The clank of clashing metal was heavy, clumsy, and resonated through the makeshift training hall. It was suffocatingly stuffy, and Zelda struggled to move in her over-sized bronze plating. With every swing of her blade, her arms grew heavier, her breaths became labored, and her palms got so slick that the old saber slipped out of her hands. Her partner, who had been on the defense with an armored arm drawn over her face, quickly caught the weapon between two gloved fingers. When she had steadied herself and procured the blade by its hilt, she cast a heavy glare at the girl, who shrank beneath the shine of her red eyes.

"I-I... I promise I'll get better! I'll practice extra hard this week- I swear!" cried Zelda, clutching a pale fist to her chest.

Her sparring partner, tall and slender, drove the blade into the sand beneath their feet, her lips curving into a gentle smile, though her eyes remained stern. She shook her head. "Your technique is shaky, but fast improving. What you really need is better mobility."

"Impa-!" Zelda's protests were cut short by Impa's outstretched hand, indicating for her to be silent.

"We'll start back on the obstacle coarse on the marrow. For now, keep practicing- and don't take off the armor. You'll never get used to it if you never wear it."

Impa turned on her heel, her black cape kicking up a cloud of dust behind her. Zelda watched her leave the hall with a furrowed brow.

The moment Impa's thin form had disappeared through the hall's crumbling entrance, Zelda reached behind her waist and untied the thick rope that held the bronze plates over her small frame, letting them drop to the ground with a dull thud. Oh, how she loathed it! Everything she owned was a hand-me-down from her mother and her mother before that, and so on since the holy war; all of it was smelly and old and worn, not to mention too big for her. Her skirts had to be pinned above her knees and her feet slid around in her boots, causing her to trip every time she took a step. The armor was the worst part, though- it was big and bulky and slammed against her bones when she moved. She thought of this and winced as her fingers passed over a new bruise on her shoulder. She'd been complaining for years, but each time Impa had told her that it was simply impossible to gain new materials, and therefore impossible to make her new clothes or proper-sized shoulder pads. Why this was so, she had no idea, but never questioned it, for Impa's lectures were fierce and Zelda had not the attention span to suffer through them.

With a deep sigh and an intensive effort, she yanked her sword out of the confines of the sand. This, too, was too big- it nearly matched her in height- and though it was difficult to control, she had, over the years, gained the strength to swing it. Still, the road to mastery was long, and she still so young. She pursed her lips and resented this fact as she made a fierce swing at the air.


"Your Highness!" Called a voice, male, as Zelda stepped outside. The air was just as stuffy as it had been in the training hall, but at least the light gave things an illusion of freshness. The small village was buried ten meters under the sand, and though it was incredibly gloomy, an intricate system of mirrors and pulleys was constructed to bring natural light into the hollow cavern.

She turned to the man who, even when on his knees, was several inches taller then her. His skin was dark, covered in red and black tattoos, and his hair was a dark silver color, and though she couldn't recall his name, she recognized him as one of the few surviving Sheikah that had sought refuge after the war. He was a good friend of Impa's.

Zelda cocked her head. "Yes?"

"I've brought news, both good, and, forgive me, quite bad."

She furrowed her brow as the man's crimson gaze flicked upwards. He took her silence as an incentive to continue.

"First, the good; we've found Farore's chosen. The envoy has already been dispatched and we hope to hear from here soon."

Her eyes widened. She'd heard the story from Impa a million times- every ten thousand years the three Goddesses of the Triforce would descend from the heavens and bestow their power upon three chosen humans and a war of deadly proportions would plague the world. Just this past fifty years was the third Holy War that wiped out most of the Sheikah clan and stripped the world of its Earthly beauties, leaving behind only heat and sand. It was the vassal of Din herself, Ganondorf, who had brought the Holy War upon the people of Hyrule, and once he'd torn apart the royal family and destroyed their protectors, he took over as king. However, the vassals of Nayru and Farore had yet to be heard of, so the remaining Sheikah and the ex-Queen, pregnant at the time, went into hiding and waited for the rest of the prophecy to be fulfilled. It was a great wave of relief when Zelda had been born, bearing the mark of Nayru on her right hand. They knew that soon, the world would right itself, and she would be Hyrule's next ruler. However, Farore's vassal was still unaccounted for, and so they kept waiting. Could the time of suffering finally be coming to a close?

Her thoughts were interrupted by a husky cough from the man. "And the bad-" He bit his lip as he spoke, as though the words brought him great pain. "We... have discovered a traitor."

Zelda could not stifle her gasp.

"It is... a shock to all of us, but true nonetheless. We discovered him attempting to escape. Said he couldn't stand it no longer. Fell to his knees and confessed everything- he'd traded information about the resistance to a peddler for a map to the East."

She'd tuned out most of his words. A traitor? She could hardly believe it. Impa had told her how to handle traitors, but she'd never thought that information so very relevant until now. The man's words melded with the ringing in her ears as she brought her hands to her face and choked out a sob.


Impa stood beside Zelda, her long fingers draped over the other's petite shoulder. Zelda held her head high, though she kept her eyes shut as Impa addressed the man leaning over the iron slab in the center of the village. He was fat, which was a rarity among common folk these days, and when Zelda cracked one eye open she saw that his eyes were darting around frantically before ultimately landing on her. She gulped and did not open her eyes again.

"It is a shock, and a tragedy," boomed Impa's powerful voice, washing over the small gathering of people. "to be betrayed so by one of our own. It pains me- it pains all of us, but treason is a high crime, and must be punished." When her speech was over, Impa leaned down to whisper firmly in Zelda's ear. "You are their leader, Princess. You must let nothing block your hand or interrupt your thoughts- it is hard, but it must be done."

Her words were hardly reassuring. Still, Zelda kept her head high as the Sheikah man from before came forth and laid a rusty axe in her slick palms. She trembled as she tightened her grip around it, but thought of Impa's disapproving gaze and swallowed her fears.

Her blonde lashes fluttered open, and she scanned the crowd with a composed gaze. All eyes were on her; she could not disappoint her people. If she were to fail now, the hope for the future would crumble in a second. With a heavy breath, she threw back her shoulders and stepped forward.

The convict stared up at his executioner, his whole face drenched in sweat. His eyes beseeched her for mercy, and though her heart shattered, her resolve remained in tact. Her throat was dry and tight; tears streamed down her pale cheeks as she rose the weapon high above her head. She inhaled sharply, assuring herself that she would not let her people see her cry, and the axe swung free.