Prologue

"I walked, and my people parted ways for my arrival, reverently bowing their heads to me as was the custom- towards me, their noble king.

"My carriers set my carriage down to the pavement and I stepped out from it, leaning upon my scepter to ease the pain of prior wars in my leg. As I stepped out, my eyes gazed upon the majesty that was Nendairenost, the Ageless Stone, the temple to withstand all time, built in commemoration of my father, King Falban, and of his best friend, Runikarr, the leader of the stone-men called the Gorons, who swore to protect the lands against the moblins during the third Moblin War. This temple was built to tighten the relationship between my people and the Gorons, officially contracting an alliance between the two races.

"Now, I am not a superstitious man and am merely a king whose faith resides in the eternal will of the Gods and in the will of the people, but I sensed the magic of this sacred hall. Ask me not how, journal, for no words described the... spirituality I suddenly felt, resonating from the rock like a voice. Love crafted this place, love and fellowship, and so this temple would stand to serve as the house of the Gods. Soon my attention was being sought for by a being approaching me, my eyes descending from the tall temple's spire to recognize Darfnur, the man-rather, Goron-who built the temple. Appreciation exchanged in our eyes, we shook hands and expressed gratitude with thanks and promises of an alliance. Then my eyes drifted back to the doors of the temple, wondering what wonders would remain behind them as long as my people remained in this city, in this golden age, in this promising time period.

"And yet the words of my father cause me to hesitate on celebration: 'As happy as the child may be to be swaddled in comfort, as content as the old man is sitting in a chair outside his house, as pleased as the master may be to see his house in full bloom, all of us will never let go of the shine of gold in our eye. Our office is to conceal that shine, yet even we cannot fight temptation forever.'"

-Lord Aran Ben-Falban, High King of Hyrule, Rajulyule 9th, 945 AS.

The great temple stood in silence. Night had become the sun's dormancy, cascading upon the world the semblances of Lune and Hyldar, the Moon and Stars, and Mudé, the Void between Hyldar. Along with these lights in the darkness of the sky, Lune brought fatigue and slumber upon the world to lay down and rest for another day. Some residents in the city toiled, for the sorrows of the day still lingered in the hearts and dreaded tomorrow's pain, while their children slumbered in the room next to theirs, oblivious to their wails of 'taxes' and 'more taxes.'

The great temple remained silent. Time had passed over these old walls for so long that its origin and significance decayed with the people's memory. New matters took precedence over tradition, it seemed, for many now regarded the temple as a memoir of the past; some say it merely stood only to remark the political bond between the Hylia and the Gorons. Others remained on a more seditious mind, that the temple was to conserve a dying religion. They said it might as well be torn down for it serves no purpose but to decorate the city with history. Replace it with another marketplace, or a bazaar, they say; bring more business to match the rising price of stock.

Yet the temple stood. And tonight he hoped his vigilance would ensure it would remain that way.

He chose to stay behind after the auspices, at which only a few faithful citizens attended. Some didremember after all, perhaps! Such faith was a relief to him, for Rauru was a servant of the Gods and only wished such loyalty would spread amongst the hearts of the Hylia.

But among the few that attended, he sensed a presence. Someone had brought it in somehow, unbeknown to him before the service began, and did not take it back out after it concluded. It was not the threads of a bad day, nor a mere troubled spirit. The desire of... power... ranked with it. The intentions of utter evil rang out from the shadows of the temple.

It lingered like a foul stench, like a spectral guest.

That was why he prepared for it. He stood sentinel, like a warrior of the Gods, with his staff in his aged, plump fingers.

Gods, he never knew he would ever have to return to such actions. Never again, not after the 100 Years Strife.

He waited. He waited for the devil to come to this sacred place.

Then he found himself gazing upon its structures again, its aged walls of stone and rock, the stained glass windows with figures of the past illumined by Lune, the tapestry with the majestic icons of his people in bright blue and red colors, the checked floor which many had trod upon for generations, who had filled the pews, which in two columns began at the front entrance up to the very altar, for hundreds of years. Would he be seeing these walls for the last time?

When the temple was built, something special had happened the day it was finally erected. Rauru knew it, not just from seeing the mutual thanks between Hylian and Goron through handshakes and eye-contact. Rauru knew it, not from the many generations who had slowly went away from worship yet with few remaining. Rauru knew it, not from being its pastor since its inception.

Rauru only wished the people could hear them, those who had died in the name of the Gods. Their voices echoed in his mind like a chorus, heavenly, as if the hosts of the Sanctumund were present to sing for all time.

Amid in his thoughts, there shot a loud clang in the air, at the other side of the temple: at the door. At once, his mind cleared. In one hand he gripped his wooden staff tightly, and in the other he clenched in a tight fist. Sweat beaded on his bald forehead and down to his collar, his eyes intensely gazing through the empty space before him.

The moonlight from the window overhead vanished; a shadow had blotted it out.

The air became foul; sulfur and brimstone pervaded his senses.

The silence was disturbed; another bang, and the door slowly crept open, and then the evils came in. They were unearthly, inhuman beings. They, like black slime, splattered through the door in a great rush, covering every orifice they touched in their grime and smog, and raced towards Rauru.

But he was ready. He swung his staff, and at once its jewel blazed like fire and shone through these shadowed demons, burning them up into pure smoke moments after exposure to the light.

The shadow from the window moved away suddenly. His eyes darted towards it as the light shone upon him again, and at once he was taken to the ground from behind.

"OSHI!" he yelled, and pressed his hand upon the ground. This incantation brought upon the powers of his magic into his hand, and upon touching the ground the entire side of his body rebounded back like a bouncing ball, knocking the beast in its teeth with his elbow and bouncing them down the steps of the altar.

Rauru could not get to his feet in time; he was too old, and the beast was already bounding upon him again. He braced his staff so as to choke the beast, so that its snout would not bite his face while his feet fought to push the creature off him. But it snarled, chomped and kicked, tearing his robes with whatever limbs could reach him.

He yelled "KUWABARA!" and a current of electricity permeated throughout his entire body and into the beast, sending it into uncontrollable convulsions and fits of shock. It fell off of him, shaking as the torrents of circuits jolted it unto its demise.

"OSHI!" he yelled, pressing the ground again, and he rebounded onto his feet.

At once he sensed an attack! He raised his staff to counter it, and thanks to his senses he parried the attack of his new foe. He sensed a counter, and deflected that as well as his free hand propelled the foe back with magic.

He heard cackling to his side, and in time ducked to evade a firebolt that ended up burning the wall meters away. Another fire bolt shot towards him, and raised his staff to deflect the spell with his magic barrier newly opened.

But his previous opponent that swiped at him returned, raising its weapon to bring it down upon him.

Rauru propelled himself back with a spell, soaring through the air until he stood at the top of the steps before the altar, and then raised his staff and intensified its light until it looked as if Soler, the sun, had appeared in the temple.

He could see the shadows, now, who quailed and fell back to columns and pews to avoid its light. The shadows of men were made of smoke and grime, the only light being the blood red glow of their eyes and the bestial reflection upon their fangs and horns. Among the ranks quavered creatures of the Dark Realm, as revealed by the dark speech they cursed with.

He felt something trickle down his cheek, and with his free hand had checked to discover that something had slashed his face with a knife. Strange, he felt, that he did not realize it amidst the foray.

The dark servants quivered, cursing in black speech, yet only hid in dark corners to avoid the light.

Rauru wished them gone, yet knew they would not leave. "Begone!" he commanded. "The Gods know of your transgression. How you are able to enter these sacred chambers alludes me! Bring me your master!"

The servants remained uncooperative, silently standing away from the light.

Then, the sounds of boots upon the stone floor echoed throughout the chamber hall. A dark figure processed down the aisle towards him, allowing the light to cascade upon him and yet welcomed it without harm.

Rauru scowled. "Your Dark Magic may protect you from this light and from revealing your identity, but there is no great mystery to be had, here. I know you and of your mission, and I tell thee that there is no treasure in this hallowed place!" he said, triangulating himself with a free hand and then pressing it dearly to his chest to end the salute.

The figure stood silent, staring at the old sage with devil's eyes: pale and without iris. Then it spoke: "The light seems to dim your insight, old man!" his voice rumbled deeply. "You deem me a mere thief to test the myth about this pathetic landmark? But, I daresay, judgment and thoughts get clouded with age… and with battle fatigue." At this, his minions cackled a dark chuckle, reminiscent of the grinding of stone and the coughing of a dead horse, all in a bestial chorus.

Rauru fought the urge to gasp for air. He had lost his breath during the scuffle. Instead, he concentrated on calming his breath. But as he did, the light dimmed to compensate for the change of energy.

The dark figure chuckle. "You give away too much. The Dark Ways are infinite!"

"Wrong!" shouted Rauru, taking the chance to pull in air to his lungs. The light pulsated as a result, and the minions cried in pain, backing away more. But the dark figure remained still.

"Old man, you cannot win this fight with me," said the figure. "Time had taken too much strength from you. You are not the general anymore. You are not as you once were, when the wars first began."

Rauru's heart skipped.

"You," continued the evil man. "Cannot hope to transpose the same strength all the way from year one-hundred and twenty-three, when the Gods so humbled themselves to preserve you foolish mortals, when they selected you twelve disciples to spread hope, courage, and power, in order to defeat my master from gaining the Golden Truth! You have lost it, old man, you are too old. It is time for you to give up… and let me take over."

"Despite your words, cruel they be and truthful they may seem, I cannot stand to allow such grime upon these hallowed grounds," he said. "I now suspect your identity, and when I am done with you I will tell the King."

At once, the light dimmed greatly until it was but like a candlelight, and Rauru felt pressure on both sides of his sternum, as if he were being choked. The figure's hand was held aloft, and he slowly walked up the steps. His green eyes illumined in the dark now allowed by the dimmed light.

He chuckled, emitting deep, throaty grunts. "I shall send you to your Gods. You are crazy about them, after all, I might as well fulfill your insanity. BUT…" he paused. "I want access to the Door."

Rauru gasped as much as he could, painfully struggling to keep his staff in his hands. "You… how… think you can take it by force?"

"I will have my ways, old man; I just, well, will. TELL ME! How do I open the Doors of Time? How do I enter the Sacred Realm?"

Rauru gasped and gulped. The pain increased in his neck. He could talk now if he wanted to, tell him the truth and be spared this excruciating pain. But, he would also fail his duty and allow the end of the world.

Rauru, however, opened his mouth to speak. The dark figure inclined his head to listen.

Rauru said: "Stuff your mothers!"

CRACK. Rauru's neck snapped as the pressure crushed it like the weight of mountains upon him. His staff fell, the light dying to blank darkness as it did so, and his body sagged in the air while it was supported by the dark magic around his neck.

The dark figure lowered his arm, allowing the old man's body to roll down the steps like limp doll.

She remained silent for the longest time after Impa had told her what happened, that their greatest ally and friend, the only one who openly supported her out in the city, the only who could have helped them, was dead. The young princess broke into tears and hid her face in such small, soft hands.

Impa stood with her own, hardened by wielding her weaponry, braced at the bend of her back, remaining the same as ever: emotionless. She had no need to feel, for feelings were a disservice, a detriment, to a functioning person. And yet this was a terrible time indeed.

"Milady," she said, remaining assertive yet attempting to hold some empathy. "We must think of the next step. We have been robbed, yet we must remain strong."

The princess wept stronger than before. Impa digressed with a sigh. How could she ask so much of a young girl, still so innocent and young as she was?

But she had trained her to be strong! Well, …was training.

Perhaps she should be harder. Impa put herself in front of the girl, and scowled down at her.

"HOW DARE YOU!" she growled.

At once, the princess choked and looked up to the nursemaid, petrified, and afraid of her wrath, with her azure eyes doused in tears and her makeup glazed in a mess.

"You are the Princess of Hyrule. You are the LAST GUARDIAN of your family's most important key!" she berated her. "Now is not the time to be innocent, madam. Evil is upon our door at this very moment, and we cannot allow an inch to let it work upon your fears."

The girl choked, "But Impa, I am only a little girl!"

"Little girl my asterisk!" Impa growled. "By your age I had helped your great-great uncle conquer Samargant. My own mother had thrown me to the great kages. It took me GENERATIONS to soak in their power and gifts, and I have grayed before my prime!"

The princess looked down upon her lap, hopeless and insignificant before the Sheikhan Mistress's words.

Impa felt like kicking herself. She had overstepped herself.

She sat down on the bed next to her. She then looked around the room, gazing upon the luxurious desk, the tapestries, the wardrobe, and the bed itself. Outside, the world was bright with Soler's rays, and the city down the hill was alive. But here, at the top of the hill, there was evil afoot.

"I apologize, milady," she said. "You treated him with great love, along with the import that he beheld. It will take time for you to heal, but in due time you will."

The princess remained silent, wiping her nose with a handkerchief.

"Well…" she finally spoke, her clear, youthful voice, laden in sorrow, coming out. "What are we to do, Impa? Rauru is dead… and by the darkness that is after my family's heirloom."

"Indeed."

"I don't think he said anything."

"He was too strong. He wouldn't have."

"Therefore, we are still in the clear."

"…for now, that is."

"…I had another dream… about them both."

Impa's eyes looked upon her in wonder. "Both of them?"

The girl nodded.

"Tell me."

And the princess began her strange account…

Chaos reigned supreme in this world. The storm had gathered and torrents raged across the green lands. The skies darkened like ore and winds swept in fury, as if the spirits of nature rioted against the evils of the night.

And then, as if while a mist rose away, a wall of polished stone appeared. It spanned far and wide from the left and right limits, and at its very center its passageway through was barred by a large wooden drawbridge. Atop glistened a golden indenture made up of three triangles connected by their apexes to form a giant triangle.

At once, the drawbridge began to open. It lowered until it completed its opening, sending a clamorous CLANG into the air.

There he stood, at the brink of it all, confused and bewildered, and unsure of his reason for being there.

Out from the depths of the walls of stone and rock came a pale horse embroidered in royal cloth and equipment, and upon it sat two riders: an tall, strong woman, grayed in the hair with age yet animated like a young warrior, and behind her sat a young girl, her arms wrapped around the woman warrior's waist. She was a young an innocent girl. A small child. Just like him.

The horse came at him at a rapid rate, closing in on his so fast that he barely had enough time to doge it without scraping a knee on the beast's hoof. Landing on his side, a weight on his back pulled him backwards to force him to lay up. What was we carrying on his back? It was large and heavily metallic, round, and convexed slightly. And heavy to boot.

For a brief moment, her eyes met his. She could see him, and wondered who he was as much as he wondered about her, and yet the warrior was oblivious to him as she nearly knocked him over.

Her eyes were blue, her hair was a bright blond. Just like his.

Questioned flooded his thoughts. He jumped to his feet (adjusting to the weight on his back) and shouted to her. Who was she? Where was he? Who was he? But she and her fellow rider ran off into the darkness of the night, rain shrouding their escape. From what? He figured they sought to race against the storm that was already upon them all.

Lo, he felt the hairs upon his neck cringe, and a cold air arrived from behind him. He turned around to face the drawbridge again, and there stood It. A dark horse, bestial in nature, and with a devil upon its back. He was a scary man. Nothing about him was good, but it could not be defined solely by his black armor, his inhumanly green-tinted skin, his ruby-red hair, his great nose, or his yellow eyes. Combined they made him a foreboding man, but about him hung a purplish aura that promised evil to follow with every thing the rider did.

Quivering in fear and from cold, the young boy stepped away. The rider grinned, and extended his hand, and lo! It stretched at the elbow, reaching towards him, flexing his bejeweled fingers to grasp him.

But, no, he realized it wasn't him that the hand was reaching for. No, the angle was too obtuse. Instead, it reached for what hovered over his shoulder, the thing he treasured most, the light in that guided him through the darkness, that navigated him towards safety.

At once, the light was gone in the rider's hand.

No!

He woke up in a sweat, sitting upright in his bed with a start, in the middle of the night and by himself. He shrieked but there no reply; only the natural elements of the forest spoke back: the crickets, the birds, the wind through the trees outside his window, the swaying of canopy overhead. And, of course, the night's silence.

He regained his breath eventually, but it seemed as if forever before he did. He wiped his brow with his elbow, and then took a deep breath and exhaled it peacefully. The nightmare was over.

He looked around his room. Near the opening was his make-shift desk, merely a small table with some drawers. Markers and stencils covered the entire thing, including a few notches made from a knife depicting dragons, horses and monsters.

Next to that, on the far side of the desk away from the door, was a board with paper on it. Just a 'to-do' paper of things he still did not get done.

His bed sat underneath the window across from the door, on the other side of the room. Next to the bed sat his box full of toys.

He was only twelve years old, yet he did not feel like it.

He looked at his shoulder. Nothing was wrong with it, after all it was a healthy shoulder. For a kid his age, it was a good shoulder. Among the other kids, he was told that he was the strongest of them all. That only made him feel worse about himself.

No, it wasn't that the shoulder was deformed that caused him to gaze upon it. It was the absence of a friend that saddened him greatly; the light that he craved the most: the light which he never had his entire life, which everyone else seemed to have had since they were made.

It made him mad. It made him lonely.

But, after twelve years, Link had told himself by now, meaning to comfort himself: that's life for me.