A/N: If you enjoyed this chapter and would like to see regular updates to the story, please leave a review letting me know. Enjoy!

~~Firebrand~~

A famous explorer once said that the extraordinary is in what we do, not who we are. I'd finally set out to make my mark, to find adventure. But instead adventure found me. In our darkest moments, when life flashes before us, we find something. Something that keeps us going. Something that pushes us. When all seemed lost, I found a truth. And I knew what I must become.

- Lara Croft

xxx

I awoke to what was possibly the worst headache I've ever had, and believe me I've survived some bad ones. My eyes are bleary, but when I try to rub them I'm greeted with the clink of chains and cold restraint. My wrists and ankles are chained to a cold, rough stone floor.

Panic wells up inside me and for a moment, I thrash in my bondage, desperately trying to break free. I pull so hard the icy shackles bite into my skin, drawing blood. The burn on my arm is starting to heal but the scabs crack under the pressure of the cuffs. Blinking back hot tears I finally give up.

I'm notice the only thing I'm wearing is pair of ragged prison leggings. So much for my modesty. The key I wore around my neck, the one to Ashlocke hall, is gone — gone! It's all I had left of my family legacy, my last connection to my parents.

The air is dank and cool, and I start to shiver. Warm blood is dripping from my wrists. I wipe them hastily on the rags, soaking the thin linen. Pressing my wrists against my thighs, I maintain pressure to stop the bleeding.

I try get to get a better bearing on my surroundings, but it's so dark I have trouble making anything out. The corridor outside seems to spiral upwards in one direction, and down deeper in the other. The only light comes from a torch farther up the spiraling ramp, the distant flickers casting hardly any light this far away. I'm in some sort of cell, the entire thing carved from rough stone save the bars. What happened to Ilia and the other people from the village? Where are they?

The last thing I remember was that green thing standing over me. I try and recall their name; Rusl showed me sketches once of monsters common to Hyrule. My mind is foggy and it feels like my thoughts are moving through mud. Boko ... no, bono ... no, bulbon, no ... bulblin! Rusl said they're not to be trifled with, but not too bright either. I feel kind of embarrassed I got ambushed so easily, though. Rusl was right. I wasn't ready for this.

Where am I? What is this place? I wonder.

"Welcome to the Pit," answers a woman's voice, as if answering my thought. Her voice is enigmatic and husky. "Enjoying your stay?"

I scan my cell. I'm the only one, and the corridor appears empty, but it's too dark to tell.

"Who said that?" I call out nervously. "Who are you?"

A laugh. "So many things. To you ... your salvation, perhaps?"

"You can get me out of here?" I lean forward, chains clinking.

"We'll see," she replies mysteriously.

"What about my friends? Where are they?" I ask desperately. "Can you help them?"

"One thing at a time. First I need to know if you can be ... of use."

Of use...? What does she mean? If this person can get me out of here I need to seize that opportunity, no matter the cost.

"What are you talking about?" I call out.

"I'm a talented lady, Master Ashlocke." I'm thrown off she knows my identity. "But," she continues, "Few of my talents come for free." She steps out of the shadows. There isn't much I can make out. She's wearing a large hood to conceal her face. Her physique is tall and lithe, but athletic; she could uncoil and strike at any time, like a viper.

"My family isn't very wealthy," I grudgingly divulge. "How do you know who I am?"

"If you can escape the Pit, we'll talk."

"And how am I supposed to do that?" I snap, not in the mood to be toyed with.

A sharp movement from her arm and something's whistling through the air. I hear it hit the wall and jangle as it skips across the stone.

"The key to your cell," she says, answering the question I was about to ask. "If you're still alive at sundown, ask for me at the Umbrella." She gives a jaunty wave and starts to walk up the spiral.

"What about these?" I wave my arms and the chains clink again.

Without turning around she snaps her fingers and the chains connected to my shackles break in the middle. The shackles, however, remain fastened tightly.

"Who are you?" I call after her in amazement.

She stops, but doesn't turn around. When she speaks it's in a tone of amused condescension.

"Ask for Navira at dusk. If you don't show, I'll know that you're dead."

With that she's gone.

xxx

I sit there in shock for a moment. Right, yep, okay then.

I'm hoping, praying, that I did not just hallucinate that. Cautiously I reach out, waiting for the chains to lock me in place. I'm delighted when they don't, so happy I start to giggle a little. My elation doesn't last too long, however, and I stifle a shiver.

I start to comb the rough floor with my hands, crawling around, searching for the key. My hands are shaking with excitement and anxiety, and I don't find anything on my first pass of the cell. I'm afraid the key bounced out into the corridor, but I quell my unease and begin a second, more deliberate pass of the cell.

It takes a few minutes, but my patience is rewarded. My fingers brush cool and rusty metal, lodged between a deep crack in the stone.

I stood up and jumped, pumping my fist in excitement. Part of the chain, still attached to the shackle on my wrist, swings around and whallops me in the side of the head. Oh goddesses.

My throbbing head let me know just how clumsy I was with a sharp dagger of pain sent lancing through my skull. After the beatings of the last few days the starry view that followed was very nearly a pretty respite. Nearly.

But that mistake served as a stepping stone for my latest revelation; I can use these chains as weapons. Unfamiliar place, life or death situation, but at least I have some makeshift weapons. Silver linings, right?

All these small, quirky thoughts raced through my head, like I was giving myself a pep talk. You can do this, you're strong, you're great, come on, you can do this. Right.

I step gingerly into the hall, rubbing the back of my head regretfully. I look either way, wary of guards. As far as I can see, nobody, but ... well, I can't see very far.

Mentally shaky and physically a little unstable, I start my ascent of 'the Pit'. The stone is rough and uneven, like the cell, and steeper than it looks. In the light (or lack thereof) it would be only too easy to take a spill ... and who knew how long that spiral went. Best not to add any more bruises to the collection and take my time.

About twenty yards up the spiral ramp I found the torch that was so inadequately lighting the way. I reach for the torch, but jump as I lock eyes with the nearby cell's occupant.

A skeleton stares back at me, the empty sockets glaring accusingly. He, she, or it ... sported the same pair of raggedy prison pants. That could have been me. Thank the goddesses it's not.

With the torch it's easier going and I start to make good time. I break into a brisk jog, passing by several empty cells. The corridor is getting lighter.

As I'm running by—

"Hey boss!"

I stop and turn around, peering in the cell. A bulblin, like the one that knocked me out, has its face pressed against the bars. His body is covered in scars but the red eyes burn with new hope.

"'Ey boss," he croaks in a strange accent. "You gotta get me outta here. Come on, boss, doncha leave me here ta die."

"What did you do?" I ask.

"Just let me out, boss, you're not gonna be able to bust out alone."

I try the key in his lock, but it doesn't fit.

"The key doesn't work," I say, trying to keep my voice low.

"Well then, boss." He smiles, revealing a mouth missing more than a few teeth. "If ya can't get me out, maybe ya can get me an extra slice o'bread."

"Wha—"

"ESCAPED PRISONER! OI DOWN 'ERE WE GOT A LOOSE ONE!"

I turn to him in disbelief and his smile only widens. I must be near the surface because I see shadows wrapping round the wall and shouts echoing off the walls.

Without a second thought I turn and sprint back downwards, panicking again. The shouts are close. I'm going to be caught. Navira said she wasn't coming back. I'm going to rot here like that skeleton.

My whole body is crying out in protest. I can't out run them in my condition. I can't even fight.

Suddenly I realize — the empty cells! If I can just get to them, maybe I can hide. Darkness works both ways.

Fifteen seconds later I'm at the first one. Rattling the door, it's locked. Second cell, locked. Third cell, locked. Fourth door — unlocked, thank the goddesses.

I quickly step inside and close the door, leaving it just barely ajar. I slide down against the wall. Wait, I'm still holding the torch!

Leaping to my feet, I wrench the door open and throw the torch with all my strength. With the steepness off the incline, it should roll for a good while at least. As quick as I can I close the door again, sliding down in the corner of the room and feigning sleep.

Not five seconds later a party of, well, things, rushed by, shouting and brandishing weapons. Amongst a few humans, I definitely spotted a few bulblins, some sort of armored lizard, and (trick of the light?) a skeleton.

As soon as they're past I'm up, and charging in the opposite direction.

"Catch you later, boss," I call out as I pass the scarred bulbin's cell. His cursing brings a smile to my face. I have to restrain myself from further fist pumping lest I knock myself out.

Less than a hundred yards later the corridor straightens out into a dead end. Light is shining down through a hole in the ceiling fifty feet above, but a rickety ladder provides the gateway to freedom.

I start the final climb. I'm feeling faint, like I could pass out at any moment, but I can't stop now. Won't stop.

"Wonder 'ow long it's gonna be before they nail 'im," floats a deep voice from above. "Raise."

I freeze on the ladder. I had kind of hoped all the guards would be down below, chasing after my ghost. I guess on second thought that probably would have been a little too easy.

"Don't matter now, does it? 'Ee ain't got nowhere to go, does 'ee," retorts a thinner, nasal voice. "Damn the luck, fold."

I continue my ascent, more slowly, more carefully. The chains clink with my every move, especially the ones around my ankles. The added weight isn't trivial, and at the moment my body feels like it weighs a tonne.

I have absolutely no idea what I'm going to find up there, but by the sounds of it there are a group of guards up there playing cards. If I'm careful I might be able to get the jump on them.

"Allll in," someone, or something, hisses. Cheers and chortles accompany this, with others echoing the sentiment.

I arrive at the top, finally. I peer out into the space above me. It's a large foyer, a barracks of sorts. Bunks line the wall, and a few scattered tables and stools litter the floor space. Light pours through a jagged fissure in the stone on the far side of the room, which appears to be the only way in or out.

A group of guards is standing around one of the tables; a heavyset tattooed man is staring at some sort of lizard, both of them wielding a hand of cards. The rest of the guards, I count four, cheer them on. Three humans, two bulblins, and a lizard-man. My eyes pan around the room. Looks like two, no, three guards asleep in their bunks.

Their table is directly between me and freedom. Only one way forward. Mental sigh.

I'm still freaked that I'm a prisoner in some sort of monster menagerie. I know that humans, hylians, the twili ... I know we were never the only ones. But I've never heard or seen of a place where monsters and demons can live with humans, even work together.

But not too well, it seems. A commotion draws my attention just as I'm about to climb out into the foyer.

"Alllll mine," the lizard laughs, sweeping the coins on the table into a bag. As he does, some cards slip from his sleeve onto the floor.

"Din's tits, 'ee cheated!" the heavyset man yells, standing up and drawing his cutlass. Two other men follow his lead, while the monsters seem to band together.

"Easssssy Dags," hisses the lizard, backing up, his blade also drawn. "Weee wouldn't want thissss to get bloody."

They stare at each other warily. The atmosphere is electric; I can sense that a skirmish is about to break out. A flash from the lizard-man's hand and a knife is flying through the air. Dags tries to evade it but it nicks his ear. He snarls in rage and raises his sword.

"Gut'em boys," Dags roars, and a brawl breaks out. I resist the urge to cheer but my fortune couldn't be better. With cries of surprise the guards in the bunks wake up and join the fray. I'm never going to get a better opportunity.

With great effort I drag myself out of the hole. Sticking to the edges I skirt the skirmish and break for the exit.

"Oi! Where you goin then?" someone shouts behind me. Spinning around I see one of the waking men running at me, brandishing a dirty scimitar.

"I'm gonna bleed you, boy," he sneers as we circle each other.

My heart is racing. Adrenaline surges through my veins. My eyes are locked onto his, he's the only obstacle. Time slows down and the two of us are the only people in the universe that exist.

I see his face contort a fraction of a second before he lashes out in a vicious lunge. I leap to the side, barely escaping what surely would have been a mortal wound. with all my strength I swing my left arm, the chain whipping around with it.

"Hyah!" I shout. The heavy chain strikes him in the collarbone. I hear a sickening crunch and he goes down like a sack of potatoes. He's still conscious, but only just.

"I did it!" I exclaim in surprise, delighted. A moment later I feel a little sheepish.

"Sorry," I shrug, somewhat apologetically, as I step over his body. "Totally deserved it though."

I feel a little sick but this is no time to falter. I sprint towards the gash in the stone, greeted by the sounds of a city and the smell of a dump. I can see people flitting back and forth outside; some sort of street. Shielding my eyes from the bright sunlight with my arm I leap through the hole.

My bloodied feet meet warm sand. The hot sun bears down from above, no cover. No sign of the trees of foliage I remember before I was imprisoned. It's busy, full of people; a marketplace or bazaar. Dingy shops and crumbled buildings abound. Just where the hell am I? How long was I out?

A crowd of people have frozen in a semi-circle, staring at me. What I must look like, in shackles and chains and bloodied rags. Not exactly inconspicuous.

Time to go. I sprint off into a dark alley.

xxx

It's getting dark. Crude lanterns and torches are being lit on the main ways to illuminate the city.

Hiding turned out to be all too easy. Whatever place this is, it's like a cesspit and a city that collided. The smell is overpowering and there's no space to move on the main streets. This is how I envisioned the Wildlands would be.

I thought it would be tough to hide, that I would be pursued across the city, hunted down like a dog, maybe hunted down with dogs, I don't know. Sure I drew a few second glances, but there were no big commotions. No soldiers or guards combing the streets. For the most part people ignored me, and believe me, I liked it like that.

I camped out in a narrow alley, whiling away the hours among the drunks, poor, and the invalid - this city is overflowing with people. Many of them seem frightened of me. With my only clothes being chains and bloodied leggings, not a copper to my name, I must look like an escaped madman. Which, in some respects, I suppose I am.

Earlier in the day, I approached an old homeless man for directions.

"I don't have any money," he said flatly when I approached him.

"I don't want money," I grunted. "I want information."

"What's in it for me?"

I did my best tough guy impression. "How's your life sound?"

He held my gaze for a moment, seemingly unimpressed, but after a few seconds he conceded with a sigh.

"What do you need?"

"Directions. To the Umbrella. Do you know it?"

He gave me a funny look, like I was playing a joke on him. "I do. And so does everyone else in the Slag."

The Slag. What a fitting name. "Just tell me where to find it."

"As you wish," he'd said, with a mock bow. He spent the next few minutes giving me detailed instructions.

He finished with a warning.

"Watch your back in there, sonny," he cautioned. He grabbed one of the chains attached to my feet and pulled my legs out from under me. Before I could react, a dagger was at my throat.

"Folk in the Umbrella don't muck around. Watch yourself." With a chuckle, he sheathed his dagger and offered me a hand.

"I'll do that," I groaned as he helped me up. "Thanks."

xxx

When it was twilight, I got up and followed the old man's directions. The streets weren't as busy as they were during the day, but I couldn't decide if this was a good or bad thing. Walking unnoticed was a little easier if I stuck to the shadows, but if anyone was on the lookout for me specifically I'd be easier to spot. I took special care, and a few long minutes later I'm standing in front of it.

The Umbrella is an ugly brown patch work of a building in the middle of the city, roughly (very, very roughly) elliptical. It's absolutely enormous, the structure dominating the surrounding area. The roof is rounded in some sections, angular in others, even partially collapsed in one section. There's no identifying sign, just a faded black umbrella stenciled on the wall. The entrance is several feet below ground.

Only one thing for it.

Making my way across the still surprisingly busy street I descend the stairs and open the door.

I'm greeted by the smell of smoke, sweat, cheap beer, and vomit. An absolutely delightful blend of scents create the perfect aroma to make you gag on each breath. People are shouting, cheering. I hear the sound of breaking glass. The floor is musty wood, coated in years of grime. Wrinkling my nose I step inside - greeted by the roar of a crowd.

The Umbrella is a huge tavern. Some people are sitting at tables, a few on barstools, even a few passed out on the floor. But there are hundreds crowded around something on the far side of the room.

I head to the bar. The bartender is a large, paunchy man with an eye patch over his right eye and a big scar to match. He's wiping a dirty glass with a filthier rag. His one good eye squints at me suspiciously as I approach.

"Whaddya want?" he grunts in a deep voice.

"I'm, uh, looking for Navira?" I say, looking around.

He leans down on the bar and stares at me. "What do you want with her?"

"It's what she wants with me, and I'm here to find out," I reply casually, trying to hold his gaze. It's difficult to do given he has one eye; my eyes keep flitting from looking at both eyes to his good one.

Finally he nods, seemingly satisfied. "You'll find her up there," he says, gesturing at a narrow staircase on the far side of the room, flanked by two guards. "Password's dragonsblood." He returns to polishing the glass. "And get yourself some clothes, boy."

I head for the stair case, going around the giant crowd. A deafening roar goes up as I'm passing. Approaching the stairs I notice the two musclebound guards gripping their weapons, eyeing me closely.

"Uh, dragonsblood?" I proclaim uncertainly. They relax their grip on their weapons and lose interest in me. The stair is crooked and uneven, cobbled together from different boards, nails sticking out at odd angles. Is nothing in this town built properly?

The stairs open onto a dark landing, a balcony without a railing. Down below I can see what the huge crowd was looking at. A deep pit is built into the ground, filled with a sort of obstacle course. Walls, boulders, even a small moat. It's twenty feet deep and at least triple that in diameter. Two people, looking like toy soldiers from my vantage, are circling each other down below. A man, clad only in the same prison leggings as me, wielding a branch as a weapon. Across from him is one of the lizard-men, unarmed, but faster and more agile.

This is an arena. A fight to the death. The man swings at the lizard-man but overextends, and the lizard-man's tail whips around, catching the man off guard. He's knocked to the ground, but scrambles away before the lizard-man can do anything.

I'm sickened by the display, but at the same time, I can feel my heart race.

I scan the balcony. There are fewer tables and less people, but it seems like the one place where things are built with quality. The tables are polished and spacious, the chairs leather bound. The people at the tables are well dressed, well-armed. I feel naked and exposed, yet no one seems to show the slightest interest, except — I squint. A familiar hooded figure at one of the far tables gives a jaunty wave. Navira? She really blends in. I make my way over to her table.

In her right hand she's casually tossing a silver knife in the air, catching it by the handle each time no matter how many times it spins. In her left, an ornate crystal glass, filled with a dark liquid.

She's clad in a black leather jacket with pants, boots, and gloves to match. A long, thin sword rests in its sheath against the wall, and more knives lay spread across the table.

She props her boots up on the table as I approach and places her glass on the table. "Sit down," she says, gesturing at the seat opposite her.

I obey warily, eyeing the knife. I can only see the lower half of her face in the candlelight, and her lips twitch in amused smirk when she notices my apprehension. She has full, red lips.

"Do you really think I'd spring you from the pit just to kill you here?" A sigh. "Not too bright. Oh well."

I open my mouth in indignation, but she holds up her hand.

"Save it. I never thought you'd be one of the great thinkers of our time. Hell, couldn't care less if you were." She reclines further, picking up the glass and swirling it around. "Welcome to the Umbrella's VIP. You're decidedly under dressed for the occasion." Her eyes trace my body.

"Didn't get a chance to stop by my wardrobe. Where are we?"

"The Umbrella?" She tosses the knife high, the silver glinting in the candlelight. I'm transfixed, following its journey through the air, right up until the moment she dexterously plucks it from its flight. "The center of economy, crime and debauchery in Slag Town." She frowns. "I guess those are all the same thing. Still, it's a whole lotta fun."

"What exactly is Slag Town?"

"Barbarians need a hearth, no? This is a place of no laws, no society — where your wealth is measured in the power you wield and the will to exercise it. Kill another man and you'll earn the people's respect and fear, not the condemnation of the laws of men. It's everything your society's not." She spat over the balcony's edge. "You're a long way from home, kiddo."

"Just how long, exactly?" I ask.

"Well that would depend greatly on where exactly you are from. Reading minds isn't one of my strong suits."

"How far from Ordona?" I press impatiently.

"Five days, as the crow flies," she remarks casually. Five days — how is that possible? No way I was unconscious for three full days.

"Where are my friends? You said you could help me. Why weren't they with me?"

"Because they are to be sold as slaves," she says innocently. Slaves. My mind is reeling.

"But slaving is outlawed!" I exclaim.

"Oh grow up," she sneered. "This is the Wildlands, there are no laws. What did you think they were kidnapped for?"

"What about me? Why didn't they sell me?"

She giggles, but can't stop. It builds into a full bodied laugh, long and loud. I flush. "Sweetheart, you're adorable. You were already sold - as a gladiator."

As if on cue there's a building cheer. The man has been backed into a corner. He lashes out with his makeshift club, but he's too tired, too slow. The lizard-man easily evades the blow and counters with a flying punch to the man's jaw. He goes down in a heap.

A chant goes up among the roaring crowd. "Kill, kill, kill, kill," they roar, until the Umbrella is literally shaking. The lizard-man straddles the man, and baring his teeth, tears out his throat.

The crowd goes wild.

"You look like you're about to faint," she smirks. "That was to be your life. Your death — to thunderous applause."

"You - you enjoy this?" I say shakily.

"I think there's a certain artistry to violence. Is there anything else so undeniably pure?"

We sit in silence for a minute. I can see money being exchanged at the other tables.

"I just want to say thank-you," I begin, feeling her gaze on me. "If you hadn't come ... I owe you—"

"You owe me your life," she interrupts harshly. "And I intend for you to repay that debt."

"Why did you do it?" I ask quietly. "What do you want from me?"

She tosses the knife high. "Enough pleasantries." She stands up and slings her thin sword around her back. The knife comes down and lands tip first, burying itself in the polished wood. "I have a room upstairs where we can talk business."

She pulls the knife free and sheathes it in a knife belt around her torso. She does the same with the other knives on the table.

She beckons. "Follow me."

xxx

Turns out the rooms in this place are just as dingy as the rest of it. Navira lights a lantern hanging from the ceiling, providing us with a dim light. A single mattress lies on the floor in the corner of the room. On it is some neatly folded clothes and a pair of boots. A leather wrapped cylinder sits next to them. Two rickety wooden chairs sit opposite an uneven table. Otherwise the room is bare.

Navira throws her sword on the mattress and throws me the clothes. She snaps her fingers again and the shackles fall to the floor.

"Put those on," she commands, and takes a seat at one of the chairs, watching me.

I pull on the stained yellow tunic over my head It's a little big but I'm grateful just to have clothes at last. It has a belt with a clasp that I cinch around my waste. I strip off the bloodied rags and kick them away. The tunic hangs down nearly to my knees so my modesty isn't really compromised, but I blush anyways as I pull on the black leggings under Navira's watchful gaze.

"Sit," she demands, gesturing at the seat opposite.

I stretch as I walk across the room. I'm still feeling pretty sore but it feels good to be, well, not a prisoner. A little perspective does wonders for your world view.

"So why did you spring me from 'the Pit'", I ask, sitting down across from her. It's still too dim to make out any features beyond her jaw.

"Known in the old tongue as 'alinfinae nal shevaelenar'; the end of hope." She cocks her head. "For some people, it's a prison. For others, an execution sentence, left to starve or be eaten by the rats. Ending up in the pit usually means one of three things; you're going to live out your life in darkness, you're not going to live out your life at all, or you end up in the arena."

"That doesn't answer my question," I challenge. I'm tired of the mystery.

"Fair point," she laughs. "I did it because I believe you can serve a purpose."

"What purpose is that?" I lean forward.

"In time." Her lips twitch into a smirk. "First we need to determine if you can be of use to me."

"Din's breath, you said that's what you rescued me for," I snap. "Enough with the games."

"I said if you escape alive we'll talk. That's exactly what we're doing." I open my mouth in outrage, but she cuts me off. "Shut up. You came here to rescue your friends. I'm going to give you that opportunity."

I'm listening hard now. "How? When?"

"Tomorrow at noon there will be a slave auction. I will take you there, I will tell you what to do and when, all you need to do is what I say. You follow, or do you want me to really break it down?"

"I follow," I say grudgingly. "What does this have to do with you?"

"One of their number is a particularly disdainful individual," she answers nonchalantly, pulling off her gloves and inspecting her nails. Her hands are pale but they aren't delicate. Her nails are cracked in places and I can see her palms are worn and calloused.

"I would like him dead," she continues. "And you would like your friends to be not slaves." She emphasizes the last two words, long and slow. She looks up from her nails. "Win win."

There has to be a catch to this. What's that old proverb ... if it's too good to be true, it probably is?

"You seem ... accomplished." I glance at the shackles lying on the floor. "Why don't you do this yourself?"

"What I'm looking for is a partner of sorts." She frowns. "Actually more like a traveling companion." She pauses, and frowns again. "Actually more like a sidekick. Point is, I need to know you can handle yourself."

"Why would I help you after I free my friends," I counter. "What's to stop me just going home?"

"Well, me for starters," she chuckles. "But more than that, I can tell you're a man of honour. If your friends go free you'll owe me not just your life, but theirs as well. Could you really turn your back on that kind of debt?"

She's got me and she knows it; my silence is all the answer she needs.

"I thought so," she smirks.

"Just answer me one question. Why is it called the Umbrella?"

She gives a laugh, a genuine one that brings a smile to my face as well. After all the horrors of the last week it's a good sound.

"The Pit once had a prisoner named Zed, buried in the depths of the Pit, a league below the surface. One day, while he slept, rats chewed off two of his fingers. He killed the rats and took his fingers back, filing his own phalanges into picks." She smiles grimly. "With his own bones he escaped the Pit, but by some stroke of misfortune was immediately captured by a party of passing slavers."

She starts to unlace her boots. "While they slept, he picked his cage's lock with the same bones that granted him freedom from the depths. He grabbed the first thing he could use as a weapon; a black umbrella." She throws her boots next to the mattress.

"He waited under the wagon until the night watch checked the cages, then ambushed him. After overwhelming the watchman, he killed all sixteen slavers by stabbing the umbrella though their eyes while they slept."

"Why was there an umbrella in the desert?" I ask skeptically.

"Who knows?" she shrugs. "Slavers visit all climes. With the slaves he built the first Umbrella, started the first arena. Brought trade, the slave trade, to the wasteland. With people passing by the Pit he slowly built the area into a village. That village grew and grew into Slag Town as it is today." She stands up and stretches. "Not many people know that story."

"It's a good story," I find myself replying. "In a brutal, murderous sort of way."

"Isn't that the best kind of story?"

I have no reply.

She scoops the leather cylinder up and hands it to me. "I believe these belong to you."

I open the cylinder and discover the bow Colin gave me, my father's dagger, and a sheathed short sword. My face fills with elation.

"It's called a gladius," she explains as I pick up the sword. "The kind of swords they use in the arena. You might need it tomorrow."

I unsheathe it and admire the blade it the dim light. It's a simple straight blade with a thick bevel, better suited to stabbing than slashing, although effective at both. It's made from steel, though the forging is far from expert. These are the critiques of a smith though; the rest of me is filled with gratitude. Without this, my chances of doing anything were pretty slim.

"Thank you," I say as sincerely as possible. She stands across from me in silence.

"Why did they send you?" she says suddenly.

"What?" I'm caught off guard.

"You said you're from Ordon; that's a big city. Bunch of people get kidnapped and they send you after them?"

"They, uh, they didn't send me." I rub the back of my neck. "One of the girls they took was my sister. One of them was my friend. He gave me this," I explain, holding up the bow. "And I'm going to use it to help free him."

She accepts this in silence. We stand there in silence. Suddenly she reaches up and pulls back her hood, revealing the features beneath it.

Her face is long, with high cheekbones. Scarlet eyes regard me behind long lashes, her lips set in an enigmatic smile that's hard to read. Her hair is long and red, nearly auburn. It's tied back in a ponytail but a few thin locks escaped, flanking her features. Her ears are long and pointed like mine, and pierced in several places. She's definitely older than I am. Another Hylian?

"Oh," I say, at a loss.

"Do we have a deal?"

"I don't even know what you want from me," I shrug helplessly.

"I help you, you help me. Even for you that should be simple enough." She holds out her hand. "So?"

Reluctantly I shake it. "Alright," I agree. "Deal. Can you at least tell me a little about you?"

She walks to the other side of the room, her back turned. She seems to be lost in thought.

"My name is Midnight," she reveals suddenly. "If we're going to be partners, we might as well be on a first name basis."

Something jogs in my memory but it's too deep for me to recall.

"I'm Lincoln," I reply. "Lincoln Ashlocke."

"I know exactly who you are," she remarks, turning on hell and looking at me strangely, almost distantly. A moment later she snaps out of it. She throws her jacket on the floor and lies down on the mattress. "Floor's yours," she calls from the bed.

"How generous," I grunt. I lay down on the rough wood. Can't be worse than the cell in the Pit I tell myself. I use crumpled prison rages as a makeshift pillow. Lovely.

"I hope you survive tomorrow, Lincoln Ashlocke," Midnight declares. "I think you might be passable sidekick material."

I can't stifle my laugh. "You can call me Link," I reply.

She snaps her fingers and the lantern is extinguished, shrouding us in darkness.

"You can call me Midna."

Closing Note: I'm not the best at proof reading my own work, and given I am pressed for time I'm in search of someone to beta read Wanderlust chapters. If you're interested send me a PM and we'll chat! I went back and did my absolute best to annihilate any and all mistakes in the first five chapters — please don't hesitate to let me know if you spot any mistakes!

As I said at the start, if you genuinely enjoyed the chapter I would appreciate if you left a review or sent me a PM. If there's actual interest I'll do my best to keep updates frequent and consistent. Either way it will be finished, but I feel a lot better about devoting my time and effort each week knowing people are interested. Cheers.