Rain fell from the sky. So heavy and dense that sight was near impossible. The only improvement was the occasional flash of lightning which illuminated the white stone gate, the sturdy wooden bridge closed tightly, impenetrable. Directly above it, the image of the Royal crest had been expertly carved into the stone; its raised surface cast slight shadows each time the lightning light struck it.

The rapid pitter-patter sound of heavy raindrops crashing into the moat harmonized with the grumble of thunder. This was soon interrupted by a new sound; a rattling, metallic shake as the chains securing the drawbridge gave way. The bridge lowered quickly, slamming into place over the moat. From the dark corridor on the other side, a pinprick of white was visible, growing larger by the second.

Hooves clattered on cobblestone, a horse's neigh echoed down the street; the next second, the pure white horse was galloping past him. He leaped aside, raising his head in time to see the rider's face. A young girl stared back at him. Her head was covered, but strands of wet hair had stuck to her white, wide-eyed face. She was obviously scared; her blue eyes stayed glued to him, and she called his name as the distance between them grew.

Wanting to chase after her, he found himself rooted to the spot. He watched as the white horse faded from view. From behind him, a horse snorted. Startled, he spun around, feeling the familiar sense of foreboding creep up his spine.

The black stallion stood there, just behind his shoulder, pawing the ground in irritation. Ignoring his commands, his head rose to meet the new rider's eyes. He tried to look away, to move, to run, but as usual, he was helpless to change what happened next. The man on the stallion was a giant cloaked in black. The hands gripping the reins looked as though they could crush a man's skull, and though his features were shadowed, his eyes were visible. They glowed red as a demon's, without pupils.

The rider never spoke, never moved other than to raise one arm. Palm open, the man pointed it in his direction. Once again, he could only watch as the static light swirled in the man's palm, forming into a dark ball of energy. Laughing, the man on the horse released it.

A terrible scream tore from his as the magic struck him, knocking him to the ground. It electrified his body, causing all his limbs to lock as he jolted helplessly on the cold, wet ground. The sparking, acute pain soon turned to burning fire, eating him from the inside out. He screamed anew, unable to escape the pain and the horrible mocking laughter.

It was the screaming that woke him. Wakefulness crashed into him like a soothing wave, freeing him from the seemingly inescapable clutches of the nightmare.

Azure blue eyes opened and focused on the carved wooden surface above the bed. Simple but cozy, the treehouse had been constructed of the hollowed-out remains of a Deku tree for his arrival in the forest. It contained little more than the wooden box bed, the necessities and his few childhood possessions. Nonetheless, it was home: warm in the bitter, grey winters and cool in the humid summer.

Crawling out of bed, his bare feet stepped onto the floor, smoothed to a fine polish from the wear of small feet. The doorless entrance was a glimpse of the pleasantly warm, dark night. Beckoning him, the hushed forest sounds greeted him when he stepped onto the small balcony.

All his memories began here, in this lush green haven nestled in the southeast corner of the world. It had never occurred to him to question that he belonged here, that Kokiri forest was his home, and always had been. He glanced up at the jagged slice of sky visible beyond the tallest trees.

Even so, he'd often wondered if he'd truly been born to the forest, as the other Kokiri had. He had heard the story many times, but had never felt the resonance and sense of shared history the other children did. Though he loved the forest, he couldn't help feeling the outsider due to his apparent differences. Mido's unabashed dislike and the feeling of marginalism that came from not having a fairy were the other reasons: the only blemishes of an idyllic childhood.

The unofficial "leader" of the group, Mido had taken joy from bullying him for as long as he could remember. Through the years it had been the same: every year a fairy guardian had failed to come to him. Every year, Mido mocked him for his shame; taunting him by saying he didn't deserve a fairy because he wasn't a "true" Kokiri.

Sighing, he turned away from the sky and his internal doubts. A patch of moonlight cut across the path back to his bed, blotted by his shadow. He stood aside, letting the natural light shine in without hindrance. He wondered how the moon saw him; he often thought of it as the great eye of the sky.

He envied it for that, how the moon must be able to see everything. Night after night, it was allowed to gaze upon the face of the world. Kokiri forest was safe, but it was limited.

The desire to experience what lay beyond the boundary was fueled by his feeling of being an outsider, but also by another nagging thought: the idea that he was meant to leave.

Sliding back into bed, he burrowed under the light covering, peeking out at the splash of moonlight on the smooth floor. Now that the nightmare was over, it wouldn't return—at least not this night.

When he drifted back to sleep, he dreamed he was walking along a forest path, the trees thinning and falling behind him, the moon lighting the path.

~oOo~

She dreamed of storm clouds that blotted out the moon, and all other sources of light. She stood on a grassy hill, the wind whipping her dress about her legs as she stumbled forward. Despite her efforts, she made no progress, and the oppressive black clouds continued to unfurl from the skies.

To her shock, the billowing black mass began to eat at the land, once it was finished consuming the sky. The storm clouds rolled over the plain, rapidly approaching the hill she seemed to be stuck on.

She turned to run as the vaporous black wall drew closer, but her feet became heavier with each step. Eventually she tripped, the grass rushing up to meet her. Flipping around, she stared wide-eyed at the impenetrable darkness bearing down on her.

A streak of green light sliced across her vision from the right, cutting straight through the ominous storm clouds. Turning her head, she saw the shadowy mass of the forest, the topmost boughs of its trees swaying violently in the extreme storm winds. At its mouth, a figure was visible, the source of green light. The figure appeared to be holding it in their hands; as the clouds fled the blinding light, the figure became clearer.

It was a young boy dressed in green, and in his hand was a green stone, glowing brightly as it chased away the darkness. The light shone steadily brighter, until it became blinding. She turned her face away, shielding her eyes.

Princess Zelda V of Hyrule opened her eyes. Hastily, she sat up in the stately bed, forcing the heavy coverings back. Shivering from the cold and the nightmare, the young princess hopped down from the bed and scurried to the large arched window. It had been left open; a freezing wind rushed in, though it was the middle of summer. She slammed it shut, locking it securely so the cold couldn't seep in.

Pressing her pale face to the glass, her eyes raised towards the night sky, searching for any trace of the storm clouds she had seen in her dream. Whether these represented a physical incoming storm or a metaphorical darkness that threatened to come over the kingdom, she was not yet sure. Certain that the night was safe and quiet, she sighed and slid onto the window seat.

All her life she had been plagued by these dreams, these foreboding visions. Her attendant was convinced they were actually prophetic visions—that Zelda had been blessed with the gift of her predecessors. Whether her nightmare was a vision of events to come or a simple childhood nightmare, it did not matter—it was unsettling.

Afraid, she had told her father, the King, of her dreams. In vain she had tried to convince him of their truth, but he had shrugged off her concerns. Her loyal attendant was the only one to believe her when she spoke of the feelings that consumed her after waking: the fear, the unnatural cold and the sense that her safety, and that of all of Hyrule, was somehow threatened.

Calm at last, she rose from the window seat and returned to the bed. Closing her eyes, she conjured the image of the shining green stone in her mind's eye, and the small figure who held it. It was a small comfort, but it brought her a sense of peace, and allowed her to sleep without dreaming.