The outside world was not, as Link had feared, a desert wasteland, nor was it a violent anarchy overrun with murderous bandits and bloodthirsty wild animals. It was wide-open, green and bright—rather peaceful, actually. Birds sang and happy puffs of clouds ambled slowly across the blue sky. There was a refreshing breeze, and while the unfiltered sunlight was a little harsh on his eyes, it felt good on his skin.

Link took it all in, his heart soothed by the sight of the grassy knolls that stretched into the distance. "It's so big," he marveled.

"Indeed, much bigger than your forest, young man," a voice croaked from behind.

Link started and spun around, raising his Deku stick over his shoulder and expecting to find someone—one of those savage Hylian warriors, or a passel of highway thieves—standing behind him. Nothing but the verge of the forest greeted his eyes.

"Up here," came the voice again, and Link raised his eyes to see an owl—a gigantic owl, the biggest he had ever seen—perched on one of the few remaining limbs of an old, dead tree. It was staring at him inquisitively, blinking its large yellow eyes.

Link edged closer, wary of this strange bird who should not even be out during the day. "Did you just say something?" he asked incredulously.

"I did indeed," said the owl, ruffling its feathers. The two long tufts above its eyes made it look fierce and unfriendly, but its tone was amicable enough. "I am Kaepora Gaebora. And you must be one of the Kokiri . . ." Abruptly the talking Kaepora bird turned his entire head upside down and peered at Link from a new angle. "But that can't be right. The Kokiri would never leave their sanctuary, and no one has ever come out of that forest alive. You must either be very lost or very powerful."

Link tried to find his voice. "I . . . I'm neither. My name is Link. I'm a Hylian. I've lived in Kokiri all my life. Well, until now."

Kaepora Gaebora turned his head upright and released a low, long hoot. "I see. You were brought to the forest as an infant, and the adult who delivered you never survived. Then you stayed in Kokiri until you grew up and its magic forced you out. Am I right?"

It was a little unnerving having his entire life story unraveled in a matter of seconds; Link suddenly wanted to get away from this Kaepora Gaebora with his unnatural daytime hours and prying deductions.

"You seem to know a lot about this country," said Link. "Can you point me to the closest village?"

The owl flicked his eyebrow tufts as if amused. "You must be in a hurry. Strange for a young man so new to this world to already have such a tight schedule."

This time Link made no attempt to hide his scowl. He turned and began to walk away—anywhere, just as long as it got him away from this nosy creature. He had only gotten a few paces before he heard the flapping of great wings.

"Wait, boy! Link!" Kaepora called, lighting on a nearby tree. "I meant no offense. Knowledge is my business, and something in which I take great pride." He opened one enormous wing and pointed south. "If you follow the edge of the forest, you will soon come to a road. That road leads to Lorring, one of the outlying towns of Hyrule Kingdom. You will be safe there."

Link narrowed his eyes. "Safe from what?"

The owl pulled in his wing and smoothed his feathers. "Well, good luck, young Link, and welcome to Hyrule!" Without another word, the large bird took to the sky and soared off to the north.

Link remained where he was for a few moments, wondering if all the birds in Hyrule talked, and if all of them were as strange as Kaepora Gaebora. He didn't even realize how hard his heart was pounding until now—he placed a hand to his chest and heaved a sigh.

"It's alright," he told himself. "It'll get easier. So what if the first person you met on the Outside happened to be a . . . giant, lunatic buzzard. Lorring, yes, let's go to Lorring. It's safe there, after all."

So Link readjusted his knapsack and began to walk south, keeping the forest to his left. He made a conscious effort to slow down, determined to at least pretend he was brave and level-headed, not some small animal that was running from one hiding place to another. He wondered what the village of Lorring looked like, if it were large and crowded or small and humble, like Kokiri. He wondered if the other Hylians would look like him, if they all had the same noses or ears. Surely the older ones would be huge compared to the younger ones; after all, growth was what had driven Link out of Kokiri. Maybe he would meet a really old Hylian, a giant as tall as a tree. He wondered how small the baby Hylians were, if they were fairy-sized or perhaps even smaller. He wondered if they hatched from eggs, like birds. He wondered about a lot of things, and only after wondering did he realize how very little he knew about the world and his people.

His people. The Hylians.

They may be my people, thought Link ruefully, but they'll never be my family. I am Link of Kokiri. My home is the forest, and it always will be.

With this thought firmly chiseled in his mind, he continued his trek toward Lorring, and his first encounter with Hylian civilization.

Kaepora Gaebora sailed over hills and streams, toward the gray stone walls of Hyrule's capital. He glided low over the drawbridge and the tight cluster of shops and houses, past the Temple of Time, and veered toward the white castle in the distance. He flapped his wings and slowed as he approached one of the narrow windows. With a flourish of brown feathers, he perched upon the sill and called, "Your Highness! Princess Zelda!"

Footsteps sounded on the stone floor, and a young woman of perhaps fifteen years came hurrying into the room. She was dressed in shades of white and rose, and wore a delicate circlet of gold on her head. Though her face was young, her eyes held a serene, patient quality that seemed beyond her years. Zelda smiled in recognition at the old owl. "Sage Rauru! What brings you to Castle Hyrule today, Your Grace?"

"Good news," said Kaepora-Rauru, stepping off the window sill. His form shifted and shimmered, wings and feathers melting away. A moment later the Sage of Light stood before the princess, tucking his arms into the long sleeves of his robe. "I just came from the Edgewood; it appears that young master Link has finally made it to the outside."

Zelda clasped her hands together and pressed them against her lips. "Oh, Rauru. That's such wonderful news! Is he well? How did he look? Was he surprised to meet you? Do you think he has any memory of the Quest?"

"One thing at a time, Princess," Rauru chuckled. "Yes, he looked well. His clothes could perhaps use some mending, but he is otherwise a handsome and healthy young man. He did not recognize me, and he seemed rather eager to get away, but I do believe his memories remain where they should be—locked safely within the Master Sword."

"That's good. Very good. I'm so relieved to hear he is alive and well." Zelda sighed. "Thank you for bringing me this message."

"My pleasure, Your Highness. I have sent him to Lorring; he should be able to begin to eke out a new life for himself there without too much trouble."

"You will check in on him from time to time, won't you?"

"Certainly, my dear," said Rauru. "In disguise, of course. We should have no need to get involved in his life unless something happens to the Lines. And as meticulous as we were during the Restoration, there ought to be nothing to worry about." He smiled at Zelda, though most of it was hidden behind his thick white mustache. "Do not fret, Princess. Link will be fine."

"I know," she said, gazing out the window toward the land to the south. "I only wish I could help him more."

As it turned out, Link received more help than he thought he rightly deserved. The people of Lorring were a friendly and welcoming folk, and he inadvertently landed himself a job almost within the first hour of his arrival. It happened like this:

As Link was gawking at the village, everything from the cobblestone streets to the glass windows in the shops and houses, a one-eyed merchant was trying to get a tremendous four-legged beast with a long face (it was a horse, but Link had no memory of them, naturally) hitched to a cart full of crates and sacks and various other cargo. Link was on the opposite side of the street when the animal reared, causing the front of the cart to spring up and the back to crash down, essentially turning it into a two-wheeled catapult. The four clay pots in the front of the cart went sailing into the air at the same time everything else slid to the back, toward the unhinged backboard.

Something automatic took over Link in that moment; in his mind he was left standing in the street while his body took a running start and planted the Deku stick into the cobblestones, pole-vaulting over two pedestrians. He landed at the rear of the cart and kicked the backboard shut with one foot, at the same time whirling his stick above his head and catching the pots by their handles as they fell.

Then he blinked and gave his head a shake, as if awakening from a trance. A few of the more impressed bystanders were laughing and applauding—maybe they thought he was another of those fantastic street performers that came through from time to time. Link stared at the merchant, whose one eye was opened as wide as it would go. "Where did you learn to do that?" he asked.

All Link could do was shake his head and shrug, still looking dazed.

The merchant strode over for a closer look at the newcomer. He moved with a slight limp. "My name's Bazlo Bartlin," he said.

"I, I'm Link . . . of Kokiri."

"Well, Link of Kokery"—Bazlo clapped a hand on his lopsided cart—"what do you know about logistics?"

Link didn't know the first thing about logistics, but Bazlo Bartlin didn't seem to mind or care. He was just glad to have found a replacement for his last assistant.

"Decided he wanted to see more of the world, so he went to work on a trade ship down in Antios," said Bazlo over a dinner of stewed cucco later at The Broken Hearth Inn (his treat, of course). "You'd think I wouldn't have such a problem finding able-bodied help, but most fellows don't like the thought of spending ninety percent of the time on the road and away from their families . . . What about yours? Do they live here in Lorring?"

Link, who was enthusiastically devouring his stew, took a moment to set down his spoon. "I don't have a family," he said in a quiet voice. "I mean, I did, but I had to leave them. It . . . wasn't safe to live with them anymore. And my parents died when I was just a baby, so . . ."

Bazlo nodded sympathetically. "I see. Are you staying with relatives now?"

Link shook his head. "I'm on my own."

Bazlo scratched a hand through his graying hair, looking more than a little worried. "Look, don't take this the wrong way—I mean, you seem pretty capable of taking care of yourself from what I saw in the square earlier—but you're awfully young to be fending for yourself. Just how old are you?"

"I . . . I don't really know," Link said, shrugging one shoulder. "Fifteen, sixteen maybe."

Bazlo stared at Link strangely for a moment, his forgotten stew growing cool on the table in front of him. "You're completely new to this world, aren't you? Wait, don't answer that. I know you are, and that's none of my business. I just thank the Goddesses you found me instead of a bunch of cutthroat criminals—"

"Or murderous bandits?"

"Er . . . yes, I suppose."

Link slapped the table. "I knew there had to be some out here."

"No, no, hey, listen, you won't have to worry about any of those rotten characters if you're working for me. I know I look like some old codger with a gimp leg and a missing eye, but I used to be a soldier of Hyrule, and I can still unzip a man's guts if it's necessar—"

"That's horrible!" Link cried, drawing the attention of several nearby diners. "Unzipping people? Is that what soldiers do?"

"No," said Bazlo in a calmer voice. "That's what war does. And some things stick with you no matter how badly you want to forget them."

Link didn't want or meant to say this—it just came out. "My father was a soldier. He was killed in the Hyrulean Civil War. He probably 'unzipped' people, too. If he hadn't died, I . . . " I wouldn't be where I am now. He didn't speak the last part, but Bazlo heard it all the same.

"Link," he said, leaning in, "your father did what he was ordered to do. And to that end, he was a loyal, honorable soldier. I don't know what was in his heart, but . . . if it was anything like his son's, I'm inclined to think he was a good man."

This was perhaps the first time Link had ever heard the word "son" spoken in reference to himself. He had no memories of his parents; to him they might as well have never existed. He had never been anybody's son, nor would he ever. But after hearing Bazlo's epitaph, and the man's kind, patient tone, he suddenly felt like crying. His eyes watered and his face flushed, but he scrubbed the tears away before they could roll down his cheeks. Somehow it felt shameful to cry in front of his boss, in front of a soldier.

Bazlo reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, which he passed to Link. "Listen," he said, "why don't you take my room for tonight. I can sleep in the common area downstairs, it's no trouble."

Link sniffed, rubbing his nose with the handkerchief. "Thanks, but you don't have to do that."

"Right, right. I'll just kick a homeless orphan out into the cold and let him find a tree sleep in."

"You ever tried it? It's pretty peaceful."

After a strange look, Bazlo shook his head and grinned. "Something tells me you're going to be a lot more interesting than my previous assistant."

Link sat in his chair, smiled politely, and didn't say a word.

So that was how Link became officially employed by Bazbar Incorporated, which was the name of Bazlo Bartlin's trade business. The ex-soldier was contracted by various shops and entities all over Hyrule to distribute the dry goods that were shipped to Port Antios: textiles, tools, livestock feed, weaponry, medicines, tack, books, leather goods, spices from places Link couldn't even pronounce, and anything else that Bazlo's clients needed.

"It's a good way to see the country and meet new people, if you're interested in that sort of thing," he told Link when they set out on their first voyage. "Hyrule is a kingdom of wonder . . . I'm glad that your generation will grow up with no memory of the wars that nearly tore it apart."

This appeared to be true, for every place they traveled was prospering and at peace. Bazlo had made many friends in his post-war years, and he was proud to introduce his new assistant to them. Link began to think that his boss should have been an ambassador instead of a soldier, because Bazlo used every opportunity on the road to tell Link about the cultures and languages of the people of Hyrule.

"It's just good business protocol," he explained one chilly evening in early autumn. "The Zaligren see merchants from all over the place, but they remember the ones who know how to speak a few words of their language, even if it's only 'thank you'. That's always the first thing I learn to say."

Link sat on the bench of Bazlo's wagon and listened, his hands wrapped around his first mug of spiced cider. The crudely-sewn green tunic he had left home wearing now functioned as a scarf, and his employer had been kind enough to give him a set of clothes from his own wardrobe. They had needed some hemming and other minor adjustments, but it was a vast improvement over his beloved—if ragged—Kokiri outfit.

"Have any people ever given you trouble?" Link asked. "Like the Gerudos. Everyone says they're thieves."

Bazlo shrugged. "Some of them are. Most of them aren't. They're like us, made up of good and bad and not quite good, but not very bad. I try to get along with people these days. Too much of my life was spent doing the opposite."

"Have you ever had to fight off marauders or bandits?"

"Once or twice. Not bad for almost twenty years of business. Speaking of which, how well can you handle a weapon?"

Link coughed a little into his cider. "I, um . . . I'm pretty good with a slingshot."

An awkward pause followed, then Bazlo cleared his throat and snapped the reins. "Well, at least that's a start. I'm not advocating warfare for children, but if you were my son you'd be carrying your own crossbow by now. Every man ought to know how to defend himself."

Link perked up. "Are you going to teach me?"

"Only if you want. And you have to promise me you won't grow up and become a soldier."

Link rolled his eyes. "Well, I can't help the growing up part, but I can do everything else, sure."

Bazlo reached over and ruffled his passenger's blond hair. "Smartass."

True to his word, Bazlo took Link under his wing and began to train him in the art of self-defense, practicing whenever they had time to spare. Bazlo was old, but he was tough and had a lifetime of experience to draw on, and he didn't hold back. Many mornings Link woke up with bruises and aches, but it felt good, and somehow it made him happy. He had a natural propensity for the sword, but Bazlo tried not to encourage it more than he had to. Instead he showed Link how to dodge and block, tumble, take a punch, fight with a shield, and disarm an enemy without killing him. Most of his teaching was strictly hand-to-hand, but Link always relished the sword practice.

These were just a few of the skills that Link learned while working for Bazlo Bartlin, whether actively taught by his employer or picked up from observation. Others included horsemanship, knot-tying, chivalry, dressing wild game, fire-building, how to tell time and find direction with the sun, how to catch fish without a pole, the many uses of a good hat, how to forecast the weather, how to address royalty, and the importance of being punctual. The latter was something Link struggled with hilariously. He had never been a morning person, and with the intense physical labor of his job making demands on a body that was blazing through adolescence, he learned to take naps wherever and whenever possible. This aggravated Bazlo, whose internal clockwork still ran on military time, but he was ultimately forced to accept the napping as an inalienable part of Link's character. After all, it had been his bright idea to hire a teenager in the first place.

In many respects, Bazlo inadvertently found himself playing the role of parent to his young assistant, and Link, for his fifteen or so years, was rather naïve about the world. Most of his questions Bazlo had no problem answering—he was glad to dispense his wisdom to the next generation. Others questions he viewed with abject horror. Like the time when Link asked, out of the blue, "What kind of nests do women keep their eggs in?"

After regaining his breath from choking on his tea, Bazlo put his face in his hands for a few moments, then took Link aside and told him the same short, unlovely story that his father had told him, and his father before him, all the way back to the founding of Hyrule. Link took it well, although it was some time before he could comfortably speak to women again.

Bazbar Inc did well over the following two years, thanks to a healthy relationship between its proprietor and single employee. Link got broader and stronger, thanks to the manual labor that he hated and the training that he loved. He outgrew his clothes again and had to buy a new set—with guidance from Bazlo, who forbade the wearing of tights and short tunics, especially in combination.

"We're men, not little girls," he grunted, sending Link back into the dressing room. "When you come out, I want to see some pants and at least a knee-length jerkin. Brown or green, those are your only color options."

Link mouthed off about doing what he wanted with his own money and Bazlo fired back something about misrepresenting the company and what would our clients think, we're not a circus and you're not a jester, and so on and so forth until Link finally gave up and bought pants and a green tunic.

They were an unusual team, the man who never had a child and the child who never had a father, but they got along well enough to call each other friends at the end of each business day. After all, Link had Bazlo to thank for showing him the land of Hyrule and introducing him to its people, a few of whom Link now considered his friends—like the fun-loving redheaded girl at Lon Lon Ranch (she was always humming a tune Link just knew he'd heard before), and the Gerudo kids (all of them girls; he never saw any boys) who begged him to play his ocarina whenever he and Bazlo were visiting the Valley. Link had become quite familiar with all the races and cultures of Hyrule . . . except for one.

It happened at Kakariko Village one afternoon, while they were making a delivery of cucco feed and some replacement gears for the windmill. Link had unhitched Flash and Thunder, the horses, and was bringing them over to the watering trough beside the well. Someone was already there, a young man roughly his own age, but strangely dressed in dark shades of blue and purple. As Link came closer, he saw that the stranger had blond hair, but that wasn't unusual—what was unusual were his eyes. They were the color of polished ruby, as red as fresh blood or a ripe apple.

The stranger must have known he was being stared at; he looked up and gave a cool, polite smile, acknowledging Link's presence with a sort of bored indifference. Then his eyes abruptly widened, almost as if in recognition, and his smile faded. He drew a breath inward and turned away, pulling at the reins of his horse.

"Hey, wait, don't I know you?" Link asked.

"I doubt it."

"But I've seen you before. Your eyes . . ."

"All of my people have red eyes. You must be confusing me with another Sheikah."

Link frowned and stepped around the side of the trough, trying to see the stranger's face. "Shee-kahs? Is that what you are? I've never heard of them."

"There aren't many of us left."

Link's gaze drifted to the young man's horse, in particular the tooling on the saddle. "Do you work in the palace? I see the Royal Crest on your fenders."

At this the Sheikah smiled and finally turned to face Link. He was very handsome, but there was a frigid quality to his good looks. "You see pretty well without Navi," he murmured. "And you've even managed to learn something about horses. Not bad for a little orphan from Kokiri."

The bottom of Link's heart dropped out. "How . . . h-how did . . ."

"Ilya! Karray kani gero, imasku!" A harsh female voice rang out from one of the buildings.

The Sheikah's smile turned into a grimace. "I'm afraid I must go. Take care of yourself, Link."

He was on his horse and gone before Link could think anything else besides

But I never told him my name.

Bazlo heard all about the encounter as they were leaving Kakariko, and he instantly became uneasy.

"Was there a red emblem on his clothes? Looked like a weeping eye with three triangles above it?"

"Yes, exactly!" cried Link. "Said he was a Sheeker?"

"Sheikah. They're the personal bodyguards of the royal family, and possibly the deadliest assassins ever put on this earth." Bazlo meditated a few moments while Link's jaw came unhinged. "I hope you were polite. The last thing you want is one of those guys mad at you."

"That. But. But he knew my name. He knew that I came from Kokiri! Baz, he knew I was an orphan."

"I know, pretty spooky. That's your typical Sheikah. They can see things that we mortals can't. They move like shadows, vanishing and reappearing. Nobody knows where they came from or why they serve the royal family. Their past is a blank. Everything about them is a mystery."

"And that doesn't intrigue you at all?"

"Of course it does, but I've got enough sense to know when some things are best left alone. And trust me, those people want to be left alone."

"But—" Link could barely contain himself. "But this is so interesting! Why didn't you ever tell me about them?"

Bazlo shook his head. "Honestly, I forgot. Call it old age—out of sight, out of mind. I haven't seen a Sheikah in thirty years or more. That man you saw today, he's probably as old as I am."

"What? No, no way. He couldn't have been more than twenty."

"Again: spooky. Are you noticing a pattern yet?"

Link fell silent, his mind bursting with more questions than his mouth could keep up with. Bazlo seemed to be reading his thoughts, because Link was already making plans to return to Kakariko before the next port call when Bazlo said flatly, "Let it go. I mean it, Link. Those people are highly-trained killing machines. You go poking around in their territory and you're liable to end up dead or missing."

"That one didn't seem like he wanted to kill me."

"He probably didn't . . . for today. Trust me, Link, your life will be a lot easier and a lot longer if you just put this whole incident behind you."

Link slumped back on the bench and scowled. He wasn't going to let Bazlo Bartlin's paranoia deter him, and he certainly wasn't going to forget what had happened today. He had seen that Sheikah before, maybe in a dream or a distant memory, and the Sheikah obviously knew him. There was something buried here, something huge and important.

Something, Link felt, that went straight to his soul.