As the people of Skyloft gathered at the plaza to watch the Wing Ceremony commence, Link found himself dragged out of earshot by a pair of large, strong hands. Wrenching himself out of the vice grip, he whirled around to face Groose.

Groose was a student of hefty size, towering easily two heads over Link. His slicked back red pompadour added an extra several inches to the height difference, and he grinned unpleasantly down at the significantly less equipped boy.

"Hey, squirt," he said, leering at a grimacing Link, "Are you scared about the ceremony? I can see it in those dopey eyes of yours. They're pleading, 'Oh, Groose, can you please find it in your heart to let me win today? Please!' Aren't you?"

Link squinted up at him. "I'd doubt you'd have any trouble finding anything in your heart, if it's as small as your brain," he said, flashing a grin. Groose stared back at him blankly, trying to process this piece of wit that had been thrown at him.

"Well – whatever!" he said at last, giving up. "You little –"

"What's going on here?" Zelda appeared at Link's shoulder, and Groose recoiled as though he had been stung. "Have you been bullying Link again?"

"I – uh – no!" spluttered Groose. He nodded at Link. "Boy, am I looking forward to a fair race!" He rubbed his large hands together in anticipation. "And when I win, it'll be only you and me, Zelda, performing the ritual!" His mouth became slack-jawed as he dreamed, exposing yellowing teeth.

Zelda grimaced. "I don't think –"

She was interrupted by a horn playing the opening fanfare. Three Loftwing, side by side, flew in perfect sync, swooping high in the air before angling towards Skyloft. As they passed overhead, barely an inch from Groose's pompadour, the horn blew once more. Link, Zelda and Groose hurried back to where everyone was clustered, the air taut with excitement.

"I'll win," Link told Zelda, who gave him an encouraging push to where the other competitors stood. "I promise." He went to stand beside Groose, Cawlin and Strich before Instructor Orwell, who had a yellow Loftwing by his side. Headmaster Gaebora stood to his right, his owl-like eyes peeking out from under thick white eyebrows.

"Your attention, please," said Instructor Orwell, lifting his hands for quiet. He did not continue until it was absolutely silent. "At last we are ready to begin the Wing Ceremony." He paused as the people of Skyloft cheered, and Link's heart began to hammer against his throat as his nerves began to overwhelm his thoughts. He had definitely not practiced enough. How could he stand to wait another year until the next ceremony? Zelda wouldn't be the Goddess imitator for the second time in a row, either.

Link was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he missed part of what Instructor Orwell said next. The man was indicating the Loftwing sitting beside him. "I have attached a small statuette to this bird," he said, "Who I will then release to the skies. Whoever catches the bird and claims the statuette will be this year's champions. Do you understand?"

His sharp eyes roved over each of the students, pausing a little longer on Link. Link shrunk back, gulping. He could almost hear the instructor berating him for slacking off in practicing. The students murmured in assent. "Good. As you well know, today's champion will graduate to the next class, bringing him one step closer to knighthood. He will also receive a gift from the young woman chosen to play the ritual of the goddess in this year's ritual…the lovely Zelda."

At this, Zelda gave a little spin in her dress, smiling. Link saw she now carried a small, gold-painted harp; perhaps this was for her role as imitator.

The people clapped, and Link felt Groose laugh quietly to himself beside him in anticipation.

"Now," continued Instructor Orwell, "Because today is the twenty-fifth anniversary of our fine institution, the champion shall also receive his gift high atop the Statue of the Goddess."

"I'm going to look forward to winning," Groose said under his breath, looking sidelong at Link with a leer. Link made a face – not if he could help it. He looked at the larger boy, raising his chin in defiance. His nerves were fading now; his determination to win and see Groose defeated overwhelmed his worry. All he needed to see was Groose's furious face.

Instructor Orwell turned to the Loftwing and swept an arm into the air. The yellow bird unfolded its enormous wings and stretched them out, rising into the air with the statuette hanging by a rope from one foot. Its powerful wings swept the wind towards the competitors, making them cover their faces. Soon it was in the distance, soaring across the clear blue sky. Instructor Orwell stepped forwards.

"Let the race begin!"

Link leapt into action, sprinting as fast as he could towards the edge of the plaza. Half a metre from the edge, he threw himself forwards, his world instantly becoming a confused whirl of roaring wind and loss of direction. He began plummeting, tumbling in the rushing air, and he forced his fingers to his mouth as he fought against the resistance. The whistle was short, but his Loftwing was under him in a second, catching its master and pulling out of its steep dive. It began climbing higher and higher, Link clinging with all his might. Above them, he could see the three other Loftwing, already close behind the yellow one.

"Come on, we can do this," he muttered to his Loftwing, and he pulled at its neck feathers. The Loftwing cawed loudly and began ascending more rapidly. Now he was right behind a brown Loftwing – Cawlin's. Cawlin looked back, such a small figure sitting in the middle of the mass of feathers, and he scowled angrily. He pulled his Loftwing around to face Link and suddenly, they were about to collide headlong.

"You can't beat Groose!" he cried, and Link barely had time to think before he pushed his Loftwing's neck, causing the bird to fold its wings and speed back towards the ground. He felt a rush of wind as Cawlin and his Loftwing passed overhead, the bird's talon nicking his shoulder. Link was lurched to the side, nearly falling off, but he grabbed a handful of feathers and pulled himself back on. He glanced at his shoulder; there was a rip in his clothes, and a bead of blood balanced on a shallow wound.

"It's not too bad," he told himself, and his heart lifted as he saw the yellow Loftwing angling downwards. He leant forwards, urging his own Loftwing forwards, and they began speeding towards it, the small statuette catching the light. Soon he was almost upon it, and he stretched out a hand, when…

"Oof!"

He saw a flash of dark purple feathers, mirthless laughter reaching his ears, before the statuette was gone once more. Cursing loudly, he looked over his shoulder to see Groose flying off, barely shaken by the collision.

"Oh, so you want to play dirty, do you?" he mumbled, concentrating on the moving yellow dot in the distance. "You're never going to win."

He flew past Strich, who was hovering about on his green Loftwing uncomfortably. Link sighed; didn't Groose know already that his goons weren't around because of him, but because of themselves? Strich because he didn't have any other friends, and Cawlin for his own popularity.

"Come on, we can do this, it's easy," he told his Loftwing, who rolled an eye to see its master and cawed sullenly. "It's not my fault you got hit," he added, frowning. "Come on. Fly faster. I'll give you a treat once this is over."

To cover more distance in shorter time, Link got his Loftwing to fly at an angle of depression, the bird's wings at its sides as it hurtled through the air, losing height as the yellow Loftwing grew closer. They overtook Groose, who was simply flying straight towards the yellow bird, and Link relished in listening to his cries of disbelief as they flew directly beneath the statuette, five miles below.

"Go!"

The Crimson Loftwing spread its wings once more and sped upwards, the wind slapping fiercely at Link's face. Fighting back the urge to protect himself, he painfully stretched out a hand, getting closer and closer to the statuette, leaning until he was in danger of falling off, until…

"Yes!"

Link grabbed the statuette, twisting it out of the rope, and held it up triumphantly. As he flew back to Skyloft, the cheers grew louder, and exhilaration swelled in the boy's chest as he leapt off his Loftwing. Zelda rushed to him, eyes shining, and grabbed his arm.

"You – you won! You were absolutely amazing!" She laughed. "I'm so proud of you."

Link grinned back, looking up at the sky. He didn't want to miss the reason he had wanted to win so bad.

A couple of minutes later, Strich and then Cawlin landed, neither looking too bothered by the loss. Another five minutes passed before Groose arrived, his face a mask of fury. He pointed a thick finger at Link as soon as his boots hit the ground.

"He cheated!" he cried. "That – that cheater! He collided with me on purpose – that's against the rules!"

Instructor Orwell held up a hand silently, striding over. "I will have to have a talk with you, Groose," he said solemnly. "We saw it all. You collided with Link on purpose – that's against the rules."

Groose was struck dumb. "But – but –"

Instructor Orwell raised his voice. "Well! I would like to congratulate this year's winner of the Wing Ceremony – Link!"

There were more cheers and a smattering of applause. Nearly everyone had been rooting for Link; he was the one that the majority felt deserved the honour of being the winner.

Zelda stepped up to him, still smiling widely. "We should get on with the ceremony," she said. Link spared one last look at Groose before following her. He looked absolutely furious.


Link had never been atop the Goddess Statue before, standing in its gently cradled stone hands rising fifty metres above the ground. The breeze ruffled his hair, the atmosphere strangely tranquil despite being so perilously high in the air. Zelda turned her back to Link, slipping the statuette – a tiny model of a meticulously sculpted Loftwing, its eyes chips of ruby – into an alcove in the statue's chest underneath a carving of the royal crest.

Zelda raised her harp, her slender fingers plucking delicately at the fine strings. The fluid notes flowed effortlessly, cutting and shaping the very air, the sweet melody seeming to spiral around her as she played. The girl closed her eyes, losing herself into the song of the Goddess, swaying slightly.

At last, she lowered her harp and turned back to Link, holding out a hand. Link hesitated, unsure of the procedure, before taking it and dropping to one knee, the cold stone a shock through his thin pants. Zelda began to speak, and her voice seemed to resound throughout the whole of Skyloft, no longer a normal girl but rather the messenger.

"Great Goddess," she said, her eyes closed once more, "Guiding light and protector of our people, grant us your blessing and mercy as I act in your stead during this ceremony."

Link, his head bowed, shivered at the power of her words. It was as if there were not two people atop the statue, but rather three – a third, watching, a supernatural being.

"Valiant youth who grasped victory at the celebration of the bird folk…In accordance with the old ways…I now bestow the blessings of the Goddess upon you."

Zelda released Link's hand, reaching for the white material wrapped around her shoulders. She untied it, folding it carefully, and held it out to the champion, her lips curving upwards.

"The blessings of the Goddess drift down from the heavens aloft a sail, which I now pass on to you."

Link raised his hands and took it, his arms suddenly weak. He got to his feet and brought the sailcloth to his face, admiring the royal crest embroidered in cerulean blue.

"It smells nice," he said, and laughed as Zelda scolded him.

"Link!" she said, unable to suppress a smile. "Quit goofing. This is supposed to be a sacred ritual, remember?"

Link struggled to keep his face serious and his mouth shut. Zelda's smile faded, and she averted her eyes as she continued.

"I'm really glad I got to give the sailcloth to you, Link. Make sure you take good care of it, okay?"

"Of course," said Link. Zelda turned her eyes to the smooth stone, her next words harder to hear.

"Thanks for making it up here to do this with me today like you promised," she said. She looked up, her cheeks tinged a light rose. "It really means a lot."

Link found he did not know what to say to this.

"I – it's alright. I did promise," he mumbled.

"Yes, you did," said Zelda, and she looked up, herself once more. "So, I was wondering…since it's such a nice day today, would you like to fly together?"

Link cleared his throat. "I would love to."