Disclaimer: I do not own the Legend of Zelda, or any of its content.

"Your tests are graded; I'll hand them back to you so you may see your grade, class."

The class groaned as one as the aged woman made her way to her desk and picked up a large pile of papers, snapping the rubber band off of them. When she turned around, several people had their heads on their desks in an attempt to sleep, while others doodled in the margins of their notebooks, bored while they were prisoners waiting for the bell to ring.

The teacher scowled. "I wouldn't look as uninterested as you, if it were me in your seats. If you cared a little, your test scores would reflect it. Instead, all that your grades reflect is this." She dropped the first of the tests on the desk of its owner. A "fifty" was written in red ink and circled on the front page.

"Honestly," the teacher said, continuing the desk of the next student and giving the next test back. "I'm very disappointed in your performances. Some of you did well, but . . ."

Several people weren't paying her the slightest attention. She picked up the wooden yardstick.

CRACK.

She slammed the stick into the desk of the nearest student that was paying her no mind, which was that of a lean, green-eyed, blonde boy, who proceeded to jump out of his seat with a yelp. "Pay attention, Arthur," she said, slamming the book he had been doodling in shut and tossing it into his open backpack. The students surrounding him began to laugh as he sat back down, but they were immediately quieted by the teacher's stern eye.

"You shouldn't be laughing," she said, still brandishing her yardstick, and dropped a test on the desk of the one boy who was still laughing, a blue-eyed boy with brown hair. "Especially you, Andrew. Quiet."

She gave Arthur his test as well with a brief apology, since he had, in fact, been one of the few that got a decent grade. Arthur glanced at the grade, shrugged, and put it away. Andrew, who by the look on his face hadn't done well at all, made a face at the teacher's turned back and tore the test in two. Scrunching the two halves into a single ball, he made to toss it into the trash can on the opposite side of the room but missed.

"Andrew, I'm taking the tests back up. Pick that up and tape it back together."

He did as she said, grumbling, while she continued handing out the tests. The final test she smiled at briefly before returning it. "Well done, Viola," she said warmly. "But it's as I would expect of you."

Viola didn't need to look at the test. She nodded in acknowledgement and accepted the test, placing it face-down on the desk until the teacher called them back. Yawning, she cupped her chin in her hand and watched the clock placed above the classroom door. Two more minutes. Then one more class, and then they could go home.

The class was grumbling about their tests. Viola thought about taking out her book to read, but decided against it since the bell would ring soon. No point in starting a chapter she couldn't read all the way through . . .

"What did you get, Viola?"

Viola turned her eyes to the amber-eyed boy next to her, named Tucker. He reached for the test and when she didn't make a move to stop him, picked it up.

"Wow!" Tucker exclaimed. "Wow, Viola, that's amazing! I wish I was that smart." He frowned at his own paper and spread it out on his desk. "Mine's bleeding. Look, I missed so many the ink seeped through the page."

She saw Andrew roll his eyes and mutter something to his buddies, who laughed and snickered in their direction. Viola ignored them but it didn't escape Tucker's notice.

Then the bell rang. The class scrambled from their seats as the teacher called, "Leave your test on your desk for me to pick up!"

Tucker was glaring. "Their grades aren't anywhere as good as yours. He's just jealous."

"Most people are." Viola shouldered her backpack and led the way out of the classroom. They started heading to the final class of the day.

Tucker was still scowling which, rather than making him look fierce, did the exact opposite. Tucker was very short for his age. He had a round face and light, feathery hair. His appearance earned him the nickname of "shrimp" from people throughout the school. Although he was often made fun of, he didn't seem to be bothered by it at all.

People had their opinions about Viola as well. She wasn't sure exactly what they were, but she was pretty sure they were on the negative side. She thought she heard someone say once that she was snobby. Maybe she was. She didn't let herself care.

"Maybe you can tutor me again," Tucker grumbled. "I did well when we did that for awhile, in eighth grade. Not since then, though."

"Sure," Viola said.

"Really?"

"If you want me to, I don't mind." They had reached their destination. Viola pulled open the door. "Text me when you want me to come over."

"Wow, thanks, Viola!" Tucker exclaimed happily. "You sure you're not busy or anything?"

"That's why I asked you to text me."

"Oh yeah."

"But, for the most part, no." Most of her schedule was consumed by studying, school, or reading for leisure.

Or music.

Tucker darted into the music room and Viola followed, closing the door behind her. It was a large room, empty except for music stands and chairs and bustling orchestra members.

Viola and Tucker grabbed their instrument cases and separated to get into their own individual positions. Viola sat down in the first chair, the leading position, of her instrumental section. She opened up the case to reveal her gleaming viola. She took it out, fascinated as always by the beauty of the instrument's design. Viola was not named after the instrument, but she had always felt a connection to it and music in general.

At least she no longer fumbled with the viola.

Viola was left-handed.

She hadn't been able to find a viola made for left-handed players, so she'd just decided to learn how to play right handed. It had been frustrating at first and sometimes she still stumbled a little, but that happened very rarely. Tucker, Arthur, and Andrew, also the first chairs and leaders of their own sections—Arthur the cellos, Andrew the first violins, and Tucker the second violins— were left-handed as well but also played right-handedly.

The teacher asked for the attention of the orchestra and gave the song that would be worked on this class. The students dutifully turned to the piece. He began to conduct them. The room filled with music as they started playing the first piece, which was the most difficult. It had a solo in it, which had been assigned to Andrew. When he was done and the last part of the song was completed, the teacher allowed them to rest for a moment before starting a new piece. Viola was able to memorize it quickly and began to run through it herself on the viola before the teacher called the orchestra back together.

Arthur wanted a car.

He watched with envy as that blonde, dark-eyed girl from English class—the smart one whose name he'd never bothered to learn—pulled out of the parking lot in a minivan. Not the hottest car, obviously, but he resented the fact that she at least didn't have to sit on the bus for an hour and a half a day to get home. Even Andrew got to hitch a ride with an older boy whom Arthur assumed was his brother.

But it wasn't to be. Granted, Arthur didn't turn sixteen for another couple of months yet, but it was doubtful that he would get a car even if he did manage to pass his driving test. His driver's ed teacher hated him for the driving days they spent together.

But he snorted with laughter when he looked out the school window and saw Tucker get on his bus. At least he wasn't that unlucky. He'd heard around the school that Tucker had taken the driving test several times and had somehow managed to fail every single one. Apparently the poor kid turned into a nervous wreck once he got behind the wheel. Pathetic.

Feeling better about himself, he whistled as he walked down the deserted hallway. He figured he had a few minutes left yet before the bus driver, who had long ago realized that Arthur wasn't exactly punctual, got tired of waiting anyway and left without him. He picked out his locker and spun the lock, entering his combination. He was too impatient, though, and it refused to open. Arthur stopped whistling and frowned; he rolled his eyes, and entered the combination again, slowly this time.

As he did he went through what homework he had in his head. Math . . .well, he would need to do that to avoid a failing grade. History he could start, and maybe finish during lunch or something. Science he could copy from someone tomorrow and then reword the answers so the teacher wouldn't notice his "cheating"—which he preferred to call, borrowing information; his argument being that all information was "borrowed" anyway in the first place, from those people you learn about in history. He decided to leave his English book in his locker—his grade was good enough that he could slack off tonight so his grade would go down tomorrow, but still be decent. He would rather watch T.V. tonight, anyway.

The locker door swung open, but he was taken by surprise by a light that momentarily blinded him. He blinked rapidly until all the spots in his vision disappeared and his eyes had adjusted to the light. Then he looked into his locker to see some sort of winged, glowing reptile sitting on his schoolbooks.

It looked up at him. It tilted its head.

They made eye contact.

Arthur shut the door.

He sighed. So it had finally happened. School had finally driven him insane. Well . . . it was bound to happen eventually.

Okay, he thought. On the count of three, he would try again, and only his schoolbooks would be there. One. Two.

Three.

He opened the locker again and peered warily inside. Sure enough, the little reptile was gone. Arthur started piling his books into his backpack and fought the zipper. Slinging the backpack over his shoulder, he almost laughed at himself for being ridiculous when a little chirp came next to his ear. Arthur shied away and jerked his eyes away from the interior of his locker to the open door, where the little reptile thing was hanging.

"AH!"

Arthur jumped backwards and tripped over his own feet. His overstuffed backpack exploded when he hit the floor. The reptile let go of the locker door and flapped its wings a million miles a minute, gliding from its perch on the door to where Arthur was struggling to separate himself from his bursting backpack and to see through the mass of papers fluttering to the floor.

Arthur finally managed to shrug off his backpack, and he reached up and shook several empty gum wrappers from his hair. "Wha . . . whoa!" he exclaimed as the little creature fluttered dangerously close to him. He scrambled backwards. "What are you? Wait—hey!" He ducked as it zoomed over his head. "Stay away from me!" The creature circled and kept coming for him. Arthur jumped to his feet and, forgetting about his papers and backpack, bolted for the door. He pulled frantically at it. It didn't budge.

"What!" he exclaimed in exasperation. They couldn't have locked the doors already! School had only been out for ten minutes! He glanced behind him to see that the reptile had closed in and yanked harder on the door, throwing all of his strength into trying to open the door.

He realized that the door was supposed to be pushed open, not pulled, but it was too late—for the reptile had already swooped in, and it brushed his left hand lightly with its claws. Immediately his hand felt inflamed in a way that it never had before. Arthur tried to scratch it, but it was like a rash in that the itching only got worse when he did. He stopped scratching for a second and the pain flared for a moment, but then the agitation faded, and nothing was left of the sensation except for the red marks where his scratching nails had dug into his knuckles.

He shoved his shoulder against the door and it flew open. He started to run, but just as he took his first step out of the school, instead of landing on the walkway, there was a bright flash, the ground gave away, and he fell into blackness.

When Viola got home the house was empty. Her parents were still at work.

She fixed a quick snack for herself. As she ate quietly, she knew that something was bothering her. The air felt strange and had since she'd walked through the door. She wasn't sure exactly what was strange about it, but it felt like she kept jumping at shadows today.

Maybe I'm just being paranoid, she thought.

No sooner had she thought that than a crashing came from upstairs. Viola froze and silently put her food down on her plate.

"Um . . . hello?" she called. No answer.

Viola crept her way to the stairs. If there was someone up there and they had heard her, they hadn't revealed themselves yet. She stood for a moment at the base of the steps, pondering what she should do. If there really was someone up there, it wouldn't be wise to walk in on them. She hesitated, then walked up the stairs, careful not to make much noise, and peeked into her bedroom.

Nothing was there. Everything was in order. Except for the calendar, which had apparently fallen off the bulletin board and crashed to the floor.

Viola picked up the calendar and pinned it back to the bulletin board, glad that that had been all the noise was. She should have known; it happened all the time. She turned to leave—

—and found a reptilian face an inch from hers.

Viola shrieked in surprise and fell backwards, onto her bed. The little creature screamed as well and darted behind the curtains. Viola could still see it because the strange light emanating from its body glowed from behind the fabric.

"What is that!" Viola cried. She grabbed the nearest pillow and hoisted it above her head, ready to throw it if she deemed it necessary.

Silence fell for several moments. Viola kept her pillow ready to throw at any second. The creature hovered behind the curtain in fear.

Then it poked its head out again for another look.

They studied each other. Viola saw that it looked like a little, miniature dragon, however absurd that idea might seem. She almost mentally admonished herself for thinking such a thing, but the reality was right in front of her. It had two small, hind legs, and two wings, which it flapped at high speeds, like a hummingbird, to stay airborne, and its body glowed with a golden light.

The creature, in turn, focused on her, its gaze growing more purposeful with every passing moment. Viola wondered what it was looking at in her so intently. Slowly, it nodded to her, and pulled the rest of its body out from behind the curtain. It looked like it was preparing to move.

"You stay away from me," Viola told it.

It didn't listen. Rather, it zoomed forward. Viola threw the pillow, but it was too quick, and she missed by a large margin. It was heading for her left hand, which was still raised from throwing the pillow; since it was raised it was easy to swing around, and Viola swung and swapped the creature clean out of the air.

As soon as her left hand came into contact with the little creature her hand started to burn. The burning didn't hurt, necessarily, but it was something she'd never felt before. Viola winced and clutched her hand.

But when Viola flinched, the burning disappeared. Faded. Like she wasn't ready for it yet.

She took her hand away and examined her left hand. Nothing was there.

"What was that!" she growled to the creature on the floor. "Some kind of poison or something? What are you?"

The creature glowed brighter. Light flooded the room, even though dark was falling. It was blinding.

All Viola could see was a blast of light that consumed her. And then, nothing at all.