Chapter 1: Pride
Dark clouds and a dense fog choked the stone walls surrounding Hyrule's despondent capital. Dim lanterns, two hung on each wooden, battered carriage, were barely visible, even when the naked eye was only a few paces away. In front of each carriage was a line of enlisted soldiers, enthusiasm ranging from giddy Hylians who hung on promises of honor and riches and others with worn eyes and heavy shoulders who knew the truth. Each soldier carried nothing but a leather pouch held upon their shoulders, each bag holding cigars, mints and prized possessions.
One boy, barely seventeen years of age, brought only the necessities—a comb, two pairs of light, military issued clothing, and a set of standard stationary. He did not care to be reminded of his home. Not yet.
In front of each line of conscripted soldiers stood an aloof yet imposing commander. Each one held a roll of parchment with carefully inked names from which they would search the name of the next drafted Hylian, and from then on assign the Hylian to a carriage that would send them to their fate.
The man in front of the boy's line spit tobacco on the ground before calling for the next soldier. The boy ran his fingers through his hair, hoping it looked matted enough, and trudged with trepid steps.
"Name?" the commander asked, eyeing him dubiously.
The boy shifted awkwardly under his judging glare, unable to keep his hands from twitching. "Smith." The man flipped through the list.
"First?"
"Conlan."
The commander stopped flipping through the list. He leaned forward, his beady eyes narrowing suspiciously. Conlan noted the commander's foul breath."You from around Castleton?"
Conlan nodded, for his throat had closed up.
"Where from?"
He cleared his throat before answering. "From the outskirts, a mere fifty paces outside the south wall," he answered, trying to keep his voice steady.
The commander smacked on his tobacco. "You've got a fancy accent. You a noble or something?" Before Conlan could reply, the man continued on a rant. "Rotten, them nobility are, getting out easy from this fight." Conlan mussed his hair again as the commander took one more look at his name. "You're in carriage one hundred, the very last one on the left. Now move, private!"
Conlan rushed to the carriage, still uneasy from the conversation. He shook his head. Who he was didn't matter; he simply had to learn how to blend in with the army. Once he sat on the splintered bench, he would, from then on, be known as Conlan Smith.
He was one of the last to sit on the carriage's bench, and the last to see Hyrule's stone cold pride disappear in the foggy distance.