Prologue
Wendell was sitting in the living room of a tiny cottage by the beach. It was tiny, but it some comforting. At this time of the late evening he liked to look out on the water while he was reading the book about the Hero of Time – his favourite story from childhood. It was "given" to him by his father, a fisherman from Windfall who came to Outset Island seeking peace and comfort. His father died before his mother gave birth to his sister, Aryll and she had not been long after, passing from a mysterious illness that came far across the Great Sea.
Often while Wendell sat these thoughts weaved throughout his mind. And unless his grandmother and sister were not around, he kept them locked up as well as his old book, a secret treasure for him – and only him.
He'd always been one to share. He shared everything with his sister and his grandmother. They shared the same tiny home and the same living space. They shared the quiet calm of the island. But they did not share his special memories, or his one last gift from his father.
He took a deep breath, feeling the cool wind pour in from the open window and the red glow of the sun retreating out, replaced by wavering shadows of the dim evening. All of the other villagers were indoors preparing for sleep. Wendell was far from sleep. He could not sleep without the story of the Hero to comfort him. He lay down on the wooden bed he slept in, the woollen blankets tucked to the side.
Frowning slightly he opened the worn cover to a yellowed parchment painting of a young boy wrapped in green clothing. How many times had he pretended to be the green-clothed boy, a stick in hand? How the villagers had laughed at his antics. It was all playful fun to them; it was a dream for Wendell. He'd played the legend many times out in the fields in the early morning when the rest of the island was still asleep or preparing breakfast.
He'd memorized the story by heart and he read it from that memory most times without gazing at the fading words as he studied the wonderfully hand-painted pictures. His father had purchased it from a seller during one of his many fishing trips to Windfall.
And he never returned, Wendell thought bitterly, his heart heavy, his eyes fighting back tears. The book was found washed up on the beach the next morning. As well as what remained of his father's beaten vessel. A heavy storm blew through the region that night, and its thunder rumbled through the chill air long after, as if gloating in the victory of its stolen prize.
Wendell pushed those dark thoughts from his mind as he began to speak the story out-loud to drown out the noise of the screaming anguish in his heart. And his body warmed slightly as the cold night air was swept in by the waves through the open window.
"Long ago, there existed a kingdom where a golden power lay hidden." He said. "One day, a man of great evil found this power and took it for himself. With it at his command he spread darkness across the kingdom."
Hyrule, thought Wendell. The eldest man of the island, Sturgeon, a knowledgeable historian and philosopher had told him of it. He yawned, tiredness creeping into his eyes. But still he could not put his head to pillow without the story. And so he continued reading.
"But then… just as all hope had died, a young boy clothed in green appeared as if from nowhere. Wielding a blade that repelled evil, he sealed the dark one away and gave the land light."
Wendell knew the book spoke of the Blade of Evil's Bane and the dark king, Ganondorf. The chilling tale was discovered one morning when he was searching through Sturgeon's bookcase. He wasn't sure the kind old man knew Wendell would find it, for he was sure he would not have willingly allowed him to read it. Wendell remembered the shadows that seemed to reach for him as he read. The shadows that disappeared as he shut the book in fear.
"This boy, who travelled through time to save the land, was known as the Hero of Time. The boy's tale was passed down through generations until it became legend.
And then came a day when a fell wind began to blow across the kingdom, and the great evil once again crept forth from the depths of the earth. The people believed that the Hero of Time would again come to save them. But the hero did not appear."
From the books and writings of Sturgeons bookshelf, Wendell knew the grim story in more detail. The Hero of Time fled from Hyrule to Termina, a neighbouring province, or that's what the book had said.
He looked at the pages. He continued to read, "What became of that kingdom?" he whispered quietly. "None remain who know. The memory of the kingdom vanished but its legend survived on the wind's breath."
He studied the darker ink below the ending of the original flowing letters above. His father's writing was rough, but it brought a smile to Wendell's mouth. This time he read the words.
"On a certain island, it became customary to garb young boys in green when they came of age. Clothed in the green of the fields, they aspired to find heroic blades and cast down evil. The elders wished only for the youths to know courage like the Hero of legend…"
Wendell frowned again, but this time he frowned deeply. His father's handwriting was of a darker black ink than the original printing letters. His addition was meant for Wendell. A long time ago, when war and battle was waged across the sea, duty called the young boys of his island to stand and fight too. But that time was long over. What was his father telling him?
The book contained other legends of the Hero's adventures, whether fairy tales or true stories, they were quite exciting to read. "The Legend of the Majora's Mask", was one of Wendell's favourites. But he had no wish to delve into the latter chapters tonight. So he closed the book solemnly, a mix of emotions surging through his veins.
He was comforted by the Hero of Time's fateful myth. He was angry at his loss and fearful for the future. But he was uncertain of his destiny, and why he was put on the island of Outset. Was there some grand picture as exquisite as the paintings in the old book? Or was he simply floating on a breeze, like a lazy seagull? He couldn't yet know.
And worst of all, he was saddened deeply at his lost parents. Of his father's nightmarish end and his mother's painful last breaths. He remembered the nights when the thunder and lightning frightened him enough to keep him under his bed and his mother was able to persuade him to come out. His father was able to comfort him, and at last put him to sleep among the warm blankets. Now he had only his grandmother. And while he loved her dearly, she was not his parents, and she could not replace them.
With tears finally filling his eyes, he gazed out the window at the sea. It was terrible and mighty and it seemed to rule his life. It seemed to govern the entire world, and he feared it. He watched as one by one the dwindling candle-light flickered and died in each of the cottages around the island. Then he noticed a dim lantern-light moving up the pathway to the porch of his home. His grandmother and sister were returning.
And in his state he had no wish to greet them. He rolled over, tucking the book away underneath his pillow and pulled the blankets around his shoulders. He turned away from the door just as it opened and his only family made their way in quietly. He heard them whispering to themselves, and determined not to wake him, they made their way up the loft-bedroom where they slept.
Wendell breathed a sigh of relief. He didn't want to hear his grandmother's soothing words, or see his sister's worried stare. He was not a child, and he could handle himself now. Those warm memories of his parents had long since past, and he could endure the terrible fears. It was time to grow up; did the book not show him that?
After the sounds from upstairs died down he removed the blankets and went as quietly as he could for the door. He would take his own walk to clear his head before bed. Perhaps the night held something mysterious for him. Perhaps not.