"The Past is never dead, it's not even past."

- William Faulkner

In the grand scheme of things, Orren did not matter. It was a small fishing village dangling precariously across Hylium's western border into the neighboring country of Catalia. It, along with seven other providers, would send shipments of fish to Capitol City and then be forgotten amidst the chaos as merchants traveling to larger settlements fought over the product. At the end of the day, the people of Orren were content to be pushed aside.

Not this day.

On this day, soldiers marched on Orren—soldiers bearing the coat of arms worn by warriors of Hylium: a thunderbird rising above three golden, equilateral triangles. They marched in fifty strong, some drawing blades, others crossbows. One shouted orders to his men before turning to the mere twenty-three inhabitants of Orren who had gathered and saying, "The settlement is under the personal supervision of her highness, the Princess Zelda, for the harboring of an agent of the enemy."

He tilted his head in the direction of the villagers.

A dozen crossbowmen trained their sights on the mass of people, who began to panic. First there were mutters, then came the frenzies shouts. The villagers were herded into a tight circle in the village square—a small thing consisting of two buildings a modest fountain spewing water from a stone spout near the top.

"Captain Stiles, sir!" said one soldier who came to a stop before the speaker of before, pounding a steel gauntlet against his chest in salute while a sword wobbled at his side. His voice warbled through the plate of the armor. "The village has been searched, sir. …what is it we're looking for."

"A boy with the Mark on his left hand." Stiles crossed his arms and tilted his head as much as his armor would allow. "The princess is confident he's here."

The soldier saluted again. "Sir." The soldier turned to leave.

"One more thing."

The soldier stopped.

"Kill anyone who tries to leave."

The soldier hesitated. "Sir?"

"I failed the princess once and I will not do so again. Anyone attempting to leave is a traitor and works against our cause." Beneath his armor, Stiles stretched the lashed flesh of his back.

After a moment, the soldier saluted. "Sir," he said, before walking away, taking a stand alongside the other crossbowmen who currently held the settlement's population in the middle of town. They were a mixture of men, women, and children, all turned ragged in the presence of death. Stiles lifted the visor of his helmet and considered each. None exhibited any signs of fear beyond the natural reaction to death.

Stiles approached the crowd, drawing at once his broadsword from its scabbard. He pounded the pommel against the metal of his shield four times. The vibrations wound up his arm. At the third, the jostles of the crowd came to an end. A hundred sets of eyes turned to him, some scared, others angry.

"People of Orren!" His voice boomed. "This is an inspection on behalf of the Lady-Princess Zelda of Hylium. You have been brought from your homes so we may finish our business quickly and leave you to your own. Cooperate and no harm shall come to you."

Stiles gestured to three of his men.

They approached and saluted.

"Search them. The Hero was said to have had a distinctive triangular mark on the back of one of his hands. Find them and bring them out. I don't care how young or how old they are."

All three saluted and departed. They began at the edge of the crowd, forcing their way through a mob of fear. They pulled out hands, young, middled, and aged, and brushed back sleeves. Each time their search bore unmarked flesh, they moved on. The moved around the outside—and it was while they did so that the crowd gradually calmed. They quieted themselves completely, even sat on the cold hard of the ground as they were searched.

Those three soldiers Stiles assigned the task worked slowly, but diligently. They moved across the crowd, hiding themselves behind armor. Whatever their emotions might have been as they worked, they were contained. But as they worked towards the back, there was a commotion.

A woman broke from the crowd and ran, carrying in her arms a young child with bleach blond hair.

Captain Stiles lifted a hand.

A single crossbow loosed. The air hissed and a scream echoed. Before the woman could put twenty feet between herself and the crowd, she was ground, a splatter of crimson blood staining the grass beneath her and a bolt ripped through the calf of her right leg. The child slipped from her arms and stumbled several steps before falling, righting himself and running back to his mother.

Stiles lifted his hand again.

Another crossbowman leveled his weapon at the woman.

"Captain!"

A harsh voice halted both actions. Shivers slipped down Stiles' spine. He knew who spoke. Though the voice itself was softer than most, the tone with which it spoke was vicious. He could find no empathy in it, no matter how many times he searched. Without thinking, he fell to one knee, bowed his head, and placed his left hand across his chest.

Stiles chanced a turn of his head to the voice's source.

She rode up on a warhorse, a gray thing with a vicious build and white hair dangling around its hooves. Her dismount carried with it little weight, but the captain flinched as greaves crashed against the ground. She sported a compact suit of black platemail that clung protectively to her body, but bore no matching helmet. Her features were harsh, sharp, and of a dark brown. Hair of a mild red hung down to the base of her neck.

"Captain Stiles," she said. It lacked hostility, but Stiles could not help but shift away from the speaker. "You and your men may stand down."

The captain bowed his head further, if that was possible. "Yes, Lady-Princess."

As she passed him, she brushed a hand across his shoulder. Stiles rose, but continued to bow his head.

Zelda's steps were not grateful, but neither were they mannish. She ignored the soldiers who lowered their weapons and knelt before her as Captain Stiles did. She ignored the mixture of fear and awe that permeated the air surrounding the village's inhabitants and focused on the fallen woman, whose continued attempts to stumble away from the scene with her child in tow only caused the blood to leak from her body at an alarming rate.

Zelda's approach cast a long shadow over her, as though blocking out the sun. "Why do you run?"

The woman opened her mouth to speak, but at the sight of Zelda's eyes, seemed to lose her words. Instead, she turned to her son, who remained on the ground, his expression a mixture of fear and incurable shock, and shouted, "Go!"

The boy scrambled backwards some ways, but not before Zelda turned her attention to him. He froze as his mother had as he was captured in Zelda's field of vision. He remained still until she approached, casting a long shadow that left him in darkness. His eyes widened as she knelt to his level, her expression unreadable.

"May I see your left hand?" she said, in a tone neither cruel nor unwelcoming.

As though compelled, he offered his left hand.

From somewhere, his mother cried, "Aiden! No!"

Another of the crossbows unhinged. The mother was silenced.

Zelda took the offered hand; on the back of the palm, three golden equilateral triangles, one a solid gold. Again, Zelda's expression was mixed. She released the boy's hand and considered him for a moment. Eventually, she said, "What is your name?"

The boy's expression turned pained. At first, the words were nonsense. He spoke fractures of coherence, his eyes flickering about until they settled on Zelda. He managed, "I am—"

The boy slammed his eyes shut.

"Ny—the—"

He pressed both hands against his forehead and ground his teeth together.

"—the… Link." His voice disappeared immediately following, replaced instead by an expression of realization at what he had just admitted.

Zelda reacted with silence. Slowly, as though not to draw suspicion, she drew a syringe from the satchel at her waist. In an equally paced movement, she took the boy's hand and pressed the needle into his vein, and drew a vial of blood. The boy's only acknowledgment of the action was the brief twitching of his eyes. He otherwise remained silent.

Zelda stood. She brushed her left forearm with her right hand, though the action was little more than a stall. Without a word, she turned and walked away from the boy. Orren's settlers watched her with the same mixture of fear and shock the boy himself had displayed. The soldiers, whose weapons had been lowered a moment before, raised them in sudden awareness, pointing all bolts again at their captives.

As Zelda passed by Captain Stiles on the return path to her mount, she said, "Kill them all. Raze the village. No survivors."

"Princess?"

Zelda paused. She did not grant the captain her gaze, but rather a sideways glance through the corner of her eye. "Was any of that unclear, captain?"

Beneath heavy platemail, Captain Stiles stiffened. "…no, princess—but these people are loyal subjects. They should not be punished for the crimes of the few."

Zelda faced him. Her eyes spoke anger, but her lips contained it. She stepped closer, till her face was near enough to the captain's that she could glimpse the whites of his eyes through the two horizontal slits in the face of his helmet. "Are you questioning me, captain?"

Stiles swallowed. "…I…" Beneath his armor, Captain Stiles began to sweat, "…am. I will not condone murder, princess."

Zelda narrowed her eyes. "Does our last discussion remain vivid in your mind, captain?"

The jagged, scarred flesh of Stiles back twisted and ached. "…it does, princess, but I will not allow more innocents to come to harm."

Zelda tilted her head to the side. "Pity."

She drew a dagger from a square metal compartment on the outside of her left calf and thrust it into Stiles throat. The blade chewed through his armor like paper before Zelda withdrew it and pushed the captain away with a halfhearted nudge of the hand. He stumbled forwards, then back, clutching as his throat before falling to his knees.

Zelda pushed back several locks of red hair that had fallen over her eyes and pushed the dagger back into its compartment without cleaning the blade. "We both knew this was a partnership that would last only so long. Maintain some dignity in death."

She turned.

Of all the soldiers gathered, only two were attentive enough to approach her. Neither did so with a weapon drawn. "Princess?" one said, his voice muffled by metal.

Zelda turned away and went to mount her horse. "Your orders still stand," she said. "Kill them all. Raze this place to the ground. Return to your posts in Kakariko afterwards and send me a blank message by hawk when the deed is done." She narrowed her eyes. "Was any of that unclear?"

Both soldiers brought an arm over their chest in brisk salute and said, one after the other, "No, princess."

Zelda pulled on the reins and twisted her mount around till she was facing away from the village. "We were never here. Orren never existed. After today, all record of it will disappear from history."

Both soldiers saluted.

"Word of this must not reach my father. Do whatever is necessary to keep your men silent."

The other soldier spoke, "Princess, we have no control over—"

"You're promoted. Welcome to seniority. Collect the nibs from Stiles and leash your dogs. But know this—" She leaned from her horse. "If any word of what happened her should spread, you will all die. I will see to it that your spouses disappear and your children perish. Every trace of this legion will disappear." Zelda kicked at her horse's sides. The beast rode off as though Hell itself were chasing it.

Ahoy there.

Thank ye for taking the time to read the first chapter of Ashes of the Past. If you would, please take a few more minutes of your time to leave a review detailing your thoughts. My first and only two reviewers tell me that I shouldn't ask for reviews, but as a writer, I shouldn't be made to feel guilty for doing such a thing. With that in mind, I humbly ask that you leave some of your thoughts in the form of a review.

Good day!