A/N: Yes. A new story and I haven't updated my other two. I'm sorry. I'll get back to those, I promise. But first I wanted to try my hand at the whole "reborn in so-and-so world" thing. But I wouldn't call this an SI. More like a semi-SI. Maybe. Not really.

Warnings: Violence, language, drama, angst, and eventually messed up romance. Rating may change later on thanks to a certain psychopath we all know and wonder why in the heck we love.

So, without further ado...

Diamond in the Sky

I wish I could see you again.

Can you hear me where you are now?

It's been so long. I wouldn't be surprised if you've forgotten me.

But if my soul could cry out, if its voice could reach you, would you listen? This very soul that battled the womb bringing it into a new world. The soul that fought so hard just to keep one aspect of its former life; these human ears that are like yours, and not the pointed ones of those strangers…

Can you hear me? In this world so far away… I wish I could go back. I wish I could see you again.

I wish…

…Can you hear me?

Chapter 1

I can't remember how I died.

Strange. I thought something so life changing would stick with me. But no matter how hard I think on it, nothing comes up. What did I do last? What did I say last? I can barely recall coming home that day. It had been stressful; my job wasn't kind to me. I skipped dinner and went straight to bed. And that's it. It just…ends.

I never woke up in that world again.

The next I knew I was... Well, I can't remember my early days in this world either. It's all a blur. There are vague memories of crying, crawling, fingers digging into carpet, arms struggling, pulling a too small body along, and then wobbly legs standing, and even wobblier steps. My first solid recollection came when I was three years old…for the second time. It was then I realized what was going on, that I wasn't where I was supposed to be. Why am I little again? Where am I? Where's my family? They're gone.

I moved through my previous life like it was a dream. I had no hopes or aspirations, no ambitions or goals. I just woke up, went to work, came home, and over and over it continued.

But I had my family. They were the only reason I—

Dizziness assaults me. My ribcage suddenly becomes a cage too confined; my heart beats against its bars, my lungs try to push out. A lump forms in my throat. It's hard to breathe. I can't think of the family I left behind without this happening.

I didn't know what world I was in until I found myself standing under the Statue of the Goddess. The word Skyloft floated around in my head, bouncing off the bubbles in my brain, unable to stick. The realization was there, I just couldn't believe it.

Then I met my Loftwing.

I remember trembling in front of that dapple-gray bird as his shadow descended over me. His wingspan stretched twice that of normal Loftwings. People were gathered all around, aweing at the seemingly new breed. Headmaster Gaepora, one of the first people I recognized, was there exclaiming over my 'magnificent' bird. He went quiet, however, when he realized something was…off.

My Loftwing isn't as great as he appears. Back then, there was no connecting moment between us. The bird shared the same glazed, distant eyes as me. The same nonchalance, the same 'my body is here but my mind is not' demeanor. And that hasn't changed.

So many years have gone by. I still can't believe I am where I am.

This life, this new life…it doesn't seem like a life at all. Nothing seems real; everything is distant, like a far off dream. Is it a dream? If it is, it is the dream of death, because I've been under for too long. I still can't wrap my mind around it, and I can't explain it no matter how hard I try.

The wind blows through my hair, sending shaggy tresses into lackluster eyes. Once again I'm skipping class. I already went through school once; I'm not going through it again. I'm busy recounting my life anyway, trying to figure things out for the billionth time. The teachers will scold me later, I'm sure. But, honestly, I can't bring it in myself to care. I know these people, I know Skyloft. I know what their reactions will be, sometimes before even they do. I know their personalities. I know what to say. I know what not to say. And everything in between. Is anything surprising anymore? Is anything new?

I was in awe of the world when understanding first clicked. That quickly wore off. I've played the game so many times I've lost count; it was one of my favorites. But being a favorite isn't enough. The only thing I'm left in awe of now is the fact that I'm here…and the fact that, technically, I'm dead.

And the people here…I don't think they know how to take me.

I grimace as I recollect an interaction with one of the Skyloftians.

"Nothing ever fazes you, does it?" snapped that one brunette with the pigtails. Oriel or something—I can't even be bothered to recall names at this point.

"Guess not," I replied, not looking at her, not really paying any mind. Had she been talking to me or something?

"Your Loftwing needs more attention. Wake up! Don't you care—?"

"I don't remember asking for a lecture," I interjected, narrowing my eyes. How much crap had I quietly taken in my previous life? Now this one, too? No. "And I know Turk better than anyone. He's the one that doesn't care; attention is wasted. Now take your pissy attitude and piss off."

Needless to say, I don't have many friends.

Not that it matters. I didn't have many friends in my previous life either. And these people? To me they may not even be real. Data on a screen. That's all they were in the other world, that's all they should be. Maybe that's all I am too…

As I lay amongst grass and flowers dancing to the tune of the breeze, a Remlit pushes its nose into my hair, luring me out of thoughts that lead nowhere. I smile and reach up to scratch behind its large fuzzy ear, soft as silk to the touch. More Remlits surround me. One is curled into my side, another at my hip, and yet another lays across my knees. We pile together, watching white puffy clouds sail across open blue sky.

The small meadow I'm in isn't visible unless one is flying around the island. There's a wall that blocks it off from the Goddess Statue. It's not hard to climb, though I can clearly see the clawshot nodule Link will use in the future to get here. It's where I usually come when I want to get away from everyone, everything. Except for the Remlits, of course.

I can close my eyes here, pretend I'm back in my old world with my cats. My little brother will be home soon. Mom and Dad will be working late again, and I should probably scrounge up something for dinner…

I open my eyes and the illusion shatters.

The Remlit purrs, paws at my hair as if to distract me from what I've lost. It almost works.

Another distraction falls from the sky.

The thud sounds from above my head, and as I crane my neck I see suede boots and a raspberry-colored dress. Long golden hair billows in the breeze.

"There you are!" Zelda sighs, propping her hands on her hips. "Come on, Kya. You're missing the most important class of the day!"

"Oh." I blink stupidly. Why hasn't she given up on me yet? Out of all the people of Skyloft, Zelda is the only one who hasn't learned to steer clear of me. And, it's strange, but she feels more real than the others. Her and Link.

"Don't 'Oh' me. Come on, get up. The Wing Ceremony is only two weeks away! Don't you want to move up this year?" She marches her way to my side, a disapproving frown fixed on her face. "Or do you want to be held back again?"

"Eh. Whatever, I guess." I stretch, making no move to rise.

"Lazybones. You're worse than Link." She reaches down and latches onto my wrist. I'm hauled up before I can protest. The Remlits scurry away.

"Watch the cats," I hiss, tip-toeing around the creatures. Once clear, I drop like a rock and go limp, making her drag me. It's only fair. She disturbed my furry babies and hijacked naptime.

And then we get to the edge.

I scramble up, pull against her. "Hey—whoa, whoa! Stop it! Zel—I can't!"

I'm shoved. I'm not surprised, but I am offended. She knows I can't whistle.

As the wind screams in my ears, I frantically search for my little wooden replacement. I grapple at every pocket, claw at my neck, faintly remember putting it on a string. It's not there. My heart pounds and my lungs seize in sheer panic.

Unable to find it, I go to option two.

My banshee shriek fills the sky. I scream and scream and scream and I see through stinging eyes as Zelda dives for me, whistling for her violet Loftwing, which promptly comes to catch her. Determination blazes bright in both their eyes. Her bird narrows into a bullet and her long straight hair whips in a wild frenzy behind her while her bright blue eyes squint against the biting gale.

But she won't reach me, there's no way she'll get to me in time.

It's not until the cloud barrier almost swallows me—its foggy tendrils wrapping around me—that Turk finally deigns to come to the rescue.

I flop onto his back, the wind's breath howling horizontally instead of vertically. The dumb dapple-gray then proceeds to nearly bowl Zelda and her Loftwing over.

"Sorry!" I call to her.

"What is wrong with you, Turk!" Zelda points an accusing finger in my bird's direction. "Heed your master when she calls! Do you hear me? Heed your master!"

I laugh. Her words do nothing. Turk doesn't so much as blink in response.

"His name is Turk for a reason," I sing-song.

Turk. It's short for Turkey. And, as far as I'm concerned, turkeys are the avian equivalent of donkeys. Stubborn, uncooperative, and mean. It describes my Loftwing to a tee.

Piloting my bird is no easy feat. Honestly, I just let him go where he goes, only with the occasional nudging kick, because kicks are the only thing he somewhat regards. Other Skyloftians? They just have to lean in the direction they want to go. Their birds will also, you know, fly around obstacles. Mine, on the other hand, finds going around things too taxing. Going around? Pssh. Let's try smashing through it first.

Stupid Turkey.

Zelda and I land at the Academy. Well, she lands. I crash-roll in a heap after leaping off Turk. He didn't even have the decency to slow down for me.

"Jackass," I spit at the already gone bird. Hey, that's a good name for him too.

"Are you okay?" Zelda trots over, helps me up.

"Yeah, yeah—happens all the time." I say that but, really, I don't think I'll ever get used to falling. In my previous life I was deathly afraid of heights. In this world I might be desensitized due to…constantly being in the sky…but it's still jarring.

I put a hand over my chest. My heart still hasn't slowed down.

"Good. Let's go."

"Uh—that was abrupt. Nice to know you really care." I'm pushed towards the door of the Academy. "You know. Um. Actually, I really need to get back to those kittens."

Zelda raises an eyebrow. "Kit-tens? What are you—?"

"The cats, the—" I gesture wildly, as if the answer might be grabbed from thin air. "The baby Remlits."

"Remlings."

"Yeah, those." I back up from the entrance leading to doom and gloom and absolute boredom. "They really miss my company. I can feel—Ow!"

"No you don't!" Zelda's fingers pinch around my earlobe, pulling mercilessly.

I'm forced inside. The smell of flower baskets and earthy stone waft to my nostrils, and the warm lighting seems to give the door-lined hallway a homey glow. But it is not home, I remind myself. Not mine, and a part of me wants to tell Zelda to piss off so I can go back to what I was doing. I did that once, told her to piss off, some time ago, and none too kindly. Zelda wasn't kind either when she, in turn, chucked her boot at my face. Remembering that, I reluctantly hold my tongue.

Abruptly, she pulls me to a stop before the curving stairway.

"Kya," she says seriously, her mouth set in a grim line.

Oh no, I think. Here we go again.

"Kya, you would be so pretty if you just brushed your hair."

"Oh yes, so pretty with my dirt brown hair and my dirt brown eyes—Hey!" I wince as she pinches harder.

Her discerning gaze travels up and down my lanky frame. "And some fresh clothes," she states matter-of-factly, nodding to herself more than to me.

"Okay. Okay, okay! Can you let go now, please?"

Zelda finally releases me, and I rub at my tender lobe. Glaring half-heartedly at her, my fingertips absently trace the contours of my rounded ear—a physical reminder that I don't really belong here. Though there are many aspects of my appearance that haven't changed. I suppose it's due to common genes, thriving in both worlds. Most people on this island have brown hair. Many have brown eyes. I'm no exception. My ears are the only thing to set me apart.

At least I'm not a total stranger when I look in the mirror.

I walk as slow as possible, trailing behind an impatient Zelda. Eventually she gets tired of tapping her foot and drags me by the arm.

My dorm room is bare except for the basics. Zelda throws open my dusty wardrobe and digs through it before I can tell her not to bother. Everything is the same in there: faded blue tunics, sleeveless, with fraying hems. She'll find gray or dingy white pants and loose leggings in the drawers underneath.

It's clear she isn't happy by the distressed sound she makes in her throat. "Nothing in here will do. Kya, where are all your good clothes?"

I shrug, fiddling with a hole in my current tunic. The tear is in the fabric at mid-thigh, about where the tunic ends. And if Zelda wants someone to yell at about it, she can thank Turk and all his rough landings.

She's glaring into my closet now, as if trying to set everything inside ablaze.

"All right," she says suddenly, whirling around. "I'm going to go find you something better from my room. Wait here."

"What? No. I'm not wearing your clothes."

Hands go to her hips again. "Kya."

"Zelda," I say back, with equal finality, as I'm retying the string I keep around my waist so the tunic doesn't look so much like a potato sack. "There's nothing wrong with what I'm wearing."

Her deadpan stare almost makes me laugh. But then she keeps staring, and staring, and staring—Gah! She's doing it again!

"Okay, okay!" I put my hands in front of my face to shield from her penetrating gaze. "Stop looking at me like that!"

And just like that the staring stops, and a bright smile takes its place. She claps her hands together like an excited toddler and dashes for the door. Just before she leaves though, she turns to me, expression dead serious.

"I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere. Kya?"

"Yeah." I sit in a chair with a crap-eating grin plastered on my face. "I'll be right here."

"Promise?"

"What are you, two? Yes, I promise."

She looks at me for a moment longer, and my grin almost breaks before she darts out the door like a rabbit on speed.

I'm out the window as soon as the door clicks shut.

I'm back outside, kicking pebbles as I walk, dodging around corners, sneaking in shadows of trees, shooting behind bushes whenever someone comes my way.

I don't feel like dealing with anyone. That and I don't want to leave a trail for Zelda to follow.

I can just picture her rushing back into my room with a dress she picked out draped over her arm, her smile dropping when she sees I'm not there. The image makes my chest tighten, and the next thing I know I'm scolding myself for being such a jerk. Seriously, would it have killed me to humor her? She's one of the only people I can come close to calling a friend on this too tiny, floating world.

I'm stuck arguing with myself, aimlessly walking up and down a beaten path.

Should I go back? But I don't want to go to class. But Zelda was only trying to help. But is it worth hours of lecturing? But Zelda would be so proud if I just… With each new thought I change direction; to the Academy, away from the Academy. On and on it goes.

Until someone appears down the path from me. I look up from the dust I was scuffing at my feet and meet the piercing blue stare of Link. I freeze mid-stride.

Link showing up can only mean one thing. Either Zelda got tired of looking for me and sent him, or the headmaster did.

Neither of us move, and it is only the wind that animates us. His dark golden hair tousles freely and the white sleeves of his shirt flap gently while my hair wisps into my face, sticks near my open mouth.

One moment we're both frozen, the next we explode into action. He starts chasing me before I start running, and I can hear his take-off grunt, meaning he's going fast as possible. My grungy black boots slam into the ground, but I hear Link's stronger strides overtaking me: his footfalls crushing the soil and gravel, getting closer and closer. It isn't long before I'm tackled into the dirt.

With a good hold on my arm, he helps me up, even goes so far as to dust off my knees for me.

And then I'm promptly marched back to the Academy. He knows better than to let go of my arm even for a second.

I send him dejected frowns. I blink watery eyes. Nothing works. He just gives me a knowing smile and a look that says, "You really think I'll fall for that again?"

I fight to keep the smile from my mouth. I hate it when this happens, but it's next to impossible to get mad at Link. Well, it's impossible to stay mad, let's put it that way. He's exceedingly kind. And strong. And determined. And patient. Especially with me.

He and Zelda are going to make really pretty babies someday…

And since Link's making me go to class, I decide to blurt that thought.

Is that the sound of someone choking on their own spit? Yes, yes it is. I even made him stumble for a second.

Did I say class? No, no, it's worse than that. I'm taken straight to the headmaster's office.

Gaepora is pacing behind his desk; I'm sitting in the hot seat in front of it. My shoulders are scrunched, head down, eyes picking apart the Loftwing embroidered rug, hoping maybe the thread will come to life and fly me out of here. Why do they have to make such a big deal out of this? People skipped class all the time in my world.

The headmaster stops his pacing, turns towards me with his hands clasped behind his back. His barrel chest and thick white brow make me think of a great horned owl, and his beady, discerning gaze has me feeling like a mouse.

"…I'm not quite sure what to do with you anymore, Kya," is all he says. For some reason it frightens me. I wish he'd just say I was confined to do bookwork in my room, like he usually does.

I don't speak. My heart twists in my chest.

"You…" He pauses, as if choosing his words carefully. "You just don't seem to care about anything. The Wing Ceremony is right around the corner, and you have yet to practice with your Loftwing—who needs the training most of all."

I squirm in my seat, find I can't make eye contact.

Headmaster Gaepora has always been kind to me. Sometimes it almost feels like he's trying to father me; always looking over my shoulder, always scolding me, and yet always searching for the least bit thing to praise—and I don't give much for that. Oh, you tied your shoes? Good job, Kya. You went to at least one class today? Good job! …But it is important to go to all your classes, my dear. And on and on he goes.

I don't understand why he cares. He's not my father. My real father isn't in this world…

And neither are the ones who brought me into it.

The 'parents' I came from in this realm were killed not long after I was reborn. Resentment festers at the mere thought of them. Had they not conceived me, would I still be back in my own world? And then they had the gall to go off and die in the Great Storm. Before coming to live at the Academy, I had been passed from household to household.

I never got attached to anyone. Apparently, neither did anyone get attached to me.

Except, strangely, the man in front of me. And his daughter.

Gaepora shuffles through some papers on his desk, eventually holding up two I recognize. They are the essays we had to do on the history of Skyloft, some of the only assignments I actually completed. The only twist is I wrote them in English. I'm not sure why. Maybe because I miss my native tongue. Or maybe it was to be spiteful. Towards who, I'm not sure.

"These"—Gaepora nods to the papers—"are written in an actual language, aren't they? When your instructors first saw them, they thought it to be gibberish. But upon closer inspection…" He turns the essays toward himself, eyes flickering between the two. "It's consistent. These are letters, words. Kya…"

His eyes bore into me, and I have to look down.

"Kya, tell me…"

I bite my lip, nearly drawing blood. Please don't guess it, I plead on the inside. I can't talk about it. You wouldn't understand. There's nothing you can do to take me back. Although on that last part, a hope blossoms forth, and a side of me wants him to know, to help. A side of me that can't bear to carry the burden of the past alone for one more second…

"…you created your own language, haven't you?"

The hope withers, leaving nothing but a gaping hole.

"Yes," I reply, voice as lifeless as my eyes. "Yes, I made up my own language."

Gaepora clears his throat. "You're an intelligent young woman, Kya. If you put forth the effort into your studies as well as you have with this, I have no doubt you'd make an exemplary knight…just like your parents were."

Life does not return to me. "…Yes."

There is silence, deafening, stretching out into the nothingness.

"You worry me, my dear," Gaepora spoke at last, quietly.

"I'm sorry." And I am, truly. It's just…

What can I do about it? I can't put on a happy face. I can't fight through the fog in my head, keeping me from seeing this world clearly, as a reality. I can't focus, I can't cooperate. I just—I just want out. I want to go home—my real home. The blinking lights of the city, the mountains and trees that span beyond it, the lines of lights, each one carrying people, drifting out on roads into horizons with no end. No end, unlike this world, with little islands in the sky that take us nowhere.

There are memories that I can never forget, even as I look out from a new cage. The lights from far distant worlds do not just disappear. I want to go home.

To my horror, hot tears builds up in my eyes, flow over. I bow my head quickly and blink as fast as I can. My stringy hair falls forward, covering my face like a wolf spider's many legs.

"Go to your room, my dear. Rest, think things over. It will be all right." By the gentleness of his voice I know he saw my tears, and I clench my teeth, baring pitiful fangs at a weakness I thought I could control. "But before you go," he continues, "…I'm afraid you must know I've decided to pull you from this year's Wing Ceremony. You simply aren't ready."

The punishment doesn't faze me in the slightest. I'm pretty sure—no, I know this is the year Link wins it.

He'll be going down to the surface soon.

Me? I'll be going with him, no matter what anyone says. I can't stay on this tiny island any longer. The Wing Ceremony, my punishment—I couldn't care less. The only thing I'll be thinking over in my room is how much help I'm going to be to Link. I won't state the obvious like Fi—I know things. I know everything. We'll get through the journey with flying colors. We'll play Ghirahim's game. We'll crush Demise. And then…and then…

And then what?

I shake the thought from my mind and stand up from my seat, striding to the door without so much as a backward glance at Gaepora.

Whatever. I'll deal with the 'and then' when I get to it. Right now I need the adventure. I need something to wake me up—to make me feel…like I'm actually alive.

Is this…really real?

Is it a dream?

If it is…

Then it's the dream of death.

Link is waiting outside the door like a sentry on guard duty. I wonder if he had his ear pressed to the wood, listening. He glances at me, but his eyes don't tell me much. To think I'll soon be seeing him in his trademark green tunic. I try to pull off a smile, but it comes out as a quivering smirk.

His stare flashes with worry. "Are you…crying?"

"What?" I snap in alarm, running swift fingers under my eyes. "No. No. Why would you think that? Are you excited for the Wing Ceremony?" I start backing up from him at the subject change. "You should practice with your bird. You'll be great. Um, I…I need to go to my room. I'm kinda grounded. Bye!"

I race to my dormitory, my mind fully intent on finishing that sailcloth I've been working on.

When I shut the door and pull the cloth from under my bed, I get a glance at myself from the mirror.

The corners of my eyes are red and glistening.

Blinking sheds the tears. The next thing I know, hiccups are beating out of my chest, hands cover my face, trying to smother the emotion, and the most pathetic mewling noises drift into the air. The sound of my sobbing boils rage, bubbling, bubbling, until it spills over.

I pick up one of my never-opened textbooks and fling it with all my might. To my despair the mirror does not shatter, it merely spider-webs as the book bounces off its smudged surface. Multiple reflections of a vaguely familiar girl all look back at me, eyes accusing, lips twisted in snarls, stray hairs sticking up in all directions.

Her small, rounded nose. Her splotchy red-bitten lips. Her wide eyes that should be innocent. So similar, but not me. Not me. I'm dead.

I turn the mirror around.

I can't stand the sight of her anymore.

It's just a plain sailcloth. Nothing fancy, no embroidery or markings livening the white fabric. It's almost done, but I'm checking and rechecking it and will probably do so right up until I need to use it. There's no way I'm falling from that height without being sure this thing's going to hold me up.

I was never good at sewing. I never had to do so in my previous life. We had everything: a well-furnished condo high up in the big city, the newest clothes and gadgets…and unbearably absent parents who worked nonstop to pay for it all. My brother and I…we took care of each other a lot. Well, when we weren't fighting. I wonder how he's doing now. How long has it been? My soul must be approaching forty-five years old. I was twenty-five when…I didn't wake up. My current body is nearly twenty now.

So…my little brother is forty and I'm turning twenty for the second time. Awesome.

Has he gotten married? Does he have kids? Would I have been an aunt?

My sore fingers stop, the needle remains jabbed into a corner of the fabric. I slump over, forehead touching my knees. The pressure in my eyes starts building again, and I'm forced to change the direction of my thoughts.

I'm going with Link on his adventure, I tell myself. I'm going to have fun—we're going to tear through the surface and save everyone. It'll be so…much…fun.

Or maybe I'll go with Zelda instead. After all, she was by herself until…the second temple? Yeah, yeah, she didn't meet up with Impa until the Earth Spring or something. Maybe I'll go with her. Heck, I could help both her and Link. No problem.

The clock ticks away. It always goes faster when I don't want it to, and when I glance up at it it's almost eight in the evening. I trip in my hurry to tuck the sailcloth back under the bed, bumping my chin on the mattress. I rush out to the hall, just remembering to shut the door behind me, intent on catching Zelda before she goes to sleep. The nagging feeling in my gut won't go away until I apologize.

One knock, two knocks, three… I press my ear to the door, hear shuffling inside, and then a quiet, "Come in."

Zelda has a shimmery lavender robe on and her hair is slicked down with moisture. I caught her just after a bath, it seems.

"Oh, sorry—I'll just—" I make to shut the door, but she gestures me in.

I stand there, shifting foot to foot, hands wringing behind my back so she won't see.

"Is there something you wanted?" Her tone isn't unkind, but it makes me flinch all the same.

"Look, I'm sorry. Okay? I'm just…" I sigh, stare downcast. "I'm just a horrible person."

There's quiet blanketing the space between us. Zelda blinks like I said something eccentric. "You're not horrible. Selfish and inconsiderate, sure. But not horrible. Why would you say that?"

"…I don't know."

Zelda looks at me for a long moment. I don't return the stare; my gaze is locked in the lower corner. The whisper of her robe registers, the clapping of dresser doors, and then a dress is held up in front of me.

"You're going to wear this tomorrow, got it?" Her no-nonsense tone is in use, and I have no fire left to fight with.

"Okay," I say softly, obediently.

I take the light blue dress and press it against me. The hem ends just below my knees, as I'm not much taller than Zelda. The butterfly sleeves are short, but loose and flowy, and the neckline is simply rounded. Modest, not too tight, my favorite color. I realize she kept my likes and dislikes in mind when picking it out, and it makes my heart feel squeezed in a way I'm not used to.

"Thanks," I whisper, voice suddenly lost. "I promise I'll wear it. For real this time."

"You better." She does that hands to the hips pose when she's serious about something, but there's softness in her eyes, and a smile.

Back in my room, I lay the dress over a chair as if it were made of precious glass.

The next morning the dress is donned. A few strokes of the brush tames my hair. It's more than I usually do.

I see Zelda's golden blonde head from my seat in the back of the classroom. She twists in her chair and sends me a grateful smile. Why does she do that? I'm the one who should be grateful. Grateful she even bothers caring about my stupid self. It's enough to make me put forth some effort. I force a smile. I talk with her and Karane at lunch. I actually pay attention to the instructors. I go through the day like a typical good student, the kind I used to be.

When sparring class rolls around, it's a different matter.

"Kya!" Eagus, the sword instructor and Knight Commander that never takes off his helmet, barks at me. "Ease up on those slashes! This is a training hall, not a battlefield!"

I pay him as much heed as I would to a grain of salt. Though I do feel bad for Fledge, whose scrawny arms aren't even holding the sword level. My spaghetti arms aren't doing too well either, but at least I make up for it in aggression.

"Come on, Fledge," I taunt softly, trying to get him angry, trying to push him to better himself. "Are you going to let a girl in a dress beat you?"

I swipe, using strength from my shoulders to throw momentum into the blade. It clangs and screeches with Fledge's before the latter's is knocked out of his hands and skitters to the ground.

"Kya!" Eagus stomps over. "Enough! Give me the sword. You're done."

I glare. "What! How are we supposed to get better if we don't get serious?"

The sword is snatched from my grasp. "No arguments. Leave."

I can feel the eyes of the other students trained on me. Eyes disproving, eyes of contempt, some of confusion, and one of pity. I want to kick Pipit for the first one and slap Karane for that last one.

I can't stand it.

"Whatever!" I barely manage to stop myself from spewing curses and insults, instead putting all my energy into slamming the door as I depart.

The cool outside air does little to calm me. My heart hammers, my cheeks burn red, my breathing won't even out. There is a side of me that howls with anger. Behind it, softer, is a side that quivers with fearful humiliation.

And then I hear Groose's voice.

"What's a little shrimp like you going to do in there? Nothing! You couldn't wield a sword to save your life."

Link stands at the edge of the main building with Groose's bulk barring his path to the training hall.

Something in me snaps.

I don't think about it. I pick up a good sized rock, and I hurl it at the back of that stupid pompadour head as hard as I can.

Then I pick up another, and another. I keep throwing, I keep chucking with all my might, like I'm trying to turn the rocks into bullets.

"Bastard!" I shout with bared teeth. "Bastard, bastard, bastard!"

I don't even realize when I revert to English. I just keep screaming, Groose shields himself with his arms, and Link runs at me. A voice in the back of my mind yells for me to stop in conjunction with Link. But I can't seem to grasp myself. Link, however, does. He wraps around me like a band of iron, pinning my arms to my sides.

"What's your problem!" Groose stands to his full height, pointing a fat finger at me. "You mutant freak!"

He's referring to my ears, but I'm not ashamed of them like he thinks. I am trapped in Link's hold but that doesn't stop the grin I send, toothy and vicious in its glee.

What am I doing? Stop. It's the voice again, the soft one from the back of my mind. My voice.

Stop.

Look at yourself.

The grin falters, replaced by horror-widened eyes. I struggle away from Link, run down the path. I run and run and run. But where is there to run to on this constrained island? I keep running anyway. I hear someone's footfalls behind me, never letting up, never letting me out of their sight.

I stop at the edge of the island. I look down into the clouds below. A part of me wants to jump. Jump and not call for my bird.

Link's palm grips my shoulder. "Kya…"

"What!" I snap, but then lower my head, my voice. "…I'm sorry."

Neither of us says anything after that. There is just silence.

Silence and the wind, howling somewhere below the clouds.

…Hello? Is…is someone…calling?

…

What is it? Can you speak up? I can't hear you. There's too much static. It's the clouds, I think. They're interfering with the signal.

…

….Are you still there? Are you…looking for someone? Well, it's not me. Wrong number. Heh. What?

…

Hello? Is…someone else there?

He stayed with me. He wouldn't leave me alone on the edge. Not even for a moment. Though I wish he would.

It takes too long for me to calm down and, seeing this, Link devises a plan to take my mind elsewhere.

And that's how we ended up swinging at each other with sticks.

"Guard your flank," Link tells me, and I listen, because I know he knows what he's talking about.

He's winning; he taps me with the stick more than I can get him. Even so, I give him a good workout. I dodge, left, right. Leap back, leap forward. Duck down, jump up. My frame is slight, the target is small, therefore harder to hit.

But I still have one trick up my sleeve. I've been waiting to do this.

When Link brings his stick down in a vertical slash my palm comes up to meet it, fingers closing around the rough bark. I don't let go.

"Hey, cheating," he calls, tugging the stick in my grip.

"Cheating?" I say with a cheeky smile. "But anything goes in a real battle. You should be wary of this happening."

He tilts his head to the side, brows raised. "You couldn't catch a real sword like that."

"No, I couldn't," I reply. "But who says someone else can't? What if you fight demons?"

His brows scrunch low at that. But I know he'll understand. Later. In the meantime we play the game, the game of catching blades.

After our practice session I go straight to my room. Relief floods me when night falls without a single knock on my door. I wasn't looking forward to explaining myself to Zelda, but I'll probably have to do that tomorrow. Link's a good guy, considerate and tactful, but she's the one person he will tell about my behavior.

I sneak out after midnight, grab a snack from the deserted kitchen. I'm about to leave when a glint catches my eye. Shiny metal twinkles at me from the knife rack, and thinking back to when my sword was wretched from my hand, I stalk over and slip out the biggest one. The carving knife. Or is it called a chef's knife? I don't know. But it's about as big and long as my forearm. I hide it first in the folds of my dress, then in my room.

The bath I waited hours (and hours and hours—does that stupid man realize he doesn't have that much hair to wash?) to get into does nothing to soothe me. I can't sleep; I toss and turn deep into the night.

As the clock strikes four in the morning, I give up, change back into my tunic. The knife is tucked away in my waistband, down the small of my back. I snatch one of my forgotten wooden whistles from the bedside table, secure its string around my neck.

My footsteps are slow, soft. The front exit creaks, and then I'm outside, the night air crisp and calming. The stars glitter above and various nocturnal insects sing their melodies.

And then Pipit comes around the corner.

I move to duck behind the wall, but he's already seen me. How could I forget about his patrols? Idiot, I scold myself.

"Kya." He approaches me. "Where do you think you're going this time of night?"

"Um, technically it's morning," I answer. "And I'm going for a stroll. So…"

He sidesteps, blocks me from going around him. "Don't you know it's dangerous out at night? There are monsters about. Go back inside and wait 'til morning."

My eyes narrow, my mouth presses into a thin line. "No."

I try to dart around him. Again I'm blocked.

"Ugh!" I throw my hands up. "Look, it's not a big deal! I know how to defend myself. Seriously, what's going to hurt me? The bats? You wanna know how to get by them? You beat them with a stick. A stick! It's not hard. Your grandmother could do it!"

He crosses his arms, leans in. "There are more than just bats—"

"Ooo, what? You scared of the jelly chus? Again, a stick'll take care of those."

He still doesn't move aside.

Something grates inside me. Too small, too confined. I need out. I need off. I'm trapped. Before I know it my hand slithers around to my back, palm is met with the smooth handle of the knife.

I stop.

What am I doing? Just…just what am I thinking about doing?

I stare into azure eyes, take in the brown hair sticking up from a yellow tapered hat, the yellow knight uniform. This is Pipit. This is the guy Karane loves. Good, responsible Pipit who works his butt off to provide for himself and his do-nothing mother.

And right now he's just looking out for me.

And I'm…

"Y-you know," I stammer, "you're right. You're right."

He blinks in surprise, leans back. "Really?"

I nod, slow and solemn. "Yeah. You…you're a good guy. Thanks for—thanks." I finish awkwardly. Then, without a word further, I bolt back inside.

I go out the upstairs exit instead. I make sure Pipit is nowhere around when I jump to the ground.

The bats that swoop at me are beat off with sticks. The chus that goop on my boots are kicked away. The feral Remlit that crosses my path scratches and hisses. "Hey, sweet-bee," I coo in face of its snarls. When it chases me, I giggle and squeal like a little girl in faux danger.

But I leave all that behind when I reach the edge. I look down and my mind wanders to places it shouldn't.

I parade back and forth along the drop-off, blowing into the shrill little whistle, waiting, waiting. Turk takes his sweet time showing up. Though I should be thankful he does at all—most Loftwings won't fly at night. But, as usual, he doesn't care, and the dark is no exception to that.

The stars that glitter in the velvet blue sky never fail to take my breath away. Turk ascends, higher, higher, and I don't even have to ask him to. He knows. It feels like I can reach out and touch the shimmering canvas expanding above us.

I lay my belly down on his soft feathers, run my fingers through the tuffs. Unlike other Loftwings, Turk doesn't need someone constantly micromanaging his movements. He lets me relax, he takes control. Heh, he's like that regardless.

Pinks and yellows and magentas bleed into the sky with the rising sun.

The sky isn't so bad, I think. Not when I'm out here like this. Free and unrestrained.

Turk jerks to the side, nearly sending me rolling off his back. Confusion morphs to understanding when a giant worm-like flying insect shoots up through the air, narrowly missing me and Turk. What is that thing doing out of the storm head?

With a single swoop of his great wings, Turk lurches beyond the monster's reach. But then, curiously, he lets it catch up before once again lunging forward. He's playing with it, I realize, and laugh. He dangles himself in front of the creature's pinchers, then dives to the side before it can touch us. Again and again he does this.

"Dork." I swat Turk playfully. Then my eyes zip to the outcropping of rock before us. "Hey! No, don't—!"

He slams his side into the rock face, bouncing off it like a ping pong, without so much as a flinch. I cling to his feathers, clumps caught in my fingers, for dear life. The wind swirls violent all around me, whipping my hair in my eyes, and I bury my face in feathers to escape.

Then the flying insect hits us.

There's another jerk, screaming wind, and the next thing I know my fingers grasp thin air. Disbelief floods me as my eyes open to behold the open blue sky above. My entire being feels when gravity snatches me in its pull—the lurch of my gut, the throb of my head, the jump my heart makes to my throat. My panic tears out a scream.

My wild eyes latch onto Turk, who pivots and dives for me. I cannot look away from him. The glazed look in his gaze is lost, and a fire like I've never seen ignites in those murky irises. He narrows himself into a bullet. I reach up for him.

The fog of clouds rise to envelope me.

The last thing I think before the cold mist encases me is that I left my sailcloth under my bed.

The shrieking wind steals my breath, and the vision of Turk tunnels, before blackness swallows my sight whole.

When I wake up on the surface alive I scream. Not because of fear of where I am, nor is it a scream of triumph on survival.

I scream because, beside me, lies the broken body of my bird.

Everything I've seen twice. Everything I thought I knew. But now, now what am I to do?

Down, down, down, I've fallen. If you couldn't hear me up so high, how will you ever hear me down here?

Hear me, hear me, please...hear me.

A/N: Wow, that was a long one. Sorry. Or not, depending if you like long chapters or not.

I've read a lot of other "reborn" fics, from a lot of different fandoms. And you know, not once did I read one where the main character was seriously messed up at being ripped away from all he/she knows and loves and thrust into an entirely new world. Granted, a world they know, but new all the same. I decided to implement that. I'm trying to be realistic as possible. I hope I'm doing okay.

Second reason for this story was to test my ability to write in first-person present-tense. Hopefully I haven't botch that.

And don't worry, everyone's favorite sadist comes in next chapter. Until then, please let me know what you think? *puppy eyes* What?! Wait, where are you going? No one can resist puppy eyes! ...Dang it.