A lone goddess stood on a cliff that overlooked the whole forest, her eyes narrowed at the disgusting shape of the monster that towered over ancient trees and swallowed the horizon. Her sword dripped with black blood, currents of bright blue electricity coursed through the blade. Despite the rage and anger she should lash out against this defiled creature, a smile crept upon her blood-stained lips. Her eyes rose to the sky, along with her sword. A howling wind blew as she did, a scream cut through the night. A vortex of dark clouds spilled from the tip of the weapon, rising to the red moon. Thunder roared and clashed and lightning danced. The earth split and cracked, rocks jutted out, fissures as wide as oceans opened up. Out of the wounds of the ground came darkness, corruption, death.
And out came evil.
A mass of destruction and filth twisted and writhed its way into the sky, dark clouds silhouetting its terrifying form, the true source of evil. So many horrifying beings were amassed into this one creature, its cries and howls pierced the night. Bleached skeletons and flesh dripped from it, plunging to the earth like fallen stars. Jagged teeth gnashed and forked tongues craved for the taste of fresh blood, the haunting eyes of the monsters painted in a array of hunger; black with ravishment, yellow with glutton, and beaming crimson reflecting an appetite for death.
"My reign has come," the goddess sneered. Her voice was deep and gravely, raw from screaming. But a new accent was laid underneath it; the voice of a monster.
A single tear raced down to her jaw, her eyes wide with a strange emotion. "May the Goddesses watch over us."
The Sands of Time
Chapter One: The Wind From the West
"The sands of time are sinking, the dawn of Heaven breaks;
The summer morn I've sighed for—the fair, sweet morn awakes:
Dark, dark hath been the midnight, but dayspring is at hand,
And glory, glory dwelleth in Immanuel's land."
The wind tore relentlessly, the smell of dust and hot earth filling up my nose. Sand blurred my vision, tears that well in them trying to wash away the granules, the sound of the tempest echoing in my skull. My arms fought to cover my face from the onslaught of dry wind that carries swells of tiny shards of rock, which, despite my efforts, cut into my skin and ravaged my flesh with lacerations. Every inch of my skin burned from the arid atmosphere I traveled through, my mouth parched and tongue stale as old bread. My cloak did little to stop the pounds of dust that caught in the folds of my clothes, weighing me down, sinking me lower and lower into the seas of sand.
I knew I would never make it to my destination, out of the heart of the desert, and the water that filmed my eyes now came from my desperation and broken hope. They flooded down my face, but would never sink into the fabric of my cloak. The wind blew them away, the torrents of wind that harassed me not even allowing me to drown in my own tears.
I wondered how I got here, lost in the desolate dunes, searching for a way out. What led me here in the first place? Have I always been here, in a way? Always lost, burdened with weight of determination, never given the freedom to let my tears shine on my face? Who was I before this? What did I stand for? What purpose did I live for?
My legs stalled, my knees buckled, and I was thrown into the sinking sand. I did not fight it, I let myself be enveloped into its grasp. The hot sand poured into my nose, drained into my mouth, soaked away the tears from my eyes; soft as a dove's feather gliding over my skin.
For once, comfort was given to me, in the last moments of my life. I tried to conjure up images of loving smiles, of soft touches, of a delicate word. But none came. I'm left to die with a hollow feeling burrowing deeper into my chest, a parasite that gnawed closer and closer to my heart.
As the sun began to disappear from my half-lidded eyes, I reached up, let my white hands bask in its brilliance. My translucent skin shone red from the blood that pulsed in my veins, and the sweet yellow light of the orb burned past the tormenting wind of the desert, offering me one bit of contentment before I was swallowed whole. I reached, I stretched as far as I could further up, grasping and wishing for one moment more to live in the sun.
I surged deeper into the dunes, thrown into the familiar sensation of everlasting darkness.
Shadows and sand... for once, they coexist.
My reality was not much different from my dream.
It was hot, I thirsted for water, my eyes blinked away the liquid that cascaded over my eyes, spilled down my cheeks and soaked into the front of tunic. Humid air clogged my lungs, made it difficult to breathe, but I managed to keep it steady. The sun beat down upon me; it showed no remorse.
But the visions from my sleep and reality were set apart by a grand thing: I had a fighting chance here. I controlled what happened by my actions, my words, my bravery and courage. I was a warrior, and though still young, I knew what my duty was. I would not give up like my unconscious self did. I fight here. I live.
My hands wrapped tightly around the hilt of my weapon, a broadsword, and my knuckles whitened. Aged bruises mingled with fresh ones; blue swirled with yellow, green speckled purple. My whole body was covered with them, scars and welts as well.
The cotton shirt underneath my tunic was drenched with sweat, perspiration dripped from my hairline and matted the dark hair at my temples. Mud stained my tunic, hot and fresh blood blotching it as well. The fresh blood came from the split in my bottom lip, the crimson liquid trickling down my chin and to the front of the tunic. I ignored the sting of the wound.
Instead, I paid close, precise attention to my enemy who was stone-still in front of me, it narrowed eyes reflecting back the same concentration. They stood tall and undeterred by my earlier banters and hits, no sign of them being remotely exhausted. Their fierce mask held the expression that can only be read as Oh? Ready to give up?, but I refrained from answering.
I tilted my head, mocking. "Make your move."
As soon as the words left my mouth, their form disappeared, a blur of grey. I almost laughed at their feeble attempt to fool me, but I knew better. A warrior does not laugh in the face of possible victory, especially when the chance of defeat lingered.
I did as everyone does all of their life: I see and I heard. But also did as I have been taught to do: I observed and I listened.
Cicadas sung in the trees, butterfly wings cut the air, caterpillars munched on the lush leaves the trees bear, field mice scurried in the shade. I forced my ears to listen beyond that, where I could hear outside of the arena. I heard the reapers in the field harvest wheat, the swish of their blades as they sliced through the stalks. I heard the neighing of horses, the gentle yelp of playing pups. Winds rustled the shadowed ivy that clung to the white wall.
This is where I should concentrate. The shadows.
My legs failed to remain still, my appendages shook, arms quaking from the weight of the sword in my grasp. I kept everything together, knowing the end of this battle is nearing. Closing my eyes, I pressed my ears to hear what skimmed the shadows of the stone wall, how its towering height gave tall banks of shade. At first, there was nothing. Grass snakes slid over dewy plants, frogs croaked in the puddles that formed from the rain the night before. There was no sound of human footsteps, of breathing, of anything to give my rival's position away. I puzzled over this, but tugged at my integrity. Just a bit longer, and they would reveal themselves.
I waited just ten seconds more before the light noise of a twig snapping coursed over my ears.
Time to end this.
Sprinting toward the source of the sound, which came from my left, I brandished my sword and see their shadowed form in the darkness the wall gave, their eyes cutting through the grey. They saw me, and darted forward, meaning to meet me. I obliged, swinging my sword even with their throat, only catching the edge of their blade.
Now, it was a battle of strength. I commanded my muscles to push back the opposing force, trying to create an opening to win this fight. A low hiss escaped the pallid mouth of my challenger, specks of spit hitting my face. I dared not flinch.
I was the one to pull back, surprising my enemy, sending them back a few feet. I gave a smirk at the opportunity. I ran as fast as I could with sore legs, and swung my sword again, releasing a cry as I do. They dodged, I landed on the ground in a cloud of dust. They approached before I could regain my footing. I rolled to the right quickly before they attempt another stab at me. The blade of their sword stuck in the damp earth. My heart pounded furiously in my chest.
As they tried to retrieve their sword from its place in the earth, I stood, the sun almost blinding.
It's over.
I walked the few feet that lay between us, my aching bones screaming for rest. Gripping my sword's hilt tight and raising it, I placed it over the wrists of my enemy who strained to pull the blade of the weapon from the dirt.
When my opponent's eyes gazed into mine with clear signs of defeat, I allowed my sigh release. "Game over," I said smoothly, indicating to the position of my blade over the vulnerable part of their hands.
Those dark eyes released their steely gaze and their pale brow relaxed. "So it seems."
A silent moment passed before I offered a hand to my opponent, my Aunt Impa, and she gripped it tight, hoisting herself up, an audible groan coming from her creaking limbs. She straightened up and gave a warm smile. It was odd for me to see her with this kind of smile; I was so used to her with a battle-ready expression, especially when we were training.
She reached forward and cupped my chin with her clammy palm, her deep exhales blew across my face as she examined my wounded lip. She gave an apologetic look, but did not voice her pardons.
"You did well today. Go clean yourself up."
I nodded and bowed, a gesture I did every day after we finished with our training. She waved me away, and I dashed off, towards our house.
The house was small and tight, but a home nonetheless. It laid close to the stone-walled arena that I trained in with Aunt Impa, perched atop of a grassy knoll. The view was impeccable, the fields filled with wheat, swaying in the passing breeze, dense forests lying on either side of the view.
But the best of part of looking at it all: Hyrule Castle.
It lied in the west, at least five miles away, glimmering like a shined opal, scarlet flags stark against the white. I could see the oak drawbridge from here, the sparkling waters in the moat. The windows were stained bright of princely violet and rich green, demanding your attention and painted scenes of kings being crowned, of princesses riding snowy horses.
I've only been in its halls once; as an infant. I was only a week old, a babe swaddled in rags, starving and mewling in Aunt Impa's arms. I wished to recall the memories, to relish a fragment of pristine rugs and silk robes. It must be beautiful in there.
I snapped back to reality then, my mouth pressing into a thin line. Pausing only a moment, I gazed out into Hyrule Castle's fields, full of servants harvesting grain. They sang as they worked, happy as they labor for their king. I've met very few of them, the ones that sent provisions to the house and cared not to step a foot in.
Although we all faithfully fulfill the tasks given to us to please our King, they treat us as you would criminals. No better than dogs.
I was part of a dwindling race; the Sheikah. We were known as the Shadow Clan, remarked for our skills as warriors, as guardians of very ancient knowledge and magic. That's what sets us apart. They fear us for our power and our past. We were nothing to them, nothing but a looming shadow. But that is why I marveled at the kindness of Hyrule's King. He bade us to come into his halls when we had nothing left, to give us food and a home if we pledged fealty to him, to protect him with every ounce of our power. I've seen him a handful of times, each time looking more and more kindly and gracious. He was too be married soon, to a lady from a far-away place.
I turned from the scene, ridding my mind of trifle court gossip. My King may do whatever he deems fit. It does not concern me. All that matters is that I uphold my oath to him. I must see him safe.
I strided up to the wooden door on the cottage, pulling the latch open and stepping inside the cool room.
The low-ceiling room I entered was the kitchen, the fireplace that greeted me devoid of flame, though I am sure it would be lit tonight, the whispers of frost coming from the servants. I leaned my practice sword against the table and filled a mug with water from the pitcher, a single draught leading me to refill it. After my fourth glass, I dash up the stairs to my room.
I pulled off my tunic and undershirt, leaving only the linen wrappings that bound my small chest. It felt good to be free of the dirty clothes heavy with dirt, mud, and sweat. I walked over to my dresser and dipped a clean rag into the washbowl resting there. I spent a few minutes washing my dirty, bloody face, the water in the porcelain basin turning murky brown. Afterwards, I tugged on a fresh tunic over my bruised body.
I knew I couldn't sit idly in my room without my thoughts returning to the world outside, full of light and sunshine. I left my quarters for downstairs, retrieved a hunk of rye bread from the kitchen and retreated outside.
The sun still broiled in the sky, but the shadows grew longer with the reign of night approaching swiftly. The fields shone gold, the dark figures of the servants that tread the rows laden with bundles of wheat. Carts full of the bundles were pulled by oxen, led by men and women and chased by children. I watched as all the servants formed an orderly line down the main road, dust flying up from their weary steps. All of them were gone by the time the sun disappeared behind me.
I sat on the lone stool outside of the doorway, and picked at my bread and reflected quietly.
I had spent sixteen years of my life here, I realize, and have never went beyond the walls of Castle Town. But my Father and my Aunt, however,leave frequently to carry out tasks given by the King. I've stayed here with either Aunt Impa or my Father, Troezen, while the other was gone. They were usually gone for weeks on end, sometimes months. For example, my Father has been away for four and a half weeks, off to the bidding of the King. He told me a fragment of what his mission entailed; he was hunting down a thief that has caused trouble for many years, but remained just a nuisance. That is, until a month ago, he murdered a whole caravan with his band of followers in the Southern Field. The King quickly sent my Father after him upon hearing the news.
I never knew when they would return, but I took comfort in the thought that my Father and my Aunt were aiding the King in his quest to make Hyrule a safe and guarded land.
The crickets chirped and the soft chattering of birds drifted over my ears and I listened. Suddenly, the sounds of pipe-playing hits my ears, and my eyes comb over the golden fields that stretch before me. At the bottom of the hill, lying in a heap of hay, is a boy just a bit younger than me with a pipe pressing his lips, his quick, nimble hands moving it and creating sharp but mellifluous notes. I smile at the quaint sound.
I was only knowledgeable in playing the harp, specifically the one my Father kept in the sitting room of our house. It was a mystical thing, hearing the golden cords being plucked. There was a something in it that resonated so deeply into me.
Leaning against the stone wall of the house, I basked in the light of evening.
The roar of horse hooves pounding the earth roused me from my peace.
A lone rider approached the cottage, ascending the hill at lightening speed. The boy at the bottom turned to see, surprised as well. I squinted my eyes against the glare of the sun to get a better look at the approaching visitor. All I could make out was the shimmer of the dark hide of a massive steed.
It was when the rider rode up yards away from me, the rider quickly dismounting, that I knew who it is.
"Father!" I shouted, rising from the stool and discarding what I had left of the bread. I ran to him, his leather-bound arms extending for my slim body to fit into.
We connected hard, my arms pulling him to me, my Father, home at last, and I couldn't stop the furious pacing of my heart. I never knew when I would see him or Aunt Impa again when they leave. This is the price of protecting the Royal Family.
"Intra," I heard him say, though it sounded urgent rather intended to be a greeting.
I pulled back and examined his pale face; his maroon irises, serious, knitted eyebrows, long, sweeping white hair, hawk-like nose, thin lips with the silver scar running down the left corner of it, and knife-sharp cheekbones. He was handsome, as usual. Too bad he didn't pass the good looks onto me. My sights found his armored torso, dark rust-colored blood staining it.
I gazed back up to see the strain in his eyes, the furrow in his brow. I gripped his shoulders in nervousness. "What is wrong?"
He took a long moment, his eyes flickering behind me. I heard footsteps behind us. I knew they were Aunt Impa's. "The King has requested Intra and I's presence," Father said to her. "We must go quickly. The messengers deemed it urgent."
"Then go," Aunt Impa said upon ushering us back to Father's horse, Realm. My Father mounted first, offering a hand to aid me to climb on. I took it and stuffed my booted foot in the stirrup, swinging my leg over the saddle. I weaved my arms around his middle.
Aunt Impa was not given a chance to say goodbye before my Father shouted the command for Realm to go, the mare storming off down the knoll. The wind tore by us, and it pricked at my eyes. I dared not close them. The castle drew closer, and my heart will not calm.
The journey did not take long. Realm was young with powerful legs, it was only mere minutes before her iron-shod hooves struck the cobblestones of the castle's stalls. The air was thick with the smell of fresh hay; I sneezed a few times. Father's feet hit the ground before we truly stopped, and his strong hands were on my waist, helping me off as stable hands rushed forward to take Realm.
Father led the way, and I wondered how many times he has walked this path before. He ushered me into a simple doorway that was met by spiraling stairs. Quickly ascending, we breezed down hallways and passed many doors, and I silently pondered where which one led. Libraries? Kitchens? Dungeons?
After what seemed like forever, Father led me into a huge room, a central of all paths through the castle it seemed. Four flights of stairs led in different directions, but resulted in only two, seeing as two cases sloped up and met. In the center of the hall, a fountain sats, bubbling water echoing in the vast room, into the rafters that I could not see. The floor was white marble, black veins striking through it. Gold leafing covered the patterns of vines on the wood railings of the stairs, blood-red rugs gracing the paths.
I marveled at it all.
I heard their whispers before I see them. Two women turned the corner in front of us, one tall and thin, the other squat and round.
"Oh... goodness. How improper! A lady wearing trousers!", the thin one shrieked as quietly as she cound.
"Ghastly!", the round one returned.
My back straightened and my fists knotted up. This was not the first time I had heard of how 'heinous' and 'disgraceful' I was for what I wore. I am a warrior, not a snot-nosed lady, I wished to say, but knowing that Father would likely rip my tongue off for doing so, even if he heard them too. He could do nothing to make them understand.
But I was true. My hair was long and unfashionable, it was layered, course, dull, and wild with my natural waves. I wore men's clothing, but I was not about to submit to vanity over strength. I was not raised that way.
I smiled, tried to seem pleasant, when the women drew closer. They looked cautious, as if we were going to bite or attack. I thought that was wise of them.
"Ah, Troezen of the Sheikah. We've been waiting for you," the thin one greeted, then indicated to me with her pale and dainty hand. She was blonde-headed and wore a stately blue gown, pearls dotting the hem and collar. "This must be your daughter. How lovely she is, Master Troezen. Intra, isn't it? A beautiful name for one so beautiful," she said through her tightly-drawn smile.
If by beautiful you mean odd... yes, I suppose you are correct.
"Yes, it is Intra, m'lady. Thank you for your gracious words," I said as sincerely as I could, placing my hand over my heart, trying to act humbled.
Both women seem shocked but quickly recover. The other, a dark-haired lady with cheeks colored like roses and a dress to match, a lace fan fluttering in her hands, stumbled over her next words. "The King requested an audience with you, did he not?"
My Father took a step forward, seeming eager. "Indeed, he did. It is undoubtedly important. Will you lead?"
Again, their expressions looked stunned. The thin blonde woman knitted her brow, her eyes glancing to me. "Oh, sir! You must be abashed if you would believe the King would take up audience with a lady dressed as herself! And you, Master Sheikah, are covered in blood! Both of you are ill-outfitted to stand in his courts!"
The last word hung in the air like a sword over an exposed neck, and I felt it rushing down as my face grew warm with anger, and I willed myself to pry my mouth open to reply. My pride was hurt, I could not let this slide.
Father sensed I was about to make a fool of myself and held up a hand to quiet me. I slammed my jaw shut before I say something I won't regret, but ultimately feel ashamed for by bruising Father's reputation.
Deathly silence fell over the four of us as Father turned his attention back to the women, the thin blonde woman's face flushed from her outburst.
"M'lady, I am in no position to include myself in court fashion or pleasantries. If you wish for us to powder our noses, I suggest it is not when I have come back from battling thieves and have just slain the master behind the kidnappings that have plagued Hyrule for a half a decade. I suggest that you take up your sword and shield to protect my life of luxury. I suggest you lead us to the King presently before you insult my loyalty and blood any further," Father said in a low voice, the same tone he used when I was five and refused to train one day. I shivered.
The woman paled, as does the dark-haired woman as she fanned her face faster. I hoped she would faint.
Finally, after a tense moment, the tall blonde woman gathered her skirts into flawless cream-tinted hands and turned. "Very well."
I released my pent-up breath and unclenched my tense fists.
We were led up a massive flight of stairs, the carpet underneath our feet sinking in a bit, it was so plush. On the top of the flight, a grand arch composed of marble and jade curved the frame of the doorway that led into the next room. My eyes lingered on the opulent arch. Scenes that depicted the creation of Hyrule were carved into it; stone images of Din, Nayru, and Farore danced on the surface, creatures they had molded from their souls circling them, rays of light cascading from them. I awed at the craftsmanship.
Despite wanting to admire the worksmanship of the arch further, I directed my eyes onto an even more spectacular sight.
Before me, swimming in the golden sunlight of evening that poured from the window high above, laid the throne of the King of Hyrule, His Majesty posed regally; hands curved the ends of the armrest, dark green robes pooled at his feet. A crown of gold graced his head, stones the color of red and sky blue embedding the ring of yellow. His hair was shoulder-length and pale brown, halcyon streaking through it. A gentle yet wary smile was etched onto his welcoming face.
We neared the end of the throne, and the women stepped aside, standing at the end of the row of people that sheathed the path to the throne. I tried not to pay any attention to the eyes that were planted on us, but it was difficult. I managed to keep my sights ahead as I felt their stares bear into my skin. These were the lords and ladies that stayed in Hyrule Castle as advisers and ran lesser matters. I knew none of their names. I did not care.
Father paused feet away from the throne of Hyrule. He took a knee. I followed suit, not knowing what to do. I heard snickers behind me and my ears grew in warmth.
The King silently rose his hand, rings of silver and white gold outfitting his slim fingers. The laughter ceased. His keen sapphire blue eyes turned back to our kneeling forms. I felt incredibly small.
"Troezen, it must have been in the in the Goddesses' good will that you would return home safe to your daughter and sister-in-law. I certainly pray to them for more successful missions. So, tell me..." The King leaned forward from his stately throne, and I could make out the faint wrinkles that have appeared from excessive smiling and laughing. "...how loud did the all mighty Thirin the Larcenist scream when you appeared? Did he cry for his mother? Did he beg Nayru to show compassion for his soul? Tell me all, Master Sheikah, of his demise."
My Father opened his mouth to speak, an unsure tone coursing the words. "Your Grace, I feel that I am here to discuss something of another matter. Perhaps you can explain to me why you bid me bring my daughter?"
After a tense silent moment, The King reclined back, his lips puckered. "Your words are always seemingly... untowardly harsh, Troezen. But I suppose the tales can wait for now," he said, almost in a grumble. "I've called you here to give you and your daughter a great task. You remember my betrothed, yes?"
Father nodded quickly, keeping his maroon eyes on the King. "Yes."
The King stood, and began pacing the length of the pedestal that held his throne. The fabric of his emerald robes shone with lushness as he walked. "We are to be wed two months from now, on the day we celebrate the finalization of the harvest," The King announced, his booming voice a tone you wouldn't expect from a timid-looking man. He soundedproud. Perhaps a bit too proud. "She hails from a neighboring kingdom, as you know. I sent her and her wedding party the finest of ships, and I've received word that she will be arriving four days from now, entering Hyrule from the banks of Lake Hylia."
The King stopped his pacing then, his sharp blue eyes solid on Father and I's faces. "Troezen, you know of the threats that have been made on my well-being. I know this is because of my being King of the Great Hyrule. I take charge and will face these terrors happily for the sake of my kingdom. But this past month alone..." He gritted his teeth together, the corner of his lips curling in a sneer. "Thirty-seven written and oral claims to take my life have been reported. One attempted. But now... now they have turned to my betrothed. This morning I have received news of a band of criminals planning to kidnap the expecting Queen and hold ransom on her."
I didn't let out my gasp, but my eyes widened. This was insane. Who would dare to do such a thing?
The King continued, "I was hoping that in disposing Thirin, the dastardly mind behind the disappearance of a large amount of valuables and multiple kidnappings, I would drive home the message that I... am one you do not trifle with."
His last words hissed through his white teeth, his venomous voice causing tingles to claw up my spine. It was terrifying to see this King this way: menacing and cold. I was familiar with the sight of the untouchable man riding a stately white horse through Castle Town, brilliant robes catching the sunlight, crown glimmering. He would look proud, but demure, making him look all the more regal. But now he stood with a rigid pose, blood-depraved white fingers clenched into fists. As fierce as a mad dog.
His eyes flitted to mine. Azure on blood-red. I'm sure he could see the fear in them. He visibly relaxed, though his countenance was still arrayed with anger and malice.
"But it seems my point has not been clear. I have called you forth to give you your new assignment: you are to leave Hyrule Castle, travel to Lake Hylia, where you will meet the future Queen of Hyrule. You are to protect her with your life, value her's as my own. You are to depart upon tomorrow's dawning and arrive back here ten days from now. This is my will, Troezen, and I expect you to follow it so," The King stated and arched back into his chair. "And I bid you to bring your daughter as well. If her Aunt tells true, your daughter has been very diligent in her training and studies. I trust she has been counciled by the two of you well enough to hold your own against a few ruffians."
An unexpected smile crossed my face. My first mission! I would finally go beyond Castle Town's walls and see all of Hyrule, meet new people, fight monsters, feel freedom! This was much more than I could have hoped from my King. He thought I was truly ready to defend his country.
I glanced to find the furrow in Father's pale brow that gave me an inclination that he disagreed with the King's wishes, and that inflamed a pain in my gut. He didn't think I was ready. My eyes flickered back to His Majesty. Although Father may have thought I was not prepared, he was not convinced enough to speak against the man he has sworn fealty to. I sighed in relief.
"My Lord, if I may express myself freely," Father said so quietly, it was almost a whisper.
My breathing hitched. There went my chance.
The King gave a haughty laugh. It echoed throughout the room and further still. My eyes widened in curiosity and surprise. "Troezen, I know exactly what you wish to say. But there is nothing to discuss, my friend!", he said in-between chuckles. He calmed himself before continuing. "Instead of my interests ruling the details of this mission, I give full rule of who joins the welcome party to you. You may decide if your daughter joins or not."
My heart sunk at his words and I fought back angry tears. At this pace, I'll never see Hyrule. Maybe it's for the best, I thought.
"But... Another thing, Troezen. Ask your daughter what she believes is true. I know you wish for her safety, but you must prepare her to enter my service, but the best way to do so is to take her feelings into account. I truly conceive this mission is the one that will give many more lessons than any history recount or play-fight will provide," The King glanced my way, a wide smile on his lips. "I digress, Master Sheikah. If you do not see her fit enough to travel with you, leave her here as you have many times before."
My Father said not a word and was staring ahead blankly when I looked up at him. My gut wrenched and my nerves were afire.
"As you bid, I will do," my Father said seamlessly, standing, bowing and fuming off before I could comprehend his departure myself.
I bowed to the King, my hands locked onto the hem of my tunic. "Thank you, Your Grace."
He grinned and waved a slim hand towards the exit, the thick gold ropes that hung from his neck clinking. He pardoned me.
I left the room, trailing behind Father, and I heard the whispers of stewards and lords and ladies that bounced between the four marble walls of the throne room, but I did not listen. All of their pointless words fell onto deaf ears.
The whole way back to the stables outside, the air between Father and I unstirred as a grave. My hands that were drawn up into fists shake from anxiousness, my bottom lip began oozing blood from my unconscious chewing.
While I hoped that he would allow me accompany him on his mission, I do so in hopes that he believes I'm capable of it, not because his King bade him to. My mind struggled between wanting to go in the name of proving my courage, or staying behind to display my wisdom in putting the mission in danger.
The ride back to the house was also quiet, save the howls of hounds in the woods and the pounding of Realm's hooves. When we arrived home, I dismounted the massive steed with expectations of Father stopping me and telling me his decision, but he didnot. He marched into the house without a word.
I refrained from following him inside, and instead turned from the house and faced east, the shroud of black that approached dominating the remaining rays of the setting sun. I loved the night. Perhaps because I was a part of the Shadow Clan and we were born into darkness... or maybe because you could only see the glimmering stars during the night, in a world of velvet-black. A light in the dark.
As I sighed, the air I exhaled came out a plume of white mist. I hadn't noticed how cold it had gotten, nor how late it had become.
I shivered as an icy wind cutted across the field and up the knoll, the remaining wheat bowing to it. The wind reminded me of my dream. Although cold instead of arid and devoid of sand, it held the same dreadful and frightening omen: change was coming. Perhaps it wasn't death that waited for me at the end of this path, but I suddenly feared it was something far more greater. Terrifying. Blood-chilling. And nothing could prepare me for it.
I gave another shiver and clamped my jaw down to keep my teeth from clattering. I gripped the end of tunic, grappled at the loose threads and pulled aimlessly; lost and scared like a pup. I had no right to stay here unless I held my own. I couldn't depend on my Aunt and Father anymore. It was shameful, embarrassing.
My Father should trust me to come with him, I spat internally.
...But what if he was right in my jeopardizing the mission?
No. He doesn't know.
But the King was right. All the training I had received from my Father and my Aunt had done little to prepare me for the outside world. I should ask Father— no, plead him— to let me come. A storm was drifting in, and it would not wait for idle girls and green warriors. It would rip the sapling from the earth and tear the wings from the dove; it would spray the ashes of destruction over the land and the moan of the dead will echo throughout all of Hyrule.
It was night now, and the dawn was long away. The gust was fiercer; it howled like a wounded wolfos. A sliver of white graced the sky, little light shed on my shivering form. I glanced behind me and saw smoke rising from the brick chimney and into the sky, whisked off by the ferocious wind. My bones rattled and my eyes blinked away tears.
This wind came from the west, I thought, and in the same heartbeat, my soul rung out: Though I try to repress it, I know I will die in the sinking sands of time... unless I fight.