Disclaimer: I have no affiliation with Nintendo; I have no claim to any of the characters in the story below (except for the name Zartaris.) Shigeru Miyamoto and Nintendo own the Legend of Zelda series, not me.

The Guard Station had filled up. There were at least thirty other hopefuls there as I walked in. Most were already armed, but a few weren't, and they were clustered about a display case. Seeing no alternative, I pressed through the crowd and peered in. As I had suspected, here was where you could pick your blade, if you didn't have one.

They were of all sizes, each forged cold-blue steel. My first action was to reach for the largest, a five foot long blade. Unfortunately, my strength was not what it had been, and I found it difficult to even move it. I finally settled on a medium sized broadsword, roughly three and one half feet long. It was well balanced and razor sharp; I took to it as if it had been my old blade. In a clear area I gave it a practice swing; it handled just like Legend's Flame.

The soldier I had spoken with earlier came to the platform and motioned for silence. "We have secured the use of an automated training center for the first exam. It's across the street," he said. I followed the crowd as he led us out the door to a different building. It was a large room with about ten circular brown indentations on the floor, arranged in a circle.

"I have the floor on an automatic program. For each of you, it will produce a random pattern of targets, boards that will spring from the floor. Your mission is to destroy each board using the tactics you would normally use in battle; once your turn is done, we will compute your score. After all have gone up, the ten highest scorers will fight in a mock battle with me and a few other soldiers. Those last ten's salary depends on who they defeat in the mock battles. Any questions?"

No one responded. "Very well. First up is Jathro Montares."

Jathro seemed to be proficient with the sword. He walked to the middle of the ring and drew his sword, holding it loosely, but no too loose, in his hand. Almost directly behind him, a post shot up from the floor; though he hadn't been looking at it, he knew exactly where it was, as he spun and slashed. The halved post fell in two different directions. This happened several times, as if he had an extrasensory perception on where they would appear. Then I realized how he did this; by watching the people around him and noting the direction their eyes would move, he could figure out where the next board would come from.

He made short work of the test. After about a minute, his score was announced. "Out of forty posts, he missed two, didn't notice one, and destroyed thirty-seven. His score is 93 out of a maximum of one hundred points."

So it went on. Then next one was very new with his blade, I could tell, by the way he gripped its hilt as if he wanted to choke it. As a result, he scored a meager 35 out of one hundred. I thought of my own tactics, uninterrupted by the events around me until I heard my name called.

I stepped into the ring, sword gripped steadily in hand. I felt a little nervous, and try as I did, I could not quell the feeling. However, I was still confident, and I coolly prepared for the battle.

While I normally do not use people's words for my gain, this was one of those times. The head soldier had said, 'destroy each board using the tactics you would normally use in battle,' so I intended to do just that. Telepathically I read the mind of the one who seemed to be paying the most attention to the match, the head soldier himself.

Acting on what he was seeing I swiped my sword around, slicing a post before it had even half emerged. In the next instant, I leapt forward and stabbed a hole through the next. Through the head soldier's eyes I saw two emerging behind me; I spun around, sword extended, lopping both off flush against the floor. I lost count of them and simply acted on my now established process: see, slash, hack, next target. When no more appeared, I sheathed my sword and broke my telepathic link.

"Zartaris has scored…a solid one hundred?!" the head soldier was obviously amazed.

After my display there were only five left; they finished quickly.

"The top ten scorers are Montares, Zartaris, Joras, Lenny, Finny, Samuel, Ral, Kali, Mack, and Georges," said the head guard, "Considering your scores, I have chosen who you will fight. Zartaris will fight me, Montares will fight Jaggers, and Ral will battle with Kaz. The rest of you may leave; you will be notified in three days by mail of your scores."

Two other guards entered. "Kaz, you'll fight Ral. Jaggers, take Montares."

As the other two prepared for battle, the head soldier drew his sword. I pulled out mine and stood in my warrior's stance, legs spread like a wrestler to ensure that I wouldn't fall.

"So, Zartaris, ready?"

"Yes."

He shot out his sword, a bolt of lightning, towards me. With equal speed I blocked and made a move toward his chest; he blocked at the right second, forcing my sword away. Before he recovered, I jumped to his right and swung; somehow, his sword was already in the way. He darted at me, and I flipped back out of the way. As I landed, my sword shot at him, a move he barely blocked.

"You're good at this, you know?" said he, resisting my strength as I pressed my sword against his.

"Thank you," he ducked, and I nearly tripped; only rolling forward quickly got me out of the way of his blade. I leapt to my feet and whipped my blade around; he was again blocking it. I pulled back and zapped it forward…he wasn't blocking!

He sheathed his blade and extended his hand. "You've definitely got a career with us, Zartaris."

Had I not been so confident in my victory I would have breathed a sigh of relief. "Excellent."

"Call me Viscen. I'm head of the guards. Where did you learn to fight like that?"

"I taught myself I guess…I never had any real training."

"You've got talent, that's for sure. I've never been beaten."

I didn't really have a response ready; fortunately, he kept talking.

"You can expect your approval in three days. Well, you're hired."

"Any more paper work?"

"Not until the letter arrives. Have a nice day."

"You too, Viscen." I left the training center and looked around. It was almost night time, and since I had practically had a good, 2000 rupee per week job clinched, I was in a celebratory mood. Though I couldn't buy anything, I decided to go to the Milk Bar I had seen advertised on posters here and there, just to inhale the sights and sounds. I arrived about an hour before ten o'clock. The door was unlocked, so I entered.

The bar was more of a club; it was a members only type operation, said a sign near the entrance door. I was about to turn back when the barkeep called up to me.

"Where you going, stranger?"

"Out. Members only, I see."

"Aw, come on, it's an hour before we open. What'll it be, stranger?"

"No money."

"Well…tell you what. I'm supposed to sweep this floor…" I turned to the portly, mustachioed bar keeper. "But if you do it, I'll get you a good meal. How's that?"

"More than generous." I picked up a broom and started sweeping. Kind of ironic, I thought; I, a former god, the former lord and creator of Termina, reduced to sweeping floors for food. Oh well, others have suffered worse, I'm sure. I am a hard worker, and I had that floor from dusty to clean in ten minutes flat.

"Excellent, mister. Your grub is on the bar."

I started to eat; it was pretty good stuff. I was very hungry, and I had devoured it in just moments. I was starting to get up when the barkeep called me again.

"Hey, stranger, sit down. Come on, stay for a while."

"Why?"

"Didn't you hear the latest?"

Evidently I hadn't, though I had heard some gossip about a Zora band, the Indigo-Gos.

"The Indigo-Gos are performing here tonight! If you stay around for a while, you can see them getting ready for tonight. I'm expecting them here any moment."

"Really?" If I wanted to live in Termina normally while I planned to eliminate Majora, I would have to fit in.

"Yep. And we are also getting the world famous Gorman troupe here too!"

"Is it a holiday?"

"No, it's just that the Indigo-Gos are coming to town! The Gormans troupe is going to do tricks and stunts to go with the music. I hear they will be great!" The barkeep was ecstatic; that was natural, for I figured that he was probably the owner of the bar, considering the evident pride he had in a band of such fame playing in his establishment. Just as I was about to say something, I heard a knocking at the door.

"They're here!" shouted the barkeep as he ran to the door. The instant he opened it, I knew he was right, from the noise that the crowd (which had suddenly formed outside) was making. Moments later, the band entered, toting their instruments, followed by the Gorman troupe. In seconds, the Milk Bar was packed.

I couldn't help but watch with some admiration as I watched them set up their instruments. It was simply an entrancing sight, especially since it showed that even if Majora planned to turn the universe into a wasteland, it hadn't yet started. A tall, mustached man, wearing fancy clothes and a lacy collar, sat down on the stool next to me. Another tall man, also mustached, but in less expensive dress, sat next to him and started talking. The two resembled each other so much that I knew they had to be related.

The band began tuning up their instruments for the performance. To compensate, the men I had seen rose their voices slightly.

"So, how's it on the farm?"

"Been better." I normally do not eavesdrop, but I couldn't help but notice. "You know that Romani ranch?"

My ears strained to hear. "Yeah?"

"They're drivin' us outta business! They are not only cheaper than us; they don't water their stuff down. It's better than ours is!"

"Why didn't you take care of them?" said the expensively dressed man.

"I tried, but they got some kid to help 'em. He protected their shipment."

"I know who you're talking about. Link, is it?"

"Yeah."

"He's gone. He got on a horse and rode off. Without the runt, those women can't fend for themselves. They've got no weapons and no training."

The less expensively dressed man laughed evilly. "Please excuse me, then. Tomorrow, there's gonna be more than just a concert in the newspaper!"

"That's the spirit, bro. Excuse me, I need to go up now." Both men got up, one headed for the stage, the other for the door.

I wouldn't stand for it. Those thugs were not going to put that ranch out of business. I stood up and left, taking the fastest route for the Romani ranch, the Song of Soaring.

It had been thousands of years since I had invented the melody. It would take the person who played it to an Owl Statue, statues I had had a wise old owl place around the land. Whether it would work or not, I didn't know. Concentrating on the Owl Statue nearest the ranch, I whistled the tune.

Instantly I was enveloped in a magical cocoon of feathers. It was a split second thing; before I could feel them on me, they vanished. I stood in front of a stone statue, the image of an Owl. Romani ranch was nearby, and I ran down the Milk Road towards it.

I arrived at midnight. From the darkened windows, I knew that they were asleep, but I had to do it. I knocked on the door until Cremia, clad only in her nightgown, answered.

"What are you doing, pounding on the door this time of night, Zartaris?" she said sternly, understandably annoyed.

"Cremia, this is important. I was at the Milk Bar, and a creep who owns a nearby ranch is coming to cause trouble!"

She was wide awake in an instant. "The Gormans?"

"They are tall and have black mustaches. They say they own a farm near here."

"It has to be…Zartaris, I don't know what to do…we don't have any weapons."

"I'll stand guard. I just need a pitchfork or scythe. You and your sister can sleep."

Cremia was silent for a moment. "Alright. There's a scythe in the barn," she said. "I'll get it." She walked out to the barn and returned with the reaping tool a moment later.

I took it in my hand. "Where would you like me to guard?"

"It's chilly out here," she said. "We can wait inside."

"We?"

"Of course. I must help defend the ranch."

Romani came downstairs, also in her nightgown, clutching a bow and holding a quiver. "Can I help?"

"You may," said Cremia. We went inside and sat next to the fireplace, turning on no lights. Perhaps it would be a long wait, but I was patient. I would defend them to the best of my abilities; with my mortal life if I had to. I would not fail again. Not this time.

--------------------

Cliffhanger! Will Zartaris fail once again? Will he successfully defend the ranch, or will he fail, again? How will he defeat Majora, the new god of the universe, if he is not a god himself, and does not have the Legend's Flame? Tune in, next episode, same Zelda time, same Zelda channel. And don't forget to leave a review!