AN: Finally, after a whole year! You wouldn't believe just how many things I have learned! One of those is a new meaning (or rather, perspective) of death, and how can it affect people in many ways. But all these things you will see later in the story.
Once again I must thank all of you fantastic reviewers, and also those who are maybe reading this but aren't the types of reviews. I was one of them to tell the truth.
Most of the sages' scenes are now the same day, but different time, just Link's and Navi's scenes are the exception. Enjoy the story!
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Tarnished, ginger packaged-up foliage tied along with several other types of leaves, some maroon and others raptly yellow, all conforming to the insignia of autumn. And yet, these were not just easily arranged, they were perfectly ordered by expertise hands to shape a master piece of art, true to its sole purpose.
To be an unsurpassed masquerade upon which a certain princess would pass unnoticed.
Naturally, not all piece of art would be appreciated by all the people as its proper value. There were some detractors who wouldn't be fond of every particular factor of it—in other words, they liked the piece but sought for every possible failure so as to prove their decision. But there were also those people who wouldn't be keen on any of it at all, even if it was beyond coherent reason the case of it being above quality. They were mulish and would refuse to concur with it.
So was the case of the young female legatee of the Zora throne, who wouldn't accept the fine representation of a Dekuscrub, which was made by an eternal infant, the Sage of Forest.
"No, no, no, and… no!" Ruto negated time-by-time, repudiating Saria's perfect camouflage, waving frantically her arms around and shaking her head constantly as a look of pure indignation blazed in her eyes.
"Absolutely no!"
"Why not?" Saria kept asking, amused, beaming in a teasingly way for she knew how were Ruto's feelings a propos the clothing. "You know it's going to work! Nobody's going to recognize you!"
"But that doesn't mean I have to disguise like a Dekuscrub!" Ruto screeched back with utter resentment, "I mean there has to be other ways!"
Saria looked over with a pout, mockery offense shining within her glance.
"You don't like… what I made… for you…?" she muttered on the verge of faked tears. The chance was this, and she couldn't be notwithstanding it. She had to convince Ruto by all means.
Luckily for her, her drama corroborated the mission by taking place on its principle. Ruto appeared ashamed at despising what took so long for Saria to make—three hours to be exact. And so, knowing fully that she had something to her advantage, Saria took the costume from Ruto's hands, pressing it firmly to her chest and made sad dog puppy-eyes. Ruto looked at those eyes, her right, non-seen eyebrow quivering with uneasiness.
"O-of course I do…!" she alleged in self-defense, in a futile attempt to calm her acting friend down. Then, as if pretending supportive to Ruto's words, Saria's pose shifted to an amused one, hands on her hips.
"Then why won't you use it?" she demanded half-heartedly. Ruto narrowed her eyes, unsure of what to say. It wasn't exactly that she believed it wouldn't work—it was just that she only couldn't wear it. It would have fitted perfectly for anyone else, but to her, it was simply that her once-sleeping sense of fashion wouldn't permit her to be dressed in such a non-exquisite costume. If she'd had to wear something, it would be something that she would like.
And this was not in the ever-farthest reaches of her likening possibilities, though, she had to admit, it was a magnificent work.
"Well…?" Saria pressed with a smirk. The amphibian Sage did not respond, her cobalt eyes suddenly finding quite interesting the floor. "You know, as well as I do, that we aren't going to go anywhere near the castle if you don't wear this!" the emerald-eyed scowled, frustrated, the humorous tone menacing to leave.
"I know!" Ruto snapped back, "I don't need you to tell me…! I already know, it's just… argh!" she threw her hands up in defeat, puffing out in pure exasperation. Haughtiness was what was ruling her at that moment, partially blinding her composure. The necessity for that proper disguise was far above questionable, she couldn't permit herself to be conceited at that moment, when the rest needed of her help.
When Link needed of her help.
Ruto remembered then why was she there, why was she fighting. Why she let go of something that she held dear in the past, as was her father's trust. Determination was the only thing that prevented that small open-spark to be unreachable. She knew that selfishness wouldn't led her anywhere, so she had to be firm on her decision, and wear up on some other sacrifices. Humility was the key to success, and, at that time, at that moment, that was what she needed the most.
"I'll do it," all of sudden she spoke. Her cobalt-eyes were not short of the radiance that the strength of mind could produce in oneself. The all so miraculous sense of unreeled liability broadened on her as thoughts flew by, sinking deep into her soul as grit compelled in with her strong desire.
With high regard, Saria smiled, fulfilled with the results. She handed Ruto her precious disguise, at least comforted with the idea that they were to depart soon. The sooner the better, she had said, and by this time of the morning, if they leaved, surely they would arrive at the castle by the end of the afternoon, or, with some hope, by eve of it.
"Put it on, we have to go," Saria instructed. With unspoken words, Ruto nodded weakly, already regretting to some extent what she had said. But to her misfortune, she couldn't pull back now—her love for Link was greater than the little dignity she could forgo by wearing that. Plus, already had the path been laid before her feet, and she had to cross it.
Saria smiled pitifully at her friend, perhaps understanding the peril of the young princess. She knew Ruto, and it hasn't been at all a surprise that she denied to put on the bundle of leaves at first. "Obvious," she'd thought.
"Come on, we must go," she spoke gently, with an added tone of lightheartedness. She went for her small traveling pack - which was placed on top of her desk - took it and fastened it to her back. After that, she turned to face Ruto once it was secured. "Now, come on, put it on."
Ruto sighed and went behind the cupboard. She was dressed in the outfit with great difficulty, though she did not struggle for help. Her proud Zora blood and flesh were already hurt by just accepting to put on some freaking rags; she couldn't demean herself even more than she already had.
After long tedious minutes of thrashing about, she was finally able to finish. Breathing in relief, she went back to Saria, completely embarrassed at what she thought was a non-princess-like image.
"I feel like an idiot."
Saria tried unsuccessfully to cover the fit of giggles that spread on her behind her hand. The Princess looked almost exactly like a tall Dekuscrub—the only differences were her eyes. And yet that wasn't all, she seemed extremely uncomfortable behind that outfit, and Saria could only guess it was due to her lack of experience in the dressing issue, plus the hot weather. Nevertheless, it was an amusing sight.
"That most be hot," Saria mused, "I just hope she doesn't choke before getting there."
The expression in the amphibian princess was priceless. Saria couldn't see it, yet could imagine how she looked behind all that weight of material façade.
She could sense exactly her discomfort that would later become a temperamental fit of blended irritation and task, which would be very much likely thrown to her once they've gotten to the castle. She knew that the near future was one where her poor ears would be effortlessly pitched into a pang of broken silence, caused by the so-to-be-infuriated aqueous lady. She acknowledged her all to well to predict smoothly what would her reaction be, besides, the suite was her own work after all.
"Now, now, you look fine," a suitable half-lie escaped her quivering, bitten lips in a hasty way. The Princess looked witty, sure, but then again she couldn't be saying that aloud, at least not now. That would ruin just about everything in a simple puff.
"Are you sure?" Ruto tried to confirm, not really believing the word of her friend.
"Sure," another lie.
Ruto resigned herself. Even if Saria told her that she was fine – which she knew to be a lie - she wouldn't have had another choice either way. "Let's go then," she sighed.
Saria nodded in agreement.
"Let's go."
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Lost in the Death
"When the Darkness within our self"
"Attempt to go out"
"We only fall into our thoughts"
"And we'll never get back into the Light"
"Just then, is when… we're really dead."
"But…is death all that bad?"
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Chapter 7:
Sirinous Gen Leya
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After all, his luck was one, and it was at his side by the end of the morning; the reason being that the training session went simply fantastic, even if it took him all of the daybreak. Those trainees possessed a great air of becoming fine young warriors, as their capabilities were above the normal average compared to those of other past year's new novices.
But that was just actual relief, because that meant that he wouldn't have to exert himself on them all that hard. And at that time he was purely full of activity to be troubled with such irrelevant things as those. He didn't have time.
Not that it was actually relevant either way, they were in times of piece after all, but it really was necessary to have a well-prepared army if the occasion surfaced. However that was hardly to occur in the near future. That was unless if the present situation was left without care. His mind was filled of those disconcerting thoughts, which only motivated his self-stress.
The next morning would be for their final preparations so they could at last leave, and - if he did the right calculus - the rest of the Sages would arrive at the castle that present day at different, yet close times. Sure thing his schedule of that day and the rest of the next one was going to be full with unfinished business, but there was nothing to be done about that, or was there?
Although that was not all, as he would have to go later of that same day to the militarized classes of the novices to teach them about the properties of weaponry. One had to know his weapon for it to become an extension of his own body. That was his law.
The basics would be the parts of the standard sword. Later would be the smith of the former, the best materials to use for its doing, and what was the quality of the weapon. At the end he would give an overall speech of different types of a sword's components.
Yes, he could vividly remember and give detailed descriptions of his favorite weapons. Basically, all knowledge was useful when one soldier was journeying, or in war, and had his sword broken, or if he needed to use it in other ways. To know the advantages and disadvantages that one had upon just peering to the opponent's blade determined if one was to live or die. Or well, that was without counting other significant factors too.
Basically – if counting all types - the sword had three main parts and these had their own components and uses. There were the blade, the hilt, and the tip. The blade had six parts: The edge, the forte, the foible, the fuller, the ricasso and the tang. The hilt had three: the cross-guard, the handle and the pommel. But the tip didn't have singular parts, because it was considered as a particular one.
The blade, the flat cutting piece made out of steel, was the most important part of any sword. It was the one that signaled significantly the type of the sword—some being thick and heavy, others light and thin. Its own parts varied depending on the kind.
The edge was the thin sharp side that it had, some swords had one, others two and some even had none, like was the rapier's case. The forte was the lower portion of the blade, which had more control and strength, and made the most of the ward off. The foible was the upper portion of it, and subsequently was weaker, but it had more agility and speed, and did most of the attacking.
The fuller was the shallow central-groove or channel on a blade, which could lighten it as well as improve strength and flexibility. Sometimes it was mistakenly called a "blood-run" or "blood-groove", but it had nothing to do with blood flow, cutting power, or a blade sticking. A sword could have one, none, or several fullers running a portion of its length, on either one or both sides. Even though, narrow deep fullers were also sometimes referred to as flukes.
In fact, the fuller's function was analogous to the spine of the human body. When a fuller was forged onto a blade, it repacked the crystalline structure and formed it into a flexible spine that reduced weight and gave the sword both strength and flexibility. The opposite of a fuller was a riser, which improved rigidity.
The ricasso, or ricasses, was the dull portion of the blade just above the hilt. It was intended for wrapping the index finger around to give greater tip control, which was called fingering. Yet not all swords had this, since it was only found on the largest swords. Practically, it served as a second hilt.
And there – within the blade - was finally the tang, which was the un-edged hidden portion or tongue of a blade running through the handle and to which the pommel was attached. The place where the tang connected to the blade was called the shoulder. And it was used to connect the blade into the hilt, by sinking into it, securing the blade and preventing it from breaking.
The hilt was the part where the wielder grasped the sword. It was made usually of leather, and the only purpose it had was to give the wielder a place to hold.
The cross guard, also called quillion, was the part that covered up the crosswise from the blade to the tang. Its only purpose was to protect the wielder from an opponent's blade, as it stuck out from the sides of the sword. The handle, better known as grip, was usually made out of wood or metal, often covered with leather or sharkskin. But it could really be made from anything that could provide a sure grip.
The pommel was a lump at the top of the guard, a counter-weight that secured the hilt to the blade and allowed the hand to either rest on it or grip on it. In other words, it helped the sword to not slip out of the wielder's hand, and also give a more balanced feel to it.
And the tip, well it was just the end of the sword furthest away from the hilt, used to impale a foe and pierce his armor. Most swords narrowed to a spot at the tip, but some blade lines were straight until the very tilt. So the only real variation was if the tip was curved or not.
It could also be said that the scabbard was a part of the sword. Where else could the sword be saved if not in that piece of either leather or wood—as one of its main materials—worn on a belt at the hip, or on an over shoulder strap that held it diagonally across the back?
Wooden scabbards were generally covered in fabric or leather, and leather ones could be covered by metal for a part of their length. Though it was preferable to use the leather one since it didn't cause so much as the wood, the blade to blunt. And even with that, wood ones were still used.
The part of the scabbard where the sword entered and leaved was protected with a piece of metal called a throat. On the other side, the tip of the scabbard was protected with a fitted piece of metal called a chape. Even the scabbards had to be designed specifically for the sword, as there were different shapes and sides.
Kun memorized all that information due to Impa. When he entered the army and she took him as her apprentice, she forced him to learn every type of sword and its particular parts. He learned how to forge one and how to recognize the weakness, plus advantages, of them at first glance. She even deprived him of food and sleep until he'd had all of them learned by heart. She was a rough teacher, but a very good one.
He also learned an effective way to prevent one from loosing his sword in plain battle if, for whatever reason, it was dropped—how to have a firmer grip on the handle could also be said as its function. That was by using a tassel, or sword not. A lanyard—usually made out of leather—looped around one's hand.
Of course the armor was also very important as it had a major worth in the protection of the body if one had not the required skill to protect oneself just by the sword.
There were five different types of armor, all conforming one and at the same time, being independent one from the other: The chainmail, gambeson, gauntlets, lorica segmentata, and of course—the mostly known—the shield.
The chainmail was just a material to make armor, consisting of small rings of metal interlinked to form a mesh that was very important. That is, until the fully articulated plate became available. The gambeson was a padded surcoat, usually worn underneath flexible metal or leather armor, such as a chainmail shirt, often produced with a sewing technique called quilting. It prevented crushing damage by distributing the impact over a larger area, absorbing some of the energy by deforming it.
The gauntlets were protective gloves and forms of armor used to protect the wrist, hand and fingers. Those existed in many forms. The least protective was a glove of thick but still flexible leather, all the way up to fully articulated metal plates. For the common soldier, rugged gloves of thick leather were often the only option, maybe with plates of boiled leather or metal riveted on.
The lorica segmentata was a type of armor that consisted of broad ferrous girth hoops fastened to some internal leather straps, which were arranged horizontally on the body, overlapping downwards, and surrounding the torso in two halves, being fastened at the front and the back. Additional strips called shoulder guards and breast- back plates protected the upper body and shoulders.
The shield, in exchange, was a broader protective device, carried in the arm, meant to intercept attacks. In other words, it was a piece of something that protected the body, which varied in shape and size.
Yawning out of tire and depravation of sleep, he strolled around the castle, mainly intending for the kitchen. His previous headache was soon forgotten as the day advanced. He thought of males probably having some sort of inner device that helped them when hangovers struck and arose. He'd seen drunken women, and they seemed to have much more troubles with it than men.
But then, probably it was because it was less likely for a woman to sip a single drop of alcohol. He'd mostly seen men who drank lots of alcohol having hangovers, and not so much the ladies.
Not really interested in the marvels, or rather disgraces, of alcohol, he allowed his mind to loose, paying little attention to his surroundings. Enough was the tire from finding a way to explain the fundamentals of battles, which were the differences between fencing and dueling. Each group was different, and depending on the average necessities of them he had to choose what to work on with the most. So, in a simple way of telling, he had to make his class just upon seeing it.
But if one believed that to be all of his work, he or she was utterly wrong. He also had to see who was the most capable between the high-ranking officers and knights to take his place. Normally, depending on the rank of the officers and nobles, it would be decided by some even superior forces than him – as there were more than one lieutenant general with a noble title to take his place - but the greatest force in Hyrule, the King, had opted for him to choose, which only resulted into another fragmentary duty.
His duties as a general were quite extensive, and the only moment of rest he had was midday, so all days he would go and snatch something from the kitchen, as a kind of relaxing procedure. Thanks to the goddesses they were in a season that didn't require so much the aid of the general. The trading of goods between countries and all that political stuff was at a balanced state, so any other officer, noble or diplomat could easily step in without making a major political problem.
"Good morning, General," a well-mannered young servant lady greeted him as they exchanged passage in the hallway, cutting short his meditation. She had some dirty mattresses in her arms, probably from cleaning up the rooms.
"Good morning," Kun responded with the same courtesy, wearing a gentle smile. The lady in duty blushed and childishly giggled, in a silly crush. That was very common between the young ladies within the castle, each at least being admirer of one of the knights and prominent officers as himself.
Kun not knew, but he had a quite considerable set of devotees, and this was the main cause of tease from his companions, as they knew unlike him. It was a fact that this frustrated him, because they refused to tell him why they teased. Though, he had suspected.
"Milord, is there anything you wanted?" the girl asked for other reason than just out of duty. The blue-eyed shook his head, gently so. "I'm heading for the kitchen. A little snack wouldn't hurt too much now."
The lady smiled and nodded.
"Why do you ask?" he inquired curious. The girl seemed a little hesitant, but finally spoke, "Milord, I saw you today this morning, you looked awfully terrible… and I wondered…"
"If I was alright, am I mistaken?" Kun finished for her. The girl shook her head with a small smile.
"No you are not," she reassured him.
"I am perfectly fine, thank you," he replied, smiling at her, which made her giggle once more.
"That is a pleasure to hear, Milord," she said. Then, after all, sensing that she had nothing else to do there, the servant bowed at him respectfully and continued her way, not really suppressing her giggles. Kun looked after her for a moment, and when she disappeared behind a corner, he reassumed his own.
Women were very mysterious creatures to him and he knew that he would never understand them, even if he wished. That was due to their constant and unpredictable changes that were covered up with a veil of disjointed reasons, which he knew no man could compete with. They always went on the smallest facet of everything they made, or spoke about, which was very unlikely from men, as they were direct and to the point.
So different were the two, and yet they still could subsist as one with certain ease. Society, as he knew, was barely one sample of how well they could relate with one other, which made him reflect about the phenomenon it was, for he also felt that it was also part of the very life.
The coexistence that survived among the various organisms within the earth was, without doubt, a miracle as it signaled the very existence of the living beings. And even if he didn't comprehend the full meaning of life, by seeing what was of it he learned how to enjoy it, and how to respect it.
And it was for that very same reason that Kun vowed to save Link.
The door to an approximate meal was now in view. At last Kun reached the mighty kitchen, just in time when his stomach was about to consume itself from lack of food. Hunger began to numb each and every one of his senses, and for a moment there, he knew not to think in relation to anything else bar the images of the empty kitchen.
That time of the day was the cooks' short break and they usually left the kitchen to have some fresh breathe, so that left the pantry without guard from food-thieves like himself. The chefs were usually grumpy when it came about food, and it was particularly hard to snatch something, anything, for a little snack whenever they were there. Not even the King could do it—they always shoved him outside of the kitchen.
So that is why it came to him the idea of giving them short breaks thus any famished on-dweller could grab something on midday as a modest revitalizing process from the stress of each day. Of course the King absolutely loved the idea once Kun told him of his plan. But things weren't that easy at first.
It seemed like the cooks knew about the King's, and his, intentions, for they always left one chef assistant to take care of the groceries. So, even with the chefs' send-off during the break time, they had no access. For that, the King and he became serious. The King stated that no one was to be in the kitchen when it was the recess time; sadly it had a backfire on them, and it was in favor of the kitchen's staff.
Neither of them, the King and he, could even step into the almost sacred kitchen, according to the King's law. So the King – between groans of self-scolding for not taking that into account - immediately fixed that into just the employees not having access during that time.
The war of snacks, as the cooking personnel and they named it, well battled and won; they, the King and Kun, lived happily ever after as they had free access to the pantry full of snacks. Indeed, it was a delight.
"Same as always," a deep voice stated behind him, catching him red-handed. Kun turned to see a well-known face to him, smiling.
"Indeed, Your Majesty." Kun bowed respectfully. "As always."
The King smiled back at him.
"General, how many times have I told you to just call me Harkinian," he scowled mockingly. He, within the time, had learned to care for the blonde as if he were a son of his own blood, as did the princess care for him as if he were her older brother.
"As many as ever, Your Majesty," Kun replied with a smirk. "Care for a meal?"
"Of course," the sovereign of Hyrule answered. The young general handed him a piece of bread, and he took a mouthful bite of it. They stood there, in silence, each absorbed within their own thoughts while chewing.
"Kun," the King called after swallowing. Kun looked up at him, blinking, and then swallowed the piece he was chomping.
"Yes?"
The King licked his lips and answered, "I have been checking some letters from various nobles of the nation. There have been some light problems with the transportation of goods. It seems that the Gerudos have been busy stealing off from the merchants. So, given to the situation of Nabooru's arrival today, or perhaps tomorrow, and her departure with the rest of you soon, I have decided to discuss these prospects tomorrow."
"But, Your Majesty, we were supposed to leave tomorrow," Kun intervened, thought the King raised his hand to stop him from speaking further words.
"I do know, but that will be postponed for the day after tomorrow. I have already sent the messages to the nobles and officers to come tomorrow night, with their best suits," the King said, which left the blonde quite confused, wondering about the suits. As the King saw his bewilderment, he added, "With their best suits, because tomorrow I will offer a dance."
"A dance, Sire?" Kun inquired thus far befuddled. The ruler nodded.
"Yes, a dance. And given to the circumstances I have decided upon it not just for the reason that its purpose will not be only the discussion of the stealing affair, but to wish all of you a safe journey," he enlightened him, taking a small bite out of his bread.
Kun looked after him, and then at his own bread. He took a small bite himself. "So be it, Sire."
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Silence engulfed both of them, leaving an empty space in the mutual connection that they were beginning to form. Like secrets, those personal, buried deep within one's heart upon which the other could not step into and be taught. As if it was a voice destined to be forever mute, one that helped them to understand each other.
Companionship was, perhaps, just the creation of a new friendship, which could also be by far misshapen into that known as enmity. For that, a shared, sympathetic and hushed contemplation among each other was agreed without spoken words. The two, human and dragon, did not have the need to express such believe, as they already had something in common.
The respect for silence.
Words, as they knew, were not necessary to discern the feelings and thoughts the other one held, for eyes aid to divulge more about oneself than words could ever tell about. Lies easily flew within the words of mouth, mixed between the wisdom that these could posses. But no greater wisdom was spoken than the one saw within the gaps to the soul.
The exploration went on some more moments after they were satisfied of what they have learned contained by their interiors. Their gazes broke apart, forward to the fog that, even then, was surrounding them. An endless sea of shades of gray, but that was not seen as the same by both.
Without even an exchange of glance, nor tell of thoughts, mutually they began to advance. The pace of the young boy, with golden hair, was serene, but not slow, and the other one, whose body was larger, and with feet not touching the soil, made little effort to be at the boy's speed—almost rhythmically, piercing through the mist.
As he walked, Link saw in the floor some pebbles. He began to kick them with his foot, expecting the usual sound of stone contacting stone as they fell to the smooth surface of rock. But instead, he received none. Curious, he stopped to look at the small rock. He took it with his right hand and began to feel it with his fingers, but he felt not the raspy surface covering it. In fact, he felt nothing.
Volvagia was observing the hero's doings, understanding exactly that experience. "Close your eyes, hero," he instructed. Link's gaze was raised from its small target to stare directly into the dragon's eyes, in a suspicious manner. When he noticed that there was no ill-will within the eyes of his new companion, he closed them without a word.
Upon securing Link's eyes to be closed, Volvagia surrounded the child body of the blue-eyed with his own one in a considerably close way. Within normal circumstances, the heat of his body covered in flames would have melted instantly the boy's flesh. But even so, the warrior took no notice.
"Open your eyes," Volvagia ordered.
Link opened his eyes and they went wide. A sudden strike of panic appeared inside of them, and for the first time ever that is from the very moment in which he had stepped into that world, he felt as if his body was engulfed by the blistering flames. He let out an agonizing cry of pain, and Volvagia, albeit calmly, quickly separated himself from Link.
Link threw himself to the ground, clutching his body to the point that if he had been corporeal, he would have drawn his own blood by his sinking nails. His sword and shield made a loud clang as they contacted with the stone, where he lay there, in a fetal position, rocking back and forth.
"Why, why?" he kept mouthing as the excruciating pain crept throughout his body.
But Volvagia seemed unfazed by the blonde's suffering, as if it was nothing out of the ordinary, nor urgent. Instead he commanded, "Get up."
"I can't…" the boy whispered weakly, as if he were a frightened child. Yet tears did not show from the corners of his eyes.
The pain was so horrible that his voice was hoarse from holding back a shriek of pain. His eyes were tightly shut—not once in his life had he felt that way before. Usually, when he received wounds to produce that amount of pain, Link's body somehow went numb after just feeling for a second or so the unbearable ache. Like if some internal, biological defense made his nervous system to become frozen. Perhaps by the cause of some natural hormone whose function was to anesthetize the body in such cases, he didn't know. But it seemed to not be working at that moment.
Of course, every time that it happened, he had one step on the grave.
Suddenly his thoughts halted.
He was already on the grave. Or at least, that was what he believed, which the creature and Volvagia seemed to believe too.
So why was he feeling the pain?
Abruptly as the pain came it left. He slowly opened his eyes and blinked several times, not really understanding. Not even a remaining ache was left in each and every one of his cells. In fact, he felt nothing at all, as before.
"Wha—?" Link queried, standing up and seeing his hands, somehow expecting them to hold the answers.
Volvagia looked at him with a wise and knowing smile. "Not all is what it seems, hero… especially not in this world," he said. Link dropped his hands to his sides, and stared up at the dragon, expecting him to continue. His face again covered with a serious and unreadable mask, as if nothing had happened. Probably it was a subconscious warrior instinct.
"What you experienced just now was simply a trick of your mind," Volvagia explained. Link watched silently with interest, never interrupting what he had to say. "When you had your eyes closed, you could not feel anything even if my body was surrounding you. But when you opened your eyes, and saw my flames touching your skin, you registered what your mind was thought to do. Your mind knew that fire burnt your skin, so it gave you a false pain that extended throughout your body, even if you did not feel.
"The pain you felt was from your interior, caused by false signals from your brain. Not by an exterior force," the wise dragon stated looking directly to Link's eyes.
Link meditated profoundly what he had learned. He raised his left hand and took a quick glimpse at it before he took the hilt of his sword to feel it. But he felt nothing. He released his grip and held his hand directly in front of his eyes, examining it as if trying to find what was wrong with it.
"Feelings do not exist in this world. You think you see, because you believe you can see. You think you hear, because you believe you can hear. But why is it Hero of Time that you cannot feel with the touch, nor taste with your tongue? Or tell me, can you really smell the stench of the death that roams?"
Those words made him feel vulnerable and confused. He didn't feel anymore like the legendary Hero of Time, the once fearless warrior who stood up against the most fearsome creatures that ever existed within the mortal beings. No, he felt like that, which he was—a boy.
And for admitting it, the words rang in his ears and deep into his brain, and for a moment there he completely understood. All went black around him. He couldn't feel, he couldn't hear, he couldn't smell, he couldn't taste, he simply couldn't see. That, which he thought to be the truth, suddenly became a lie that fell at the words of a friend—for now he understood that the dragon was a friend as he showed him a clearer path.
And the world became brighter, easier to perceive. He didn't use his sight, for he had none. What he used was something else, something different which he couldn't describe. It wasn't anything from the world he was once part of. No, it was something that belonged to his soul, something personal and hidden that seemed to have been sleeping all that time when he was alive. A feeling that had just woke up at the conscience of being dead.
Now he couldn't deny it. He was dead and there was nothing he could ever do but find a way to "live" with it, so he limited himself to accept those new senses as a part of his soul.
"I may be mistaken, but I presume that you believed your body to be real?" Volvagia asked. It was no secret for him the feelings of the young warrior whose years belied past his look—he had of his own at that time when he had just leaved the mortal plain. From that split of second then, it seemed like if all of his existing years had been in that illusory realm instead of the now forgotten mortal dominion that now rested in the past. And it was for some extremely unpleasant experiences that he learned most of the secrets and mysteries that lay hidden within it.
Link only nodded, added to his silence. His stare was not connected with the wiser dragon's eyes for it found an inexplicable comfort into the supposed-to-be soil at his feet.
"I am not surprised. Everything in this realm can become as real as it once was… but it is not," Volvagia shared his thoughts with his gaze darting around the motionless land. Unknown to Link, he saw a landscape completely different from the one that crossed in front of the hero's view, and he was aware of it.
"This world, as many others, is just a part of a space we cannot understand so easily," the ancient dragon spoke with a wisdom that was reflected upon all of his years when he was alive, "a total whole complemented with what we have in our interiors and environs, which are a part of our own self."
"What do you mean?" the young hero asked, immersed in the words of Volvagia. His gaze suddenly lost the interest and console of the floor; instead, it fixed itself upon the flamed reptile.
"This world is just a reflection of our own soul. One which speaks the truth about the desires one possess… which shows the fears, like a balance to prevent the very essence from breaking apart," the dragon continued.
"Just a balance valve, used to adjust the equilibrium within one's soul—like a… process upon which the soul needs to overtake to be called 'suitable' for the next step. And when itis completed, the soul goes to the next level, which is the land of Zeith. There it waits for the final judgment. Whether if it will be decided for the soul to reborn once more, or stay forever within the gates of Zeith to finally obtain the divine rest."
Link didn't speak this time; somehow he knew that the blazed dragon had not yet finished speaking. He felt as if he were hearing an ancient legend from ages past, making an emotion of awe to move smoothly on him at every word spoken.
"But there are just a few souls within these gates. Most of the souls are always thrown back to life to complete everything they left unfinished, but it is said that there are certain specific cases that are treated quite differently from the rest," Volvagia told him with an air of mystery.
"Differently?" Link voiced his wonder.
The dragon nodded. "Yes, Hero, differently… there are these souls which don't even step on the line of Zeith but pass directly to the land to wait until their next reincarnation is born. The almighty judges don't even intervene in those souls' fate, as if they were predestined to be forever like that. Though, there is something about that, which I don't understand, that has happened now, and it leads me to believe that it isn't true."
"What?"
"Well, one of those souls happened to be the one belonging to… the Hero of Time…" the dragon whispered, looking directly into his eyes.
.
Her laughter echoed to and fro among the knights and people surrounding her, and soon she found herself accompanied by several pairs of rich laughter that didn't question the initial cause of it. Perhaps being the reason for the bandits to be captured and soon thrown to jail, or maybe also just the mirth of barely escaping the death that taunted her in the past few minutes. She didn't know, nor did she care.
As minutes flied by, the laughter subdued gradually, and yet, even then, the smiles prevailed motionless on their faces. Most of the civilians whispered among them on the certain luck that the two young females, and man, held just a few minutes before, which helped them to escape without so much as a scratch on. But accompanying those whispers were a few murmurs of the young Gerudo lady, and her incredible task performed in front of so many gazes. Those who didn't witness it, hardly believed the tail spoken by all those mouths, but they believed if only a little, as the honorable Hylian knights were the vast majority of them.
But such trifling dealings bothered not the young leader of the Gerudos as she only occupied herself onto smirking widely at the thought of her not being beaten by some low, unskilled thugs. Once more she had shown to the world that the lone wolf thief, or the Gerudos, weren't something to take lightly. Because she believed that men were such useless and incompetent worms that sometimes she could only watch in amusement at their futile attempts of surpassing them, females.
Indeed, the Gerudos were a tribe known by their feminist ideals.
For some unknown reason, the snake appeared to have heard and understood the thoughts and beliefs of her new female master, for she glided up and about her body and curled at her neck—and her large rough tongue slithered about her jawbone and out.
As the guards passed by, holding firmly the arrested men, they shed respectful glances at her—while she was still mounted on the horse—and acknowledged their admiration. The one thing not shared with the brutes, whose bitter glares became glazy with anticipation. Anticipation of what, she could only guess. But whatsoever it might be, she was more than prepared for it.
But she acknowledged that more than one time underestimation had led to idiotic defeats just because of the imprudence of it. She knew well enough—more than any warlord—to never misjudge her enemies, past or not. Whatever they may possibly be internally planning, she was sure to find.
Her trail of thoughts was wrecked by an altissimo voice, which she believed could easily match the ones of the sopranos, calling at her. She turned her new steed around to face the source, and in her stare's path she encountered a red-haired girl waving frenetically her arms, while running at her.
"She's the girl from the cart," she thought, not bothering to wave back.
It didn't pass long before the girl reached her, and Nabooru saw that she possessed the same age than the princess, Zelda, and the 'fish', Ruto. The girl looked expectantly at the taller, amber-eyed lass, with a huge grin on her face, not really scared of the small viper coiled around her neck. Nabooru stared back, simply holding a smirk.
"Hi!" the girl greeted, closing her eyes and broadening her beam. Nabooru arched an eyebrow, not really interested in what the girl wanted to say.
"Hey," Nabooru responded slowly, wishing for the girl to leave soon so she could head for the castle.
But her unique word seemed to give the impression of having had the purpose of being a kind of trigger on the blue-eyed one, which only beamed more, showing her teeth, and asked, "Who are you?" and then she added, "my name is Malon, nice to meet you!"
Nabooru frowned, obviously displeased with the idea of keeping the talk. Much more important things had to be done than staying chatting randomly to a little brat. But somehow, even if she didn't admit it, in the back of her mind, she felt as if she liked slightly the girl.
"Yeah, whatever, nice to meet ya too," she said holding firmly the reins. Both knew that a good trained horse didn't have the necessity of reins, pro the rider should be able to move and give it orders with one's body. Lean to the front to advance and to the desired side while tightening the opposing leg to turn. Straiten the legs to go faster or maybe hit lightly the sides of the horse and leaning to the back to stop. But it was recommended to use the bridle, because if the horse fell, the rider could straight it up to keep from falling.
Though, neither of them crossed words about the matter.
"But I need to go now," Nabooru finished, pulling the reins to make the stallion face the direction of the castle. She was about to leave, but wasn't successive on doing so as Malon called upon her another time.
"Are you going to the castle?"
The warrior lass glared at her with her amber eyes full of suspicion and, obviously, mistrust. Such question, in her opinion, didn't have the space on such a short time after just meeting each other, which caused her to pull firmly the reins unconsciously, thus making the horse to turn in circles. Her gaze never leaved the red-haired girl, as it examined her thoroughly.
But the innocence of Malon seemed to be unbreakable and unsurpassed by such motion. She didn't feel intimidated by the enormous stallion looking fiercely before her, nor of the fixed stares of both viper and master. She simply smiled unaware of the other girl's distrust.
Nabooru somehow managed to convince herself that Malon was no treat by any means. After all, if she had the capability to fight, she wouldn't have been captured by those bandits, would she? Of course, Nabooru would never have the chance to know just how much trouble they had with her, or is this story-teller wrong?
She was about to speak when another voice choose to have better timing than her. The man, whom accompanied previously the little girl, was running towards them in a fashion much like the girl, which only made her to believe that they were relatives—probably father and daughter. It didn't pass long until he reached them, and stopped to pant a little.
"I've… lost… condition…" he alleged amid breaths, really quietly to himself. The girls, viper and horse where looking at him over, each with a different thought. Malon, with her smile even then on her face, hooked her arm on his broad one and whirled around to face Nabooru.
"This is my dad," she started then gazed up at her father, "and dad, this is… umm…"
Her sentence never had the place to finish, as she didn't know yet the lass's name. So she glanced expectantly at her, seeking for the answer to the unspoken question.
Nabooru scowled, long ago her smirk having abandoned her face. "Nabooru," she said in a swift motion. She didn't know what was keeping her from leaving them there and then, but whatever it was she didn't like it. She was turning soft just because of it.
"So is it Nabooru? What a pretty name!" Malon let out a girlish giggle, which made the tanned one to wince slightly. When the man lastly recovered his breath, he let out a rich laugh in sign of agreement.
Nabooru rolled her eyes, but said nothing, and for some reason that only she knew, she smiled all too innocently, covering her irritation that was mixed with some fury. "Why thank you!" a faked gratitude escaped from her lips. Her eyes had a sudden glint of sarcasm, which just passed unnoticed by the distinctive pair of people.
The brightly-colored snake narrowed her eyes, as if expecting a new prey to glide down her throat alive at any time soon—perhaps it may sound as an act of barbarism for the people possessing culture, but for her it was the most natural thing, which she actually enjoyed. And being of the same mind with the viper stood the stallion, looking by the corner of his eyes, snorting with impatience as he just wanted to bounce to a run.
Somehow they expected Nabooru to make something about this new obstacle. So far she has proved worth of mastering them. They knew that they were limited of time; they felt it from their master. They didn't understand why were they still there, losing time, though they suspected that Nabooru was going to make something about it.
And she was going to do it soon.
"Oh my, look at the hour!" she exclaimed, pointing to the nearest clock tower—it signaled midday. "I'm sorry, but I have to go! I'm really happy to have met such a wonderful pair of people!" If she had been an actress, she would have received an award for her act was unbelievable realistic; or perhaps it was just that Talon and Malon were too innocent to perceive the façade.
"Wait! Where are you going?" asked Malon before Nabooru could take the chance of galloping fast and past the town. The young leader of the Gerudo tribe exhaled profoundly by the decreasing patience of hers and whirled around.
"To the castle…" she said between teeth, which assembled a faked smile.
Malon smiled brightly, pleased with the answer. "What a coincidence!" she said, "we're going to the castle too, to visit a very dear friend of mine." Nabooru flinched slightly, already expecting the next statement. She guessed that it wasn't going to be much of her likening. "Why don't we go together?"
And she was correct.
.
She glanced briefly toward the windows, her eyes receiving the first lights of the day as she advanced with a quick pace through the hall. A red carpet decorated the floor and several windows ran along the wall, making their frames as shadows that covered up most of the hall. At the opposite wall hanged several portraits, the Royal Family's lineage, and with them were their respective guardians, all of them from the Sheikah tribe. Each and every one gazed down at her with their stern eyes, evaluating her as if to decide whether she was worthy or not of receiving the title of Royal Guardian.
She didn't know herself.
That hallway was very special, a unique place which hold the thrilling enchantment of insight. She could feel the presence of their ancestors, how they got older, wiser from generation to generation as they saw throughout each one. They were always waiting to guide any of their descendants, whenever they were confused or saw peril beyond their course.
She herself was searching for guidance—a certain portrait holding a very special young woman to the whole kingdom and its heart. At the very last of the hallway—suspended upon the wall, and trimmed with a golden frame which was adorned with several symbols of an ancient lingo—there was the image of a blond, young woman owning such a pair of emerald eyes that, even there, shone with both the kindness and the strange charm that were well known when she was not yet in the heavens.
Below it stood a silver plaque, much alike the ones from the other portraits; engraved with some pale words, both ancient and recent, which read:
Queen Lúthein von Harkinian
But all she did was keep staring at it with her ruby eyes, as if mesmerized by a strange power so unlike any other that she has ever perceived. It was like the presence of the sacred, of all the divine forces upon the world. She could hear a lullaby played in the distance, a soft melody sang by the goddesses themselves. It soothed her, whispered things at her which she already knew and could recall.
The smell of the wet prairie swathed her as she ran—her long skirt fluttered behind and she could feel the sodden grass against her knees. The sky, covered with endless gray clouds, perhaps symbolized to most people either a dusky, rational milieu or the lost youth over the years. But for her it meant the source to a new life, the reign over the existence cycles, one which was the whole start and end of an eternal sequence that marked the survival of all the creatures.
For her, it was simply another beauty of nature.
Laugher emanated from her being. Her soft features irradiated such happiness that it made her ruby-eyed companion, the same whom was watching her from a distance, smile too. The young woman spun around, her long, blonde hair, which resembled gold, waved around just as well and she came face to face with her guardian.
"Impa, Impa! Come here!" she called, waving and laughing.
The silver-haired woman waved back, not really disposed to leave her place on top of a certain tree's branches; after all, her duty was to watch over her charge, it was not to join her merriment.
"Impa! Impa!"
But she watched her. Oh, how she watched her.
"Impa…!"
But she watched her too long…
"The queen was an admirable woman, wasn't she?" Impa heard from the other end of the hallway, making her frown in surprise as she did not manage to acknowledge that presence before. "A kind and appealing woman loved by many, but as well hated by that much."
The mere suggestion of anyone possessing abhorrence for the queen was by far repulsive to her ears, but the way it was spoken with such a satiric accent was even more bothering than the actual context. She growled, as if she were an animal of sorts protecting the few valuable possessions within her territory. She loathed that young, silver-haired man already—the way he would talk so freely about a woman that was… is so important to the lives of those many that had the chance to meet her. She just couldn't believe that there existed any of such creatures, those who would have a dislike for the queen.
"This place is forbidden to those outside of the Royal family," she snarled with every intention of showing that he wasn't welcomed.
His amethyst eyes sparkled with amusement, yet his tattooed features were as blank as ever. He was obviously pleased with her unease, making her feel much more irritable than before. An unusual thing as she was Sheikah, and had supposedly mastered the skill of controlling her emotions; using her logic instead for almost every type of issue. Somehow, all those years of self-discipline were thrown and ripped apart by a sudden break in which he stepped in.
"I must apologize then for intruding, Your Majesty," Cayl de Cyaleh mocked as he remarked the fact that Impa was not part of the Royal Family; thus shouldn't be there. Impa wanted to growl for she felt nauseous. He was right; her permission to enter upon that room was uniquely for escorting a member of the Royal Family. She could get severely punished if she were caught, even if she was so close to the Princess and her father. Old habits die hard, and so do rules.
"What do you want?" she demanded sharply, obviously in an attempt to change the course of the conversation for it was reaching dangerous fields. Now making him leave was totally useless, and perhaps too risky. She knew he was no fool; hence she had to watch her own actions carefully around him if she didn't want to reveal too much information to him.
However, kismet wasn't willing to be keen on her given that a slight smirk, way worse than the widest of sorts—or so Impa felt at that moment—, came into sight like a blur. Then, just as before, she felt that bizarre sensation dwelling within her being. She flinched before a quick flare of reminiscence went up to her mind, altering her thoughts and spiraling around them until they were just the half of what they were at first. Dizziness overcame her senses, and soon she felt herself being pulled into a frail swoon… but not before turning, and confirming her guest to be holding a satisfied leer.
She faded into the mauve.
.
For many years she had witnessed the rare, and accepted it upon her days as something common. But there were a few selected circumstances when she just couldn't adapt as well for the oddity of the situation was far beyond all of her past experiences. On such instances, even her extraordinary intellectual capacity could malfunction; giving rise to a temporal arrest of her reactions and thoughts.
It was precisely at that moment that she was undergoing one of those infamous occasions.
She had done it before, of course, but once. That short-lived event hadn't been sufficient for her to analyze all of the unusual facts, so that she could transform them into useful knowledge. She had believed it to be a dream—only a startle, and nothing more.
But she had been utterly wrong.
It was genuine, likewise to that morning when she was standing in front of that book—the one and sole talkative book over the face of the earth, nonetheless. And even when she counted with the fact of expectation, she couldn't help to release a yelp of surprise when it gave its daybreak greetings:
My, Your Highness, aren't you going to give the good mornings to an old fellow like me?
It seemed to let out a light-hearted chuckle, which gave Zelda a bit of more reassurance.
"Good morning," she responded curtly, nodding afterwards. All those years of royal schooling in means of manners and diplomatic behavior, served well for a quick recovery. She was soon enough within her role as princess, always attentive, and never blatant.
Very well, very well. Now, I believe that you have some questions to ask me?
Zelda nodded, showering it with her intense gaze.
Yes, yes, I expected that, but first let me tell you a story which will answer most of your questions and as well shove you to create new ones… but first, take a seat, as it will take a long time.
Zelda obeyed without objections; then the book opened itself and chose for a certain page in the middle. A moderately huge title was seen on the top, followed by tiny letters. She barely managed to read the title—Sirinous Gen Leya—, before the book started to speak again.
Long ago, when the world was still young, there was a small island upon which men did not exist. That island stood in the sheer center of the world, and it was there from where the ancient ones could guide themselves across the savage seas and the two great oceans: Weslyu, which stood fiercely towards the west, and Ealyu, which waited patiently facing the east.
That island was a prosperous place, sanctified with beautifully-colored corals, great shoals of fishes, and some mysterious creatures that were like us in form.
It is said that this magnified creatures were half human, half fish. But no one alive did really prove that such glorious race existed. Every one who stepped on that island did not return back, nor did people ever dare to seek for them.
The male wasn't so unlike the men of our kind. Their strapping bodies, so similar to the mythical Titans' own, could resist even the most dreadful storm. Their features reflected coldness and fierceness; built with powerful jaws, and large fronts. Clear dominant eyes and sturdy hands they had. But their unique characteristic was that they had fins instead of legs. Sharp, ocean-colored fins like mirrors. They were known as the Tritons.
Possessive creatures, they were, proud and strong; feared by all, but their female companions, the Mermaids.
Those gracious creatures, which are the main source of this legend, were endlessly gracious—blessed with a soft skin that seemed like silk. Their squashy hair always shined like the sun, their seductive lips were as red as the roses, and they had eyes that were as polished as a pair of diamonds. Nevertheless, their half, lower part was one of a fish's. They had bodies that easily matched the ones of the goddesses, and their fins were as colored as a new-born rainbow that rarely appeared after a storm.
Indeed, it was a blessed race, not taunted by the power of the land, but delighted by the beauty of the seas, which they were part of.
However, the mermaids also held some mischievous intentions; not cruel, as they were pure of heart, but impish. They enjoyed enchanting the mortals with their breathtaking voices, making them to be their slaves forever, until they died of age. Yes, even though they were their mistresses, they held no ill-will to their servants, and cared for them as if they were their sons. Though the captives where not in the island, but in a small islet near theirs.
"Why weren't they on their island, if they cared so much for them?" Zelda asked. Even if she possessed the mind of a twenty-year-old young woman, she still possessed that intense curiosity of an infant.
They had an iron rule.
They were not to fall in love with any mortal, because then disaster would fall upon their race.
"What kind of disaster?" Her thirst of knowledge urged her further.
Patience, child, for your questions shall receive an answer soon.
It is also often spoken that the Tritons loathed mortals. Rage swell about—winning their hearts like a feral blaze for the mermaids only took care of their mortals. That is why, to protect their subordinates, the mermaids imposed a severe law.
It was also then when the island received its name.
The respective elders from the mermaids and the tritons opted that they were to be apart. The tritons would only occupy the western part of the island, while the mermaids would reside in the eastern part. Just in the sea were they to meet without restriction, but in the island, they couldn't trespass each other's side.
The tritons now couldn't reach the imprisoned mortals, as the only way they could achieve to get to the small islet was by trespassing the mermaids' side.
The princess concentration didn't waver. She was torn in half within her being for she felt both: anxious and eager.
The days became weeks, the weeks became months, and the months became years in which no siren corrupted that law.
Until the one was born.
The one most beautiful mermaid ever saw from even the elder times; so much alike a goddess of the heavens, save her nature, which was from terra firma. Nonetheless, as brilliant as her beauty was, her charm glittered with matching strength. She had a golden heart so kind to others that was too, so wild and free.
But she had a weakness, which foolishly led her to uncertain events, as she did not obey most laws.
One certain day she ventured to the other side—the one she could not infringe.
On the shorelines she found a boy.
At that time she knew not about our kind for the mermaids always kept their captives as secrets, and she was young, so her curious nature, much alike a child's, was fascinated by him.
As time passed, they became close. The young mermaid's kin did not know about the boy, but one not desired did. A triton, whose heart had been conquered by the young siren, was consumed by the greed—full of its venom in his blood.
On a certain, fateful day, the triton took in his power a certain relic. That relic he gained from the death, and combined with his own power, he bent a mighty tool to fulfill his vengeance provoked by the hatred he felt for that boy who stole his treasure. It was a flower of the death, a keeper of the souls, Skyghone, the soul claimer.
Inebriated in his own power, he began to terrorize his people, killing them with an astonishing cold blood. Becoming mad, and with rage blinding him from seeing his actions, one by one succumbed under his control.
The young mermaid, possessing a heart so great, sang her soul out for salvation. Granted she had it, but it claimed her life. In the form of another blossom, the sister of the death, revival, took form. Free to reborn were the innocent sirens that had fallen for Rebiar enlightened their souls. But just one soul had to pay for it all; the young siren's one.
With her sacrifice she opened the triton's eyes. With her sacrifice she leaved the boy alone, whose only love she was.
Fate chose for them to encounter, and with them a curse to fall. The goddesses had desired at the creation of time itself that races were to be maintained pure. No blend of blood was to be done, or else a curse would poison it until the end of the seditious tribe.
The young mermaid fell in love with the mortal boy with a passion that only could blossom in true love. Her actions hired the curse—the seed for the rage to born upon the triton's heart. For that disaster fell.
And for the catastrophic powers created by the sisters of death and life, the island severed in half to be forever distanced. The race once known as sirens now lies in just a memory, and in the two isles, the descendants from that race took form, connecting with the spirits of the ocean for the balance of the world. Each isle took a flower and was named after the one. Where once stood the island of Trimaid, a new island appeared on the pass of the time.
"And how was it called?" inquired Zelda with a heavy heart. She was fascinated by the mighty tale, but she couldn't help to feel upset at the sacrifice the siren maid. It was a familiar sensation.
Neilai, a new life.
To be continued…
.
AN: Well, after a whole year I finally updated. You know, even if I discovered and learned many things, I had a major writer's block, combined with laziness, this year. To tell the truth, I had it almost completed by May of last year (I just needed like 2 scenes to complete it), but then those two factors came in. I also had to delete the last scene, because it certainly took a lot of time, and I was bored of this chapter. I hope you're not bored with the story, but if you are, please tell me so, so I can find a way to improve it. Thanks for your attention, and until next chappie!