Wow. Very pleased with all the positive feedback on the first chapter. Yes, this means I will be continuing. Thanks to everyone who reviewed, keep it up please. It really motivates me to keep writing.

~Alyssa

(As a side note, in my imagination Castle Town and Kakiriko are sort of bigger and more like Castle Town in Twilight Princess.)

(Nox means night or darkness in Latin. It'll make sense later)

Non caro et sanguis, sed cor patrum ad filios, quae facit.

….

It is not flesh and blood, but the heart which makes us fathers and sons.

Now

For a long time, I wandered.

Torn, broken from the events that had taken place at the castle, with nowhere to go and no one to help me, I hadn't the faintest idea what to do with myself. Castle Town wasn't an option, not with how close proximity I would be to her. Just the idea of possibly seeing her making appearances around the town was unthinkable. But I couldn't return to the Kokiri, either. They didn't want me. I wasn't one of them. And something told me if I went to Lon Lon Ranch, there would be a similar episode.

So that left one option, one that I had put off as much as possible. Kakiriko.

I had waited as long as I could to face the familiar town until there was no way to put it off. No other choice. The memories that haunted that place scared me—terrified me, actually—but I couldn't wander forever. So with a sinking feeling of dread in my stomach, I headed towards Death Mountain on the horizon.

This was the beginning of my second adventure, however less glamorous or heroic it was. But trust me, it was harder than anything I'd ever done before.

Picking up the shattered pieces of my worthless existence and trying to fit them back together again was the greatest task I had ever undertaken.

Farore, not even that. Maybe it was just simply living without her.

ox(O)xo

Then

I was eight years of age when I joined the Glaive.

I had wandered into Kakiriko, tired and hungry and as alone as I had ever been in my years. The sky was just turning dark as I climbed the stairs, lugging my pouch of recently emptied of rations on my back.

I hadn't the rupees to rent a room at the inn, and no amount of begging would sway the receptionist. I told her I recognized her face. I told her I used to round up her cuckoos. She was so kind to me back then, but now she slammed the heavy oak door in my face. I could just catch snippets of her mumbling through the cracks.

"Dirty street rat…I thought he'd never leave…"

She was right, of course. I had planned on milking her sympathy until she allowed me a room—or any place to sleep inside the warm building. And her opinion based on my appearance was perfectly reasonable as well.

My tunic was faded and torn, and my boots were falling apart at the seams. I'd ripped my hat somewhere in the forest and taken it off, and the hair it usually kept hidden was matted and filthy. In fact, everything on me was filthy. I hadn't bathed in ages, and even then it was only in the moat of Castle Town. How could she have known that I, a lonely wandering child, was once the Hero of Time?

A word to describe me then would have been pathetic. Only pathetic little boys had to sleep in ditches by the roadside. And only pathetic little boys were forgotten.

Tears stung the corners of my eyes, and I wanted nothing more than to hit something. Hurt it. Break it. Destroy it. With a cry of rage I tore a branch from a nearby tree and began assaulting the shrubbery. Grass and leaves flew in every direction. Dirt sprang up from the score mark I was whipping into the ground.

The tears flew freely then, and with every blow I shouted the one thing prodding my mind; "Why! Can't! You! Remember!"

The passerby watched me warily from a distance, and what I saw in their eyes struck me to the core: I was just a child now. A child throwing a temper tantrum. This did nothing to soothe my fury.

The stick cracked in two, and this time I directed my rage at it. I took the halves over my knee and snapped them as well, then hurled them one by one towards the warm, inviting windows of the inn. I heard a satisfying crash, and the receptionist's shriek.

Breathing heavily and pleased with my destruction, I disappeared into the shadows.

Soon enough I had found a small nook between two shops where I could spend the night. After checking to be sure it was unoccupied by other vagabonds, I dug out a small cavity in the dirt to shield me from the winds, and lined it with dead leaves. My rucksack doubled as a pillow, the remaining leaves served as a makeshift blanket. All in all, not too shabby. I was just closing my eyes when…

"You're not bad, boy. Have you some practice with a blade?"

I jumped at the sound of the unfamiliar voice. It was low and melodious, with a slight lilt to the vowels. And it was coming from right above me.

"Steady, steady. I didn't mean to frighten you." He paused, and then, "The name's Baxter. And you are?"

I stared up at him incomprehensibly, for a moment losing the ability to speak as I took in the hulking figure of him. He stood higher than six feet tall, with bulging, tapered muscles on every inch of his body. At my staring he looked a tad awkward, shifting his weight uncomfortably.

"Er…well, that's alright too. You don't have to tell me right now." I looked at him skeptically.

"I didn't realize there was a later."

He laughed – a hearty laugh that rippled through his whole body. It charged the air with positive energy, and left a smile on my lips. Granted, it was a wary smile, but the first of any sort in weeks.

"There could be…" He picked at his fingernails for a moment before meeting my eyes. "Were you planning on sleeping there tonight?" He gestured to the place that I'd been lying. I nodded.

"Figured as much." His solemn face was then replaced by a completely different one – one with a welcoming smile that formed lines around his gleaming topaz eyes. This was the face of a happy man. "I like you, boy. You've got spirit. How'd you like to come back with me to my home?"

"Home?" I asked, wonder unconsciously filling my voice. I had not had a true home since before my adventure. Home. A place where I would be welcome, where I would always have a bed and a place at the table. The concept was entirely foreign to me.

"Aye." He said, a grin coming across his face. "My wife holds down the fort, but the rest of 'em earn their keep as well."

"The rest of them?" I repeated. His face was youthful, too young to have children old enough to work for themselves. I quickly drew my own conclusions. "You're a part of a clan?"

"You could call it a clan," he said, his expression suddenly thoughtful. "Or maybe a troupe, or a tribe, or even a family. But whatever you call it, whoever you are, you need one, and we have one." He looked down at me, his eyes meeting mine. The gentleness and kindness that shone in them were nearly impossible to resist. Of course he was right. A part deep inside of me longed to be nurtured, to have the benefits of a home, to have people I could confide in. And if he was offering such a treasure to me, who was I to refuse?

"Lead the way," I said, my voice very small and insignificant as I picked my belongings off the ground and slung them over my back, going to join him on the cobbled stones.

"That's a good lad!" he guffawed, clapping me on the shoulder, pushing me in a forward direction.

For a short while he led me through town, the voices of people going about their shopping and jingling of store bells filling my ears. Light poured from the many window shops, illuminating the paths on which we walked.

Eventually we got to the less appetizing part of Kakiriko, where it was not uncommon for a cry for help to be heard in the distance or a body littering the street. Tourism was scarce here and funds were not given to keep it as beautiful as the square. We stayed in this area longer, walking farther and farther away from the lively noises of the town, where the light was sparse and a very thick blanket of despair hung in the air.

Abruptly, he turned a corner, a small crevice in the wall that had escaped my notice. We were in a small passage between two buildings, where no light penetrated the shadows. He unceremoniously threw aside a ladder leaning against the wall, and turned to his side.

Looking to the ladder, I opened my mouth in confusion, but when I glanced back to him, Baxter had disappeared. I took a step closer to the wall, reaching my hand to touch it. Running my fingers along the rough, unsanded stone, I was baffled. How had he-

Suddenly the resistance of the wall vanished. My hand slid right through, and I nearly tripped from the shock. Intrigued, I pushed my arm in, feeling along the inside of the wall. It was a thin space, just big enough for a person to walk through. Experimentally, I mimicked Baxter's motions, turning so my hip faced the wall and slowly sliding through.

Sure enough, my body went through the "wall" as if it weren't there. It because quickly apparent why Baxter had sidestepped in. I was in a sort of alleyway, so narrow a fully grown man could most certainly would not have fit. As it was I had a bit of trouble with my rucksack over my back, and I was but a child.

I winced as I was reminded of the fact yet again, biting down on my lip to stop the moisture in my eyes from escaping.

Slowly, I sidled through the passageway, ignoring the nausea that was brought on by my claustrophobia. There, at the end, the smiling figure of Baxter awaited me, waiting in front of a small yard and a building.

"See you figured it out, boy." He said, patting my back again. "Clever lad, good head on your shoulders, I'm sure."

"What-" I began, gesturing to the place I had just exited, where no visible hole was. "How does that work?"

He grinned knowingly, starting up the way to the residence. "A glamour. Garrett's brilliant with them." He looked at me, my ignorance obviously showing on my face. "You'll be meeting him in a moment. He'll explain if you ask him. But I'll warn you; once you get him started it won't be easy to shut him up."

As we approached I could hear the happy sounds of laughter mixed with a merry tune on a fiddle coming from behind the door. The sound was so contagious; I had a brief moment where I battled a smile of my own. A sound bubbled in my throat but was repressed, coming out as a cough rather than what it was intended. It had been a long time since I had laughed. Perhaps I had forgotten how.

"This is where you live?" I asked. It was almost too good to be true.

He pushed open the door, warm light spilling into the shadows of the yard. "Aye, my boy. Welcome to the Glaive."

A lanky, sandy-haired boy—the one that was playing the fiddle—abruptly stopped his playing, looking up at the sound of the door, his eyes meeting mine. I realized with a pang of shock that they were a blood red. At the surprise on my face he smirked, setting down his instrument and coming forward.

"Who's this?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. There was laughter in his voice, a friendly, teasing tone that drew me to him immediately.

Two others sitting around a scrubbed table looked to Baxter as well, a man and woman. The woman's copper hair was pulled high into a ponytail, two strands left down to frame her cheekbones. A pleased smile appeared on her face as she stood as well, revealing a longsword that clung to her hip. The man remained seated, raising an eyebrow as he stared at me, his long brown hair tied back in a similar fashion to Baxter's. His eyes never left mine as I awkwardly followed Baxter further inside. I felt naked under his scrutiny.

"Found him in the middle of the street reeking havoc on some bushes. Looked like he could use a friend." Baxter explained, reaching to rest a hand on my shoulder. "I'll be right back."

With that, he jogged past the table and disappeared up the staircase, leaving me alone with these strange people.

It was the red-eyed boy who broke the silence, taking a step forward, and holding out his hand. "We don't bite, you know." He grinned. "I'm Archer."

"Archer?" I asked automatically. It was an unorthodox name. Perhaps this was the reason why he had such…foreign features. He was not from here.

I suppose my fear of his crimson eyes was in my voice, for he laughed again before shaking my hand firmly.

"You've never met a Sheikah?" he asked before closing his eyes. "Sorry—just a sec…"

He let go of my hand, his face twisted as though he was trying to solve a difficult arithmetic problem in his head, screwing his eyes shut and balling his fists. Abruptly, he relaxed, his eyes fluttering open. I jerked back, a jolt of shock and fear running through me yet again.

His eyes were no longer a sinister, blood red, but a light blue-hazel, the same color of the sky just at the brink of dawn.

Another laugh escaped his lips as he saw the look on my face. "Yes. You've never met a Sheikah. You've probably never heard of them either. Most Hylians think we're extinct. We're a race of shape-shifters, people of the shadow that can become whoever we want to be."

No, I wanted to tell him. I knew Sheikah. In fact, I knew and had rescued the leader of the Sheikah from certain death, then awaked them as the Sage of Shadow in a mission to rescue Hyrule.

But something told me that wouldn't be a good way to make friends.

I chuckled nervously. "If you can change the way you look, why do you keep your eyes such a…noticeable color?" I stammered, still trying to recover myself.

He took a thoughtful expression, shrugging his shoulders. "It looks cool."

"I see." The childlike simplicity of his reasoning brought a smile to my face.

Baxter thundered back down the steps then, holding a bundle of cloth in his hands. Holding them out to me, he grinned triumphantly. "I found you some clean clothes. We can fix them up for you if they're too big."

I shook out the folded garments, holding the blue tunic and tan breeches up to my chest. They were warm and dry, and smelled lovely—a luxury I had not had since living with the Kokiri. "Thank you," I said fervently, "This is wonderful."

"Archer, take him up to your room, will you? Show him where he's staying. " Baxter said, going to sit beside the woman, taking her hand and murmuring something in her ear. This must be the wife he spoke briefly of.

"Will do." said Archer, tugging on my arm once. "Come on."

He bounded up the steps, gesturing for me to follow him, and I did.

I emerged onto a rather narrow landing, and Archer glanced back at me eagerly, before starting the tour. We began at the end of the hallway, and worked our way back towards the stairs. The floorboards creaked underfoot as Archer pointed out every room.

"That there's the washroom, Baxter and Zenith's room," He put a hand on my shoulder and glared down at me in mock-seriousness, "Trust me, when the door is shut, don't even think of going in. I learned the hard way." He shuddered – causing me to grin – and went on. "Garrett's room – it doubles as his workshop, a spare bedroom – never know when we'll pick up a new one, and finally…" He took hold of the doorknob and flashed me a radiant smile. "My room."

The door swung open to reveal a quaint little room, hardly the size of an ordinary closet. Along one wall sat a bunk bed, the top rumpled and unmade, with black and white pictographs tacked on the wall beside it, the bottom held only a flimsy stained mattress. On the other wall sat a single bed, but without any cushion the frame looked uncomfortable and uninviting. Between the two sat an old flat topped chest – doubling as storage and a table, I supposed – and on the floor was a dingy thatched rug.

Archer leaned against the door frame. "It's not much, I know. But it's something I can call mine." He raised his light eyebrows and smiled. "Well, ours now."

I laughed lightly, savoring in the sound and sitting on the bottom bunk. The mattress creaked and I could feel the rope supports underneath, but it was a step up from the ground. To think, just minutes ago I was out on the street. "It's perfect."

We were called back down then, and I was immersed in the tales they began to tell me, reveling in being able to laugh, having peace of mind.

It was beautiful.

In the short time that we'd known each other, Archer had already taught me this; having something to call your own was the greatest thing in the world. Upstairs was my room. And this wasmy friend. And here, sitting around this table, the prospects of my family. Mine, all mine. Even though I did not know them well at all, I could sense they would be a treasure, a wonderful thing that not every man was able to experience, that only a fool would refuse.

After an hour or so, Archer led the way back up to his—our—bedroom. He quickly stripped off his clothing and I did the same, changing into the clothes that I had been given. I pulled the covers back and sliding between the fresh sheets that Zenith had handed me before we went up. The simple pleasure of having a bed after months was confounding. It was a luxury I hadn't been given since my days in the forest.

The frame creaked above me as Archer climbed into bed as well.

"Hey Archer?" I asked after a minute, curiosity getting the best of me.

"What?"

"Why aren't there any windows? You showed me every room in the house, and there's not a single window."

"Because we're thieves." He spoke through a yawn. "We're a disgrace to public society, and most of us have a fine price on our heads. That's what happens when the rupees get tight – we draw sticks and Baxter turns in the unlucky fella. Dead, more often than not. Doesn't pay nearly as well as alive, but hey, it's what we gotta do. Wouldn't want them spilling our beans, you know? Either way, we'll be living fat for weeks." He chuckled dryly, and I imagined his sneer. But I said nothing. I was too horrified to think, let alone talk. What had I gotten myself into?

He shifted so that his head dangled over the side of the bed. His crimson eyes danced in the candlelight. "I was only joking, you know…"

"Oh," I choked out. Goddesses, I had saved Hyrule from certain destruction, and I couldn't understand a ten year old's sarcasm. I stared at the wood of the bedframe above, pondering his sincerity before I spoke again.

"Hey Archer?"

"Mmmph?"

"Who are those people in your pictographs?"

He sucked in a breath, hesitating for a moment. "My parents. The pictograph was taken when I was young, probably around three…but they're gone, now."

"Oh. My parents are dead. I never knew them."

"Lucky you. Mine were terrible. They decided they didn't want to be Sheikah anymore. They hid themselves when they were needed most, and I hated them for it. I wanted to join the rest of our people. They loved me the best they could, but how can anyone truly love something that they've evaded all their lives?"

"They were planning to take me out of Hyrule, over the mountains where a lot of…retired Sheikah are. We were about halfway over Death Mountain, way past where Goron City was…and then we were attacked. My father was driving the wagon, he got taken out first. When my mother heard that the bandits were raiding us, she hid me underneath our things and tried to keep them out. They stabbed her and stole her coin purse. I could hear them kicking through the rest of our things, but I guess they didn't find anything good, because they all cleared out pretty soon after that. I crawled out from under the sacks that she hid me, and I held her hand while she died. I tried to stop the bleeding best I could, but even then I knew that when a pool of blood had gotten to a certain size there was no going back."

"…She told me she loved me. She told me to be a good boy and go back to Hyrule and make my father proud. And then she closed her eyes with this little smile on her face, and her grip on my hand relaxed, and I knew she was gone."

I heard him choke back a sob, and I knew the conversation had ended. But I wasn't scared anymore, I wasn't sad. I felt empty, like someone had hollowed out my chest and took all the feeling with it. But no… I did feel one thing. I felt cold, very cold. I rolled over and squinted my eyes shut, begging sleep to take me, but of course it would not.

"Hey…" He was whispering hoarsely now.

"Yes?" I kept my voice just as low.

"You got a name?"

I hesitated. Silence was not an option now, not after Archer had spilled his past and his heart to me. Then it came to me. A name from the ancient texts, the uncommon title to the thing that still haunted my nightmares all these months later—My other. My shadow. The darkness inside of me.

The only battle I almost didn't win.

"Nox. I'm called Nox."

He leaned down, blowing out the candle, his smile glittering in the darkness.

"Welcome to the Glaive, Nox."

I laid awake for several more minutes, wide eyed and thoughtful.

Archer had taught me another thing.

He taught me that I was a part of a world of darkness, of hate and pain and death.

Link was the Hero of Time. He served his duty with the Triforce of Courage, saving the land and falling in love on the way, making lifelong friendships and gaining experience and prestige that I could have enjoyed until the day I died.

But no. That was all ripped from me before I even had the chance to step foot off the battlefield.

Link was dead. Gone.

I was Nox.

I was not the man I was any longer.

ox(O)xo

As soon as the boys had disappeared up the staircase and out of earshot, the adults gave up their façade of winding down for the night, cutting right to the conversation they'd been holding in for hours.

It was Zenith that spoke up first.

"What do you think of him?"

She finished wiping the remnants of their dinner from the table, taking the sodden cloth and wadding it up, tossing it carelessly into the washbasin, her attention turned to her husband.

It landed in its directed place with a loud thunk, and Baxter applauded her dexterity before speaking.

"Seems like a clever boy. Old for his years. He'll make a good, level-headed friend for Archer." He stood from his seat at the table, walking into the miniscule sitting area to stoke the dying fire. "What are you getting, Garrett?" he asked, acknowledging the man who now occupied the weathered old armchair tucked away into the corner, half-hidden behind a bookshelf.

"I don't know yet." Garrett said, his nose scrunching up slightly in distaste. "I have a rather off feeling about him."

Zenith paused in her scrubbing, looking over her shoulder to stare at him peculiarly. "What do you mean by that? He's only a child. And he seemed over the moon to be with us."

The older man cocked his head thoughtfully before giving his answer. "I haven't the faintest clue." He admitted, closing his book and resting his head on a hand, frustrated. "Something about him simply rubs me the wrong way. There's something…strange about the air around him. It tastes like magic. Old magic. I've never known anything like it."

Baxter grimaced. "Better have him here then out in the open. Keep an eye on him. You'd be able to handle him if things got out of hand, right?"

"Of course." Garrett rolled his eyes. "Even if he is some sorcerer's apprentice or a wandering shaman's assistant, which I highly doubt, he's only a child. Calls himself Nox. How amusing."

"Nox?" asked Zenith, pulling the leather cord out of her hair and hopping lightly over the couch, sitting cross-legged with her hands in her lap. "How do you know that?"

"He just told Archer so," Garrett informed them, his voice spiteful. "They're having a nice little chat. Probably just made it up on the spot. He doesn't want us to know who he really is."

Baxter placed a calming hand on his friend's shoulder. "I'm sure he has his reasons. We will trust him until he proves himself untrustworthy."

The other man huffed out his breath, annoyed. "There's a very fine line between trust and naivety, Baxter."

Baxter smiled patiently. "Aye," he agreed. "And we'll be careful not to cross it. But for now, let the boy sleep. Tomorrow is another day. We'll get to know him then."

Garrett made an irritated sound. "When this blows up in our faces, don't say I didn't warn you."

The larger man laughed, the hearty sound filling up the room. "I won't, friend." He promised, patting his shoulder reassuringly. "I won't."