Disclaimer: Yep, still don't own any of Namco or Nintendo's goods. . . and if I did, I still wouldn't share Link because I'm greedy.

AN: I'm not sure how much I like my Prologue, but that's ok since I wrote it late at night. I'll add another para here that I wish I'd thought up last night, but it seems to work out fine here too. . .My last AN holds true still. Thanks!

*oniisan = older brother

Chapter 1

"It has been told that in the third generation of warriors in search of the Sword of Salvation, newcomers and outsiders joined the ranks of those strong enough to pursue. Our story focuses on the paths of two individuals who's destinies have been intertwined by the quest for Soul Calibur. Listen well to my recounting of their story so that time may not overshadow them. . ."

Despite the few tears in the parchment, you are able to skim the document's beginning paragraphs quickly, learning that the author is in fact relaying a tale told to him by someone who was directly involved with the story itself. With this new information, you move onto the next sentence after, reading much slower now as the words become the voices and actions of the players in the tale itself and no longer the writer's own thoughts.

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The wind felt so good as it kissed her skin in the early twilight that had begun to settle on the ruins she stood amid, causing her to shiver lightly out of relief. The journey up to the cathedral had proven more than she had hoped to bite off, though not impossible. "I shouldn't be so weary now. . ." she muses while one hand moves out lazily to touch the cool stones of a crumbled wall. "But I suppose it makes sense after I exerted myself trying to outrun that crazed ninja woman."

Finding a spot she deemed suitable, she leans her back against the wall and slides down into a sitting position on the dusty stones beneath her. Her hands slip down the shaft of her weapon as she sits; holding it upright from the bottom until she lets it lower horizontally so she can lay it across her lap.

She relaxes with her knees drawn up and her arms resting folded on top of her glaive. It was a rather meticulously wonderful piece of weaponry. She had always admired it back home when it rested on its rack; carefully tended to and cleaned. Her brother loved it better than the other weapons in his collection, though he did not posses the knowledge to fight with it.

She had practiced with the staff ever since she began her training, so the glaive was not much of a difference for her, save the bladed end. Her eyes move to admire the glint of the metal at the end in the falling darkness. It reflected the few stars that had come out above her; almost looking innocent despite its purpose as a weapon. Her fingers idly trace the engravings encircling the shaft, moving up and down the runes and decorative markings while she turns her attention before her. "Should I just camp here tonight? It isn't very well protected. . .but who would come to a place like this? It's so run down, it can't possibly be of any use."

That said, she pulls the hood of her cloak up, covering her red-blonde hair and ears. She knew enough to know that it was much easier to preserve body heat if your head was covered; besides, it would hide her gender as well from random passersby. She wasn't that naive to not know a female traveling alone could possibly be in danger. Resting her head on her knees, she closes her eyes and tries to catch a little sleep. Her thoughts swim though her mind like so many fish, much like the ones in the pond near her home. She had fallen in once, only to be fished out by her brother who scolded her after.

"Don't you even know how to swim, Yuri chan? You won't ever be able to become better than me if you can't do such basic things."

"I'm so sorry, oniisan*. . .I do my best. You just wait and see, I'll become stronger than you!" She smiles to herself at the memory as it replays slowly and vividly in her mind's eye. She had learned how to swim soon after; stubbornly returning to the pond in the afternoons after practice until supper and sometimes after if she could get away with it. Her mother had worried she would catch a cold from doing so, but she never did; though Hikaru had gotten scolded for pushing her to it.

She missed him sorely ever since he had left their home near the Plum tree to look for the legendary Soul Edge ten years ago. Her father had forbade his leaving, telling him it was needless and risky; though perhaps his objections spurned her brother even more. "You were so stubborn oneesan. . ." she whispers softly, squeezing her eyes against an onslaught of hot tears that threatened to fall at the memory of him. She remembered how she had run after him, beckoning him back pathetically through sobs and shouts of anger. She was only nine then, but she knew even at that age how hopeless a search for such a weapon was.

Opening her jade eyes she sighs heavily, trying to push such sad thoughts back to their shelves in her memories; remembering her need to rest her body. She rescans the area slowly, looking for movement though not really expecting to find any and pulls the sides of her cloak over her legs; shifting them under the cloth slightly to fit better in the warmth it provides against the evening chill. Her head falls again to her knees and the hood obscures the last of her body from view as she slowly drifts into a light sleep.

The night fell peacefully and without incident or noise from anyone disturbing the quiet of the ruins. The only movements were those of the few animals that had made their homes in the small crevices among the brickwork that still stands. Insects come out to sing their evening songs, as if trying to ward off the cold season just a little longer so they can remain active. Footsteps from soft boots echo off the ruins faintly with a casual swiftness to them. A figure moves through the crisp night towards the cathedral, their shoulders set wearily in order to carry the weapon on their back. They have the aura of one who has traveled long and tirelessly and still travels when most are resting. Link was used to giving unrelenting effort into his quests; it was his responsibility. Usually however, he was on his own turf or some place connected to it; not in an entirely different world. He had no idea how he had ever thought that he would be able to find the source of Hyrule's troubles in such a place.

Through the information people had given him and information he had forced out of others, he discovered the one responsible wielded a sword called the 'Soul Edge' that concentrated their powers and fed off of the souls of the slain. He had never heard of an object so horrible on its own and could only imagine what its owner would be like. Someone like that should be easy enough to find, yet he was not having very much luck in his quest.

In honesty, he had returned to this cathedral in desperation. This was the place he had entered this world from and perhaps he could just go home here as well. He suspected the Ocarina of Time would suffice in returning him, but a part of him nagged at his grudging choice to give up. He was not a quitter by nature, but this seemed so impossible that he doubted his own abilities to subdue such a strong power if he even found it. Scowling, he hated to think Zelda's trust in him as a great hero was misplaced and clenches his fists tightly in anger at his own shortcomings.

He comes upon the structure at last, stepping inside it with a soft sigh passing from his lips. It still looked the same though he was not sure why he expected anything different. The breeze brushes his blonde hair before his blue eyes and against his long elflike ears, sending a small chill through him. He had gotten more than a few odd looks from the people in this land and a few rude remarks. He shrugged them off but he could not help but wonder if there were stranger looking individuals than he in search for the same bounty as he.

Moving into a small patch of moonlight cast on the stone floor through a hole in one far wall, he reaches into the pouch at his belt. His fingers close around a smooth instrument and he draws it out to gaze at it a moment. The Ocarina of Time looked so simple in his gloved hands yet the magic within it was very valuable; enough to move him through time itself. He hesitates a moment then puts the mouthpiece to his lips and positions his fingers over the proper holes in the instrument. Slowly, he breathes in a breath to blow into the round flutelike object then stops; his eyes caught by a glint of light in the shadows.

He lowers the ocarina slowly and stares into the dim light with his finely sharpened vision. The light seemed to reflect off a metal object and he could make out a mass huddled near it. Slowly, he replaces the Ocarina of Time in his pouch and reaches back carefully; drawing his sword, the Master Sword, from its elaborate sheath on his back and lifts his shield from his back. He slides the straps on the back of the shield over his arm and closes his fingers around the handle, holding it in front of his body.

Cautiously, he moves towards the figure, choosing his steps with care so as not to make noise. Holding his sword high, he comes up to what seems to be a huddled figure under a rough brown cloth and waits to see if it moves. Sensing life, he reaches out with carefully with his sword hand, catching the very edge of the cloth in his fingers and begins to lift it tentatively.