The next day, Zelda entered the council chamber as the sages began to arrive. First came Saria, seeming merely a girl. She needed extra cushions on her chair to see the tabletop, but she was one of the most wizened heads in the room. Next came Darunia, the fiery Goron chieftain. Headstrong, and a Goron of action, his talent lay in making quick decisions when- literally, in his case- the heat was on. Third was Rauru, sage of light. He carried the light of knowledge, and shared it freely. Fourth and fifth in coming were Link and Malon, riding together, unsure of what to expect. The Hero's dedication and courage, as well as Malon's exuberance, made them a valuable addition to the small council. Sixth to come was Impa, Shadow sage and Zelda's nurse from long ago. Her shrewdness was invaluable when it came to predicting the action of an enemy and acting accordingly. Seventh was Ruto, Zora princess. She was calm, clear, and concise one moment, and stern and harsh the next, as unpredictable as the water and ocean she represented. Oddly, Nabooru, sage of spirit, was late.

The sage in question was not worried about being on time. She lay in the shadows beneath the overhang in Hyrule Field, taking stock of her situation. Grasping her swords tightly, she prepared to make her last stand. A long, ragged gash across her chest made breathing painful, each laborious gasp of air taken through gritted teeth. She spent every second fighting down the agony. Trapped. Surrounded. Hundreds of Stalfos, mounted on skeletal horses. Where they had come from, goddesses only knew, but she was the last of the small envoy bound for Hyrule Castle left standing. Her horse had fled; She was stranded. Her small flute had broken in the fall from the steed, so she couldn't even play one of the mystical warp tunes to escape fate. The stalfos crowded closer, jostling each other for a crack at the redheaded sage. She was arguably the best fighter to have ever entered the Gerudo training grounds, bested only by Link, in that regard. She owed him much, having been saved from Twinrova what seemed like so long ago.

She had lost sight of her prisoner, assuming him dead as well. He had been quiet, almost docile, when she set him on a horse and started for Hyrule field, a small honor guard in tow. Those soldiers, her soldiers, lay dead and dying where they had fallen on the field. Their lives would be paid for. She made ready to leap into the fray, to her own doom, when a great crash sounded from the flank of the foe. The prisoner had freed his hands, found his sword, and was now plowing through the hordes of stalfos on horseback. The foe was caught unawares, absorbed as they were with the cornered Gerudo. As he finally broke through their lines, he looked to Nabooru and motioned for her to get on. She didn't trust him as far as she could throw the horse he was riding, but he looked like the only way out of this mess. She leaped on behind him, sheathing one blade and grabbing tightly to his shoulders. Clapping his heels to the horse, they were off, charging through the hordes again. Nabooru had her hands full warding off blows from behind, while the man in the saddle ahead of her used his blade to take the skulls of any who blocked his passage. After what seemed like hours of tense combat, they finally broke free of the mob, galloping for Hyrule castle at full speed.

Mounted stalfos took off in pursuit. The phantasmal horses were fast, and would overtake them before they reached the town, so they had to do something before that happened. Masterfully guiding his steed, the stranger turned sharply east. Nabooru barely heard him when he commanded, "Duck." She obeyed before she could stop herself- just as well, because the lowest branch of the tree by the entrance of Lon-Lon ranch would have taken her head off- just like the skull of the first pursuer. Both stalfos and steed crumbled to dust before her very eyes when she turned back to watch. Riding like the wind, hair flowing freely, the young man jumped his horse over what looked like a short wall- and down a much longer drop. The horse stumbled, but was strong enough to keep running. One of the pursuers wasn't so lucky, tripping completely and rolling to a stop, shattering into scattered bones. The horse was beginning to tire, Nabooru knew, no matter how well bred Gerudo stallions were. It was apparent that the frantic chase was taking its toll.

The stranger noticed too, out of options. He brought the horse to a halt near a boulder on the roadside. Nabooru leapt from the saddle, drawing blades in a smooth motion. "It was nice knowing ya, whoever you are..." She said, sorrow in her voice. "Guess we just need to take as many with us as we can." The strange man's blue eyes caught her own, a grim smile on his face. "Death won't come for us yet, Spirit Sage. We still have work to do. And for the record, the name is Sando of the Sheikah." She had no time to ponder how he knew what she was, or how a Sheikah had survived, before a blinding flash of light rendered her unable to think, move, or feel for a long time.

When she woke, it was dusk. She was next to a campfire, her wounds cleaned and bandaged. Another Gerudo was lying not too far away. She was sleeping peacefully, though some of her wounds were still weeping crimson blood. The Sheikah was across the campfire from her, polishing his sword during a break from bandaging the other survivor. "Good. You're awake. Your horse found it's way here not long ago. Are you feeling better?" She nodded, briefly. "Then we ride for the castle." "Won't the gates be closed?" she ventured. "Barred gates and locked doors mean little to the Gerudo, from what I've seen. And when the situations demands so, they mean even less to me."