[AN: I don't think I need to tell you lovelies that intimidating ≠ romantic. That's . . . really all I have to say here, except that I have tried to copy every single word just as it was in my Flower-Covered Journal. Spelling and grammar mistakes are intentionally untouched.]

It was a clear day. The sun was shining brightly, the clouds were fluffy, and the Market was as busy as ever.

I was walking through the streets, looking at the different shops. It was late morning. There were two restaurants, one cheap, and one with great food (or at least had more rave reviews.) I had little money—just 420 rupees—but I still decided on the more expensive of the two—"Goron Eats". Its chef and owner was a kind old Goron named Nandanu, and he loved regulars. I used to frequent Goron Eats, but since I lost my job at the stables, I never went there again . . . until this point.

As I walked into the rustic building, Nandanu grinned at me. "Well! If it isn't me ol' pal Rebecca! Why don't you come any more, eh?" His voice boomed across the restaurant.

I tried to ignore the now unfamiliar scent of granite dust and molten lava as I said, "I lost my job. I just got enough rupees to get a bite to eat here."

Nandanu chuckled, his rotund belly shaking like his famous berry gelatin. "Hey, tell yeh what—have some Ordon plate, on the house!"

I smiled broadly. "Thanks, Nan! But, ah, could you throw in some limestone dust? . . . I miss your old secret ingredient."

Nan laughed heartily. "Sure! Just, I'll have t' give yeh the half dose—HEY! WOMAN!" He yelled back to his wife, Manindaru. "I NEED SOME ORDON PLATE—NUMBER 82B!" He turned back to me as I heard Manindaru chuckling. "So, anyways, times're tough—for all of us. Ever since that blasted Ganondorf shut off all of the trade, I've gotten fewer customers, less money . . . less limestone. Shame we have to use the cave routes." He held out a rough hand, in which the pretty and round Manindaru placed a plate of meat, eggs, and pumpkin. "Thank'ee, m'dear. Anyways, the 'conomy's crumblin'. But still, I got a friend who'll set'ee up. He's got fewer workers, since he works near the trade routes, but he pays well and works a stable." My eyes glistened. Nan noticed. "Ah! Know y'd like that. He's a regular here should come any minute—"

"Ah! Nandanu!"

I turned around to see a man—if you could call him a man. He had blond hair and blue eyes, and he must've been just a year older than me. (I was 16 at the time.) What really stuck in my mind was his clothes—a green, pointed hat, a green tunic, gauntlets, white pants, brown boots, and underneath his tunic, a white shirt and chain mail. On his back he wore a sword, shield, and quiver, and on his face he wore a wide grin.

Nandanu laughed again. "Oh, my old friend! I was just telling her about you!" Nan gestured towards me. I turned back towards my Ordon plate, trying to hide my face.

"Oh, really? I hope you were only saying good things!" His laugh was . . . clean? Kind? Like water pouring into a pond? As these thoughts crossed my mind, I turned red. Here I was, thinking it'd be a stubble-faced old man, with a gruff voice but kind heart. And there he was, my future boss, making actually funny jokes and wearing polar bear pants. And there Nandanu was, showing the difference between the two.

There was an empty seat beside me, which I hastily tried to subtly fill with my coat, but the young man sat down in that seat. "Fix me up with the usual, Nan." He turned to me. "Name's Link." He held out his hand.

I examined it. It looked soft and warm, but still strong. I tentatively put my hand in his.

Before I could react, his left hand shot out and pulled up my sleeve, revealing a long scar on my forearm.

He raised an eyebrow. "Spar much?"

I pulled my arm out of his grasp. "N . . . no."

Link raised his other eyebrow.

"Not in a while . . . I used to . . . a lot . . ."

Link blinked slowly.

"Y . . . yeah," I said submissively.

Link smiled. "Do you have your own sword?"

"No."

"Well," Link said, "Aren't you the little warrioress! Sparring so much."

"I'm good with horses," I burted out.

I heard the distinct sound of pottery on steel as a plate of potatoes and beef slid across the counter in Link's direction. Without looking away from me, he held out a hand and caught the plate. His eyes still on me, he carved a piece of steak and put it into his mouth. As he chewed, he turned in his chair so that his whole body was facing me.

"You really want that job, don't you?"

I shifted uncomfortably. He was intimidating me.

But all fear of him melted as he said, "Then let's buy you a sword!"

I almost felt comfortable as Link led me through the streets, waving nonchalantly at passers by. A few girls giggled as he waved at them. Upon later questioning, he replied, "Keeps them from tailing us. One wave is just as good as one look to them!" At this, he laughed, and my first impressions seemed correct once more.

After a while, we found an armor and weapons shop called "The Whestone". Link showed me different swords, and I tried them, but every single sword felt like a hunk of metal in my hand.

At last, when I had tried the last sword, I fully expected it to feel dead—I didn't expect it to flame up.

One minute, there was a sword in my hand; the next, a blade of fire. The head singed the hair on my fingers, but my hand felt cool. I even touched the white-hot sword, but it felt like cold steel. Link attempted to do the same, but he pulled his hand back before he even got within six inches of the blade.

The owner of the shop, a retired knight, looked as if he had seen a light spirit.

"Y . . . your sword . . ." the man stuttered. "You were meant to have it. Only a sword which has chosen its holder will flame."

"Such a noble blade requires a name," Link said.

I looked at the sword and held it at arm's length, parallel to my face. "Noble sword, which lighteth in mine hand, I name thee . . . FIRESTORM!"

There was a stunned silence as the sword's fire died out. I stared at the blade, afraid that I had insulted it. Then, suddenly, WHOOSH! A pillar of fire appeared, engulfing my swordblade. In surprise, I dropped the sword, which clattered to the ground. Then, as if someone were picking it up, the sword pointed straight up and slowly hovered upwards. The pillar of fire began to turn faster and faster around the sword, and the flames became brighter and brighter, until it became hard to look at. I heard lightning crackle, and the sound of energy building up. I closed my eyes tightly as there was a flash of bright light. When I opened my eyes, and saw only the white-hot shape of the sword. I vaguely heard Link say, "Take it!" as I grasped the handle. There was another flash, and the sword was different.

On the pommel, there were two rubies, each with a golden symbol that looked like fire. The hilt was decorated likewise; two rubies with the symbol in gold. Also on the hilt was letters, in a different language. But in my language, engraved into the blade, was the sword's name—FIRESTORM.

I stared at FIRESTORM and swung it. An arc of flame followed the burning blade. I grinned.

The shop owner stared at the sword and said, "Take it. It's free!"

[One more AN: FIRESTORM is always in SMALL CAPS in the Flower-Covered Journal. Here, it will be in ALL CAPS. And yes. It's like that for the entire story.]

[Edit: if you didn't think this chapter was very awful, trust me-it gets so, so, so much worse.]