Always, the winds bring death.

By day a blistering inferno, By night a frozen wasteland. The storm raged on eternal in the wastes, surging out to ravage those who dwelled in the sands. They said the Sand Goddess herself called the storm into being to safeguard her temple, hiding it from all but her children the Gerudo. They revered her, thanked her for every day they drew breath, prayed for shelter from the storm. Even in the very heart of their fortress the wind shrieked and howled, a demon loosed.

Ganon stood before her temple now. The pilgrimage was a right of passage, to make it through the shifting sands and blinding winds marking his coming of age. Blindfolded and alone, he'd instead let his power flow forth, bringing true sight. With it he could see the gathered spirits of his tribe, here to witness his ascension. He walked among them, listened to them whisper as they recognized one of their kin. The greatest of them rattled its chains, cackling as it beckoned, holding it's lantern high and leading him through the tempest.

A hundred feet The Sand Goddess towered, looking over the desert with a passive serenity. His fist clenched at her benign repose. Her people fought to live through each day, and here she sat, useless. He roared at her then, demanded to know what to do. How to help his people. To soothe the winds that stalked them, always. To save his people from this harsh existence. The sun beat down into the canyon as he waited, but still she stared into the distance, the stone offering no answer. Something hardened in his chest, the power there burning hotter. A steely resolve rose, smoothing his face to match hers. She was nothing. They were not her people, the Gerudo were never hers. They were his.

A hundred years his people had waited for the promised male child. A hundred years they had eked out a miserable existence, praying for their king to arrive. Ganondorf came into the world in the dead of night under the sign of Din, her stars burning bright in the sky. His first breath signaled his mothers last, his first moments in this world beginning with her end. Any born under such signs would bear a mark, in Ganon it was a darkness. He laughed and played with his sisters like any other child did, but always a malevolent power burned in his chest. He was given to the Twin Rova, who honed that power until it blazed inside of him, burning brighter than any they'd ever seen.

He vowed to use it now. He would be the one to change his people's fate. Nabooru, of course, argued against any drastic measures. He knew now why the serene expression of the Sand Goddess had seemed so familiar. He'd seen it every day on the face of his second in command. The tribes elders claimed she had an old soul, and even Ganon had to admit that while she had shown no talent for magic, she had an otherness about her, an ancient light that glowed within, so different to the darkness within his own soul. Always she counseled patience, always she opted for the peaceful path. But there could be no more peace. Not while his people barely scraped by.

When they were growing up, he remembered the constant doting of the tribeswomen, their celebration in his very existence. Everything he did was praised, their love fierce and absolute, lavish with their affection. It was the same for all Gerudo children. The desert claimed many young lives, those who survived were cherished above all else. But as he grew, so did the distance maintained by the others. Their love turned slowly to respect and admiration, deference. Any closeness they'd had was slowly eaten away as the weight of his title settled over his shoulders, growing heavier with every passing year.

Nabooru still strode among them as a sister, basking in the casual familiarity denied him. He learned to swallow his jealousy, adding it to the fuel of the flame burning inside. He gathered the most able of the others to him, gritting his teeth that Nabooru was always ahead of the rest. For all her prowess, she was weak. Too long had she wasted her mercy on their prey. With her skills, she could have devastated her targets. Instead, she was like a ghost on the sands, a lone wolf in the night; in and out with no one the wiser. She stole so little that more often than not they didn't even realise they'd been robbed.

He vowed, then and there, that his raids would be different. When he descended on the Hylians, all would know his name.