For a modest, two-storey structure built of abused brick and sporting windows that had seen more than their fair share of patching up, Kakariko's library housed invaluable public records, documents and books relating to the town's history.

Link and Navi waited patiently on the front steps, baking in the morning sun. Accustomed to rising early, Link didn't feel tired at the sight of the sunrise. He'd wanted to get to the library before his scheduled sparring session with Impa, and he felt confident the house of knowledge could point him in the right direction when it came to the plight of the Zoras.

After a few minutes of waiting, he was surprised to see Fayne, Impa's friend, come trotting up the road. Around his age, she was one of Kakariko's only magically gifted residents. She'd been a key player in Impa's growing rebellion forces. With a toss of her blonde head, she smiled brightly at him.

"Link! So sorry, were you waiting to get in?"

He stood, brushing off his pants before replying, "Yeah, I was hoping…"

"I can help!" she interrupted excitedly, moving to unlock the door. With a whoosh of her small hand, the spell securing the door vanished, and she threw the door open. "Come on in!"

It wasn't much more impressive on the inside, and dreadfully untidy. There seemed to be no semblance of organization.

"What a mess," Navi remarked.

Rather than be offended, Fayne said, "Oh, I know. I'm a terrible housekeeper. But I promise I can help you find what you're looking for." She glanced at Link shyly, her face turning pink above her cute smile. "Um…what is it you're looking for?"

"Ah, I was hoping I could find out if there was a way to melt magical ice," he explained, wondering if that sounded right.

Fayne brightened again. "Of course! Right here…somewhere…" She began rifling through a sturdy little bookcase that had the words "magic and spells" emblazoned on a plaque.

While she searched, Link perused some of the other volumes with interest. Navi floated over to a plaque on the wall next to the door, reading aloud the name of the library and its founders. She announced the date the library opened and turned to Fayne with interest.

"So long ago," she exclaimed, "This library is that old?"

The young sorceress straightened, turning to give them an impromptu history lesson.

"Why, yes. The village has been here for centuries. Of course, it's been destroyed many times in Hyrule's wars and then rebuilt. But this place has stood the test of time."

She gazed around fondly. "In this room is the second biggest collection of historical documents in all of Hyrule," she said proudly. "And quite possibly it holds the most information on the village's founders, the Sheikah."

Perking up at the mention of the Sheikah, Link opened his mouth to ask what she knew about the mysterious race, but Navi said, "Have you found anything on melting red ice?"

"Red ice?" Fayne asked, sidetracked. "Oh! Yes, right here." She seized a thin, leather-bound volume off the shelf, flipping it open to a bookmarked page. "Red ice," she recited, "is a magical spell designed to imprison. It cannot be melted or damaged, even by the strongest spells. The only known way to dispel it is through the use of the cold flame—blue fire."

"Blue fire?" Navi asked skeptically. "It can't be that easy."

"I wouldn't say it was easy," she replied. "But everything in magic has an opposite. White magic has black magic, evil spells are defeated by light, and so on."

"So all we need is blue fire?" Link asked, as surprised as Navi by the simple-sounding solution.

Fayne shrugged. "Yes, but it's not easy to find. You can buy it in some shops, but it's rare and expensive."

"Can we get it anywhere else?" he asked.

"Deep in the frozen caverns of the Snowpeak mountains," she replied cheerfully.

His good mood deflated. Snowpeak meant a near-suicidal trek into a cold wasteland that would take him weeks, if not more. And survival was not guaranteed.

"There's nowhere else it can be found?" he asked hopefully.

The blonde girl considered it, tapping a finger to her lips. "Well, magical fire like that has been found further south, in caves cold enough to sustain it. But it's not like there's a map of their locations," she added hastily, seeing his excited look.

"Link," Navi said, flying over to him. "Zoras' domain, it's completely frozen now, and there are tons of tunnels and caves there…"

Following her logic, he said, "The lower temperature might be cold enough that blue fire can be found somewhere inside. Could that happen?" he asked Fayne.

"Could be. Zoras' domain is far enough north that it could get cold enough, especially if it has been frozen over."

He glanced at his fairy companion. "We need to get back to Zoras' domain. It's worth a shot."

"We could be ready to leave tomorrow," she replied. "It's going to be a long trip."

Rushing for the door, he hastily thanked Fayne for her help, leaving her standing among the ancient tomes of Kakariko's long history.

The rest of the day passed quickly. After training for long hours with Impa, he returned to her home to pack his things for their departure. This time, he made certain they wouldn't run out of food or water. Impa knew he was leaving, but he'd promised to stay for the celebrations. He wasn't yet sure what to say to Dark and Sienna.

During the weeks he'd spent in Kakariko, he and Dark had sparred near daily. The friendship that had developed between them was something Link realized he had sorely missed. In his new life as the Hero of Time, it could become lonely, isolating. He had Navi as a companion, but the long days of traveling, the hard-fought battles and immense responsibilities that had been thrown on his shoulders had quietly taken their toll.

His brief reprieves in Goron City and Kakariko had been welcome, but just around the corner, his destiny still beckoned him. Hyrule was still in grave danger, and it was time to return to his journey.

When night finally blanketed the world, he was almost anxious for the party to start. It would be a fair send off before he set out for Zoras' domain.

"Ready to leave?" Impa's calm voice asked from the doorway.

He straightened, abandoning his packing for the moment. "Just about," he told her.

She nodded in silent approval. "I feel certain you will free the Zoras, and find the Sage of Water," she said.

He nearly blushed at her confidence in him. "I'll do what I can," he mumbled.

Impa's deep, crimson eyes rested on him for a heavy moment, once again pulling his hidden feelings to the surface. Her gaze flickered to the hilt of the Master Sword, resting patiently against the wall near his things, awaiting its master.

"You still doubt yourself," she stated, sounding almost surprised. Her eyes remained locked on the sword. Link shifted uncomfortably.

"At times," he admitted quietly. "I feel…not quite lost. Unsure, somehow. As if I'm not living up to my title."

Impa chuckled. "If the gods are watching you, boy, I'm sure they do not feel disappointed. The task you have been set would break most."

Crossing the room, Impa reached down and carefully picked up the Master Sword by its sheath. She held it out to him, offering him the hilt. Slowly, he wrapped his fingers around his weapon, pulling it out holding it out in front of him.

"That sword does not doubt you," she told him. "It knows who you are."

He studied his reflection in the blade, contemplating her words. His brow was creased in a frown, his mouth set grimly. As if in response to his feelings, the sword began to glow with a soft blue light.

"I hear it…" he searched for the right word, "speak to me. But that can't be true, can it?"

He looked up from the blade's surface to find a peculiar expression on Impa's face. A mixture of curiosity and disbelief gave way to a rare smile.

"It remembers you," she said to him. "The sword recognizes the spirit of the Hero."

~oOo~

A couple of hours before the night's celebrations, Dark found himself lazing about behind the windmill. It was peaceful, sunny, and there was no one to disturb him. With Sienna at Impa's getting ready, there wasn't much for him to do.

When the clouds overtook the sky and robbed him of his sunlight, he sat up with a groan.

Abandoning his secluded spot, he wandered back into town, eventually meandering down an unfamiliar street.

He came across a wide vendor's stall with a generous awning. Behind the stall the shop was simply an open space, a well-stocked workshop taking up one side, and a large kiln dominating the back. The enormous form of Taver the smith was bent in front of it, his face protected from the heat by a metal mask. Over the roar of the superheated oven, Dark could hear the blacksmith singing to himself as he worked.

The black-haired youth considered the borrowed sword lashed to his hip, then mentally calculated the money he had on hand. It wasn't optimal, but perhaps he could convince the blacksmith to cut him a deal. He'd planned to leave Kakariko the day after tomorrow, and he'd need a reliable weapon on the way back to Termina.

Sienna had been shocked when he'd told her of his plans, but there was nothing for them in Kakariko, and he was anxious to get back. He didn't much like the idea of leaving Link behind, but he had his own responsibilities. Fierce had warned him to stay away, and Dark figured he'd already helped his brother as much as he could. Besides, putting distance between himself and Ganondorf could only be good.

"Excuse me?" he called out, grabbing Taver's attention.

"Huh?" the man grunted, fixing sharp eyes on Dark. "Ah, it's you. C'mere for a second, would you?"

"Is something wrong?" Dark asked, venturing into the cave-like room.

It was dim and shady, but pleasantly warm thanks to the fire. The smell of coal clung to everything, including the man towering over him. With a series of grunts that he evidently used in lieu of words, Taver directed him to a nearby crafting table. An unfinished sword lay in wait, its form glowing red with heat.

"Take these," Taver instructed, handing him a pair of thick work gloves. "Made from Dodongo skin. Now grab the end."

"Are you insane?"

He laughed, the sound echoing. "Perhaps. You'll be fine; you're a strong young lad. The gloves will protect you. I just need an extra set of hands to hold it. Haven't gotten around to replacing my clamps yet."

Wondering what in Din's name he'd been roped into, Dark gingerly grabbed the malleable, flaming hot end of the unfinished sword. As Taver had said, the gloves kept out the heat.

Grasping the hot metal was a challenge with the stiff-fingered gloves, but Dark managed to lower the sword into the vat of water, flash-cooling the blade. Wisps of steam hissed out at the sudden change in temperature. Taver grunted in approval as Dark lifted it back onto the work table. Inspecting it, Taver traced one gloved hand over a dent and frowned.

"Hold on," Taver warned him, hefting a hammer that looked as if it could crush skulls. "You might feel some vibrations up your arm," he added with a chuckle.

Far from amused, Dark clenched the sword tightly, clamping his teeth together in preparation. The blacksmith swung expertly, the head of the hammer smacking down precisely on the blade's imperfect surface. Dark felt a zing up his arm. He was impressed with Taver's skill as he tapped the blade a few more times, molding the sword back into shape.

"A fine job, lad. It'll make a good sword."

He reached up to wipe the sweat from his brow, surprised at the effort it had taken. Even more surprising was his sense of enjoyment.

"Is that all?" he asked, finding himself hoping he could try tempering a blade next.

But Taver nodded. "For now. Finishing my work early today, you see."

"Of course." Dark swallowed his disappointment.

"Was there something you needed, lad?"

Dark recalled the reason he'd approached the shop to begin with. "I'm hoping you can give me a new sword," he explained, pulling out the sword he'd borrowed from Impa. "I'd like to have one for myself, and not continue to borrow them."

Taver chuckled. "Your own weapon, eh? Normally, I'd suggest you commission me for one, and I'd craft you a unique blade made for you. But it's costly and time consuming."

Dark dismissed that option. "I'll be more than happy with a previously owned one. I don't need a new sword made for me. I'm leaving the day after tomorrow."

"A shame. You've got good hands for this work, and I could use the help. No bother. Follow me!"

He strode into the back room, Dark on his heels. "I keep the ones in need of repair and the hopeless cases back here," the swordsmith explained. "Occasionally I find new uses for 'em."

Weapons of every kind and size had been carefully mounted on the walls of Taver's back room. Some gleamed with newness, ready to be sold or picked up. Others had rusted and gathered dust in what was obviously a reject pile. Taver pushed aside a crate of broken axe heads on the floor and began rummaging around under a work table.

Dark admired the newly forged swords on another work table, noting that Taver had etched his signature into each one. His work was flawless; every blade had been treated as if it were a piece of art. Tracing a finger along the blunt side of a particularly beautiful sword, his curiosity flared when he noticed the metal was still hot to the touch. Not smoldering, but resonating some kind of inner warmth.

"Ahh," Taver said from behind him. "Warm, isn't it? It's the metal. Very special, you see. I get it from the Gorons; it's their specialty. Even though she's long been removed from Death Mountain's mines, she never quite loses her fire, hmm?" He laid a large hand on the sword to feel the emanating heat.

"Remarkable," Dark replied, curious to know more.

The Gorons were renowned for their metal work. Living in Kakariko, Taver must have picked up some of their tricks. Dark glanced at him with new admiration for his skill.

"Do you have any more forged from Goron metal?" he asked, fixated. "Unless, I don't have enough..." he hefted his bag of coins.

Taver chortled again, his voice booming and hearty in his barrel chest. "Don't worry about money, lad. Rupees won't do me and my family much good right now." He bent and reached under the table, hauling out a long, narrow box. With a heave, he brought it up onto the flat surface for inspection. He looked at Dark, his eyes narrowing in scrutiny. "Tall fellow, aren't you?"

Sweeping off the box's lid, the swordsmith revealed a sword unlike anything he had seen. Dark marveled at it; the mold was unique, flaring at the base and narrowing in the middle, then curving outward again before reaching its point. The hilt bore signs of use, the leather strap circling it frayed, bearing the imprints of fingertips. The weapon's cross guard wasn't fashioned in the typical way, sporting a design of golden flames that cupped the base of the sword. Near the bottom, etched into the heated, gleaming metal was Taver's signature, and the name Deraphine.

"Well, try it out," the other man encouraged him, freeing the beautiful weapon from its box.

Dark took Deraphine hesitantly, gripping it in his left hand and flourishing it. Its unusual length and curved form should have made it awkward to swing, but he found it suited him—a natural extension of his longer limbs. The tip had been weighted to balance it, which took some acclimating as he practiced. Due to its wavy shape, it was more difficult to control, but it certainly packed power.

"I like it." Dark grinned, practicing a few swings.

"It's yours, if you want it," Taver offered. "Poor Deraphine's been sitting in a box for too long. Never had anyone interested, because it's such an odd weapon."

"Deraphine." Dark rolled the name around on his tongue. "Din's Flame," he translated. "It suits her."

He took the sheath Taver handed him, a lovely crimson in color, and strapped it to his belt. Sheathing his new weapon safely, he thanked Taver and handed him the borrowed sword in exchange.

"If you change your mind, I'd be glad to give you some employment should you choose to stay."

"I appreciate that," Dark said. "I'll definitely take you up on it if I change my mind."

Taver's broad smile faded as his gaze rested on the workroom clock. "Better hurry. Don't want to miss the festivities!"

He ushered Dark out of the shop, locking up his backroom and tidying his work table. Not wanting to miss meeting Sienna, Dark hurried after the smith on his way to the town square.

~oOo~

Gerudo Desert

In the dead of night, the desert was a different beast. During the heat of the day, the sun oppressed its golden terrain of barren slopes. The dangers lurking beneath the boiling sands were forgotten at the sight of the desert and her stark, terrifying beauty. But when the sun dropped below the horizon, and night spread its ebony cloak over the land, the wasteland became haunted.

At nighttime, the ghosts of long-dead brigands and thieves terrorized the desert, screaming their battle cries from ages long past. Hopelessly lost travelers returned to the world, their moans of despair swallowed by the deafening winds.

The craggy, red rock formations that dotted the landscape transformed into dark, looming giants, hiding the monsters that appeared with the dark. Carrion birds would prowl the mesmerizing, star-filled skies, their screeches, croaks and cries a spine-rattling song that pierced the spirit with anxiety and fear.

The great Colossus, shadowed as it was, resembled a foreboding prison, the weathered reddish stone making it seem both ageless and ancient; it was impossible to tell from a distance whether it was a mythical temple or a real, solid structure.

The Goddess of the Sand coldly observed the haunted wasteland through her stone eyes. She sat above the entrance to her domain, legs folded in meditation, hands outstretched in prayer. She was a stone sentinel borne of the temple itself, ever watchful, ever waiting.

The tense quiet of the sandy wastes was something Nabooru had never been fond of. True, the desert was her home and her sanctuary, a place of immense beauty and mystery. But she respected its many dangers.

The oppressing silence threatened to shatter the mirage of serenity and upset her fragile sense of safety; every small sound put her on edge.

Peering over her shoulder at the shadowy form of the great statue, she paused in the saddling of her mount; a flicker of movement had caught her eye and set off a mental alarm.

The mare snorted, pawing the ground anxiously and kicking up sand. Nabooru turned her attention back. Her horse might have been made for desert travel, gracefully built for speed and endurance, but she was no more at ease here than her rider. Nabooru knew as well as any Gerudo that living her whole life in the desert was no guarantee of protection from its threats.

"Shh," the Gerudo woman soothed, patting the smooth roan neck. "We'll be on our way."

She'd just hooked her foot in the stirrup and swung her leg over the mare's back when a sudden wind assaulted them, blowing grains of sand into her eyes and obscuring her vision. Exclaiming in annoyance, Nabooru reached for her neck and secured the kerchief tied there around her nose and mouth. It wouldn't do much for sand in the eyes, but she could avoid having grit between her teeth.

With a nudge of Nabooru's heels her horse took off in a canter, each wary of unseen threats. Hiding out at the Colossus was no longer wise, and as it was, she had promised Sheik her aid. She intended to skirt the fortress and travel the more treacherous route through the canyon until she reached Lake Hylia. There was less of a chance of being spotted by Ganondorf's spies that way.

In the oppressing darkness, the Gerudo was unaware of the two cloaked figures circling above her like birds of prey. They both swooped low, reaching out to snatch her from the horse's back.

With a startled cry, Nabooru was wrenched from the saddle and carried off in the direction she had come. Sounds of struggle echoed in the darkness, unheard in the emptiness of the land.

Panicked by the abrupt vanishing of her rider, the mare bolted, the thundering of her hooves muted on the grey sand as she raced through the uneasy night.