Postman:

This is turmoil. Disorder. Malfunction.

Lord Valoo, how could this travesty occur? To think of a Prince, unable to gain his wings. Everything is in disarray. The Chieftain can barely be called to make decisions, so furious his drive to pacify Lord Valoo's anger. The young Prince locks himself in his room like a petulant child. Ash and fire rain down upon our homes constantly. The shelves of mail overturn. But the deliveries will not be stopped. I will not let even this grand chaos disrupt my duties.

Order is required. In times of turmoil, order is of the highest importance. It takes a stable center to hold the rest together. And the post is the standard by which order is judged. We Rito are the messengers of the gods. The legends tell it so. We are their wings upon the sea. How can order be expected if messages are lost, late, mislaid?

But even my route has been threatened as late. The ocean seems to have lost its mind. Islands once calm are overrun with beasts. Often I have been plagued on my route with wild animals, but never of this cunning. These beasts that walk upright, shrouded in rags, wielding sticks, some kindled with flame, are more eager to attack than wild animals. The plants too have grown twisted and malformed, their exotics bulbs split with teeth, dripping with ichor. It is deadly to land upon some islands now where once a postman could rest, feel the wind through his feathers, arraigned his mail bag. Now, sticks and fangs and swords.

There are still some islands, though, that are peaceful, untouched by the disorder plaguing the sea. Outset is one of those islands. A fishing community on the fringe of the sea. Even the art of war is forgotten there save for one old man, hardened by years on the ocean. Every delivery to Outset brings me comfort, especially in this mad time. A family whose home is built near the island's mailbox often entertains me upon my deliveries. The old woman of the house makes such a delicious soup that my distaste for watery foods cannot dissuade me from enjoying it.

Two children live there, a boy, Link, and a girl, Aryll. They are both the prime of life. Aryll, a constantly curious thing, who I dare say would smuggle away in my postage bag if she could. Link, a quiet boy with an insightful gaze. He is the sort of boy the Prince needs now to teach him discipline, self control, order.

Koboli gave me a delivery to Outset. Of course, it was a joy to receive such an assignment. When the letter arrived, the roost was full of clamor. Another ash-fire from Great Valoo's latest bout of anger caused an explosion in a patch of bomb plants, injuring a nearby Rito. The Chieftain could not even be informed because at the same moment he was attempting to discipline his son, the two having been in the royal chambers for quite some time, their voices often slipping out, angry and raised.

"This disarray must end," I told Koboli after the tremors, "It has gone on for days. We've many young Rito, eager to gain their wings, unable to from fear of Lord Valoo's rage. What will become of our tribe if those of age cannot fly?"

Koboli is a calm man. Yet these days of savagery have left him weary and pale. He speaks slowly, moves slowly. I am often pressed to remind him we need to stay on schedule.

"Not only that," he said, "but the investigation of whatever dark shadow has fallen upon the Forsaken Fortress has halted entirely."

I had not yet heard of any happenings at the Fortress and asked what he meant.

"You've heard of the string of disappearances on Windfall, yes? Young, large-eared girls being snatched away, rumored to be by a large masked bird?"

I had. These kidnappings had caused some conflict between us and the people of Windfall Island. Because a large bird was rumored to have been involved in the kidnappings, the people thought that we may have something to do with it. Preposterous, a totally irresponsible claim, but it has soured communication between our two islands, leading to much disruptive gossip.

Koboli organized some spilled letters, continued, "A squad of royal guard sent to investigate the matter found that the bird has made its nest in the Forsaken Fortress. Worse, though we'd heard that the pirate gang that once operated there has left, there seems to be someone new taking up residence in the fortress' walls. A large group of beasts guards the perimeter, fully armed, even threatening our men when they came too near. The Chieftain sought to investigate the matter, but with the recent occurrences…"

The ground shook. Dust and small stones fell from the ceiling of the roost, littering the pristine walk. Above us, Lord Valoo bellowed. His cry is as startling as that of a thunderclap in midflight. It pains any Rito who hears it.

As the roost shook, the Prince came from out of the royal chamber. In his arms, he clutched the large, red gem his father's mother left to him upon her death. The gem is said to come down from out of legend, from the kingdom that was lost, that it contains power from the gods of old. It is hard to believe such legends when an orb so sacred is held by a child with such an irreverent countenance.

The shaking had disrupted the argument for the Chieftain was behind the boy, shouting.

"Do not ever speak to me like that again Komalis. I will not tolerate petulance even in a time like this. Especially in a time like this."

"What do you care? It's not you who was there at the peak when Lord Valoo first began his rage. It's not you who was nearly burnt alive, almost thrown from the mountain top, unable to fly. You cannot understand."

"Komalis, this is not about understanding or fear, it is about duty. A Prince must be above his own emotions. You must be able to stamp them out for the good of the tribe. That is the weight of leadership."

"You stamp out yours then. You go and face Lord Valoo while he rages like this. See how you fare, taking a feather while the earth shakes and Lord Valoo howls in anger at you. You are our Chieftain aren't you?"

The Prince ran off, nearly stumbling from the weight of the orb in his hands. The Chieftain followed after him, but the Prince did not heed his father's cries, instead choosing to lock himself again into his room. Disorderly. Disgraceful.

I took my delivery and flew gladly. I can bring no order to the chaos of my home, but on the wing, I can have my own order. I can control the wind in my wings, and it gives me peace.

Our legends speak of Outset Island. We Rito hold legends different from the men who walk upon the land, though they share some correlation, such as the tale of the lost kingdom and the hero in green. But our legends hold that life upon the lands of this great sea came, not from other lands or kingdoms, but from the sea itself. The sea gave up life to simple creatures, who in time grew under the influence of the gods to take possession of the lands they dwelt on. And first of these species were us, the Rito. This is not a boisterous claim. We must have been the first to crawl from the sea for we are the only ones so far who have grown wings to dwell in the sky as well as on land. We have had the longest time to grow, our race growing closer to the gods than any other. This is another reason why we must be the standard that the rest of the world looks to for assurance that order is maintained. The eldest children of the gods must be the most disciplined, not cowering in our nests, afraid to do our duty. We must bear the weight of responsibility.

But Outset Island, it is told, is a special land, the land closest to where the great lost kingdom once flourished. And, some of the people of that kingdom arrived on Outset, mixing with the local population. It is believed that the line of the great hero may exist there still, diluted but strong.

I have often wondered if that is true, if the hero's blood may dwell among those small houses and calm shores.

Wonder does not deliver the mail though, so I do not ponder long. The letter is an advertisement of sale from that strange traveling merchant I have encountered often at sea, Beedle. How does he do business in those far off places?

It was a steady calm that I landed in. A heavy and hot calm that Outset often sports, with its large patches of shore which collect the heat. It is soothing to the wings after long flight to rest in that warmth.

Given the heat, combined with a desire to prolong my time away from the roost (a desire I will admit was childish of me no matter how disorderly my home may at the moment be), I was considering visiting the house of the kind old woman and her two children. Then a shadow passed over the island. A large one.

I have seen monstrous birds, with wicked beaks and crooked wings and sharp talons. We often have to drive them from the spires of our island, less they try to nest on the less populated sides of the roost. But none were ever like this. Gods, this beast. How does the air support it? And that face, that mask. It is not something meant to be seen aloft in the skies, more like an ancient relic of the seas, dredged up by some wayward fisherman. Gods.

The bird flew over the island, covering its twin peaks with its shadow. This could only be the rumored beast from the kidnappings. No sooner had I realized this than the bird was struck by what appeared to be a flying piece of stone. I had not noticed before but a pirate ship was pursuing the bird, using a catapult to try and bring it down.

It is strange that while disaster strikes Dragon Roost and the whole island falls into disorder, this monstrosity can fall upon Outset Island and no one even leaves their home. The only people I saw about the island were the young girl who often carried jars upon her head, watching the skies same as me, and Link and Aryll. These two I saw on the opposite shore of the island, Aryll on the top of the watch tower, Link running up the base of the mountain. Aryll seemed stunned with fear; Link was picking his way up the mountain side towards where the bird had vanished. Metal flashed in his hand. I soon realized he, this boy, was carrying a sword.

Disorder. Even on this island, disorder. Perhaps the gods have cursed us. All of us.

I did not see where the bird went after being struck by the pirates. It disappeared behind the island as if into the sea itself. I tried to find it, flew around the island, but all I saw was the pirate ship and, once, two Kagarocs carrying strange beasts covered in rags. The birds dropped these beasts on the cliff top before flying off again, to what end I don't know. I did not know about the young pirate girl in the forest at that time. I chose not to pursue them, and was intending instead to land and speak with the mates of the ship, when it returned.

The bird came down out of the higher clouds, much higher than a Rito would fly. It was as if the glaring sun itself had produced the beast. I thought it was heading for the cliff top. I did not see Aryll on the bridge until the last second.

This is what disorder brings. My eye is keen. How did I not see her? How could I not see a child with such bright hair, such visible clothing running up the side of the mountain? I should have stopped her. I should have prevented this chaos. I could have. I should have.

It plucked her from the bridge with such an ease. The way it hefts that massive body with orderly grace is beautiful. Perfect.

A child. Is every island to lose its children? Those who walk on the land lose theirs to the air, while ours are lost to the flightless earth.

I should have seen her there, but everything is falling into such disarray. What can I do? What can any of us do? Disorder breeding fresh disorder. Our gyres are falling apart. It feels as if the center of our flights no longer hold.