Lover of the Shadows
Woo! First chapter! This is actually one of my first fics, so it would mean a lot to me if you fine people would take the time to review. I don't mind constructive criticism, as long as you remember the constructive part. But please, can you tell me what you like as well as what you don't? Everyone loves to have their ego stroked, you know. ^_^
Can I ask one thing about reviews? I prefer if they give reference to the story, like "Poor Link!" rather than "This sucks!". Of course, either way I'll be happy. Hey, beggars can't be choosers, you know.
Disclaimer: I don't own any thing from Zelda. Oh, if only I did. You'll know the characters that are mine, however. Please, don't steal them. You can use them, but you have to at least pretend to ask me first.
Rating: For now, G. But it might turn R, and it will definitely turn PG-13.
WARNING!!: This story is going to have Sheik in it. I'm not just gonna throw Sheik on you without an explanation, so don't worry, but he will be there.
Pairing: Zelda/ Link. I don't know how that would upset someone, but if it does, you have been forewarned.
Hmmm… sorry my author's note was so long. You probably think I'm really in love with myself. It'll be shorter, I just had to get some thing out here.
Epilogue
THERE WAS NO MOVEMENT in all the land. Not a breath of wind or the stirring of a creature. All was still, as though the gods themselves slept. The sky was a soft blue-purple, pink clouds drifting beneath its curtain where the sun reflected on them. Below it, the green grass of a large, flat plane struck a sharp contrast with the heavens above it.
Solra, goddess of light and sun, ascended lazily over a mountain in the distance, her fiery orb marking the first day of the world. The land she illuminated was beautiful and vast. It was the newly created realm of Ilbaned, as the gods knew it. Until many years later though, when a priestess found the name in a dusty old tome, the land would be known as Niapos, land of the mortals and kingdom of the sages.
For a few moments, the peace remained untouched. Only the sound of the wind could be heard on the massive plane, the very center of Ilbaned. But a muttering rose off of the air, echoed from the mountains, shook through the woods. It seemed to fill the very earth itself, a rumbling that was as much a part of the landscape as the hills were. A deep chanting that came from every corner of Ilbaned, and met at its heart.
The sound did not get louder as its chanters neared their destination. It simply became deeper, more soulful and solemn. Finally, four figures appeared, each from a different corner of the plane.
From the North came Dnalofen, Prophet of Dead and lover of all things chaotic. He wore a plain gray robe with a simple pattern of white clouds at the bottom. In his arms he carried a single arrow, welded from the silver of Farore's hair. He also bore a cup of the same silver, empty but lined with white, glowing jewels.
From the south came Aepoite, Prophetess of Beauty and the sea. She normally kept to herself, living within the bottomless tunnels at the end of the ocean, but today she had emerged from her endless tomb. The sun fell around her as though she was one of the gods themselves; it kissed her blue-green hair and made her dark brown skin glow almost gold. She carried with her a book, plain and unlabeled, but bound in the scales of a merman. She also carried three wooden sticks, on which were engraved the runes of the language of the gods.
Octixem of the East, Prophet of Kindness, came bearing a flame burning in a crystal brazier. The flame was black, the color of an onyx. He was old and bent, but moved at a surprising pace. Around his neck was a large medallion, which turned from red to orange to yellow and back to red, and which reflected off of his pale blue eyes.
Rodauce came from the West, and he was the Prophet of Courage. He was young and quick, with black hair and green eyes. Rodauce was carrying a small pedestal made of white marble with gold patterns on it. In his left hand he carried a small box of dark cherry wood. It was plain and nondescript on the exterior. Inside, though, it was full of small black rocks, each with a different sign on them.
They each took different paths, some walking on slopes others covering hills, some wading through rivers. But each arrived at the center of the plane no earlier and no later than any other.
A final man stood before all of them, the Prophet of the Wise. Rauru was his name. He was of an indiscriminate age. He had white hair and wrinkles, but he was untouched by time otherwise. The four prophets bowed to him, and formed a half circle around him. Rauru raised his hands towards the heavens, closed his eyes and muttered an incantation. A gazebo of black stone formed around them and below them. In the very center, Rodauce set his pedestal down. Then, on top of it, Dnalofen placed his cup. Aepoite placed her three sticks off wood in the cup, arranging them so that they formed a perfect triangle. Finally, Octixem handed the crystal brazier to Rauru, who, bending over, lit the three branches on fire.
The flame burned pure black for a few moments, looking as though it would be extinguished. But as the fire grew, it's color lightened from black to navy to blue, and then eventually to white. The white blaze reached upwards, twisting into spirals and clouds and mountains. There was no breeze now, nor was there any sign of anything that could out the flame out.
But suddenly, from the West, a wind came off the desert, carrying sands from the wasteland. It quenched the flame entirely, making disappear until even the twigs were no longer even smoking.
The five magi stood, stunned and horrified by the terrifying sign. The majestic gazebo dissolved around them, and they stood quietly, each wondering what this could mean. Above them, the sky turned from blue to red…
Five thousand years later, in the very same spot, Link, Hero of Time, sat bolt upright, cold sweat running down his face.