Cramped in my cell, I have no idea where we are or what's going on. Though cells line the narrow corridors tightly, it seems that Midoro and our troupe were too small to pack the three ships that came for us. Most of the cells around me are empty, and the awful rumble and screech of gears prevents any shouted conversations. I barely even manage to glimpse the people in the cells nearest to mine, but I can tell they're Midoran. I can't remember the last time I was entirely separated from the troupe.

The prison ship docks roughly. Us prisoners are decanted by our clockwork captors. The docking is so tight that we transition from claustrophobic metal corridors to the stonework ones of our destination – Calatia Castle Town, presumably.

Various indignities follow. I am frogmarched into a long room by one of many doors on the long side, which I'm pretty sure is south. I've always had an unerring sense of direction. I'm not one of those fools who needs to find a compass wherever they go.

Grim-faced guardswomen – human, as a pleasant change – methodically search me. My wrists are still bound and held in the automaton's steel grip. My hands have lost all circulation, and I wonder with some fear if they have been starved of blood for too long to ever work again.

Other prisoners filter in from the other doors on my side of the room, to be met by their own sets of guardswomen. All the female-presenting members of our troupe seem to be coming through here, as well as the Midoran women. One of the teenage girls in our troupe, Cottla, turns her white, scared face in my direction. "Zelda! I'm so glad to see you! What's going – "

A guard strikes Cottla in the face with what I recognize as the same type of electric bludgeon the soldiers were using. Fortunately, this one doesn't seem to be active. "Speak only when spoken to," the woman snaps. The girl starts to cry. I try to give her a reassuring look, but I'm sure it must come out looking sick.

The guards frisk me, remove anything valuable or dangerous or interesting. My pockets are empty already, even my pendant removed seconds before I was taken. My automaton releases my wrists, but stands by watchfully. They strip me, cutting my bonds to do so, and instruct me to put on grey, baggy pants and long-sleeved shirt. No shoes are provided.

I scan the room. Several of my less cooperative troupe members are beaten for talking, struggling, or simply refusing to cooperate. Our clothes and valuables are sorted into bins.

At a guard's signal, the automaton takes me by one shoulder and walks me out the north side of the room. One of my two guards lead us through some winding corridors, unlocks several doors with different keys, and finally directs me into a tall cell in a high-ceilinged, drafty room. Several empty cells are on either side of mine, lining the western side, and high windows on the eastern wall let in a chill breeze and a faint light. They're too high for me to see through.

I comply, and step into the cell. The guard locks the cell, and moves to walk away without a word.

"Wait!" I cry, moving forward and gripping the bars. "How long will I be held here? What happens next? What do you mean to do with us?"

She unclips the electric baton from her belt, thumbs some control on the handle. Arcs of blue light crawl over it and she taps it to the bars in the cell door. Instantly my muscles seize as lightning arcs through every bar in the door and through my body. She frowns in irritation at me and marches off, clockwork soldier in tow. By the time my jaw unclenches, she is gone.

I slump to the floor, not even bothering to scoot backwards towards the wall. My body aches from rough treatment, and my hands start to burn as feeling finally returns to them. My mind is sluggish from the sleepless night. I feel a deep sob building in my body, and close my eyes. Yes. Sobbing on cold stone in the fetal position sounds like the appropriate course of action.

Yet… I feel warmth. On my shoulder, on my back. My delirious brain is feeding me the sensation of being embraced from behind, just like my grandmother used to when I was a child with a bloodied knee. I take a deep, steadying breath. I can even smell her.

My eyes snap open. Grandmother chuckles. "No need to cry, my love. Things aren't yet as bad as all that." I half turn in her arms. Seated, I am only a head shorter than her.

"Grandmother?" I stammer in disbelief. "You're here," I point out dumbly.

"I'm here," she sighs, and smiles. It's a tired smile. She seems worn and thin. She sits herself beside me, cross-legged. Despite her years, she normally moves like an acrobat; for once, her movements are as old as I know her to be.

"What now?" I ask. "What were you about to tell me, back in the village?"

"I wanted to tell you what you need to know."

"What do I need to know?"

"That you need to think."

So, I sit and think about this. I'm not frustrated. It doesn't even occur to me that she's not giving me new and useful knowledge.

Maybe she takes my thought for confusion. She prompts me: "You need to see. You need to learn. What have you seen tonight?"

My mind stirs. A gust of cold air bites down from above; I shiver, but the cold wakes me up. I think.

"Calatia brought a lot of strength to bear on one tiny town. Either their military is immense, or they had a lot to fear." Grandmother nods. "The former is likely, because the officers seemed bored. They had done many raids before. The guards – who must be castle guards, this stonework architecture obviously makes this Calatia Castle – knew the process well, so this has been going on for a while. Midoro, which is part of Calatia, had artillery, large-scale weapons. I stumbled into their ammunition greenhouse, and it was new. They used those weapons against some sort of… natural disaster? Giant flying ship, or creature? At a guess, Calatia is arming itself against some outside threat, but the capitol is at least as afraid of its own townsfolk as the threat itself."

Grandmother quirks an eyebrow. "Were you eavesdropping on my conversation with the Midoran Elders, or is this lucky guesswork?"

I pause. The words and tone are skeptical, but there's a twinkle in her eye. "Neither," I assert. "I acknowledge that I could be wrong, but I have strong evidence and am comfortable with my assessment."

She smiles, pleased with my confidence. Her tone still challenges as she says: "Comfortable, are you? I'm glad one of us is. What are you going to do with your assessment?"

In my state of shock, my experiences flowed off my conscious mind like water from a duck's back. Now they rush in. My body starts to shake, and I stutter, "I…"

Grandmother leans forward, puts a warm hand on my knee. "What do you want?" she asks, tone soft. "This one isn't a trick question."

"I want to go home."

"Everyone from our caravan is here. Home is wherever we are. What does your answer mean?"

"I want us to go free," I try.

"How will you achieve your goal?" she asks.

"I have no idea." I hug my knees.

"While you figure it out, do what your grandmother wants you to do, then." She pats my knee and removes her hand. Her eyes meet mine in solemnity.

"Anything."

"I want you to start by getting yourself free. Tell me how you'll do that for me."

A moment of silence stretches long. The wind pours through the window, billows in our baggy clothes, gusts dry dust from corner to corner. As the shock fades, my mind opens again and important observations seep in. Words spill out of me, not a waterfall, but the careful outlet of a dam.

"The ship was mostly held by clockwork soldiers, but the guards here are human. They all wear the same armor; breastplate, vambraces, and helm of black steel over black leather clothes. They all carry lightning batons on one hip. A thin cable connects it to a box on the opposite hip, presumably a power supply. The resulting kit is too bulky for our sort of acrobatics and mobility. If I could get out of their grasp, unbound, and escape to the rooftops, they could never catch me."

Impa nods. "A simple plan, and one that plays to your strengths. I will share what I have noticed: some guards carry crossbows with heavy bolts that carry their own electric charge. Stay not only out of their grasp, but out of their sight."

I stand and pace. "I'm sorry to disappoint, but I'm still trapped in a cell. Are you as good a lockpick as you are an illusionist?"

"You don't need to my help to get out of here. It seems I need to remind you not just to look at your surroundings, but see them." She stares at levelly, still sitting, her mouth pursed in something near real disapproval.

I look. I see. "This cell… These bars are too widely spaced. I can walk out of here," I say, shock in my voice. Who would build such a terrible cell? What prisoner wouldn't think to turn sideways? "Who or what were these cells built for?"

Impa shrugs. I test my theory. It's tight; Alfon's chest would never fit through here, but my slender frame slides through with only a little squeezing. My eyes turn to the window, and see the same spacing between bars. I turn back to my grandmother.

"That wasn't what you were going to tell me in Midoro." It's not a question.

"Of course not." She struggles to her feet. I wince at how harsh her confinement has been on her. Or was she beaten? My chest tenses with anger, and I toy with ideas beyond mere escape.

Grandmother walks up to the bars. She reaches through and up to me. Baggy sleeves fall back to show her wiry arms all the way to the bicep. Her hands turn over twice, showing me empty palms and bare wrists. They flick in a strange motion, and suddenly she holds the wallet I was given as a tip in Midoro in her right hand, and my mother's gem in her left.

I gasp. Even for her… to produce two obvious valuables after a strip search and clothing change…

"Impressed?" she cackles.

"You need to explain that trick." I cautiously reach for the items. She gives me the gem, but pulls the wallet back.

"A magician never reveals her secrets," she starts, "so it is good for you that I am no magician. Crouch down and watch from below."

I obey. She holds the wallet in her palm, and slowly rotates her hand, holding the wallet from falling with her thumb. As it enters the shadow beneath her palm, she nudges it somehow into the shadow itself. Her thumb goes limp, and there is no wallet left to fall.

My brow is furrowed, my whole face wrapped around this impossible observation. Her right hand reaches out to my left, which holds the gem. With it held between our palms, she intones: "This is the cantrip of Twilight, the shadow pocket. By my power and authority in that realm and ours, I, Impa of the Sheikah, pass this ability to Zelda of Hyrule." She twists my arm, hard, so that my hand is on top. Her hand pulls away. Instinctively, even before my fingers could think to grasp the falling stone, I tuck it into my shadow.

We freeze. My face is stunned, hers smug. I know the stone is with me, as surely as I know that I have two feet. If I reach for it, it will be there.

Grandma pats my cheek. "Don't think about it too hard. You should know, though, the trick only works for small items with their own inherent magic. Could be gems, alchemically treated glasswork, certain trinkets…" With a wink, the wallet reappears, and she passes it to me. "I planted this ancient Sheikah wallet with the man in town, for him to give to you. It only holds 200 rupees, but you'll never lose it."

I slip it into the shadow pocket, still amazed. Just as I know I have ten fingers, I know that it holds ten rupees.

"Leave the castle, head into Castle Town," grandmother continues, sitting back down. "Find an old friend of mine, Professor Quinlan, and ask him for his advice. I need to stay here to advocate for our people. Remember us, but don't obsess over us. We'll be free some day, and we'll meet again. Do as we have always done; travel, learn, and better yourself."

Something niggles the back of my mind, but I could hear the dismissal in her tone. I could also hear footsteps in the corridor outside. With a million questions half-formed on my tongue, I run at the far wall. I take three steps up it, push off to reach the wall above our cell. The footsteps stop outside the door. I jump off again, gain enough height to reach the high window. Keys rattle in the lock below me. I squirm up and through the bars. As the door below me opens, I roll out onto a steep, shingled roof.

Only then does my first question form: What did grandmother mean when she called me Zelda of "Hyrule"?