"Wake up, Link." The voice was loud, yet distant. It came from somewhere outside the crude metal walls in which Link was imprisoned. He swallowed the blood in his mouth and, painfully, turned his face toward the ceiling. The shadows of his oppressors were stirring in his peripherals. He felt panic rising inside him.

"Link." The voice was soft and sensitive, yet blown to garish proportions in the vacillating state of Link's perception. He felt the images fade, making way for a more earthly setting. He felt the panic ease with the brief emergence. Still, it was not enough. He now saw himself, his body thin, his hands in manacles on the wall, his knees scraped, his eyes glassy, his lips shining red. He saw himself grow thinner, more like an animal. This was not him; this was an apparition. An apparition of a demon, that's what it was.

Meanwhile, another ghost fought for his attention. It was barely visible. "Link," it said, somewhat impatiently. Which was real?

Link's oppressors were no longer of significance. Now it was only the demon that mattered. Now he was the one who put himself in shackles, his own slaver and torturer. "Link." The voice was a mere distraction. He kept his focus on the demon. He did not pity it. He found a scythe-like sword in his lithe, tan hand. A hand that would not usually be his. He saw himself again. He was female, now, with a waterfall of red hair tied back in a careless ponytail and angular facial features. He wore the sleek, black body armor of his oppressors.

His perspective was hers again. Out of foreign will, he cut off the arms of the demon with his scythe, freeing it from its bondage. Its mouth still agape and its eyes still glassy, it writhed away on crippled legs.

"Damn it, Link," the voice snapped. "Orientation's today. Remember, for new students?" Orientation. He decided to cut off the demon's head, so he did. He watched it roll away.

"Stop ignoring me, Link. I don't want to make a pattern of this."

"I'm awake," Link said, his eyes partially closed.

"Breakfast's ready." Footsteps receded from the room. Link took a whiff of the air. Pancakes.

Feeling irritable and still wrapped in the essence of his dream, Link dragged himself out of bed. He threw a few quick glances around the room. Bare. It had been since the move. The only things in the room were his bed, which was a necessity, his dresser full of clothes, which was also a necessity, and the upright piano, which was the greatest necessity among the three.

He lumbered into the living room, the smell of syrup little relief against the grating weariness of the rest of his senses. His brother, Daniel, who had so tersely awoken him, was already eating. "How're you doing?" he asked.

"Better," Link said. "But the dreams are still there."

"Another one? Last night? Do you think we'll have to report it?" Daniel asked seriously, his mouth full of food. Link shook his head. Daniel swallowed. "Your following will be happy to hear that you aren't as disturbed in your waking life as you are when you're asleep."

"Following?" Link asked.

"Yeah. The psychologists. They're no better than the paparazzi sometimes, like-" his last words were cut off as tears welled up in his eyes. He turned away and shoved more pancake into his mouth.

"It wasn't as vivid," Link said helpfully.

"Oh."

"And they weren't in it this time."

"Our parents?"

"Yeah."

A shadow loomed over the room. Daniel tried to blink off his tears. Link sat in his chair at the breakfast table slowly, as if it might break. He began to fiddle with his food, looking to meet his brother's eyes and set the moment straight. Daniel glanced up quickly, his blue eyes meeting with Link's for a split second before turning back to the pancakes. Link, hesitantly, began to eat.

The table was silent. Link examined the glint of the morning sunlight on his fork, which was slightly tainted with syrup. "Pastor Rauru asked me to write another song for the choir," Daniel said. Link half-smiled, half-grimaced at the obvious change of subject.

"What about?" Link asked.

"A song of lamentation," he answered. "For Lent."

Link made a face. "Lent was always in the winter on Hyrule, after school started."

"Yeah, well it all gets mixed up, not having a consistent year. On Earth, apparently Lent happens in the spring."

"Except nobody really perceives the church seasons, or seasons of any kind, as being mixed up."

Daniel gave an inquisitive grunt.

"Because planets mostly keep to themselves." Link shrugged. "You know, it's probably rare that anyone sees even two different planets for themselves within a lifetime. Does that make me lucky?"

Daniel's grunt was affirmative, this time. He took a swig of orange juice, but as he did he furrowed his brow and lifted a finger. "Actually," he started, "it's not uncommon for businessmen and politicians, and...well, I guess you have a point. Most of the people to go between planets are at least moderately famous on their own world."

Link, who had now made up his mind to eat his pancakes instead of fiddling with them, suddenly seemed to realize that this was the day of school orientation. His gut leaped with excitement, though he instantly felt guilty for being so happy about such a trivial matter. Perhaps this was why his problem persisted, because he would not let it out of his mind. How could he? This was a slippery slope, he concluded, that he had been falling down for a long time. He kept his mouth running to keep his mind from doing the same.

"I guess I've still got quite a bit of jetlag to make up for, don't I?" he joked, his voice heavy.

"Jetlag?" Daniel asked.

"Thus proving my point," Link mused. "Societal jetlag as well as temporal jetlag. I guess the concept has become obsolete with sonic planes booming back and forth all over Skyloft."

Daniel chuckled, but not with much gusto. "I let you talk for more than a few seconds and you start sounding like a science teacher, or maybe an English teacher. Speaking of teachers...You almost done?"

"Yeah," Link said, stuffing the last morsels of pancake into his mouth and getting up to proceed with the rest of his morning ritual.