He went to bed the night before Preparations began like he had every night for the past five years. He marveled at that as he lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling while she wrapped her thin arms around his stomach, resting her forehead on his back. She'd been so full of energy Mother had threatened to tie her to the bed earlier, something that seemed impossible with her so exhausted she hadn't even put her nightclothes on.
She was so excited for the Rite it unnerved him, but he supposed she was just trying to make up for his own lack of excitement. That was a lie he let her believe, though. His stomach tightened slightly at the thought of what was about to occur in the morning, mere hours away.
He would choose a name.
That was what was worrying him, what had him up in the darkest hours of the night while she slept like the dead beside him. He had read in a book a very long time ago a name that had struck a chord within him, a note of familiarity that had shocked him then and still did. He was, quite honestly, terrified someone else would pick the name before he got to choose it from the Book of Names.
The door creaked open and he squeezed his eyes shut, forcing his breathing to slow and deepen. He felt a tendril of Mother's magic brush against the ball of un-Rited magic in his stomach, and he heard her step carefully across worn floorboards. He heard a chair quietly being pulled out from a corner, and then a warm hand on his forehead. He let out a breath and looked up at her, giving up the pretense of sleep.
"What's wrong, darling?" Mother asked softly, warm green eyes filled with concern. He frowned, studying her. She still looked as he remembered, long honey-brown hair tied into a loose bun, pale skin carrying few traces of aging. She was beautiful as she had always been, and for a second he scowled. He didn't know why he had suddenly thought she'd change-he was the one going through the Rite, not her.
"Nothing, Mother." He sighed, wincing as thin arms tightened momentarily around his stomach.
"Are you nervous?" Her voice was quiet, but gentle as always, soothing him.
"A little." He mumbled, pressing his face into the mop of blonde hair beside him. Mother stroked his hair back quietly. He knew she expected him to tell her why he was agitated, but he wouldn't. He could take care of that himself-he'd no need to burden her with that.
"Rest, my darling. I'll stay here with you." She murmured. With the soothing, repetitive motion of her hand, he felt sleep rising up to take him before he was aware his eyes had closed.
He glanced at the line of children behind him, each child staring at him with wide, expectant eyes. He was one of the last to enter-he'd taken too long at the morning meal-and the spiders climbing around in his stomach were much more awake than they had been the night before. He let out a slow breath before pulling open the Keep's doors. He grunted-they were much heavier than he remembered-and slipped through the tiny opening. The doors slammed shut behind him with a bang and he flinched at the loud noise. It reminded him that this was not the Keep he was used to, not the place he had spent so many hours in. This was the Keeper's domain, and he had no right to think it his.
The room before him was lit with various candles, the large bookshelves that usually dominated the room pushed against the walls to make room for a table in the center. The Keeper sat at the table, two massive books set before her. Carefully, he made his way to the table.
"Pick up the book to the left, boy, and choose a name for yourself." The Keeper said, gesturing to a green-covered book. He studied it, then slowly looked up at her.
"Keeper, I already have a name picked." He said quietly, uneasy with the sudden spark in her eyes.
"Is that so? Where did you find it?"
He had no idea if it was in the Book of Names. That was why he dutifully trotted over to the wall of shelves and let his fingers skim the familiar shapes, finally drawing out the one that he had read all that time ago. He slid it carefully out of its place and glanced over its cover, grey leather that had not seen much use nor felt the touch of fingers save his own. He snapped out of his reverie and hurried over to her, carefully placing it upon the book she had gestured to earlier.
Delicately, the Keeper's trembling hands reached out and lifted it from its resting place, turning the book over a few times before setting it in her lap. She flipped through the pages idly, apparently impervious to his wide, anxious stare. She stopped on one page in particular, and ran a finger down the spine of the book as she glanced up at him, movements very slow and deliberate.
"Show me the name." There was a tone to her voice, cold and demanding, that shocked him into action. He did his best to ignore the thoughts in his head, second-guessing and suddenly highly self-conscious. What if the name didn't fit as he had thought? What if he was not allowed to choose this name, and she was simply doing this to teach him a lesson?
He handed the book back to her, a finger on the word that was causing him so much anxiety. Her eyes captured the inked letters and she took the offered book, absently batting his hand away.
"Ah…The Legends often hold more to them than just tales, boy. Do you know what this name means?" He shook his head, jaw clenching as his cheeks flushed. The excuse on his lips-he was five years old and even though he read a lot he was still a kid-died when she didn't react. For that he was grateful. Most of the other children and adults treated him strangely, and if they were to learn he'd not done something as obvious as to research the name, they'd never let him forget it.
"Interesting…Yes, boy, this name will do. Remember it well for the Rite, and say nothing of this to anyone." Her instructions were sharp as she closed the book with a curt snap, placing it onto her lap. He didn't react for a long moment, then his head snapped into a nod so quickly a flicker of pain blossomed in the back of his head. He winced and pressed his fingertips against the spot.
"Now go, boy. I've other children to check." She said, making a shooing motion with her hands. He clasped his hands behind his back and bowed to her quickly before running to the door, wasting absolutely no time in leaving.
With his fear gone, the only emotion he could find within him was relief.
"Brother!" He turned quickly, tensing on instinct. A bundle of pink and yellow slammed into him, sending him onto the rocky ground beneath him. Luck saw fit to keep rocks a safe distance away from his head this time, and he groaned at the impact.
"What are you doing?" He muttered, pushing her off of him. His sister, his twin, giggled as she sat down beside him. Her blonde hair was wild and tangled around her head, short like his and betraying the fact she'd been in the woods when she wasn't supposed to. They were not allowed to grow their hair out until after the Rite. Afterwards, hair was to be kept long-something she was probably looking forward to more than the Rite itself.
"Didja pick your name?" She gasped, blue eyes wide.
"Yes." He said, scrambling to his feet. She clapped. She'd gotten to the Keep ahead of him and had already chosen her name. He caught the question on his lips-what name did you pick?- Just before it slipped out. He was unused to her keeping anything from him, and despite the discomfort prickling within him, he kept quiet. It was necessary, and if she did tell him it could ruin the Rite.
Still, he was the one who kept secrets. She didn't.
"Mama said we've gotta go home because we have to get ready for the Rite tonight!" She declared as the two of them stood. She hooked her arm through his, and began dragging him towards home.
He could feel the stares prickling his back, and glued his eyes on the ground ahead of him while she rambled on.
The women in the village outnumbered the men probably around three to one, and he and his sister were the only pair of twins out of all of them, so alike the only difference between them was gender and personality-they shared blue eyes, pale skin, and blonde hair. He preferred to hole himself up in the Keep with books or participate in other solitary activities, and he spoke to nearly no one save Mother and his sister. He didn't know what they thought of him, but he did know they avoided him. His sister was the opposite. Open, cheery, always ready to speak to anyone no matter who they were. She drew people; he repelled people. It had always been that way.
"Are we going to get to eat tonight?" He inquired, stopping with his sister in front of Mother's house.
"Darling, do you honestly think I'd send you off to the Rite without food in your belly?" Despite himself, he cringed as Mother's head popped out of the window.
"No, Mother." He said, eyes falling to the ground. She laughed, a beautiful, chiming sound, and pushed the door open for them. His sister pulled him in and he followed.
It was the scent of home that hit him the hardest, however. After the Rite, he would live with his Cluster until he had mastered his magic, and then he would build his own home. He'd never lie in his bed again, or wake up with his sister, or hear Mother's laugh.
"Come now, darlings. You can't eat too much because of the Rite, but there's a bit of soup on the table for both of you. After you finish I expect both of you to bathe and dear, if you don't brush your hair I will." Mother said, staring pointedly at his sister. She received a cheeky smile, and the two of them hurried to the table.
"Thank you, Mother." He called over his shoulder as his sister pulled him on.
He hadn't ever dressed up like this. He had a clean pair of brown breeches and a grey tunic on and he'd cleaned his boots on Mother's orders. His sister wore a simple grey dress, plain and unadorned like his clothing. Her hand was very small in his as he stepped into line. He knew her gaze was locked on Mother's, and knew she was a thousand times as nervous as he was. The Priestess lifted her hands, and silence descended upon all gathered. He bit down on his lip, almost drawing blood.
"Send the first child forward." The Priestess's voice was calm, stern, gentle-yet her eyes were misting over until they remained a solid sapphire blue, no white or black coloring them whatsoever.
The Rite had begun.
The first child stepped forward until she stood beneath the Priestess's outstretched hands, and lifted her face up, closing her brown eyes. The Priestess's body convulsed once, and she cried out.
"Water!"
The child's eyes opened, brown irises now a deep, dark blue, and she walked a few steps away from the Priestess before stopping, forming the head of a new line. The next child stepped forward.
"Shadow!" Brown eyes became black.
"Earth!" Hazel eyes became brown.
"Music!" Blue eyes became violet.
"Fire!" Grey eyes became gold.
"Wind!" Green eyes became silver.
"Light!" Indigo eyes became colorless.
Each time the Priestess gasped out an element, trembling as the Sapphire Goddess herself entered her body, the child's eyes embodied their own element as their magic recognized and blossomed to it. The line steadily grew shorter and shorter, and his sister's fingers tightened around his as his turn grew ever closer. No fear, no anxiety touched him. He had confirmed his name, and it was his now. His magic didn't seem anywhere near as important as that.
The child ahead of him stepped into the other line, violet eyes wide with delight. He released his sister's hand. He came forward and stepped in front of the Priestess, closing his eyes and lifting his head up. She drew in a deep breath-
-and paused.
The silence grew, and it took all he had not to open his eyes. Something slid inside of him, carefully prodding and touching the ball of magic within him. The Priestess drew in a deep, shuddering breath, and it slid out of him. A tremor ran down his spine, relieved to be rid of the invasive thing.
"Blood." The Priestess's voice was much weaker now. His eyes opened, and he glanced at the pale, drawn face of the Priestess before walking over to the line. He could feel his magic rising up within him, unfurling its tendrils as it bonded fully to his element. He watched his sister step forward, a frown on his lips as he wondered what exactly went wrong with his own Rite.
"Light!" His sister's eyes opened, and she smiled at him as she approached. The irises were colorless now, a very strange sight on her. She squeezed his hand gently before taking her place beside him.
Three more children were left, and the Rite finished quickly. Fire, shadow, and music took their places in the line, and the Priestess collapsed as the Goddess left her. An adult hurried forward to lift the Priestess up and carry her out of the clearing.
The Keeper stepped forward, and he became intensely aware that she was staring directly at him as she spoke.
"Raise your hand in the air now. Then lower it. Touch the ground and whisper your name to the Goddesses. Feel your power bond fully to yourself, and receive your Manifestation." He glanced down at the ground and crouched there, lifting his hands up. He let out a slow breath, and pressed his palms against the dirt. His magic surged out of him, burying itself in the earth before slowly winding its way back towards him, and he whispered his name.
"Sheik."
His magic burst out of the ground, burning his blood and freezing his muscles. It was not an agonizing event-it was euphoric. He could hardly breathe, awed by the beauty of his own power. A sharp pain released him abruptly and he tried to jerk back-but something dug into his arms. He bit down on his lip to keep himself silent, glancing down.
He froze.
He'd expected a Manifestation, of course, but not one as dangerous as his own.
A black chain wrapped around his arm all the way up to his shoulder, wrapped to thickly he could barely see the grey of his tunic. Wicked-looking spikes were pressed inwards towards his flesh, and scarlet had gathered on the spikes tips. His other arm was the same picture.
He could barely breathe. The chains were beautiful, wonderfully crafted and obviously deadly. Between his hands lay hard grey-blue polished shells, which after a moment he recognized as arm-guards.
"Brother!" He looked up, and his eyes widened even further when he saw his sister. She held a beautifully crafted ivory bow etched with gold in her hand, a matching quiver filled with arrows of the same material resting against her boot.
"What's your name?" She asked, eyes wide with delight. He looked down at his chains and slowly unwound them, wincing as the spikes dug into his skin before replying.
"Sheik." He felt giddy just saying it. His name.
His own name!
"Sheik? That's pretty! I picked Zelda." She declared, sticking out a hand to help him up. He pooled the chain into his other hand, carefully holding it so the side with the spikes wasn't touching his bare fingers, and scooped the arm-guards up into his arms as he took her hand.
"Zelda…It fits." He finally said, offering her a small smile. His sister-no, Zelda now-beamed back.
A hand landed on his shoulder, and he looked up. Mother stood there, eyes wary and flighty and nervous.
"Darling…There's no Cluster for you, so you'll go with Teacher Saria and the Music Cluster for now, alright?" Mother's touch was light and as soon as she'd finished speaking she withdrew her hand. He felt as if he'd been punched. Why was she scared? Was it because of his magic?
He nodded slowly, eyes falling to the ground as she vanished. A hand slid into his and he glanced up. Zelda held it, and she smiled.
"You're eyes are beautiful, Broth-Sheik. They're ruby, like the Keeper's cloak, except that they're prettier!" She said softly. He understood she was trying to help, and he offered her a weak smile before pulling his hand out of her grasp and adjusting his grip on his Manifestation. He glanced back at her as he hurried towards the violet-eyed Cluster, watching her skip over to her own Cluster.
Everything was going to change.