Something happened to John that he would never have thought possible. He became sea-sick. It wasn't entirely unreasonable. He'd been on a canoe, of course, but never a large ship, and the two experiences are quite different, plus he was much farther out to sea than he had ever been and the weather as choppy as it had been when they set out. It was still not something he would care to admit in front of Dave and a crew of scurvy seadogs, so he quietly slipped belowdecks while Vriska regaled the crewmen with tales of her exploits. Apparently they were different every time, so it paid to listen.

The inside of the ship was not as dark as he'd have thought, as it was made of or at least paneled with much lighter colored though less interesting wood than the exterior, and candles hung in sconces at regular intervals. There was a door across from him and, just in front of it, a stairway leading further down. The ship gave a lurch and John tasted salt. He decided not to risk the stairs and went for the door, swallowing hard.

It was a comfortable little cabin, decorated with elegant furniture and hung with a variety of drawings and portraits. There was a single pictograph, a rakish looking woman in a blue mask up in a corner next to a bookshelf that had been stuffed beyond capacity; her strawberry blond hair rendered a dull brown by the sepia tone. Rose was sitting on the bed, reading a black leather-bound volume that looked very heavy. John almost didn't recognize her, because she was wearing a fuzzy orange bathrobe and had been scrubbed clean. "Wow, you're really pale," John said.

"So are you," Rose responded immediately, without even looking up. "My complexion, however, does not have any fetching undertones of green, as yours seems to. One wonders how a boy from a fishing village on a small island becomes seasick."

The ship lurched again and John felt dizzy. "I'm sorry," he said, gulping. "I'll leave." He turned on his heel and nearly fell over.

Rose sighed. "Stay a while. Have some tea to soothe your nerves. You'll feel better soon." She shut her book and gestured towards the center of the room, where a small table (bolted to the floor) carried a steaming silver teapot and matching cups. John was unsure if it had been there before, but he poured himself a cup and sat down on the small, two-seater couch opposite the bed.

The tea was very dark purple, almost black, and had a strong, fruity flavor. John thought it would taste better cold. At least it gave him something to do other than try to not throw up, and it did seem to settle his stomach a little. At least his spit wasn't salty anymore. Just above Rose's head, there was an ancient looking woodcut print depicting a young man dressed in rusty red tones, holding a sword above his head that seemed to radiate light. John said, "It looks a bit like Dave," and sipped his tea.

"Almost exactly," Rose said, nodding her head. She had yet to look up from her book. "He might be a distant relation. Perhaps."

"Is that why you let him come aboard?" John asked. The tea was starting to grow on him. "A chance to meet the hero's descendant? If that's what he is."

Rose shrugged. "It's been uncountable ages since the hero's time. For all we know everyone alive today is a descendant of his, considering how popular they say he was with the ladies. And you may as well ask why I let you onboard. My feelings of magnanimity are slowly returning to their normal levels. Perhaps tonight you'll wake up at the bottom of the ocean with your throat slit and your pockets emptied."

John snickered. "You have a fantastic sense of humor."

Rose did finally look up. "Are you being sarcastic?" she asked, eyebrow raised as if in challenge.

"No, you're funny." She narrowed her eyes suspiciously and John snorted. "You have this whole fierce pirate persona, but you don't really mean it. It's great!"

"Persona," she said, voice flat and dripping with venom. John's grin only widened. She shut her book. "John, I have sunken ships and put entire garrisons to the sword. I'm feared across the Great Sea. I have the death mark in five countries. I once went ashore in disguise and heard a mother scold her children, saying they would be carried away by the Grimdark if they didn't start behaving, and they cried and promised to be good. I am a fearsome pirate."

"You're a lot like Dave," John said. "He acts all stoic, and he is. But he plays up so much that no one can tell if he's serious or not. You take it to the next level though."

"A comparison to your best male friend?" Rose asked. "That is the absolute last thing a girl wants to hear from a boy. You do seem to…admire him a great deal, however," she said with half-lidded eyes.

"Yeah, Dave's pretty great," John said, oblivious. "You should talk to him sometime, that'd be…entertaining!"

"Did you just turn my phrasing against me?"

John chuckled.

"Is your stomach quite settled?" Rose asked.

"Yes, thanks for the—"

"Then you should leave," she said, opening her book back up. "I do have a persona to maintain, and entertaining young men in my private quarters is not part of it." Feeling as if he'd done something wrong, John stood up and left.

Just outside, he ran into Dave and Jake. "Sup," said Dave.

"Salutations my good chum!" said Jake, ears perked up high. "What business did you have with the Captain? Never mind, come along!" He tugged on John's sleeve, pulling him towards the stairs. Wordlessly and with his hands in his pockets, Dave followed. The staircase was short, and led to a balcony overlooking the hold, half full of crates and boxes sliding around with the movements of the ship. Several lanterns hung from the ceiling on ropes. Across from them was a ladder leading to a doorway beyond which was a small room at the nose of the ship. "Gentlemen," Jake shouted, "Behold!"

Dave whistled. "It's so impressive. Wait, no it's not."

Affecting a paternal voice, Jake said, "the laymen looks at this hold and sees merely a hold, but to the eyes of a man steeped in the spirit of adventure, it's a crucible of untapped creative potential!" He made a grand gesture, and Dave yawned and sat down, legs dangling out over the balcony.

Jake frowned. "Egbert, perhaps you're more adventurish than your friend here—"

"Not a word," Dave intoned from his position on the floor.

"Shut up," said Jake without skipping a beat, as if accustomed to being interrupted, "So, what would you say to a wager?"

John raised an eyebrow. "What kind of wager?"

"Do you think you can make it into that room—"

"Lame," said Dave, laying down on the ground and resting his head on his hands. Though he couldn't see through the dark glasses, John assumed he had closed his eyes to take a nap.

"—without touching the floor?" Jake finished, looking very self-satisfied.

Dave sat back up. "So what are we betting?"

"If you fail, I get all your rupees," said Jake. "If you succeed, you can have the treasure I set up in that room!"

"But what is it?" asked John.

Jake blew a raspberry. "You're not supposed to know! When you're on an adventure you go raiding tombs and suchlike on the mere promise of treasure, nevermind whether it be purest platinum or a dingy old scroll! What say you men? Shall you undertake my challenge?!"

Dave laid back down. "See it was almost interesting but then you had to go and ruin it with your babbling. I don't fucking know. Egbert, you want to do it? Might be worth some laughs."

John frowned. "You think I can't do it? We both have the same sensei you know. I can do anything you can do!"

"Hey John I didn't mean—"

"Yeah, laughs of…joy," John spat, ignoring him, "from me! When I collect my random bullshit treasure!" He stepped back towards the stairwell, and kicked off to a running start, leaping through the air, and latching onto a one of the ropes.

He instantly realized that this was a terrible idea. It was pretty far down to the floor; the ship seemed bigger on the inside, and John was reminded that the Captain was some kind of witch. More mundanely, there was a fragile glass ball of burning oil now swinging dangerously under his foot, ready to splash its contents all over his leg, or worse, all over the ship. But he was here now, so there was nothing to it but to apply himself to the task at hand.

Setting his foot on the lantern, wincing at the heat, John began to pump his arms, redirecting his weight towards the next rope. It soon became apparent that it was too far to reach. He would have to jump. He closed his eyes and kicked off. For a brief second, he felt utterly weightless, and then he felt the rope brush his face and clasped his arms around it tightly. He could hear Jake cheering from behind him, as well as lazy clapping that must have been Dave's. "There's only six more to go!" they both said at once, the one with enthusiasm and the other with the dull undertones of the unamused. John did it again.

He eventually reached the thing. The small room's purpose seemed to be only to light the lanterns in the eyes of the figurehead, which from the inside seemed even more daunting than before. It would certainly be quite a spectacle to meet the Grimdark out at sea on a dark night. There was a large grey chest with a lock shaped like the spade from a deck of cards, with black spikes along the width of it. John opened it, humming a little tune as he did so; he'd apparently always hummed it when opening things but only now seemed to realize. He kept humming as he pushed the lid open. The chest was empty.

He turned around and ran to the doorway, almost falling to his certain death as the ship jerked again. "Goddammit English! There's nothing here!"

Jake laughed. "Just tap the lock old sport! You'll see!"

John glared at the other boy, then went back to the chest and did as he was told. It was suddenly replaced with a small pack of cards. He must have said something but he didn't remember saying it, because he could suddenly hear the other two laughing as hard as they could. "What even is it Egbert? Just tell me," Dave called.

"It's a magic box that turns into a deck of cards and you can't have it," said John.

"Fuck I don't want it," said Dave. "What use is that anyway? The ability to carry an entire armory with you at all times. Honestly. It's unsportsmanlike. But for real though let me stash some things."

The next day, John awoke tired, heart pounding with anticipation. Tonight he'd either save his sister or die trying. He wasn't afraid, and that wasn't just stupidity or bravado on his part. It was more that he was too preoccupied with anxiousness for any other emotions to take root. He knew that something would happen today, and it may well change his life forever, even end it, and he wished it would just get on with it already and happen. It was five in the morning in December, and the sun wouldn't rise for a while yet.

Wrapped in his thin blanket, he sat at the starboard side, legs dangling underneath the railing, and watched. All around, the ship began to wake. Sollux, vision two-fold making him a perfect night watchman, descended from the crow's-nest to hand his duty off to someone else and finally get some sleep. The two barely acknowledged each other. Below in the galley, Smee stumbled around clumsily, rattling cutlery and banging pots and pans. The ship groaned, a sound like the roar of a beast. John paid it no mind. The lanterns at the front of the ship were extinguished as the morning became blue in anticipation of the sunrise; John saw the reflection of the lights in the water flicker off, first one, then the other.

"Watching the sun rise?" Rose asked. At this point John was not surprised.

"I'm just waiting," Said John. "We're going to get there tonight, aren't we?"

Rose nodded. John didn't see her. She cleared her throat. "It is polite to look at people who are talking to you, Mr. Egbert. And yes, we will arrive at the Forsaken Fortress tonight. Just after sunset, in fact."

"Oh, Farore," he said, finally turning to look at her. Her makeup today was actual makeup and not the dark mask of war paint. There wasn't a hint of grey anywhere on her, though the choice of black lipstick he found unusual. "What is that, like twelve hours? I'm going to go crazy!" He stood up. "You look nice today. Like, nice as in 'not scary', I mean, not as a compliment to your appearance."

Hand on chin, Rose smirked. "The purpose of war paint is to wear it during battle. I can't go around as a grim grey specter of death all day. But is my standard appearance such that it shouldn't be complimented?"

"You're trying to make me flustered but it won't work," John said with a wag of his finger. "I'm socially retarded. I'm incapable of shame, you see."

Rose nodded with sagacity. "Shame is a valuable tool for acquiring social conventions. Without it we would all just be free to do as we willed without fear of the disapproval of others, and then where would we be as a species? Probably frolicking in the Edenic gardens of Drowned Hylia, completely untainted by the sprawl of its fabled cities, eating sweet golden apples, singing songs of such elegant simplicity that our greatest composers would weep for their pretensions, living life to its fullest and making love under the stars, and who wants that?"

"You'd get dirt and stuff in sensitive areas," John agreed.

"But maybe," said Rose, pouting slightly, ears drooping, "I was just fishing for a compliment."

John ran his fingers through his hair. "Don't you have people for that?" he asked. "Go order one of your crewmen to call you pretty while you cry into a bowl of ice-cream."

Rose yawned. "Perhaps later. For now I'm merely going to wonder why it is I can't seem to shake you."

"Sure you can," said John. "I was really confused about why you kicked me out yesterday. I thought I'd done something wrong, but if you're talking to me now it can't have been that bad."

"You were upset that you'd incurred my displeasure?" Rose asked, a hint of smugness washing over her façade.

John shook his head. "I was upset that I'd offended a friend."

Rose choked on her spit. "John, we're not friends!"

"So then you've been flirting with me," he said, suddenly very serious. He grabbed her by the shoulders. "Listen Rose, I've got a job to do. Where I'm going you can't follow—"

"I'm taking you there—"

"What I've got to do, you can't have any part of—"

"I assure you, I've done worse—"

"Rose," he said forcefully, "I'm no good at being noble but the problems of two kids don't amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world. One day you'll understand that." He cupped her chin. "Here's lookin' at you, kid."

She socked him in the ribs. John coughed, "So friends then?" with a pained smile. Rose rolled her eyes and walked away. It occurred to John that she hadn't killed him because there was no one else around to see. "So we are friends."

On towards noon, John saw something on the horizon, and he was certain that it wasn't another island. The rumored 'thousand-thousand islands' of the Great Sea may well prove to be an understatement, he thought, as they had seen more islands than he cared to mention, most of them small and uninhabited, many cluttered with the moldering ruins of Hylian civilization. Had he been looking to the starboard side, he would have seen the grand hamlet of Great Fish Isle, one of the largest towns in this corner of the world aside from Windfall, and rumored to be far more beautiful. Its blue tiled roofs would have glinted just so in the sunlight. The mural on the town wall, which served less for defense than for a canvas, depicting a swarm of fish, no two of which were alike in size and color, would have seemed to be moving with the ocean.

But John was facing port, and had been since he woke up, so he did not see it, and so he never would.

What he saw was a ship. A low, long freighter with a sort of metal pillbox shaped cabin on top. It had no sails or visible means of propulsion, which was just as well, because it didn't seem to be moving. As the Grimdark approached, it unleashed a barrage of trumpets. "NAK," cried Willoughby from the crow's-nest, shrill voice carrying all over the ship.

Soon, everyone had assembled around John, staring at the immobile vessel. "I think they're signaling for help," said John, trying to be helpful.

"Sure is," Vriska muttered, more to herself than to him. "It's one of those stupid Calatian tick-tock things. I hate them."

John narrowed his eyes and gave a sort of half-nod that could have been interpreted as either understanding or a signal to clarify. Vriska sighed. "It uses clockworks to propel itself, but the engines break down all the time—"

"And they are likely relying on the fact to attract our attention," said Rose, who was suddenly in their midst. She was now wearing the dark paint. John's heart sank. Was he about to witness a pirate raid? "There's a 2.5 million rupee reward for my head in Calatia," said Rose. "Tell me John, what should I do in this situation? Likely as not, this is a trap."

He smiled nervously. "That's uh, really flimsy reasoning there. It doesn't look dangerous—"

"Said the boy who has never seen a large ship until yesterday," said Rose. Nobody laughed. "Mr. English," she called.

"Yes Captain," he responded, as enthusiastic as ever. "Shall I perforate the hull with grapeshot? It should cripple her engine—"

Rose snorted. "Her engine is already crippled English, or so the Calatians would have us believe. Load a powder keg onto the catapult. Sink her."

"No, Jake!" John pushed his way through the crowd as the Calatian ship signaled for help again. The other boy turned the catapult with hardly any effort, picking up a heavy, blue-painted barrel with a smoking fuse in leather-sheathed hands and dropping it into the bowl. Jake pulled the lever just as John reached him. The barrel flew through the air in a perfect arc, smashing into the wooden outer hull of the freighter. It plopped into the water and John heaved sigh of relief. It began to signal again—

And was cracked right in half by the exploding powder keg. It must have burned all the way down before hitting the water, John thought, ears drooping as low as they'd ever been, while the burning ruin sank into the ocean.

"Excellent," said Rose, shielding her eyes as she watched the conflagration with a disinterested look. She turned away and headed towards the catapult. "Well struck Mr. English," she said, throwing him a purple rupee. "John," she said, boring into him with her violently purple eyes, "I know what you're thinking, but it wasn't worth the risk of raiding." She put her hand on his shoulder. He backed away. As if she hadn't noticed, or had noticed and simply hadn't cared, she continued. "And regardless, those automated vessels almost never carry anything of value. Just a display of cultural superiority for us rural savages."

Wait. "Automated?" John said through grit teeth.

Rose wore a victorious smirk. "Of course. There wasn't a living soul aboard that ship."

Jake snickered under his breath as John stood there, stunned. Rose turned to leave. And then John started laughing. Rose stopped, and then turned to glare at him.

"That was really good!" John snickered. "I actually believed that you'd done something evil. You're a great trickster!"

"No, stop it," said Rose warningly.

"I knew you couldn't actually be that awful," he said, trying to choke back his guffaws. "It really worked with your persona, I didn't suspect a thing."

"Stop praising me!" Rose snarled. "You're supposed to be humiliated!" John lost control of his laughter. The whole crew was staring now, ignoring the sinking wreck of the freighter. Rose turned on her heel and stalked off to her cabin.

The air was thin, so high up. Jade could barely breathe, and the massive fist clenched tightly around her was not helping matters. Combined with the quiet rhythmic motion of the monster's wings, and she quickly fell into a sporadic, fitful sleep. She would wake and see the sun, burning brightly like the eye of a god, or, if Abraxas had adjusted his grip as she slept, the formless void of the sea below. It wasn't blue. It was every color. Green and purple and turquoise and deepest navy, spattered with red and orange here and there like blood dripping into a bucket of water wherever the great kelp forests lived. And all of it was spangled with silver dust, becoming richer as the sun grew in strength and pierced through the clouds.

Time and space lost all meaning. She felt she only existed when she was panting for air, looking at the sea. Suddenly it was nighttime, and she didn't realize at first. She mistook the night sky for the sea, thinking they'd passed over some monstrous trench, and the stars for those broken chips of sunlight. Then she saw the bright golden beam of a searchlight illuminating a wisp of grey cloud, and her perspective righted itself just as the air thickened. The monster was going in for a landing.

Jade's sensitive ears began to throb as the pressure equalized. She screamed in pain and tried to cover them, but her arms were pinned to her sides. She would never be quite sure, but she might have passed out one last time.

If she did, then she awoke as she was unceremoniously tossed to a rough-cut wood floor and hauled into a cage by something incredibly fowl-smelling. Everything was asleep except her mind, and she whimpered as the blood rushed back into her veins. "D'aww, you brought us another friend, Moey? You're such a sweet boy," it was a girl's voice. Her words were slightly slurred and had something like what Jade imagined was a Windfall accent. There was a porcine grunt of acknowledgement followed by a sloshing sound as something hit the floor. There was a sharp gasp. "For me? Twice in a day? You are just the most perf Moblin ever, Moe! I totally love you."

"Please stop flirting with the…things, Roxy," another female voice, this one quiet and long-suffering. "Sooner or later he's going to actually want…something from you."

The first girl, Roxy, shushed her loudly, and there was a wet sound between a pop and a smack, as if she'd put her hand on the other girl's mouth. "Quiet Janey, we've got to help new girl. She's probably all discombubblated—discombobulated—discumboozled—no, I was right the second time. Fuck it, whatever, she's probably all fucked up. Let's get her blood flowin'." Two pairs of hands started rubbing Jade's limbs, helping to ease the pins and needles that were molesting their way into her cells.

"This'll help ya' out too, new girl," Said Roxy, just as Janey—Jane?—shouted "No!" and a leather bag full of fortified wine was upended into Jade's mouth. The foul taste shocked her into wakefulness as she jumped into a sitting position and coughed out the substance. A very small amount made it into her stomach though, where it built itself a cozy little fire.

Jade beheld a pair of Hylian girls, one with short black hair who looked for all the world like John in female form, her ears turning down at the ends like a puppy's, the other shockingly pink; pink ears, bright, pale pink hair, and downright luminescent pink eyes, as well as a pink tint to her face that was probably brought on by having drunk some of that nasty shit. "I'm Roxy," said the pink girl, "and that's Jane Crocker." She wiggled her fingers. "Welcome to Hell! OoOoOoOoOoOoh!"

"Don't listen to her," Jane said hurriedly. "It's not so bad. They feed us alright, and the guards aren't even allowed to be in this room unless they're bringing people or food in—" Her glasses, once elegant red-framed pieces that had been bent out of shape, fell to the ground and cracked. She made a sound. "Glass is so expensive..." she moaned as she picked them back up.

"Aw c'mon Janey," said Roxy, jovially slapping the other girl on the back with enough force to make her drop the glasses again. "Who cares about glass when the worst is yet to come?" She pointed at Jade. "Janey's only been here a week and a half. My month is up in three days."

"What happens after a month?" Said Jade with a sinking feeling. Girls had been disappearing from all over the Great Sea, or so the rumors said. The room was a huge circle full of wooden cages. They were scattered around the floor, built into the filthy blue walls, suspended from the cavernous ceiling, so high she couldn't see where the chains connected. Only one of them was occupied.

"They take you up to the tippy top and you're never seen again!" Said Roxy, excitedly.

"We don't know what happens," Jane assured. Roxy blew a raspberry while making a prolonged and obscene gesture. "What the fuck could happen? They throw you off it of course." Roxy took a swig from her wineskin.

Jane put her hand on the pink girl's shoulder. "Don't be scared Roxy. You don't have to…" She looked down, embarrassedly.

"Have to what?" Roxy asked. "Drink myself into a stupor? 'Course I do. But it's not what you think." She stood up, striking a heroic pose. "I'm buildin' up a reserve of liquid courage for my daring escape."

Author's Note: Wow is it tedious to do things on this website. It's a whole song and dance to update things and you can never tell when it'll decide whether or not to fuck up your sexy, sexy formatting. Oh well.

A while ago this fanmade concept art for a Zelda game wherein Zelda was actually the hero circulated the internet. The proposed story involved the nation of Calatia, which for those of you who don't study Zelda lore with religious fervor is Link's homeland in the original game, becoming an industrialized, expansionist empire. There were amazing drawings of their moving fortresses and clockwork soldiers and I really wished it were a real game just because of the gorgeous setting this guy crapped out in his spare time. I drew a wee bit of inspiration from this, and made reference to Calatia's mechanization in this chapter. It's sort of going to be my go-to explanation for all the schizo-tech in the Zelda universe.

'So mitspeiler, do the alpha kids and the guardians both exist? How are you going to explain that?" Shut your gob that's how.

"Drowned Hylia" is the poetic name for Hyrule in this AU, like Columbia for the US or Albion for Britain. You may have guessed why that is. Don't spoil it.

Next chapter; shit gets real.