A/N: Yes, this story lives! It's just been a doozey to write. Holy cow, this chapter is nearly 9,000 words. 9,000. I've never written anything of this magnitude before but I do plan to make future chapters just as long, I'm putting my whole heart and soul into this thing. Expect updates to run monthly, more or less. I would also like to point out that I'm not working with a beta so I do self edit and thus tend to miss a few things, so please do let me know if something catches your attention.

Another friendly warning: This story does and will contain many mature themes and graphic descriptions of gore and brutality. Sometimes I scare myself with what I can conjure up.

That's all! Enjoy!

Chapter Two

"…after sealing away the great demon king, the Princess of Destiny sought out her hero only to find his body cold to the touch and his life stolen from his lips. They had won, but at a price. She too, sustained wounds that spoke of impending death. The princess smiled because she knew that even though they would not be alive to see it, they had granted Hyrule a period of peace and would again when the time came for them to take up arms once more. Together, they would continue to be reborn in the centuries to come, blessed with extraordinary courage and wisdom from the three golden goddesses to fight the resurgence of evil wherever it may rise.

"It is spoken that the princess' unyielding love and the hero's unbreakable spirit will surpass life and death to protect those in need until the ends of evil and time."

A crisp breeze moaned through brittle masonry and shadows played their nighttime games on thatched ceilings. The flicker of a flame sent them fleeing only briefly before returning to their dark creviced dwellings. Then all was silent.

"Tell it again, Mama."

"Not now, sweetling, it's time for rest."

A small child lay huddled under a mound of sewn sheepskin and makeshift furs on the dirty floor of a hut just about as small as he. Next to him, was a woman crouched, reading a decayed binding by candlelight, the parchment crumbling under her touch.

"Please, Mama?"

"Tomorrow."

The soft glow fluttered again as the women bent over to brush back greasy brown bangs and planted a kiss on the child's forehead. She frowned softly and pulled back, wiping a dirty smudge from his face with her thumb. Her own skin was worse for wear, but she hadn't a care to give. As long as her boy was clean and healthy then nothing else mattered.

"Mama?"

The voice came soft and quiet just as she wet her fingers to extinguish the taper. She stopped and turned to face her boy.

"Were the Goddess and the hero reborn like the story tells?"

She placed her calloused hand back upon her lap. Hands of a laborer. Dry and cracked, rough around the edges and dirt under the nails.

"Yes, they were, many times. But not everyone believes such."

"Why don't they?"

She sighed. A hollow, worn sound.

"Because not everyone believes the legends of old."

It was quiet for a time. Quiet long enough to hear a yell in the distance, a hoot of a startled owl, and the rustling of leaves long since dead. The woman thought nothing of it. Normally, there was even more commotion at this time of night. She licked her fingers.

"Will they come now?"

Something in his voice made her stop for a second time, it made her heart still and her breath catch in her throat. The high-pitched lilt of a child's virgin innocence.

How often had she asked herself the same question? Each time she closed her eyes at night, praying to survive just another day for the sake of her boy. Each time she stepped outside her hovel of a home only to hear orchestras of steel on steel. Each time she witnessed another one of her friends, her family, dragged away in a fetter of chains.

She had asked too many times to count. Yet somewhere along the line, she had stopped questioning and it didn't even occur to her why she did. Was it because she could no longer believe in a better world? Had every ounce of hope all been lost with each life that she watched end?

The woman flicked her gaze to her child, looking into his glassy amber orbs of wonder, of curiosity, of faith. It was an unconditional trust that he held in her. The kind that despite whatever despair or fear that she may feel, she pretended it didn't exist for the sake of those looking to her for an absolution that she didn't have.

But the goddesses were cruel, that she knew.

And so the woman smiled, a soft quiver of her mouth that made her eyes sag in the corners and told her boy the lies that her parents told her.

"Yes I do believe they will. The hero will ride through Hyrule on his great horse and drive away all the scary men with swords. The princess will appear, her arms full of warm blankets and clothes and delicious food for all the little girls and boys like yourself. You won't ever be hungry or cold or scared again, my sweet."

The child sniffed, pulling the scratchy fabrics up to his chin. His mother leaned over and closed the small distance between them to leave another chaste kiss on his face. She lingered, only for a moment and then the ground beneath gave way to a tremble. It was hardly noticeable at first then steadily grew with a tremulous rhythm that shook the walls with threats of staving in. Streams of dirt rained down from grooves in the roofing and the child whinnied in panic. The woman tossed the book to the side where it landed in a mound of dirt and covered him with her arms, cooing with urgency to keep him quiet.

The flame from the candle had transformed into a fiery tongue and the shadows began to scamper around the hut in a reckless frenzy, preforming a maniacal jig. Letting out another fearful sob, the child watched them dance closer, stretching the length of his body and around his mother's arms. A piece of wood fell from the ceiling and landed in a heap of dust on the ground beside them. The noise seemed to spur the woman into action and she briefly tore herself away from her son to blow out the growing flame. All fell silent with the darkness that enveloped them like an unwanted mask of stale tension.

Soft whimperings cut through the stillness— an airhorn in a tomb, and the mother covered his quivering mouth with a dirty hand. "Hush, sweetling. We must be quiet now, please don't cry," she whispered, her voice an octave higher in rising hysteria. The woman tried to focus her eyes in the newly darkened room and she pinpointed her gaze on thin streams of guttering yellow that slipped in and out of gnarled crevices that made up the surrounding walls. Firelight growing brighter.

That's when they heard it: a stately cadence of footfalls becoming louder and closer with each breath. The child let out another terrified whimper and his mother clamped her fingers around his mouth, a futile gesture. Her eyes frantically scoured the small dwelling, desperate to find what she was looking for. There weren't many options left.

"Listen to me, listen," she fussed fervently, hastily caressing her son's face. His own fearful gaze met hers and she continued, "I need you to get to the wall. Move on, farther back."

The child nodded with a small jerk of his head, eyes wide, and a trembling chin.

"Go on now," she hurried and waited for him to curl into himself in the far corner of the room before throwing the sheepskin in a haphazard heap over his small body. "Do not come out no matter what you hear, alright? No matter what. You keep your eyes closed and tell yourself the story of the princess and the hero."

The footfalls had stopped. It was so quiet that she could hear them now— the echoing screams in the distance. Some were closer than others. There was bellowing and shrieking like the slaughtering of livestock.

She positioned herself against the wall, the thin piece of wood that was dislodged from the ceiling in her hands. She waited, her chest heaving with coiling dread that sat heavy in her gut. More screaming. Something snapped nearby.

The rickety door splintered open with a deafening eruption, pieces of wood scattered in all directions and the woman raised an arm in a meagre attempt to shield her face. A bodily stench permeated the room that smelled of hot onions and stale sweat. When she opened her eyes again there was a tall bronze skinned man with a shock of flaming red hair complete with a dangerous gleam in his eye that spoke of nothing kind. His mouth morphed into a smug grin.

"What do we have here…" the man crooned, taking a step over the threshold.

The woman feebly held the scant of wood in front of her, "You stay away from me! There's nothing you want here! This village is under the protection of the royal watch!"

The man's grin only deepened into a maw of dark shadows and hallowed cheekbones, eyes alight. "What royal watch? I don't see any royals doing any watchin' round these parts."

Something in the tone of his voice made her hair stand on end as if an icy hand had touched her neck. It was then that she came to a realization that made the wood slip in her grasp. She clung to it with a desperation she had never known.

He moved closer, the rancid smell growing thicker and causing her throat to close in a gag. "King's orders. All Hylian villages are ours now and all their pretty lil women," he said as if he'd just been handed a lifetime's worth of rupees. With a sneer, he leaned forward, "an' that includes all the Hylian-lovers too."

A primal sound was ripped from her throat as she flung herself to the side, attempting to evade him but the space was too narrow. He reached out a burly arm and caught her easily around her torso. She screamed as she was flung back against the wall, her head splintering the wood and rendering her dazed. The bronzed man grappled with her arms, pinning them down and striking her across the face until she was down in the dirt. She coughed and spit out brown sludge that had become lodged in her mouth. A warm trickle made its way down the side of her temple accompanied with a painful ache and yet all she could focus on were the boots that stepped into her vision. She felt a hand on the back of her tattered collar, it yanked her onto her knees.

Once there had been a time when she could have fended him off. Once there had been a time when her dark skin and red hair had meant something. The necklace she bore concealed under her tunic weighed heavy on her chest, burning with flames from the past.

Not in front of my boy. Please, in the name of the Goddesses, not in front of my boy. She closed her eyes as the man advanced in front of her, waiting for his violent touches that never came.

A second pair of footsteps crunched on withered straw. A soft whine, barely audible but unmistakable.

Her eyes snapped open, gasping with a sharp intake of breath. "No!"

"You thought you could sneak from me, wench?" The fury was on him and his eyes afire. She reached out to stop the man but another strike to her face sent her reeling towards the ground once more. She ululated a deep moan. Her mouth was moving but she couldn't form the coherent words that she wanted, instead she could only watch as he reached for her boy's tiny wrist, nothing but a brittle stick ready to snap. His shrieks echoed around her, complementing the chorus of chaos.

"Run!"

Somehow, she managed to rip the words from her throat and they seared the air in an ear-splitting scream. The man lunged forward and the boy ducked under his grasp with his small frame and scrambled towards his mother who was beginning to pick herself up from the ground.

"Mama!"

"Get out of here! You leave me beh—"

There was a shriek and more pain and all she could see was mud.

"Get that boy! I'm takin' care of this woman."

"Come 'ere you brat!"

"Mama!"

Letting out another groan, she turned her head so that faint light and a second pair of legs wearing shalwar pants filtered into view. Tiny feet scampered out of her line of sight, there was a squeal and more frustrated grunting. Cringing as she did so, the woman fought through the ebbs of pain that only made her want to close her eyes and shouldered herself onto her knees. Both brigands were preoccupied with corning her very frightened son. She desperately fumbled along the ground until her fingers curled around the familiar piece of shrapnel. Unsteadily, she stood on her feet and began to edge closer behind the unsuspecting men.

"Grab him you dim-witted—"

The thunk of wood on the back of his head cut him short and sent him stumbling towards the ground in momentary tremor.

"You stay away from my son!" The woman admonished in a primal adrenaline-induced act of bravery that vanished as soon as his partner rounded on her with a contemptuous look of blood-lust.

His eyes bulged and he reached out a snarled hand, pockmarked with grotesque scars and grime. "You filthy excuse for Gerudo!"

She tried to move, but she just wasn't fast enough, not anymore. He had her by the throat and swung her around until her back slammed into the wooden wall. She clawed fruitlessly at his hand, wheezing with a desperation for breath. That's when her eyes met his, an orange hazel just like her own, yet shaped like his father's. It had been her daughter who inherited his soft azure color.

Her son.

He was all that she had left.

Her heritage be damned. Her amber eyes held no more sway than the price of a green rupee, not like they had once before. Those days were past and burned like her home, her people, and what they had been. There was no such thing as honor, as gallantry, and heroes. The world had become a cynic's haven, roiling with the blood of its conquests. She sold her dignity the moment she lay with her children's father.

And she wouldn't change a thing.

Mustering the last of her energy, she brought her knee up, wedging it into the bandit's thick chest. Unarmored and ill-protected, he dropped her in a moment of a surprise and she scrambled to her child, shoving and pushing him towards the hole in the side of their home.

Home. A poor excuse for one.

She fingered the chain around her neck, tucked under the cloth of her tunic and in one swift motion yanked it off. A golden ring shone hanging in the moonlight and she quickly thrust it into her son's fragile hands, cupping his fingers over it tightly.

"Go, now! Get! You run and don't you dare stop! Don't you come back here, not ever!"

Hands were grabbing her from behind. Hands all over her body, tangling and touching, prodding and striking. Tears fell from her cheeks as she watched her son back away with a final look of reluctance.

"Don't let them find you! Don't let them—"

Her head jilted forward in a sudden explosion of pain and the last thing she thought of before the darkness consumed her was her husband and daughter and how she would never see them again.

I am sorry that I couldn't hold out a little longer…

Forgive me.

The boy stared in horrified awe as the burlier of the two men used a club to bash the back of his mother's head, leaving her limp in their dirty arms. The ring nearly fell from his grasp.

"You shoulda listen'd to yer traitor mum, halfbreed," the other one spoke with an irritated scowl and a look of a dog chasing tail after keatons.

The boy took a wary step backwards and the man advanced, his mouth opening and closing but he couldn't hear a word over the thrumming of his heart. Carefully, one step, two, he turned and fled on his heel just as the smelly man took a long stride forward.

He ran and ran just like his mother told him. He ran past tall flames, higher than any cookfire he'd ever seen, through black rain that tasted of ash, and screaming— a motely of screeches and bellows that spoke of chaos. It was hot and it was wet. He slipped once only to fall to his knees, his hands sleek with black blood from the ground below. Smoke eddied in great plumes that reached for the heavens with their knobby fingers. Perhaps, he thought idly, that's where the screams resided, riding the train of smoke so the goddesses themselves could hear them.

Men with fire for hair were in evidence, they stalked about with hooked iron tools in their grasp and deep throaty laughter that echoed long past as he pushed forward. He saw women that would make talk with his mother on warm afternoon days by the creek side, except now they were on their knees and the fire men were binding their hands, hitting them and kissing them. The boy thought it strange because only husbands kiss their wives. And they most certainly did not hit them.

He chanced a look behind him to see that he had lost the man with the club. The one that had hit his mother. Tears pricked his eyes but he wiped them away because heroes didn't cry. Instead he ran faster, faster than the heat and the smokes and the screams. He passed by wagons with barred cages, in them were children like himself. He would have recognized some if he looked hard enough but he didn't dare linger.

He spotted Tolman the blacksmith who always gave him sweet drops made of honeysuckle over by the granary on his knees in front of a pole. As he ran closer he saw Tolman's hoop tongs sticking out of his neck, nailing him to the flag shaft.

He ran faster, stuffing his mother's necklace into the pockets of his trousers.

Crimson flags rose high above the pandemonium, their tales whipping with the lap of flames, yet they did not burn. On them were golden moons, waned into a crescent, and next to them a single star. He had seen that symbol before; it never spoke of anything good.

Nobody seemed notice the small dirty haired boy who darted through burning settlement, weaving around singed corpses and merciless roars that made his ears ring. Empty sheepfolds and tumbledown barns stood agape without signs of life, only blood and tufts of fur that scurried in the wind. A tree taller than anything he'd ever seen before was cloaked in a bright orange, stark against the black sky, and burned all the way until it reached the grass then caught like a spilled pool of water. The night rang with the sound of steel and crying. Death was all around him.

He had never left the village before and the thought of it frightened him, but staying frightened him ever more. He tore past broken buildings and men with pointed ears dying in their lifesblood, their eyes hollow and open. His heart beat faster than his legs and he was worried that he'd outrun it. Old Ariah once told him about a golden wolf that lived far south in the Forbidden Woods. Its eyes blue as frozen steel and its teeth white as a wraith in the moonlight. He said that the wolf didn't need a heart to live, or eyesight to see. He could run forever like a current of the wind and fight with the strength of a thousand boar for years on end, never tiring. He said that's why those who enter the woods never return, because the wolf would eat them whole before they could. His mother always told him not to listen to Old Ariah's stories, he was hoary and sick. But as he ran through the maze of death and heat, the boy wished that he had the golden wolf by his side to protect him.

Tall palisade came into view through the haze of grey smoke and the boy set his sights on it. Just a league away was the iron gate, agape and beckoning. He had never seen it open before, not even the time the priest's boys dared him to touch it— for which he got twenty lashings when the council found out.

He pushed, propelling his feet to move faster, to leave his heart beating behind. He pretended that his eyes were as blue as steel, teeth as white as a wraith, strong as a thousand boar…

Something had hit him square in the stomach and he gagged as the air was expelled from his lungs in a sudden woosh. He nearly flipped over the object until he was grabbed by his collar from behind. He gave a breathless shriek that sounded like a tiny cat and tried to claw his way free only to come up with air. A loud braying sounded in his ears, hot and thick, and his exerted heart was suddenly gripped by fear. He swallowed but instead felt the urge to gag again.

"Where do you find you're filchin' off to, brat?"

Another yell guttered from his throat and he wriggled fruitlessly.

"Got another one!" The beast hollered behind them.

He felt the cloth of his collar shift and he was abruptly swung around until he faced a wooden wagon with bars like the many he had seen before, except this time he was heading towards it. He writhed more violently once he saw his destination and screamed until a blow to the head rendered him limp. He watched listlessly as browned grass passed beneath his suspended body, his bare feet caked with dried black and crimson, a toe nail was missing. He hadn't even noticed the pain of it in his haste.

"In with the rest."

He was tossed again and met with unforgiving solid purchase. He hit the wood and rolled once before he heard the latch of a lock behind him. He didn't bother to open his eyes until he felt the wagon sway and jolt as it began to roll. There was a whinny of a horse and a holler to boot before he blearily blinked through the pain in his throbbing head.

He wasn't alone. Two other boys who looked to be a few years is senior, both dark of hair and eye. A small boy was squeezed in the middle, his hair a shade lighter, his eyes closed in terror. They huddled in the far back of the wagon, their backs pressed against bars of ironwood. The two sat wide-eyed and gaunt, they remained tight-lipped and shrunk into themselves even as he sat up on his haunches. They had long ears too. Hylians, he remembered his mother's words. They weren't the only ones, however. In his peripheral he caught a shock of mussed blonde hair. He sat alone, scrawny just as the rest of them yet he held a different air about him. This boy had narrowed eyes, and he held fisted hands at his sides, staring past him, past the cage. He followed his gaze until his sights landed on the back of the brigand's head who gave another crack of the whip, spurring the horses into a trot.

There was no fear in that boy's eyes. Only anger.

"Kill us. Tha's what they're gunna do."

The boy turned towards the voice. It had been the tallest of the three cowering in the back, presumably the oldest. He didn't recognize him.

"Shut yours, Cadus. You're scaring him."

"It won't matter if he's scared as a whelp or sick as a bitch when they're done with us." His voice was a belt and the smallest visibly flinched then an onslaught of sobs caught in his throat. The third boy wrapped his arms around him, wiping his brow and petting his head.

"Now you done it! Where do you get off scaring my brother like that, huh?"

Cadus shrugged, his eyes still as big as the moon itself. "It won't matter. Nothing matters…" He trailed off, mumbling incoherently.

The boy didn't even have time to respectfully look away before the older brother caught his gaze, his eyes narrowing like the blonde haired youth behind him. He swallowed timidly, uncertain as to why he warranted such a derisive regard. The brother continued to hold the child, never breaking contact, "And what're you supposed to be? Their spawn sent to keep us in check? Make sure we ain't looking to make our leaving? Well as you can see we're not doing anything of the sort so you can sod right off!"

The boy instinctively retreated backwards, his eyes enlarging to the like of Cadus' moons. The younger brother continued to cry. The wagon jilted over a rock and the boy fumbled in his retreat but a hand on his shoulder righted him.

"Now who's the one scaring children? Let him alone, Eldwin. Can't you see he's just like the rest of us?"

It was the angry boy, whose wrath was currently redirected, much to his relief. His voice was deeper than he expected and it cracked on syllables that drawled like "o" or "ah". The older brother seemed surprised at the outburst as if he couldn't believe it was blonde hair who said the words. But his features quickly twisted like bark on a tree. "Now you use that tongue of yours! A whole lot of good it did us back at the pot shop!"

The grip tightened on his shoulder and he stiffened, craning his neck to get a glimpse of the boy's long flaxen hair and thinned mouth, taut with anger. His blue eyes flashed and for a moment he swore they were the color of frozen steel.

The golden wolf…

At second glance, he looked to be older than the rest of them, save for Cadus and his moon eyes.

"Don't you fix that on me! I wouldn't have been able to save all of us and you know it!"

Eldwin retracted, shrinking under the wolf's whiplash chastening. He swallowed, tightening his jaw and flicked his gaze back to the boy who instantly averted his eyes in response.

"Then what about him? You say he's innocent but I don't see no innocence in that eye color of his! And his ears— he's Gerudo!"

The boy braced at the word, a word that had been used against him like the sharp end of a sword since he could remember. Acute and threatening.

His mother had told him to not let that word hurt. It was only a title and it hadn't always been a bad one. "You're a mixture of something sweet," she'd tell him with a kiss to the head. He had never known what she meant but he tried his best to do as she said, pretending that the words and the rocks they threw at him weren't real.

"It's no matter if he's Gerudo or moblin, I'd sooner take my chance with him than the rest of you lot right about now. Back off or I'll give you something to cry about."

The hand released his shoulder and everyone stayed quiet after that except for the small child's soft hiccups and Eldwin's murmurs in his ears. The blonde wolf had retreated back to his solitary corner, his hands no longer fisted but his brow just as screwed up as ever. Deep in thought or simmering with rage, he couldn't tell. Mayhaps a bit of both.

The boy took to the wood bars somewhere along the middle of the cage after that, staying equal distance away from both parties. Every so often, he'd catch queer glances from Eldwin and even his brother once he stopped crying but he pretended he didn't see just like he pretended he couldn't hurt. He wanted to say something to the wolf who stood up for him but after one glance at his long unkempt hair and feral eyes he thought twice and ended up keeping to himself. He didn't want to draw any more attention.

With a sudden wave of pain he glanced down at his feet only to see them still stained with red. Black flakes of dried blood were caked around the tissue that had once been protected by his toenail. He had forgotten about the pain again until the throes washed over him anew. Stifling a soft whimper, he tore a parcel of the dirty rag he wore, which had recently become daubed with black smirch, and gently wrapped it around the toe. His mother would always wash his cuts before wrapping them but water was a scarcity, a thought that made his throat dry and ache with a sudden yearning. He looked up only to meet the eyes of the small child tucked into his brothers arms, his eyes a curious hazel, before he brusquely turned away.

The boy bit his lip, riding out the pain in his foot and pressed his cheek into the grooves of the bars, watching as the village sunk into the hazy nighttime horizon. He had missed their exit amidst the quarreling and now could only make out what they had left behind. Tall flames reached for the dark sky, the smoke an extension of its crimson talons that grabbed even higher, wrestling with pale clouds in the early moonlight. He sniffed back the stinging in his eyes that always appeared when he thought of his mother. As he watched the village dwindle into nothing more than a reddish grey mass he wondered if she knew he wasn't there anymore. She had told him to run, to never come back, but he figured this hadn't been what she intended. He escaped the village— behind thick spindles of a cage.

He wondered if she was alright. If she made it out. Would he ever see her again?

Images of men with red hair, grabbing her, pulling her, like the women on the street flooded his head and he abruptly closed his eyes and willed them away. Instead, he watched as they passed by oak-clad bluffs and rushing runnels drifting parallel to their trail. The wagon jolted and careened in the mounds of the rushes, reaching tall around them in places. As unfavorable as his current situation was, he had never been outside the village before and even in the darkness he had become enthralled. Elk passed through sentinel trees, hidden by their whispering shadows. Keese and owls alike whickered above, he could hear the prattle of their wings beating the air. Things that he had never seen, things that he had only heard in his mother's or Old Ariah's stories were in front of his very eyes. For a while, it kept the sadness and the fear at bay.

Only when stone ramparts appeared in the golden horizon did the feelings resurface, his gut coiling with dread. The boys around him had drifted off to sleep, it had seemed, all save for the golden wolf who had his fists clenched again. He had his sights set on the great castle ahead. Pillars rose taller than any tree or mountain, their dark stones painted with orange morning light. The sun was beginning to break through the dawn and it cast halos through the wall's crenellations like a magical crown. It was huge. Bigger than his small village; he had never seen anything of its like. They passed by other wagons and men on horses, large packs secured to their saddles and crates piled in wheel barrows— a constant flow of people bustling to and fro. Dark of skin and hair in various shades of sunset, from deep crimson to golden tangerine, men and women alike. Their skin taut and lean, well-muscled and shining with an almost oily gleam. Their pants loose fitting and their chests wrapped in white gauze with shawls and tabards in royal purples and scarlets.

Gerudo. They're all Gerudo, he realized. They looked different than the Gerudo he was used to seeing. Clean. Humane.

Their wagon was being escorted by women in boiled leather and ringmail with polished greaves and pointed boots. Others stood sentinel to the side, evenly spaced and filed with tall weapons clutched within their grasp, their hilts resting in the muddy soil below. Sharp faces were hidden behind helms of gold and silver, encrusted with rubies and other red gems that matched their shoes. He could only make out their piercing amber eyes in the shadows of their visors, following them with stalwart gazes as they passed under an archway, leading into the city.

The contemptuous looks the golden wolf gave each soldier did not pass over him.

I should be angry too, the boy thought as he watched the women lead them further past the walls— all tan of skin, they destroyed my village, they killed— He stopped himself.

No. She's not dead. She can't be.

Yet no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't seem to muster up the animosity that the wolf so obviously felt. His blue eyes were squinted in subdued ferocity, a flame flickering just behind his eyelids, waiting to be unleashed. Lips pulled back tightly, almost in a snarl. This wolf is ready to strike given the opportunity. The boy wondered if he would.

Traders and caravans passed by them without a second glance, bustling about with a plethora of crops and meat, their smells permeated the air. Rancid and sour. The boy's stomach grumbled its dissent but his throat closed in a wave of nausea.

"The castle," a small voice spoke. The other children had awoken. Eldwin hushed his younger brother with the curious eyes.

Everywhere he turned, moons and stars dotted the scene before him. Flying high as morning ravens on blood flags, jingling on plated armor worn by guards and soldiers, carved into doors and wagons, burned onto horses and cattle being led through throngs of early-rising townsfolk, and stamped onto the entrance to the grand castle that lay before them. The manse stretched for leagues in both directions so far that the boy could not see from his limited view behind bars. The tallest point rose higher than the clouds it seemed, he couldn't make out the top through the haze of damp fog that had settled around the town. Dripping wet grey smoke that seemed just as menacing as the fingers that crawled to the heavens after razing his village. He shivered from the cold. Women with more weapons stood ahead, forming another line that barred any entrance to the courtyards. They made a sharp left, the castle and its towers disappearing behind brick buildings.

"Barley, corn cockles, and suet!" A piebald man yelled in a raspy voice, pushing along a cheapened trolley. He walked with a limp and when he turned to catch sight of their wagon he revealed a milky white marble in his eye socket.

A brutal looking woman with frazzled black hair and wild eyes wider than Cadus' moon saucers lunged at the bars the boy was pressed against. He jumped back with a sudden start. "You filthy fiends! I'll wait to see you burn in hell!" her screams molested his mind and he scampered backwards until he hit the opposite side.

Next to him, Eldwin's younger brother was wailing again. Cadus began to mumble to himself as he was wont to do.

More screams echoed around them, filthy words, dirty words. Something wet splattered against the back of his head. He flinched in shock, pulling into himself yet he continued to feel the wetness trickle down his back. Screeches raked his ears like the call of flaying keese.

An old crookback crone skittered back and forth parallel to the wagon, looking everywhere yet nowhere with wringing hands chanting, "It's too late, it's too late, it's too late," until the boy put his hands over his ears to make it all stop.

He closed his eyes and it did. Everything had become nothing more than a muffled murmur and he pretended it was his mother telling him the story of the hero and his princess.

"…they granted Hyrule a period of peace…"

A village on fire, burning until nothing was left but the taste of ash in his mouth.

"…blessed with extraordinary courage and wisdom…"

Screaming and crying then deafening silence.

"…to fight the resurgence of evil wherever it may rise…"

She told him to run but her own words died on her lips.

"…until the ends of time…"

Chaos. He couldn't breathe. The fires were ravaging him, encircling him so he couldn't escape. Why couldn't he run? Where was his mother?

Dead.

All dead.

He tried to scream but nothing came out.

He was trapped in the darkness and the murmurs and the fire and the silence. The blood and the moon and the stars.

"I said look at me!"

The boy opened his eyes to find he was staring back into twin blue flames, alight and frenzied. The wolf had pried his hands from his ears and held them tight in his grip, his long golden hair hanging savagely across his dirty face.

"Breathe, just breathe," he urged, his grip loosening.

The boy blinked and he felt the cool wind on his damp cheeks. He had been crying. Doing as the wolf asked, he took a deep breath, allowing it to fill the expanse of his aching lungs and let it out in a decompressing relief.

"Good, now keep looking at me. Don't look out there, not at them."

The boy gave a tepid nod and stared into his wild eyes, imagining himself sitting in Old Ariah's hut next to his hearth as he painted his stories with old words. Stories of forests and swords and heroes that spoke of verdant leaves and sun mottled flowers, hidden groves and ancient temples with whispers of magic hiding in their recesses.

Then the wagon came to a stop and the golden wolf swallowed, his hands letting go of his wrists and backed away to his respective corner as if nothing transpired at all. He heard the braying of horses then footsteps as they rounded alongside the wagon. An older man, dark grey skin wrinkled and cracked, a long red beard long since turned a sickly dead rose color. His teeth let out a whistle when he spoke.

"Out, the lot of yeh. One at a time or I'll have your legs chopped off right to yer buttocks."

And that's just what they did. First was Cadus, his eyes wider than he'd ever seen them in the entire ride. He was shaking so badly that the boy was sure he'd make water right there on his trousers. The bearded man grabbed him roughly once he proved to be too slow for his liking and yanked him down into the dirt and Cadus cried. He bound his hands behind his back with a brown rope then pulled him upright and shoved him into a group of female soldiers who received and ushered him along into a dark tunnel.

Next was Eldwin and his brother who clung to his shirt with a violent desperation. Eldwin whispered something into his ear and pried off his tiny hands. He jumped down and his hands were too tied behind his back. He didn't cry, nor was he pushed down into the dirt. He gave his sobbing brother who had begun to climb down another look before he was pulled away.

After then it was just him and the wolf left. The boy began to crawl the length of the wagon before his arm was seized and yanked backward. His eyes widened as he watched the wolf calmly make his way towards the old man, a certain gleam in his eyes.

Given the opportunity, he will strike, he recalled again and swallowed with anticipation.

"Now, boy! Get yer arse down here!"

With a growl, the man reached in after him but the wolf was faster and managed to grab hold of his wrinkled arm, giving it a good twist. He let out a deep bellow and it was over in a blink of an eye as he fell limp against the wagon. Immediately, guards rushed forward; the wolf had nowhere to run. They dragged him out but unlike Cadus, he struggled and writhed like a chained animal until they hit him over the head and he went limp.

Then they came for the boy and he didn't dare resist, watching forlornly as they dragged away his only companion. Stepping over the crumpled mass of the old man, he noticed a gleam of silver protruding from his neck, the ground stained with his blood. He quickly averted his eyes and instead attempted to take in his surroundings but all he could make out was a large structure that seemed to span nearly as wide as the castle. Atop the walls were more crimson colored flags snapping in the wind. His view was quickly cut short as he was enveloped by the shadows of the darkened tunnel, eating him whole. Torches hanging from the walls provided scant illumination. He was led for was seemed like ages down serpentine steps and twisting corridors that didn't go anywhere but down. The boy was certain that by the time they reached the bottom they must be at the earth's core, yet the air was thick with mildew and too wet to be near lava. It reeked of dung and moldy bread.

Moaning whispers mingled in an echoing keen, firelight flickered more dimly, and the boy's hands grew clammy with anxiety until they were upon a block of cells. Bars on either side and within them were children just like himself. Dirty and scrawny they were. He could hardly make out their frail bodies through the darkness. They took him down to the end of the row where they threw him in the last remaining cell with an unforgiving shove. He hit the ground hard and the cell door jangled shut behind him.

A silent groan was his indication that he wasn't alone and the boy scrambled back until he hit the wall. The figure rose and he caught a glimpse of gold in the dull glow of a nearby torch.

"It's you," he spoke for the first time since the village, his voice croaky with disuse. The wolf let out another noise that sounded like an injured boar as he moved himself to a bed of straw in the corner. A soft dripping noise sounded next to him and he reached out a hand, cupping the water and splashed it onto his face.

"Why did you kill that man?" the boy asked, trying again.

Silence save for the mumblings in the distance and the soft patters of water droplets.

"He was going to gut you," came his simple answer. "I saw before we arrived, what he did to the last boys in the cages. Sick game of his. They let him do it too, couldn't care less."

The boy shivered allowing the air to grow stale with stillness once more, his words lingering in the forefront of his mind. The wolf protected him, again.

"I— thanks, for…" he trailed off, realizing how inadequate the words sounded on his lips. He thought he heard him utter a hum in response before sounds of rustling hay drowned everything else out, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

He wished his mother were there. To hold him and sing him to sleep. To kiss his forehead and touch his cheek. He missed her. The twinkle of her voice and her long red hair— something that he didn't used to associate with bad omens. He even thought further back, to a time when they were four instead of two. It was becoming so difficult to remember…

"Do you have a name?" the wolf's voice suddenly broke the silence and he nearly jumped at the disruption. He blinked. His name. He remembered his mother, chasing him through fields of grass, laughing and running, calling out his name. It had been so long.

"Aeron. My name is Aeron."

More rustling, he caught a slight glimpse of his form in the torch light and perhaps even a flash of blue.

"Link."

A peculiar name, he thought. But it rolled off his tongue easily enough and it seemed to fit him, as if he couldn't believe he hadn't known it until now.

"Where are we, Link?"

Aeron heard him sigh followed by more crunching until he could make out his dark shadow sitting against the dank wall. He felt something cool run down the back of his rag and he touched a hand there only to bring it back with some sticky yellow substance coating his fingers. It glistened in the glow of fire.

"In the dungeons below the colosseum, didn't you see it before we got here?"

He shook his head then realized that Link probably couldn't see. "No, I couldn't."

"You do know where this is, right?"

He gave another jerk of his head but before righting himself to clarify, Link was already speaking again. "You don't know much of anything do you?"

Aeron kept silent to that.

"Hyrule Castletown, formally anyhow. That's where we are. They collect us like cattle from the villages they raze and bring us here. Been going on for just shy a year now."

Castletown? This couldn't be the same Castletown Old Ariah would tell in his stories. That Castletown was a place full of singing birds and friendly women who gave out hot cakes and men who patted you on the back with a smile and said, "be on your way now." A place where the air smelled of baked treats and the warm cookfires in hearths, where stringed music played in alleyways and people clapped along dancing capers.

Here there were only terrible words hurtled like knives and mangy dogs that foamed at the mouth, scary women who threw things at his head and men who said, "I'll be lookin' to see you brained on the end of Gerudo skewer come your time." It smelled of sour crop and sour stool, piss and animal waste. The only music that played were the screeches of cats and the moaning of sick. Nobody clapped and nobody danced.

"Why?" he asked. "Why do they bring us here?"

Link didn't answer right away and Aeron was scared that he said something wrong. He didn't want the wolf-boy to mislike him, he was all he had anymore.

But then words trickled from his mouth, unbidden and quiet, "To fight. For their entertainment. They'll train us, run us into the mud for years until they see us fit. Then they fight us like dogs."

Aeron grew very still even though his heart beat as fast as it did back at the village. He wound his arms around his stomach, something he always did when he was frightened. Back then his mother was there. Now she wasn't.

"But not me," Link's voice echoed louder, stronger, "They'll never have me, not truly. Never you either if I can help it. I'll find us a way out, just you see."

"And your friends?" he asked in a meek voice, not daring to hope in Link's words.

"They're not my friends," he answered deridingly. "Bunch of dyer's boys they are, cocky. Wouldn't take my help if I could."

Aeron wiped more of the yellow bile from his hair and thought about the younger brother with the golden eyes. "We could try."

Even through the darkness he could make out his measured look, as if he were reassessing him. "We could."

They stayed that way for some time, listening to the echoes of wet drips and groans from nearby cells. Every once in a while the torchlight would sputter with a crackle of embers, raining down to the ground with red droplets. He idly watched a shiny cockroach shimmy down the length of a steel bar and scurry along the grooves of masonry right out of their cubicle. He wished he could turn into a cockroach, then he could scurry on out of here and away from this nightmare ridden Castletown and back to his mother. Link shifted again and he could tell that he was done talking for the time so Aeron situated himself against the wall more comfortably, not wanting to put his face on the vermin coated floor. He closed his eyes, beckoning sleep that seemed too far away to reach. He was surprised when he heard Link speak again.

"What were you going on about? Back in town. You mentioned something of a hero and a princess."

Aeron opened his eyes. Had he been saying it aloud? It was all such a blur, he had been so scared…

"A story… my mother used to tell me," he responded quietly.

He saw the shadow of Link's head give a solemn nod then, "Do you believe it?"

The question took him by surprise but the answer came quickly to him. After all, hadn't he asked his mother the same thing?

"I do," he intoned fecklessly, "do you?"

"No," his reply came quick as a whip, searing the air. "I never believed in such cribtales. This world is hard and cruel, no hero or princess can change that. Neither exist anyhow. Even the fabled goddesses play us false. If there are such divine beings then why haven't they stepped in? Why do mothers and fathers burn? Why do brothers and sisters drown?" He paused, hanging a wrist over his knee, his face still marred by shadows. "I have come to learn that the only person who will save you is yourself."

Aeron thought about his mother and how nobody saved her. He thought about his father and the sister he couldn't remember. Nobody saved them. He thought of himself and the way Gerudo men seized him as if he were no more than a pestering cucoo.

But someone had saved him.

Long after silence claimed Link and the dungeon's whispers grew quiet, he pulled out the golden ring that twinkled in the dull light and held it by his thumb and forefinger. Its beauty only made the dirt under his nails seem dirtier. The grim on the floors grimier. The one thing he had of his mother and he didn't even know its purpose. Why would she give him something so precious? As if he'd be able to hide it from them any longer than she. The more he thought about it, the less sense it made. He'd never even seen her wear such a beautiful thing before. He wished he had.

When sleep finally took him he dreamed of a wolf, shining gold in the moonlight. He ran and ran through leaves and trees and grass, faster than a racing garron. Voices spoke to him, melodic whisperings in his ears, coming from everywhere and nowhere. Then there was a sword. A mythical looking thing right there in the deep fastness of wilderness with vines and bignonia climbing in twain around the glowing blade and its violet hilt. It radiated brilliantly in the darkness until it blinded the entire sanctum in an ethereal white light. When it subsided the wolf had disappeared, in its place was a human boy grown old.

And his eyes were as blue as steel.