feeling particularly self-loathing, I place my hand on the device and watch as it lights up red: "Signature unrecognized. Guest of the Kokiri?" I grit my teeth and ignore the machine, manually forcing the door open like I've always done. I enter the hallway, the green lighting accentuating the complete greenness of my attire. No one else is in the hall, as is usual. More than likely, they're all already at breakfast. That's me, I guess. Link of the Kokiri, latest to everything.

Though I would be more than content to wander the empty halls for the rest of the day, being later than I already am would be borderline masochistic. I find the elevator, push the manual button located next to the hand scanner, and step in once the doors open. The cheery voice greets me: "Welcome! Please sign in." The new hand scanner (on the inside of the elevator this time) lights up helpfully. I vehemently push the manual floor button for the lobby, trying my hardest to avert my eyes from it.

The elevator moves casually down to the ground floor, and opens up, chiming: "Enjoy your stay in the Kokiri Complex!" I tune it out to the best of my ability. As I suspected, the others are all in the dining room, eating. I walk to the door, hoping that just this once, he won't be there, but my feeble dreams are shattered.

"Why are you late, Link?" he asks, an infuriatingly superior smirk plastered on his face. I resist the urge to punch him in his freckled nose.

When I don't say anything, he presses further. "Why didn't you answer to the page I sent out?" He holds his right arm up to me, as if to burn the image of the bracelet-like device he wears into my retinas forever. My patience wearing thin, I answer him.

"You know why," I tell him, keeping my voice as calm as possible. His eyes flick down to my bare wrists and his grin grows marginally wider.

"Oh yes," he says. "I'd almost forgotten." And yet he's the one who reminds me of it every day. Multiple times. I sigh in defeat.

"Look, Mido, can I just have breakfast?" I ask exasperatedly. He tosses his cinnamon bangs to one side of his eyes and dips his head, as though he's being gracious.

"If you must," he says, and moves out of the doorway. I enter the dining hall and look around. The Kokiri are all sitting at various tables, eating what appears to be some sort of vegetable-stuffed tortilla. I go through the line to pick up my food, muttering a barely audible thank you to the server and scan the room for the one I wanted to see.

She isn't exactly difficult to find. Not only does the shade of her hair stand out in a crowd, but something about her smile can light up the whole hall. She makes eye contact with me and nods, then says goodbye to whoever she was talking to before and makes her way to the table I'm sitting down at. I don't even have to time say hello before she says assuredly, "He's a jerk."

I nod, chewing the food thoughtlessly. She presses further. "Not having a fairy doesn't make you any less of a Kokiri." I look up at her, feigning exasperation.

"You tell me every day," I remark. "I understood that the first thousand times." But she and I know both know how much it helps.

"I'm glad you're in good spirits, then," she says, flashing me that smile and I can no longer be angry.

"How do you know me so well?" I question, a smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth.

Saria beams. "I like your smirk. It's not pretentious or punch-warranting like Mido's." I laugh a little, then look around the room again for the subject of our ribbing. He's eating with Fado and—one of the brothers, I can never remember which is which. He keeps casting glances at the two of us. Business as usual.

"Hey," Saria says, and I snap my attention back to her. She looks concerned, which is not an anomaly for her. "Did you have the dream again?"

I stretch and yawn, pushing my plate away. I seem to have suddenly lost my appetite. "What do you think?" I ask. At first I'm afraid it sounds too harsh, but it just sounds tired.

She frowns at me, something I hate to see her do. "Link," she says, "you need to tell someone about this."

I actually laugh a little, despite the fact we've had this exchange countless times. "Saria, there is no one here to tell but you. The other Kokiri all either hate me or don't think I exist, and I'll be darned if I'm spilling out my troubles to one of those blasted computers."

She sets her fork down and absently brushes a strand of emerald hair out of her line of sight. "Come on," she says. "Let's go to the garden."

We walk to the elevator, ignoring the side glances of those around us. She places her hand on the scanner and the doors open immediately. We step in and she presses the button for the roof. She has the computer programmed not to use vocal commands when she is present, but it doesn't stop me from reading the words on the screen: welcome, Saria and guest.

I step out of the elevator and feel the air bathe my skin. The two of us walk over to the balcony and lean over the ledge like always, looking out over the many green rooftops. The Kokiri Complex is just one of many buildings in the Faron Woods project, but it's the only one to be inhabited. The project was started a long time ago by a wealthy family called the Deku in an attempt to break away from the increasingly industrialized lives of a lot of Hyrule. All the power was solar, the waste disposal was almost completely clean, and all food was homegrown in gardens on top of the roofs. It cost millions in Rupees to construct, according to the history reels left in the complex. The creators weren't counting on something, though.

The increasingly industrialized lives of Hyrule were a lot easier.

The project failed due to lack of interest and the whole district was mainly abandoned, cut off from the rest of the world by a menacing wall. All the buildings save ours were completely overgrown, though the technology within remained largely intact. The few souls who would ever actually want to enter were deterred by rumors (completely true ones, actually) of scavenging gangs that roamed the streets, stealing whatever was left in the old buildings. Most of us called the place the "Lost Woods", seeing as it had ended up more of a dystopia than the paradise it was made to be.

Except, of course, for our little apartment complex. No one is sure quite how we got here. The complex has been our home for as long as any of us can remember. For whatever reason, it's coded to our (well, most of our) DNA, and the hand scanners only respond to the Kokiri. We've thrived for years on what grows in the garden and sent brave souls out foraging for the rest. There are no complaints, and life is made especially easier by what technology was left behind.

The fairies, crown jewel of the Kokiri Complex. Holographic, artificially intelligent personal assistants that operated most of the computer systems and resided in mechanical bracelets worn around the arm. A fairy granted one access to a personalized elevator schedule, a whole game room full of recreational technology, and so much more. They were the major selling point of the project, the Deku having worked with top engineers and pathotechnicians to develop them. All of the fairies connected wirelessly to a massive server that we affectionately call the Great Deku Tree. You can see it in the skyline, stored in a massive tower surpassed in height only by the wall.

At the age of ten, all children in the Kokiri complex are considered eligible by the building's AI to receive their own fairy. The hand scanner reads their DNA and dispenses a bracelet with programming that corresponds to their individual needs. They get clapped on the back, congratulated on officially being one of the Kokiri.

I am fourteen years old.

I have still never received a fairy.

I look over at Saria, the early morning sunlight gleaming in her green hair. She seems to notice almost instantly and looks back, smiling. Saria is the only one who never ridiculed me, who never ostracized me for lacking one, who never mocked me with shouts of "Guest" as I did my duties in the halls. Essentially, she's my only friend, and, though it technically doesn't count for much, my best friend in the world. She reaches out with her hand and grasps mine, and my worries seem to fade into the background.

"I've been talking to the Skull Kids again," she says, and I shake my head in amusement. The Skull Kids are one of the gangs that roam the streets, but they aren't particularly menacing. They remind me of rats, living off scraps and not harming anyone, just trying to survive. Add that to the fact that they all seem no older than 17, and they're more like the Kokiri than they are any of the other gangs. Foragers often encounter them on their excursions.

"Yeah? What did they say?" I ask.

"They're a little on edge… they say they've been seeing strange things, dark figures and monsters and the like. They're worried that it's a sign bad things are coming," she reports, looking concernedly down at the streets as if she's waiting for something to pop out of the shadows.

I restrain a scoff of disbelief. "Saria, you know those Skull Kids are crazier than a hornet's nest. They could see an alley cat and think that the apocalypse was nigh."

Saria looks at me sharply, a hint of disapproval in her eyes, and I cringe a little. Her gaze is sometimes like what I imagine a mother's to be. "Link, this is serious. They might be a little on the odd side, but you know how happy-go-lucky they are. To see them paranoid like this is at least a little disconcerting, don't you think?"

I shrug and nod. Seeming satisfied with this response, she reached into her pocket and pulls out a wooden instrument, carved with care and riddled artistically with a number of holes. She calls it an ocarina, but I'm half convinced it's just something she made up. Either way, when she puts it to her lips like she does now, everything else seems to go quiet.

Music emits from the ocarina as she moves her fingers deftly over the holes, an upbeat, bouncing sort of tune. The tone is airy and delicate like a forest breeze, and it seems to breathe its way into the very sky, making the world dance. Neither of us really knows what the song is; she just started playing it one day and it seemed to fit. No other song really could capture her essence, I don't think. It was Saria's song.

When she finishes, we exchange smiles again. No matter how depressed I am when I wake up, by the time Saria and I have our routine, I am in some semblance of a good mood.

Suddenly, her bracelet vibrates, and a small holographic figure projects itself from her arm. "Saria, Mido is paging you," the fairy says in its ethereal voice. And the good mood is gone.

She looks at me apologetically and I wave my hand, pretending like I don't really care. "Go on in," I say. "I'd like to wait out here for a bit." She hugs me more tightly than her dainty figure suggests is possible and turns to head back into the elevator. I return my gaze to the skyline.

I just stare out at the world for a little bit. I really should be inside doing my chores (I'm typically assigned to janitorial duties) but today I just don't feel like it. The sun is far too nice on my skin to be cooped up inside mopping halls. And anyhow, I'm just sick of it. Sick of the dream, sick of the teasing, sick of life in general.

I start thinking about what Saria said about the Skull Kids. She did have a point. For all their eccentricities and superstitions, one could never meet a more optimistic lot. I ponder what they could have seen that unnerve them as much as it seemed. Then a shadow falls over me and I turn around quickly.

I nearly back up over the balcony in shock. My breathing gets heavy and I can feel my heart rate increasing. Sitting on the rooftop, in between garden plots is a massive golden bird. An owl, I believe it was called. It had to have been at least twice my height, probably much more. It just sort of looked at me and I looked at it.

The owl seemed to be emanating some sort of light, and it occurs to me that it could be a hologram, but it doesn't feel that way. The presence it gives off feels real, and unlike anything I've ever seen. I muster up the will to take a step towards it, but I quickly regret the decision, as it gives off a resonating hoot and takes flight, faster than I can really perceive. I continue standing, trying to make sense of what just happened. What was that thing? Why did it just land and fly away without a trace?

And that's when I see it. The owl hadn't left without a trace. There was something on the ground, something shimmering in the light. Still somewhat dazed, I walk over and pick it up in my hands. With a start, I realize that it's a fairy bracelet. Hands trembling, I turn it over in my hands. It's a bluish color, unlike the pink or white ones possessed by most of the other Kokiri. I almost check it for a name or some other indication as to who the owner is, but no one ever takes off a bracelet. I'm struck with an idea, but I almost am afraid to try.

After what seems like an hour, I slowly attach the bracelet around my arm. It fits perfectly. My heart rate doubles, even quicker than before. I wait with trepidation for something to happen.

I keep waiting.

Whatever spirits had leaped up in my heart sink like rocks. Tears sting my eyes and I shake with anger. "Is this some kind of a joke?!" I shout, not really caring who might hear. I furiously try to remove the bracelet, but my hands are shaking too badly for me to work the mechanism. I stumble my way to the elevator, slamming the manual open button with a fist and collapse inside.

"Welcome! Please sign in," the elevator calls out and I just sob in response, curling into a fetal position on the floor. Everything I wanted to cry about but couldn't just seems to boil up and spill out my eyes. I feel emotionally exhausted, and the world around me starts to fade to black. The door opens, and I can vaguely hear a voice… Saria…?

Then I pass out.