A Note To New Readers:

Hey there! This story is currently undergoing some maintenance at the moment, and as such, what you have read up until this point may clash, be out of place or jump ahead/behind the chapters that follow. Please know that I am writing as fast as I can to rerelease these new chapters and believe me when I say that the story will be more concise and flow better, (not to mention be much more interesting from the get go). Please bear with me and enjoy nonetheless!

-Jack Knights

Morning came soon enough, the sun's bright rays slipping in through the gap in the curtains to fall upon his face. He tried to ignore it for as long as he could, but eventually he sighed and awoke fully, opening his eyes as he sat up. His back still protested at the movement and his mind was no less clearer than the night before. It's going to be a rough day, he thought acidly as he threw off the covers, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He stood on shaky feet, immensely pleased when they held his weight without buckling.

Going over to the basin set atop the small wood table, he found it filled with water. Washing his face, he stared at his reflection in the mirror, frowning. A young pale face stared at him, framed by short brown hair that stuck to his wet forehead. Green eyes stared unblinkingly at him. He touched a hand to his face to make sure that what he was looking at was indeed his reflection and not a trick. Despite the obviousness of the image being of his face, he couldn't help but feel as though he were wearing a disguise. The face in the mirror… it must be mine, he reasoned with his the uneasiness in his gut. And yet… it seems all wrong.

Dabbing his face dry with a towel, he proceeded to look about the room for any indication as to where the old woman had gone. Her pipe sat upon a folded blanket on the chest by the door, but there was no sign of Khuza. There was no note, as he had foolishly expected there to be. Of course there's no message, she is blind after all. He shuffled to the door, finding it locked. Frowning, he went over to the fireplace where a large iron pot sat amongst the cold embers. He looked inside, surprised to see it filled with oatmeal.

"Oats?" he spoke aloud, yearning for some distraction, even if it was his own voice. "I don't know if I like porridge."

His stomach groaned in protest and he realized that he was starving. Whether or not he liked it was not an issue for his hungry body; however, its temperature was. He went over to the fireplace, noticing the coals were long since cold. Despite this, he stuck a finger in the lumpy concoction in the cauldron, finding it to be as frigid as the ashes suggested. Frowning, he looked about the small cabin for wood.

After just a scant few minutes, he found nothing to burn. Not that it mattered; without something to spark the flames, it was irrelevant. Great… what am I supposed to do now? His belly growled again, demanding to be fed. He silently told it to shut up and went over to the window instead.

The forest beyond the glass was lush and green with blooming vegetation. A slight breeze rustled the leaves of the trees and a band of squirrels dashed across the grass, their noses sniffing for the nuts they'd long since buried and forgotten. He undid the latch and push the window open, his back protesting as he did so. The smell of the forest mixed with the salty air of the far-off sea and he breathed it in, closing his eyes.

He was suddenly assaulted by flashes of images. People's face twisted in rage, illuminated by the torches they carried. A man with a crossbow aimed at him from the shadows. The flash of scales as a Zora broke the water's surface in the moonlight. The white sand beneath his feet as he dashed, fear ripping through him.

He opened his eyes, disturbed by what he'd seen in his mind's eye. What was all that? Was it a memory? What did it mean? The questions raced through his brain, each demanding his attention. His stomach growled again, and he was grateful for the distraction. Cold or not, the oatmeal was looking pretty good to him now.

Sai walked briskly, his long legs seemingly flying over the floor as he led the Hylian up the stairs to the ground floor. I know I shouldn't be doing this, he thought as he headed towards the exit. If he exhibits signs of infection around others… it could cause a panic. And that's the last thing we need now. He flung open the doors to the outside, sunlight washing over his pale face. He stepped out into the cool air, Link silently following behind him.

And yet… he may prove useful; those weapons he carried were not just for show, he reasoned, weighing the pros and cons. If I can keep him alive long enough, we may have a valuable warrior.

They'd stepped out onto a dirt road, which was mostly void of people. Sai headed up the road, lost in thought.

"What is all this?" Link finally spoke, breathily, looking up at the myriad of housing units, all of different sizes and shapes. "Where is all this?"

"This is the Resistance," Sai said, turning to face him. "I told you, we offer sanctuary to those who even so much as speak out against Ganondorf. Never expected there to be some many willing to stand against him…"

"But, where is everybody?" Link asked, pointing out the lack of people as they began walking again.

"Consider the time of day," Sai offered.

"But, even so, where are the guards? The streets are empty."

"Most of our… forces have been sent out to escort a supply party that hasn't sent word in the past few days."

"You're forces are stretched thin," he remarked and Sai felt a vein pulse in his forehead. "Those people who had gathered in your study, aren't they your allies?"

"Yes, they are." True, they are tentative in actually participating in the upcoming war, but they offered us supplies at least.

"Where are their forces then?" Link continued to prod aimlessly as they made their way down an alley.

"Most of them are not present at this time, save for a few representatives and their guards," Sai explained tersely. "You met Gor Faustus, the Goron Patriarch. Lenna, and her twin brother Galuf, the Hylians, command the last of the race. The Sheikah woman, Eoghania, is a sage to her people. There's also Linn, trusted advisor of the Zora King Emyr. Then there's me and Kore, leaders of the humans involved in the resistance effort. Together, we make up the entity known as the Council. We keep the Resistance running smoothly."

More like stop them from razing each other and burning the place to the ground, he thought warily.

"It's seems pretty organized," Link commented as they stopped in front of a long low building; the sign outside read 'DOJO'. Sai hesitated briefly before trudging inside the building.

It would seem that way to anyone not on the Council… Sid lamented silently. They went through a small antechamber and entered into a large square room. There was a sparring ring set into the floor and benches lined one of the walls. Weaponry and armour lined the wall directly across from them. Link paused to inspect them; gleaming blades in all sizes and thickness, some extremely elaborate, others plain yet effective hung between staves, spears, lances and other such artilleries. The armour ranged from leather padding to full body suits made of gleaming iron.

"Looks like no-one's here."

"No matter; this way, Link," Sai called as he proceeded to an open door. Link followed suit, surprised to find them inside a chamber lined with racks. On them was a variation of wooden swords used for practise matches. Shelves and cubbies were filled with white uniforms, the garb of a novice swordsman.

"Why are we here?" Link asked, suspicious of what his companion had in mind.

"I might lead the Resistance and I might have agreed to let you out of my constant vigilance, but everyone soldier must first prove their swordsmanship, Link," Sai explained, tossing him a uniform. He noticed the Hylian sigh and shrug, but he proceeded to remove his shirt. The raven-haired human couldn't help but stare at the jagged looking scar that wove its way from just below his waistband, up his hip and over his ribs.

"How did you get such a scar?" he asked. He cringed slightly, surprising the human. "It looks relatively young."

"It is," Link confirmed, touching his fingers to the mark. "I received it from… a battle I lost. It nearly cost me my life."

"I'd imagine such a wound would," Sai said apologetically, noting how the Hylian hesitated in his explanation. He waited for an explanation and when he got none, he made a mental note. He's keeping something from me… I can't help but be intrigued by him, he mused, grinning to himself. Just who are you really, Link the Hylian?

"Who is it exactly I'll be fighting?" Link asked as he turned to leave the changing room.

"Me, of course," the dark haired human said with a grin.

The hours leading up to midnight were excruciating. He was bored, certainly; the room had nothing in it that interested him and he dared not look under the false floor board for fear of being watched. He supposed he could have spent his time in the library, or outside in the gardens, but in truth he was scared to leave the room. What if he ran into Ganondorf? Surely the man would find him out if they did bump into each other. As it was, Dagg was nervously moving about the room. Even when he sat down at his desk he fidgeted. He found himself constantly checking his pocket watch and biting on his lip.

Nightfall arrived after what seemed an eternity and even then Dagg nervously bade his time. He went to the adjoining bathroom, soaked for an hour in an attempt to calm down. He dressed for bed and folded his clothes neatly before packing them away. In a rare moment of fluidity, he snuck the pocket watch into his sleeve. He went over to the bed and crawled under the sheets, taking a book on war tactics—not the best choice given the situation—with him as he pretended to read by lamplight. Underneath the cover of the sheets and book, he checked the pocket watch, waiting.

After a few hours, he yawned loudly, praying he wasn't overacting the movement. With seemingly sleepy movements, he placed the book upon a night stand and reached for the glass jug of wine someone had left there, no doubt at the King's suggestion. Taking care to act tired and clumsy, he put the jar to his lips, only to relax his grip slightly. It tipped over, dousing his chest with wine. He jerked with a curse, releasing the grip on the jar completely. It fell to the floor, shattering. Muttering a string of curses as he continued with his act; swinging his legs over the bed, he stepped purposely on a piece of glass. Feeling it embed in his sole, he shouted for assistance as he held his bleeding foot. Within minutes a maid appeared; with her, she carried a towel and a first aid kit.

"What happened, sir?" she asked, her voice as bland and emotionless as her face. Dagg took note of it, wondering if Ganondorf had anything to do with her lacklustre expression.

"I splashed myself with wine and dropped a glass jug," he said with faked furiousness, motioning about with his arms, "and then proceeded to step on the shards of glass."

"Very good, sir," she murmured, causing his anger to flare for real now.

"Well, don't just stand there! Clean up this mess!" he growled as he hobbled away from the bed. "And give me that," he added, grabbing the box of medical supplies from her when she opened her mouth to speak. "I'll not have some trained lapdog picking and prodding at my foot! You'll just botch it up; I'll treat the wound myself."

He stalked off towards the bathroom, sitting on the edge of the tub. Expertly removing the glass in his foot, he treated the cuts quickly, but lingered still. Dagg watched the maid out of the corner of his eye. She in turn watched him and he gritted his teeth. She's not going to leave until I'm back in there, he realized. Thinking quickly, he stripped off his shirt and threw it across the room.

"I'm going to run a bath," he shouted at her, turning his back to her to do so. "I can't very well go back to bed in such a sticky mess."

"Allow me," she muttered in his ear, causing him to jump back. She then proceeded to do so without another word, leaving Dagg to chew on his lip.

"I'll do that," he said calmly, placing a hand atop hers. She looked at him then, her expression puzzled. He stood her upright and placed a hand on her shoulder. He toyed with the sleeve of her low cut shirt, pushing it off her shoulder. His hand went to her neck then, his thumb caressing the vein there. He was surprised to find her pulse was beating fast beneath him hand. His hand down her arm slowly, seductively and he leaned in close to her, murmuring in her ear, "I think I spilled wine on the sheets. They need to be changed. Wait for me once I am done in here."

She nodded and he noticed her movements were slightly twitchy. He cringed inwardly at how apparently disturbed the young woman was, despite whatever had been done to her. Closing the door, he sighed to himself, hating himself as much as he did Ganondorf. He quickly stripped and washed himself down with a facecloth as the bath filled with water. Going under the sink, he retrieved the package of things he had put there earlier on in preparation for what came next. Now clothed entirely in black, he walked over to the window and opened it.

Taking a length of rope, he tied one end to a foot of the bathtub and secured the other to the belt at his waist. Dagg went back over to the window and look down. Hit by a sudden wave of vertigo, he almost backed out of his insanely dangerous plan. Remembering the note and probable trap that awaited Claire, he gritted his teeth and climbed out through the window. I hope I make it there in time, he thought grimly as he hung on the end of the rope. Praying he would be long gone by the time the bath overflowed and they noticed he was gone, he uttered the spell of invisibility and began his descent to the window two stories down.

She's grown awfully quiet, Sid noticed of his travelling companion. Ever since Alan had told her the story of the monastery, Jaz had remained pensive. He cast a glance at her over his shoulder and became even more puzzled. While he had not expected her to be fearful, the tense look of apprehension upon her face was certainly unexpected.

I wonder what's on her mind, he wondered as he gazed into the seemingly never ending sands. He'd been on only one week-long campaign before, and while that had taken him throughout all of Hyrule, this was the first he taken into the distance realm of sands. He wondered what sort of people could have possibly endured the harsh climate, let alone build the massive structure they were now headed towards.

"Sir, over there, in the distance!" called Alan. The troop stopped and turned to see where he was pointing to. Indeed, a plume of smoke trailed into the cloudless blue. A quiet ripple of murmurs going through the knights as Commander Varne demanded a telescope.

"What's going on?" Jaz whispered in his ear. He'd half expected her to sound fearful, but she was merely curious. "Are we taking another break?"

"No, I don't think so…" Sid answered. His brows narrowed as he analyzed the situation. Smoke… but that means—

"Goddesses!" Varne swore softly, his expression steely. "We are too late! The monastery is ablaze!"

They pushed their horses for the last leg of their journey, desperate to reach the ruins. The horses snorted and whickered, catching scent of burning. While they no doubt wished to turn tail and run, the knights urged them on, weapons at the ready. The closer they grew, so did the flames. They licked at the sky and the sand, torching everything regardless. A holler went through the troop; monsters had been sighted amidst the smoke. It was immediately followed by the horrid screams of women in pain. Sid spared only a moment to tell Jaz to grab the set of daggers on his belt before drawing his sword and charging ahead of his ranking officers.

"Sid! What do you think you are doing?" Varne yelled at him, but his words fell on deaf ears."You are disobeying a direct order! Fall back in line immediately!"

"Sid," Jaz said from behind. She wasn't demanding his attention, nor was she afraid. He looked back at her and met her determination with his own. "Let's go."

He nodded, spurring his horse on through the smoke.

"You look shaken up," Khuza noticed. He sat, cross-legged on the bed, studying his hands. "Has something happened? Did those men come here and harass you?"

"No, nothing like that," he said hurriedly when her voice grew angry. She bristled, but settled down, waiting for him to continue. "Some of my memory came back today."

"Really? What did you remember?"

"Not much," he muttered. "Just brief flashes and feelings. I… I was being chased, through the forest at night. I was hit by a man with a crossbow. I was on the beach, as well. There were Zora too, I think."

"Hm…" she pursed her lips, her eyebrows drawing together. He waited for her to say something, to kick him out, to yell, something. But all she did was light her pipe and stare off into the distance.

"Are… are you going to hand me over to them? To the villagers, I mean," he asked her after a time.

"Whatever gave you that idea?" Khuza frowned at him. "I told you, until you are good and well again, you aren't going anywhere, regardless of your guilt."

"You think I'm guilty then?"

"It seems that way, doesn't it? Why else would someone your age be running around in the forest at night? You're not from Saria, or else they would have recognized you and taken you back to your parents."

"I see," he muttered bitterly.

"It's not that I don't believe your innocence," she explained. "The evidence is beginning to pile up against you. But, I need to hear both sides of the story before I make a decision. And for that to happen, you need to get your memories back."

"Alright…" he murmured, leaning back against the bed. Somehow… I serious doubt anything good will come of me being here… Khuza is risking her life by keeping me here. And I can't even give her an explanation as to what happened to me.

"I need to check your wound," she said, breaking through his melancholy. "Take off that shirt and let me undress it."

"This shirt… these clothes, they're not mine, are they?" he asked as he did as she said, wincing when he stretched too far.

"They were my husband's," she muttered as he sat facing her. Her fingers gently but quickly unravelled the bandages around his waist and his newly exposed skin tingled in the cool air. "But he's dead now, so he won't be needing them."

"I'm sorry."

"I am too, my boy." she shook her head, focusing on him again. "I need you to lie down, on your stomach." He lay down, resting his head on his arms as her she ran her fingertips across his back, eventually settling on the lower left-hand side. The skin was hot and her fingers were like ice on his wound. Even her slight touch sent waves of pain through his spine. He would jerk away, only to have her other hand steady him.

"Can you tell if it's healing?" he asked, trying to look at the wound over his shoulder.

"It hasn't closed fully yet and that's most likely the poison's fault. Your skin is still a bit warm, so your fever has broken, but not gone. Another few days and you should be fine. Unless that wound doesn't close up."

"Then what?"

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that," she muttered as she shook her head. Good point… it'd be tough for a blind woman to sew a wound shut, he realized, shivering not from the cool air upon his skin, but in fear.