Dark woke with a gasp, his body terrifyingly still in the quiet, windowless room.

His heartbeat thundered in his ears while he waited for the temporary paralysis to pass. Some people woke from recurring nightmares thrashing and flailing to escape the imagery of the dream. Dark always woke up unable to move, his limbs locked, refusing to listen to the commands his brain sent them.

It was far worse, for in his nightmares—his memories —he was always unable to move, too. Chained to that horrific, black altar or confined in that tiny cell, with gaunt faces pressed against the bars, hands reaching for him…

Dark bolted up as soon as he could, swiping a shaking hand over his own face. He was covered in cold sweat, and he knew he was paler than normal without looking.

Taking his breaths slowly, he tried to stay quiet. Next to him, Silas slept on, curled on his side facing away. Dark had tried to insist on sleeping on Link's couch, as there was no possible way for Silas to fit his six-and-a-half-foot frame onto it. But Silas had waved off Dark's concern and offered to share the one spare bed.

Lying back down, Dark turned and watched Silas's back as it expanded with peaceful breaths. Truthfully, while he worried about waking the other man, he was glad for Silas's presence beside him. Some nights, the nightmares didn't even come.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to summon back sleep, forcing aside the mental images the nightmare had brought on. He was tempted to place a hand on Silas's back, but he didn't. Sharing a bed was not an invitation to touch him, even if he was awake. Dark sighed and turned his head to look at the ceiling beams.

He must have drifted off eventually, for he woke again when a far off cucco shrieked its morning call down in the valley. Scrubbing his hands over his face, he saw Silas's side of the bed was empty, so he threw back the covers and padded into the kitchen.

His friend stood there, cup of coffee in hand, yawning.

"M'nin," he mumbled.

Dark chuckled while he poured himself a cup. "Was that plain Hylian?"

"Close enough," his friend defended. Cracking another huge yawn, he asked, "Where are you headed today?"

Deciphering the question, Dark said, "My search last night didn't turn up much about the mercenaries who attacked Zelda and her father, so I need to try some new avenues."

"What would those be?"

Dark sighed. He really didn't want to have to go through with his plan—not because it was dangerous, but because it was annoying.

"Someone I used to know is heavily involved in the Castle Town thieving ring. I'm somewhat certain he'll have a lead to follow."

Silas lifted his cup. "Sounds like you'll be walking into the wasps' nest."

"I can handle a few wasps."

"Morning!" Link said cheerfully, sauntering into the kitchen.

"Are you headed to the castle this morning?" Dark asked while Link helped himself to coffee.

"Right away," his brother answered. "Coming along?"

"Yes. I'm hoping to have some information on whoever attacked Zelda and her father by the end of the day," Dark told him.

A strange look passed over Link's face, then vanished. "That's good. The sooner we can track them down, the better."

Dark eyed Link while he finished dosing his coffee, a niggling concern burrowing at the back of his brain.

"Well, not to be too much of a tourist but Lymira and I were going to visit Lake Hylia today," Silas cut in.

Link, distracted, beamed at Silas. "Sounds like fun. The lake is beautiful. I can take you later, if you like."

"I'll drop them off," Dark offered. "You have places to be. A princess to guard."

"Right. Well, come find me later at the castle. Bye, Silas!"

Link left the kitchen, pursued by Dark.

"Is everything alright?" he asked in low tones, catching Link. "Did something happen?"

"Everything's fine." Link waved him off. "I'll see you later."

With a quick wave, Link vanished in a flash of green, already on his way to the castle. Dark's narrowed his eyes. Something was definitely up with his brother, but it could wait. He had a foolish plan to execute, mercenaries to track down, and he had to take Silas and Lymira to Lake Hylia.

Pushing thoughts of Link to the back of his mind, he joined Silas in the kitchen once more for a proper breakfast.

~oOo~

Lake Hylia's frozen surface glittered. Clouds of frost floated overtop, rolling with a gentle breeze. All around the lake were the stunning storm-grey cliffs, enclosing the crater lake—a precious gem in a stone palm. Their sheer height made Lymira feel small in comparison. She'd heard the famed Lake Hylia was magnificent in any season, but in winter, she thought, it possessed a stark and severe beauty.

She and Silas stood on the cold beach, wrapped in parkas, boots and gloves. They'd already walked to the island in the centre via the wooden bridges, and then hiked around the perimeter as far as they were able before the sand slipped under ice. By now, their cheeks and noses were bright red from the cold, their legs starting to numb.

"I think I could stay here forever," Lym sighed. "Just taking it all in."

Silas stamped his feet, rubbing his hands together. "You can," he said, grinning wryly. "I prefer all my bits and pieces unfrozen."

Lym snorted. "Blood flow will keep the pieces you're worried about plenty warm for a little longer."

"All the same, I'd rather be lounging in the Goron hot springs about now."

"You'd definitely freeze before we walked all the way back to Death Mountain," she snickered.

Silas grinned again, darting a hand into his pocket. He whipped out a small emerald stone and waved it at her.

Her eyes widened reached for it. Silas held it out of her reach above his head.

"Where'd you get that?!" she asked, then added, "I'm not afraid to climb you to get it."

He laughed. "Dark gave it to me so we could get back quicker. He said it's good for one round trip."

Lymira glanced at the lake, then back at Silas. She blew out a breath. "Okay, as long as we can come back here again."

"Most definitely. Huddle up."

Lymira ignored the arm he offered and wrapped her arms around his waist tightly, tucking her head against his chest. Silas held up the warp stone, letting the magic within it respond to his wish. It started to glow and vibrate, and he lowered it, a little uncertain. Silas had no magic himself, but Dark assured him magical items would still work. The stone began to shake, as if trying to escape him, and then the green glow exploded, enveloping them both, blinding them.

A mild zip of electricity shot through Silas's hand, and the stone went still. The glow subsided, and they were standing in an entirely different place.

Silas sent up a silent prayer of thanks to the goddesses that it had worked. Then muttered a silent lamentation under his breath when Lymira released him and stepped away.

The cavern they stood in was huge, lit by natural light thanks to the craggy opening several stories above their heads. The hot spring was deep and cloudy, bubbling slightly as its underwater current prodded it along.

Lymira knelt at the pool's edge, flicking her fingers in. "Only our first date and I'm already having to take my clothes off," she remarked, glancing back at him slyly.

"It's our second date," he protested. "Our first was bombchu bowling. Where you soundly beat me," he added.

"Try harder next time," she said, flashing a wicked grin.

"Trust me," he locked eyes with her, waggling his eyebrows. "You haven't seen my best yet."

"Ooooh," Lym laughed, ducking behind a boulder to shimmy out of her parka and boots. "No peeking," she warned.

"I won't," he assured. "Damn, that's hot!"

"You're in the water already?" She peered around the rock, stifling a laugh at seeing Silas sitting at the edge of the pool, dipping his legs in.

"Men are masters of undressing quickly," he joked, hopping into the spring. The water sloshed around him, but he was so tall that it just reached the small of his back.

He kept his back to her while she slipped into the spring, letting her chilled skin sizzle in the heat. She took a breath and bent her knees until the water touched her chin, steeling herself against the abrupt temperature change.

"Brrrr," she fluttered her lips, shaking her hair back. "How are your bits and pieces feeling?"

Silas turned, and she nearly caught a mouthful of water when her jaw loosened. His chest was wide and strong, his torso thick and solid. He could probably push boulders with ease with those biceps.

"Better now," he said, his perpetual smile in place. He waded around the centre of the pool, splashing his exposed arms and chest, cupping his hands and dousing his cold face.

Lym pulled her feet up, treading water and letting the lazy current push her along the pool's perimeter. Her hair floated out around her, the ends straightening while the rest of it coiled from the humidity.

"So," she said, floating around him in a slow circle. "Tell me about this midwinter ball."

Silas shrugged, leaning back to half-float on his back. His toes peeked out of the water. "I don't know much about it. In Ordon, we celebrate with giant bonfires and gatherings. We drink mead and bake bread and visit neighbours and pray for spring's quick return."

Lym stared up at the slowly rotating sky above her. She remembered occasions like that from when she was a child. The last gathering of the Eight Clans had been when she was eight years old. The gathering after that would have been her time to prove herself a warrior, her transition to adulthood within the clan.

"Must be nice," she murmured.

"Dark told me there's an old tradition of arriving at the ball separate from your date, and then having to search for them and try to guess who they are under their mask."

Lymira smiled. "Sounds intriguing. You'd be easy to spot, though. I'd find you in seconds, mask or no mask."

Silas chuckled. "Yeah. And I wouldn't dream of letting you come by yourself. I'm too much of a gentleman."

"Your traditional side is showing again," she teased. Her feet bumped his as the current pushed them together and then drew them apart again.

She heard his answering shrug in the noncommittal grunt he gave her. She craned her neck to see him, but he was looking up at the sky.

"That's not a bad thing," she continued. "That you have traditions and a home and a community. I haven't had that in a long time."

"It is nice," he agreed, though he didn't sound certain.

"I suppose you'll have to return to your farm in the spring," Lymira said. And you'll return to Talus, she thought, pretending not to feel the little jab at her heart.

"I think so," he mused.

She sat up, planting her feet on the smoothed rock bottom. "You think so?"

Silas shrugged again, displacing the water. "It's strange, but in the last few weeks, I've liked being here. I almost wish I didn't have to go back."

"You don't have to if you don't want to," she pointed out.

He sighed and rolled back to his feet. He leaned against one of the rocks protruding from the pool. "My dad put everything into that farm. I promised him I would take care of it. I promised myself I would get it back when I lost it. I haven't kept that promise yet."

Lymira frowned. "I'm not trying to be insulting here—oh, stop it!" She splashed him when he laughed. "I know I have a gift for offending people, but I'm being serious. I'm sure your dad would understand if you decided that keeping the farm wasn't your dream, even if it was his wish for you, right?"

"Maybe," Silas conceded. "But we don't always get to choose our own path."

Lymira didn't have an answer for that, as she didn't want to yell at him or take out her own frustrations. She knew the truth of his words all too well.

Wading over, she laid back on the rock next to him. "What would you do if you weren't working on the farm?"

Silas glanced at her, then shrugged. "Don't know."

"Bullshit," she snorted. "You just don't want to say."

"I've always liked building things with my own two hands, so a builder, I guess. Or a musician, maybe. I can play the drums and Dark's been teaching me the guitar."

"That sounds nice." She prodded a little more. "What have you always wanted to be? Even if it seemed impossible?"

Silas grinned. "You first."

"A dragon," she answered, without question.

He barked out a laugh. "Talk about impossible dreams."

Lym shrugged. "It was the first thing I remember wanting to be. Able to soar through the skies, nothing stopping you, nothing stronger than you. To be completely free. And breathing fire always sounded like fun." She winked.

"Congratulations on achieving that dream," he said, to Lymira's raucous laughter. "I've definitely seen you breathe fire." He squinted at her. "Not sure I've seen you fly, yet."

As her amusement subsided, he added, "When I was a kid, I used to want to be a sculptor. I would make things out of mud or clay or wood; whatever I could find. Once I even made a sculpture out of manure."

Lym wrinkled her nose. "Really?"

"My mother was not pleased," he chuckled.

She laughed. "I'll bet." She sifted her hands through the water until she found one of his—large, rough and strong. Raising it up, she feigned an inspection. "A sculptor's hands if I've ever seen them," she announced.

Silas's laugh rumbled through his chest. "Maybe someday. And you may not have the appearance of one, but I can say you've the heart and soul of a dragon, too."

Lymira smiled and tilted her head up, gazing at the darkening sky high above. She imagined how it would feel to bend her knees, to push off from the cavern floor and allow the hot, humid air to carry her upwards, her wings outstretched, flexing and reaching for that open sky. Then the cooler breeze, waiting on the other side to grab hold and launch her higher.

"Maybe someday," she agreed.

~oOo~

Castle Town's east side was exactly as Dark remembered: a rundown relic of Hyrule's distant past.

At some point, it had been a fortress, built to withstand the trials and conflicts of the time. The East Wall still bore the scars in its stone where it hadn't crumbled to rubble. People built their homes and livelihoods in whatever building they could—former stables, armories, barracks, kitchens.

The streets here had been remade by years of stubborn use, and they spread like a spider's web, bearing just as many holes. Just as many places for spiders to hide.

Though Dark had once called East Wall home, he felt displaced now. Most of the residents, while poorer, were hard-working and pleasant people. It was the criminal minority that gave East Wall its reputation. And it was the criminal element he was here to see.

He wore a long navy cloak, the hood raised to cover his face, and his well-worn boots, so he fit right in with the others here in appearance. The ones who watched with suspicion were obvious, tracking him with their eyes until he was out of sight.

It didn't take long to find the hub he was looking for. A tavern at the intersection of five unnamed roads was the liveliest place he'd seen so far, rowdy voices spilling out onto the street.

Inside, it was clear the tavern hadn't been kept up. Ceiling beams sagged like a bad back, beer covered the mildewy floor, and mismatched tables and chairs were left in disarray.

Sitting on a stage of crates was a finely carved wooden chair, with faded padding on the armrests, back and seat. A sandy-haired man sat upon it, his eyes roving the crowd of revelers standing below him, toasting their mugs.

Dark grimaced, remembering when the young man had been a boy at the orphanage with him. Treyan hadn't changed, it seemed.

"I don't believe it!" the man crowed. He stood from his throne and thrust his goblet in Dark's direction. "A son of the East Wall returns at long last! I thought you were dead!"

He cackled uproariously. Ignoring the curious looks and murmurs, he waded through the crowd of Treyan's thugs to stand in front of the ridiculous throne. The chair had probably been stolen long ago from one of Hyrule's ruins.

"Treyan. Nice to see you," Dark lied.

The self-proclaimed king of East Wall lowered his goblet. A twisted grin formed on his lips. "Dark, I honestly never thought I'd see you again. Not that I wanted to," he added with a snicker.

"Believe me," Dark told him. "I wouldn't be here if it wasn't a necessity."

Treyan scoffed and handed off his goblet to a mustached man at his side. "Don't tell me you want your old job back? I'd be happy to give you a spot in my organization." Treyan sniggered again, clearly taking Dark's appearance as some kind of joke.

"Where's Sakon?" Dark asked.

The other mans' face shuttered. Touchy subject? Dark thought.

"That bastard took off with the score of our last big job together," Treyan answered. "Haven't seen him in years. And good riddance!" he called, to answering cheers from the crowd.

"That's too bad," Dark said, thinking Sakon would have been easier to deal with than the hot-headed idiot. As a boy, Dark had been a pickpocket for Sakon, buying into the thief's promises of freedom and riches, like many of the orphans running around Castle Town at the time. "I need some questions answered."

Treyan turned back to him, raising a brow. "Oh? So ask them. As a gesture of goodwill, I may answer."

Dark resisted rolling his eyes. How magnanimous of you.

"The attack on the king at Zora's River," he said, watching Treyan's expression. There was no way he hadn't heard of the incident. "It was a contract. I need to know who took it."

Treyan scoffed again. "I've no idea what you're talking about."

"Don't lie," Dark seethed.

Treyan's eyes bulged. He couldn't stand to look weak in front of his supporters. "I've no idea," he hissed, stalking forward and getting into Dark's face. As he was a couple inches shorter it didn't have the effect he desired. "I suggest you leave the way you came in. We don't really like shaika here." He drew back and spit on Dark's boots.

Ignoring the insult—it was hardly the worst thing Treyan had ever called him—Dark hooked his soiled boot behind Treyan's knee and yanked. Yelping, he hopped on one foot for a moment while Dark wiped his boot on Treyan's trousers and released him.

"As I said," Dark repeated, hardening his gaze. "I need to know who took the job."

Hopping back onto his little stage, Treyan glared back. "I told you once to leave. You lost your chance." Flicking his chin at the men gathered around Dark, he settled back into his chair, preparing for a show.

The crowd dispersed, the regular patrons melting into the background to watch from a safe distance. A half dozen of Treyan's men stepped forward, cracking their knuckles and sneering menacingly. They spread out, circling Dark like a pack of bokoblins around helpless prey. Slowly, Dark removed his cloak and draped it over a chair.

Gifted with Shadow, Dark knew he could use his abilities to tap into that world—the veil between the Light and Dark. He'd come to think of it as a mirror plane, a place that simply reflected everything back at him. In it, the men circling him would appear as shadows, indistinct forms. Right until the moment they decided on a course of action, then their next steps would be plain to Dark's eyes only, telling him before they even moved what would happen.

A useful trick. But an unfair advantage in this case.

Dark stood still, fixed Treyan with a level stare and said three words: "Are you sure?"

Treyan laughed, then smirked. He flapped his hand, telling them to get on with it.

The first thug flew at him like a cannonball. Dark ducked, snapping out a kick that caught the man in the stomach, sending him flying. Spinning around, Dark dodged a fist aimed for his face and countered with a series of strikes, ending with a hit to the next man's jaw.

Brawny arms wrapped around him in a bear hug. Dark twisted, fighting to break the hold, even as the asshole tightened his grip until Dark's ribs creaked in protest. A flash of Lymira's spectacle at the army training grounds popped into his head. With a grin, he threw his head forward, using his weight and forcing his opponent to readjust his hold. Dark yanked free, throwing the bigger man off balance and sprawling him on the floor. Taking advantage of the man's prone position, Dark aimed a boot and kicked. Lights out.

A pair of fists caught him in the face and shoulder before he could turn. Dark whirled and tipped, landing with a grunt on one of the bar tables. His ribs screamed at the impact as he slumped off onto the floor. His attackers gave chase, so Dark grabbed a chair and smashed it over the head of the first. Splinters of wood flew everywhere as the ill-made chair was destroyed. Picking up one of the severed ends, Dark swung it like a hammer, conking him on the head again for good measure.

He could hear Treyan roaring somewhere in the background, which gave him immense satisfaction. The few remaining thugs circled him, approaching more warily now seeing how many of their number were down for the count.

Dark tossed aside the chair remains and wiped a hand across his face. His nose was bleeding, and his shirt was spattered with flecks of blood. A goon wielding a knife ran forward, swinging wildly. Dark seized his wrist, holding the weapon away from himself, and proceeded to pummel his fist into the other guy's side. After a last, forceful punch to the kidney, the bastard dropped like a stone, sallow-faced and wheezing.

Dark kicked aside the knife, dodging another swinging haymaker and retaliating with blows of his own. This one at least knew how to fight. He grappled Dark, exchanging punches and vying for the upper hand. They bumped into tables, knocking half-empty mugs of beer to the ground. Dark finally managed to swing the man into a table corner. He grunted in pain, instinctively withdrawing a fraction, and Dark saw his chance. He twisted his wrist behind his back, wrenching it high enough that the man cried out, then propelled him across the room and through the glass-paned window headfirst.

When he tumbled out in a hail of broken glass, Dark turned to look at Treyan, standing frozen and slack-jawed.

Panting hard from adrenaline, Dark walked back over to Treyan. His ribs ached with each breath, but he wouldn't give Treyan the satisfaction of seeing him clutching his sides.

"Enough?" he asked.

Treyan stammered, then he bolted. Growling in annoyance, Dark ran after him, catching him at the door and grabbing a handful of the back of his shirt. Yanking him backwards, he threw Treyan down on top of a table, pinning him with one arm across his throat.

"Talk," Dark growled, leaning close and pressing his weight down.

"It was Lewyn, okay!?" Treyan spat, his pupils wide with fear and anger. "He's a mercenary. Him and his band of merry men took the job."

"Lewyn," Dark repeated. He'd never heard of him. "Where does he hang out?"

"I don't know. I don't know!" Treyan hissed when Dark pushed harder on his windpipe. "I haven't seen him around. He's gone! I don't know where!"

Dark frowned. "He takes a contract to kill the king and kidnap the princess, he doesn't succeed, and now he's gone? Just like that?"

"That's all I know," Treyan insisted, struggling against Dark's grip.

"Right." Dark released him, letting him up off the table. Treyan coughed, massaging his throat. He shot Dark a glare that called him every filthy name in the book. "You've been marginally helpful," he told him, retrieving his cloak from the chair. "If you hear anything else…on second thought, don't tell me if you hear anything else. I'd rather not come down here again."

Dark turned for the door, sweeping aside a pile of broken glass with the side of his boot. The pub door slammed behind him, blocking out Treyan's sneering face.

With a sigh, Dark pressed a hand to his bleeding nose. Treyan had given him a name at least. He doubted anything would come of it. He could find out more about this Lewyn character, but his gut was telling him it was a dead end. Someone had hired Lewyn and his gang for the job—finding them was the priority. Unfortunately, it would be tricky to do.

He considered seeking out Lewyn's band, but that itself would be a hell of a task, and he didn't feel up to another bout tonight. The fact that the merc had disappeared immediately after the failed job didn't sit well with Dark. Perhaps whoever had ordered the attack was simply displeased, but that seemed unnecessarily drastic.

The walk back to the castle was long, yet it gave him time to think. He covered the sight of the blood with his cloak, waving off the guards when they noticed his bloodied and bruised appearance.

Once inside, another guard escorted him to Link's office in the northern section. It was empty, so Dark made himself comfortable at the fire and put his feet up on a stool. Minutes later, his brother strolled in.

"Dark, you're back already?" Link took in his bloody face with shock.

"Sorry to bother you, I know you're on guard duty," Dark said, standing up.

"What happened to you?"

"Information gathering," he said, shifting his cloak off his shoulders. Seeing the blood covering him, Link's face whitened. "Something wrong?"

Link swallowed and gestured vaguely at his bloody clothes. "Did you…?"

"I haven't been on a murder spree," Dark said, arching a brow. He'd meant it as a joke, but Link's strange reaction worsened. He actually looked worried. "Link," he said. "There was some resistance to answering my questions. That's all."

Link's gaze snapped to his, and he seemed to regain his focus. "You found something?"

"I have the name of the mercenary who took the contract on the king and his daughter. A guy named Lewyn. I haven't heard of him, but apparently he's gone missing."

"Lewyn…" Link repeated, furrowing his brow. "It doesn't sound familiar. I'll ask the Castle Town guard captain, he may know more. I'll ask Impa as well when she gets back."

"Gets back?"

A brief flicker of apprehension shone in Link's eyes before he shook his head dismissively. Dark frowned.

"She was investigating the attack. She'll be back soon."

"Alright." Eyeing his brother closely, he asked, "Everything's fine with you?"

"Yes." Link avoided his gaze. "I need to get back to Zelda. Thank you for the information." He glanced in Dark's direction, meeting his eyes briefly. "Thanks."

With that, he opened the door and left again. Balling up his bloodied cloak, Dark tucked it under his arm and walked out after him.

After being escorted back outside the castle grounds, Dark warped back to Link's house, pulling off his ruined shirt and tossing it with the cloak into the washing basket. Donning fresh clothes after a quick show, he stepped out of the bathroom to see Silas and Lymira in front of the fireplace, in the middle of laughing at some shared joke.

For the second time in as many days, he felt he stood just outside the pair's circle of happiness. As if joy and laughter created a physical barrier Dark was no longer able to cross. In his heart, he truly wished Silas happiness. Yet he also experienced the pang of regret, knowing his friend would someday fall in love, start a family, and everything would be different. Dark didn't hope to one day have those things for himself again.

Annoyed at his own depressing thoughts, he firmly shook them away.

Silas caught sight of him first. "Dark, you're back!"

His gaze swept over their damp hair and their snow boots, drying in front of the hearth. "Don't tell me you jumped in the frozen lake?"

Lymira snorted. "No. We needed a warmup, so we went to the hot springs."

The corner of his mouth tickled with the urge to smile, but he ignored the impulse—and Lym's suggestive wording.

"Anyone hungry?" he asked, distracting himself.

"Yes, please." Silas turned to Lymira. "Dark doesn't look it, but his cooking will make you think you've died and entered the Realm of the gods." He groaned in pleasure, his eyes glazing over as if fond memory.

"He's exaggerating," Dark replied when Lym shot him a questioning eyebrow.

"Am not," Silas argued.

"We'll have to see how good you are, won't we?" Lym said, grinning that bewitching, cat-like smile.

She and Silas laughed, and for a second, Dark imagined the circle moved a little bit in his direction. A quicksilver smile flashed across his face. Relenting, Dark side-stepped into the kitchen, the other two on eager on his heels.

"As the lady insists…"