CHAPTER 1

It was yet another day in paradise for Aria as she groggily opened her eyes to greet the morning sun. Another morning of cold, crisp spring air and having to endure it as she did her chores throughout the day.

Rubbing sleep dust out of her eyes, Aria sat up and slung her legs over the bedside. Already, she could feel the ache that her muscles would undergo before the day was over, but she knew better than to complain.

The sooner you started your day, in her book, the sooner you could end it. With that daily reminder, she set about dressing herself.

Aria considered herself about as average as a sixteen-year-old Hylian girl could be. Her short-cut, dirty-blonde hair reached the base of her neck and she was lean, but not lacking muscle thanks to the hard work she had to devote to in day-to-day life of farming and the occasional hunting trip. Under her left eye was a scar-a thin, pale line across her skin that came courtesy of a stray branch and that she faulted on the reckless abandon of her childhood.

As she pulled on a green tunic, she heard the telltale sound of upturning earth and the efforted grunts that accompanied it. Typical of her father to be up and around like he always was. She often suspected that he never slept-always doing something to keep himself busy, especially so in the last few years.

After pulling on her hosen and boots, she pushed open the door and, sure enough, her father was out in the field, tilling soil in a small garden. Come autumntime, it would be full of big, orange pumpkins.

Her father propped an arm on his shovel as he turned to look at her. He was of average height for a Hylian man, though he still stood a full head taller than her. He was well-muscled from both his chores and regular hunts in the woods that their house stood on the borders of, but his years were certainly catching up to him, as indicated by his beard stubble and the faint, white streaks in his dirty-blonde hair.

"I thought you would never wake." He said to her, his disappointment apparent in his voice.

"I overslept. Sorry."

"We'll be leaving for town next sunrise." he told her, then gestured to a fenced-in pen, "Pick two or three healthy ones, then we go hunting for one last haul."

Aria nodded, then turned to the pen. In it was a small herd of goats of varying ages and sexes. For the next few minutes, she had to find the biggest and strongest of the bunch that they could afford to let go of. If a goat was skinny, still young, too old, sickly or expecting, she would leave it be and hope new additions would be coming soon.

She chose three, as per her father's instruction-a male with a solid set of horns, a female who had recently given birth, and the most-recently matured youngster with lots of energy. After putting them in a separate pen, she returned to her house

The hunt was set to begin the moment she reported to her father. She had to get her supplies before he got on her back about it.

Right by the door, right where she had left it, sat a bow and a quiver of arrows. She took her bow, bent it back good and tight with help from her trained arm muscles, then hooked the tips together with a taut chord.

With her bow ready, she did a quick count of the arrows-only ten. She would have to not waste her shots, and make more in the near future.

Slinging the quiver over her shoulder, she was out the door and making her way towards her father, who was eyeing the pumpkin patch for sickly or dying pumpkin plants. Any he found were quickly tossed to a heap of compost.

On seeing her approach, he propped his rake onto the short fence surrounding the patch, then said, "This will be your hunt, Aria. Where will we go?"

Aria turned to the woodland surrounding their humble home-a two-room cabin that was the epitome of humble life. She chose a mildly-cleared pathway into the woods, then pointed the way. Her path selected, she took off on a mild run, her father's heavy footsteps following close behind.

Aria was familiar with these woods. She had explored and hunted within them since she was twelve, going on hunting trips with her father similar to this one. At fourteen, she was leading the hunt rather than following her father's back.

A few minutes in and Aria's eyes fell on a set of tracks in a patch of soil. She paused and knelt to inspect them. They were fresh. Whatever made them could not be too far away.

"What do you see?" her father asked.

"I think it's a wild boar." Aria replied, then gently laced the sides of the cloven-hoof indentations with her finger, "Could also be a doe, though."

"Find it, then."

Obediently, Aria returned to her full height and they took off in the tracks' general direction. Minutes passed and, wanting to break the awkward silence, Aria made yet another attempt to engage her father in conversation.

"So," she called back to him, "Did you and mother go on hunts like this?"

Aria never knew her mother. From what she had been told, though, she had died when Aria was only a year old. He had never gone into detail on how it happened, and she had never tried to force the information from him. Still, the questions lingered in her mind. Everyone had to come from somewhere, after all.

"No." he answered, all while not breaking his stride, "Your mother was not a hunter. She trained in a bow, but only to defend herself and me."

This was new for Aria. Not much and incredibly vague, but new all the same. Normally, when she tried to bring up her mother, her father either never answered or changed the subject. It was rare of him to give her a straight answer. Before she could follow up, she saw something in a small clearing ahead and hid behind the first brush she could find.

It was a rabbit. Far from the game they were hoping for, but a target that could not be ignored all the same. Aria reached for an arrow in her quiver, but her father put a hand on her shoulder, halting her for a moment.

"You get three arrows." he told her, "Make them count."

Aria nodded her understanding, then pulled the first arrow from her quiver, unhindered. Nocking the arrow to her bowstring, she strained as she slowly pulled it back far enough for its feathers to tickle a spot under her ear.

The rabbit still had not spotted her. So far, anyway.

She took a deep breath, steadying her aim and keeping her target right in her sight.

The rabbit suddenly perked, turning its head and rotating its long ears as though it had sensed danger.

For Aria, it was now or never. If she paused for a second longer, the rabbit would disappear. She fired just as the animal sprang for cover, but in the last fraction of a second, veered her bow to the right. The arrow flew with a faint whistle, striking the rabbit right through its midsection. The animal hit the ground, where it remained perfectly still.

Aria let out a breath, then went to retrieve her catch. Picking the rabbit up by its ears, she removed the bloodstained arrow and placed the lifeless hare into a hunting satchel on her belt. As she turned to return to the trail, she saw her father, his expression hard to read.

"It sensed you and tried to run." He told her, "You were lucky that shot hit at all. Avoid being seen next time."

Aria nodded. He wasn't harsh with his words in the slightest. Quite the opposite, in fact. It was one of the things she admired most in her father-the ability to find improvement even in success.

The hunt continued for several minutes, mostly in awkward silence and intense focus. Aria happened upon the tracks again. Fresh. The animal had to be close now.

She was about ready to relay that very information to her father, but just as she was about to round a tree, she froze and ducked back behind its trunk. Her father stopped just short of crashing into her. They both had seen the same thing; a doe that was foraging through low-hanging branches.

Aria reached behind her back and drew an arrow, then felt her father's hand fall, heavily, on her shoulder. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, trying to keep focus on the unsuspecting deer, and from her peripheral vision, she saw him lift one finger.

One shot. That was all she was going to get for this target.

She strung the arrow and pulled it back. Deer had excellent hearing and could move as swift as lightning. If she missed or if she grazed it, the deer would be long gone in the blink of an eye. If she merely wounded it, it could still go far before it fell.

Aria knew that she was going to have to kill it or immobilize it on the spot. She weighed her options. A shot to the head would kill it instantly, but the target itself was small and hard to hit. Hitting its haunches or the collar would slow it down, but risked it running away. Even if it fell after a few good bounds, who knew what else was out in the woods?

She knew where she had to put the arrow then. It was going to be a risky shot, but considering her situation and remaining options, there was little other choice. If she missed here, both her and her father would have a very underwhelming rabbit stew, or go into town with unappealing goods to sell.

The arrow was now nocked, snugly, in its bowstring, which was as far back as she could safely pull it. The deer still had not sensed her.

Aria let loose the breath she held, and the arrow flew from her fingertips. It whistled through the air and struck the deer right in the chest-between its shoulder blade and arm-with a faint, but audible impact. The deer cried out in pain, then keeled over on its side.

Only when it made no effort to get back up did Aria and her father emerge from their hiding place and approach. The deer was still alive, but judging from the labored breathing and the wound that oozed blood, it wasn't going anywhere. She looked to her father, who lightly gestured with his head.

This was it. Her hunt. She had to finish it.

Aria took a knife from her belt, kneeling down to place the tip right at the doe's jugular, her face mirroring her father's. She could feel its breath quickening beneath its chestnut fur. A small press was enough to sink the tip past its skin and create a small spurt of deep-red blood. The deer involuntarily jerked as the blade sank deeper, but it was too weak to even try to fight back. After just a few seconds, its breathing slowed to a halt and it lay perfectly still.

Only when she was certain that the deer was dead did Aria's emotions finally come to surface. Her breath returned, shaky and rugged, and she could only look at the dead animal with something resembling pity.

She would never forget her first deer. At just twelve years old, her father had taken her on a hunting trip with him. When he brought down his own deer with a well-placed arrow, he had handed her a knife and instructed her to finish it just as he did now. She remembered the uncontrollable shaking as the tip of the blade hovered over the stag's neck, and the tears that stung her eyes when she could not bring herself to do it.

Her father had reached out then and took, not the knife, but her hands in his own. Aria remembered how his calluses felt down to the touch. He looked into her eyes with a piercing, yet soft look that inaudibly said "I know. I'm sorry." He had guided her hand and the knife down, and straight into their intended target.

The event played out just as it did years ago. Even after four years of hunting, it hurt her to kill an animal, even one that was in pain as this one was.

Thanks to her father taking her on regular hunts, she had learned to shut their death out of her heart-to see it as a target and to acknowledge that it was part of life. All living things consumed life itself to survive. She had learned how to steel her nerves, but the pain was never truly gone, only dulled.

It brought several uncomfortable questions up from the recesses of her mind. "How long until I feel nothing for something I've killed?"
"Will I grow to enjoy it?"
"What if I become a killer?"
Those questions scared her more than the most feral boar she had ever brought down.

Her father's hand rested itself on her shoulder. The very touch snapped her back to the real world, and she turned to meet her father's steeled, focused eyes.

"We have our catch." His words were steadfast as stone, but never harsh. He was bringing her back to the task at hand. "Let's go home."

"But I still have one arrow." Aria murmured.

"Don't worry about it." he said, dismissively, "This deer will last us for long enough."

Aria's eyes lingered on the doe for another second or two, then she shook it out of her head. "Okay." she yielded, "Let's...let's go home."

His duty done, her father picked up the doe and slung it over his shoulder like a burlap sack. Properly prepared, its meat would last them for days, and the pelt could be sold for a reasonable price when the time came to go to town.

Aria trailed her father back home, but hardly required his guidance. She knew many of the woodland trails by heart and which ones would take them home the fastest. Sure enough. In just a few minutes, their humble cabin came into view. The minute they were on their property, Aria's father set the doe on a tree stump. She handed him the rabbit she caught as well.

As her father set to butchering their catches, Aria took flint in hand and made her way to the nearby fireplace. She set to trying to get a fire going, both to help fight off the still-chilly air and to help prepare the meat and pelts. Once a healthy flame grew from the tinder and wood, Aria seated herself before it to ensure it stayed alive and strong for the task her father had in mind.

As she did, she let her gaze delve into its glowing warmth, allowing her mind to wander. As it normally did, her mind fell on her father. He wasn't a bad man or a bad father. She had fond memories of him from when she was young-coming home from a hunt and spending time playing make-believe, telling her stories of ages gone by and other things one would expect from a good parent.

When she thought about it, she remembered the last time she had seen him genuinely smile. It was when she turned ten years old. She had asked her father if she could hold his bow and pretend to shoot an arrow. She would never forget the disheartenment when he told her "no", only to remember the beaming smile when he held out another bow and told her that she could have her own.

He had taught her how to aim and shoot properly and, soon after, started having her accompany him on hunts, have her memorize certain trails that he had stamped out and how to navigate the complex woodland in their backyard. Slowly and subtly, he began to get more strict in his training. He was never cruel or overbearing, and he would lend his help to Aria whenever she called for it. He was never violent when it came to disciplining her, but he showed little tolerance for shortcoming.

Aria never held any kind of grudge against him. She could tell he was just preparing her to survive on her own one day. But like most children in their adolescent years, she had her fair share of things she should not have said or moments when she acted out, and upon reflection, she knew deep down that she kind of deserved what punishments came from them.

What truly worried Aria, however, was how distant he seemed to become with each passing year. She had felt him slowly push himself away from her since her training started. It was not the same as a parent readying for their child to leave home. She could feel something in the way he looked at her or averted his gaze soon after: guilt, regret, pain even.

Goddesses knew she tried her best to please him, to give him a reason to be proud. She had obeyed him to the best of her ability, woke bright and early every day, followed his training to the letter, and did chores without having been asked. But while he seemed to approve of her actions, what few smiles he gave faded almost as fast as they came and he would busy himself with something else.

Aria had tried getting him to open up, but her father was evasive as they came. If approached with certain questions, he would either end a conversation swiftly, give vague excuses or answer with broad strokes, or busy her-or himself-with some other task.

Was it something she had done? If so, what had she done? What could she have done that would make her father so sullen-sad, even?

"Aria!"

Snapped from her thoughts, Aria turned to see her father, his hands covered in the blood of rabbit and deer. His sharp tone softened when he saw that he finally had her attention.

"That fire will do just fine." he told her, "Go on inside. I'll find you when dinner's ready."

"All right." she said, standing to her feet, "Thank you, father."

Leaving her father to cook and preserve their catches, she went back inside the house. Seating herself on her lonely bed, she reached under her pillow and pulled out a worn book. It was one of the few her father could afford to give her and one of the few things she could use to escape the harsh reality of her world.

She had read this book dozens of times, but the timelessness of it always kept her coming back to it, and brought up pleasant memories of younger days. How her father had sat at her bedside, telling her the tales of legendary heroes-who had descended from the heavens, traveled through time, ventured to other realms and more. She could remember many of them by heart.

They were all too often her best escape from her mundane life as a farmer's daughter. Lost in its pages, she could forget her problems. Everything from her strict training to her father's ever-increasing distance from her would fade away, for a short time at least.