In Dalite Forest, a light groan could be heard as the sky brightened with the approach of dawn. The Sun would not rise above the imposing horizon of the Gerudo Highlands for another half hour. Nevertheless, Chesty Adams stirred from his uncomfortable night beneath the shade of a tree.

His dark eyes blinked with visible strain. At most, his tired mind estimated about three and a quarter hours of sleep had been achieved. That had been a miracle in and of itself, given how poor the ground was with retaining heat. Chesty was also certain he had two bruises as a result of roughing out without even a bedsheet to aid him. One pain was irritating his left shoulder, and the other affected the left side of his hip.

To make matters worse, it was becoming painfully obvious that last night was not a dream. The only thing suppressing what shock and sadness he would have felt with this realization was the discomfort he was in.

'I really miss having a bed.' Chesty thought sadly.

Groaning, he managed to stand on his own two feet. Chesty began glancing about, ensuring that he was not being stalked or hunted by any untoward beast; he was relieved that the area around the forest and the field on his 11:00 was still empty. The fewer potentially dangerous animals, the less energy he would have to spend either running, or in a worst case scenario, fighting.

Daring to lower his guard, Chesty made an unsubtle yawn, a foreign noise against the quiet, background symphony of chirping sparrows and crickets. He carefully gathered his effects and began judging his next move. The game trail was an obvious direction to take. If there was civilization nearby, then the road which carved through the forest around him was a likely way to lead him to it.

The field had no obvious benefits: if there was wild wheat that grew, Chesty was ill equipped to harvest any of it. Furthermore, he would struggle with merely processing the grain, much less eating it. Deciding to take the game trail, he glanced once more at the last vestiges of a starry sky. Morning would be arriving soon, and Chesty hoped to get most of his traveling before the sun rose high and the air became potentially hot.

It was not long before Chesty found a fork in the road. Thankfully, his assessment of the geography made his choice of direction easy to make. The road to his right went in the direction of the snow capped, amber plateaus. The brightening of light from the opposite direction indicated taking the right path where the plateaus stood was westward. Moving to the left would head south. Chesty continued on the left with little fuss or diliberation. The plateaus looked barren and hostile to a man dressed for Floridian summer.

The lack of maintenance of the game trail became clear as Chesty continued on his way. Weeds grew intermittently throughout the cleared pathway, and large puddles, likely due to an intense rainfall, were present as well. Evidence pointed to the trail being rarely treaded upon, which did not necessarily bode well for finding help. Ignoring the anxiety in the back of his mind, Chesty maintained his pace, and took the time to observe the area as he passed through.

On either side was forest. The occasional out cropping of rock, likely formed by rushing water or the passing of glaciers in times long past, also stood out as features.

"This path sure is distinct." Chesty said offhandedly. "Just hope it leads to something or someone that can help me."

A light grumble from his stomach brought Chesty's attention down to another problem: hunger. It was not immediately threatening to his overall survival. Thirst took prescience over fulfilling his appetite. All the same, listening to the abnormally loud noise coming from his abdomen would become irritating if it went on for too long. For now, Chesty had to ignore his body's demand for sustenance.

A rustle from Chesty's left caused him to jerk his head in the direction of the disturbance. Quickly getting his compound bow off of his shoulder, he made an approximate stance to loose down range, and drew an arrow. As he made ready to knock his arrow and target the source of the rustle, a flash of brown leaped from the brush.

A doe gracefully pranced away from the area, taking a retreat across the trail to the other side. On the surface level, it looked like a fallow deer, but there were some differences. The doe had fewer spots overall, and said spots were broader and colored tan. The tail was also fluffier, and was naturally erect as the doe fled from Chesty.

A stray thought came to Chesty's mind to track and hunt the doe for the chance of getting meat. He quickly thought better of it, and shook his head.

"Nah." He muttered. "She's gone. I need to save my energy for finding help or human habitation. Besides, I'm not suffering that badly for food."

Relaxing once more, Chesty put away his bow and arrow and continued walking.

Several minutes later, and Chesty arrived at another fork in the road. This split was more difficult to decide over. There was no immediate geological or logistical reason to prefer either direction. If one path took longer to find civilization, it would take either good instincts for Chesty to realize such a mistake, or luck in finding nearby resources, especially clean water and easily harvested food. Given his unfamiliarity with the land, he would rather minimize such mistakes.

Humming in both frustration and contemplation, Chesty looked to his left and right multiple times. His thoughts slowed down when he realized he had little choice but to guess.

"Since I went left last time, I guess I'll head to the right." Chesty headed off in said direction, down a stretch of road that showed signs of more wear and use than the pathway he was previously on.

This next leg of the trail was next to a small mountain, its sides composed of dark, exposed stone. Such sights were very uncommon in the panhandle of Florida. This was another unsettling indicator that Chesty was very far from home, and he made a vow to himself to prepare for a potential culture clash should he come into contact with anyone not from the United States.

Unlike the previous stretch of trail, this path was heading into a steep decline. The trail was also heading into a bank of fog, which only heightened Chesty's survival instincts. He slowed his pace of walking, and made a point of softening his footsteps. Like a stalking panther, Chesty partially crouched his body and relaxed his breathing. Each inhale of cool, moist air entered his nose and exited silently from his mouth.

Part of Chesty's instincts demanded that he take cover near the forest on his left. Being shot at by militants whilst in an open area taught him a lesson on the importance of cover against enemy firepower and enemy assaults. His eyes dilated to take in as much light as possible, ready to see the smallest sign of aggression from a concealed and unknown adversary. Likewise, his ears were focused on even the smallest shift in the soil around him.

This time, Chesty settled for grabbing his camping knife. Pulling it out of his left pocket, he pushed the mechanism to expose the three inch clip point blade. He then held the knife with the blade concealed by his wrist and arm. If anyone or anything attacked, he would not hesitate to go for the throat.

Now moving at a fraction of his speed, Chesty remained on high alert. If there was ever a prime opportunity for an ambush, this was the moment. Unless the morning mist faded, he would not relax.

As if the day was answering Chesty's paranoia, the rising of the Sun began to burn through the fog cover. In short order, a soft grey haze gave way to pale blues and a burst of bright yellow which blanketed the skies to the East. With no fog to obscure the area, Chesty could plainly see that the hill he was on led down to a river, and a dark, wooden bridge stood over the steady, rippling current.

Beyond the river and the bridge were rolling green hills and distant mountains. The land would have looked like untapped wilderness were it not for the presence of a larger bridge made of stone. It was a breathtaking sight, and Chesty had to pause and take in everything in sight. That included a medium sized tree to his left, which had unmistakable crimson fruit hanging down from its branches.

"Apples?" Chesty uttered in disbelief.

He jogged up to the tree, and picked the closest fruit. Indeed, it looked very similar to an ambrosia apple. Then again, there was the possibility of unfortunate mimicry. If the fruit was poisonous, Chesty would be in for a very unfortunate afternoon.

Rubbing the apple against a clean part of his shirt, he braced himself before partaking of the fruit. He cautiously bit a small chunk of the 'apple,' ready to spit it out if its taste appeared suspect.

When it touched his tongue, Chesty gave an approving moan. If the fruit had poison, it tasted quite sweet; one might dare call it honeyed in flavor. Now convinced of his meal's innocent nature, Chesty continued eating with a bit of gusto. He also took the time to pick two more apples and put them into the two pockets on his shorts. At the very least, he had snacks to sustain him on his journey, meaning that his energy could be focused on finding help or, barring that, a makeshift shelter.

Continuing with some pep in his steps, Chesty soon made his way to the bridge. He briefly hesitated to cross, as it was hardly a monument of sturdy construction.

The bridge itself was made of several, connected wooden stakes, four of which were driven into the river bed. A somewhat half hazardous series of long wooden planks were nailed to the bridge's framework, a shoddy appearance that left Chesty feeling a bit unsettled. He had no way of knowing the integrity of the bridge should his weight be added. After plucking up the courage to cross, he moved with almost comical slowness and made it across the river with no incident. Thinking back, he felt mildly silly for having such worries.

All in all, things were looking up for Chesty. The road ahead was unobstructed. Gentle, green plains flanked either side, with no threats to be seen.

Then, Chesty heard a cry of distress.

"Somebody, help me!"

Briefly startled by the shriek, he flicked his head in the direction of the yell. It came from further up the road. An old instinct to protect others, forged in the Marine Corps, kicked in. He ran with purpose, carefully grabbing his bow and an arrow in preparation for a fight.

At a curve in the road, where the land became slightly less inclined, Chesty saw the source of the commotion. A dark skinned man was frantically running for his life. Behind him, a rust colored, goblin-like humanoid with large, pointed ears, and bulging blue eyes, chased after him with murderous intent. In one of its misshapen hands, a crude bludgeon made of hardwood, was raised with intent to brutally stove in the head of its master's intended victim.

The sight of the ugly troglodyte was quite jarring for Chesty. Nevertheless, he was not one to let someone be mistreated or murdered by some monster, whether the attacker was human or otherwise. He now sprinted towards the scene, his arrow knocked in position to be fired once he was in the proper position.

Things became desperate when the black haired man tripped and fell onto the grass on the left side of the path. He quickly tried scooting back away from his snarling and snorting pursuer. Unfortunately, the ugly thing was able to close the distance, its weapon raised to kill. It slowed down, its wide mouth curling in sadistic glee.

Then, an arrow plunged into the left side of the creature's neck. Its unsettling gaze turned to one of pained shock. The creature put its left hand on the arrow, a reflex that was being made in the middle of a death struggle. Soon, the beast's legs buckled, and it fell with a stomach churning gurgle onto its back. A few struggles and twitches were the only things its body was capable of before it permanently stilled.

Chesty ran up to the scene, and looked over the heavily tanned stranger with a firm look in his eyes.

The man had a tall, handsome face, with a prominent chin and a mop of black hair. Soft, green eyes peered up with obvious relief that he had been spared from certain injury and death. He was wearing a lime green tunic with dark green curved patterns around the collar region. His shorts were composed of a rough looking tan fabric with large symbols on the sides of the pant legs. Astonishingly, he was not wearing any shoes. Most striking of all were his ears: they were long and pointed, much like an elf's.

"Are you hurt, sir?" Chesty asked as he offered a hand up. Odd characteristics aside, he always resorted to being courteous unless provoked into acting otherwise.

The rescued man snapped out of his stupor. Breathing heavily, he shook his head in response, and he silently grabbed Chesty's hand. Once he was up on his own two feet, he stared at Chesty with appreciation in his forest green eyes.

"Wow." He muttered. "To think someone would go out of their way to aid a sorry sack like me..." A smile grew on his face. "Thanks. How can I ever repay you?"

Chesty did not think twice. "No problem. Can you give me directions? I have few supplies, and I don't know where I am. What country is this?"

The man had a brief look of surprise on his face, probably not expecting such a modest request. "Well, this is Hyrule. Slightly west of the central plains, to be exact."

"Hyrule?" Chesty had never heard of such a nation. The man spoke English with hardly an accent, so it had to have been a place with a predominately English influence. However, Hyrule was not a name he was aware of in any world geography lesson. The answer only begot new question, hardly the resolution Chesty was hoping for.

"Yes, Hyrule." The man said. "Are you not from here?"

"No." Chesty replied, his face betraying his worry. "I haven't the slightest idea of how I got here. I want to get home, but there's no telling where this place is with regards to home."

"Oh my." The man answered. "I'm sorry to hear that. Oh, I should probably introduce myself. Name's Regan! Amateur scavenger hunter from Lurelin Village. I'm not resting until I get rich off of the many treasures of Hyrule!"

Chesty perked up at the confidence in the Regan's voice. He could hardly judge the practicality of searching for valuable things as opposed to earning money, but It sounded like an adventure, if nothing else.

"The name's Vernon." He answered plainly, reaching out once more for a handshake. "Most people just call me Chesty."

Regan eagerly shook hands with his rescuer. "Well met, Chesty! Where did you say you were from, again?"

"I didn't." Chesty answered. "I come from the United States of America."

"America?" Regan enunciated each syllable as if they were alien to him. "Never heard of such a place."

Chesty felt a chill go down his spine as he heard the answer. The tension in his voice became much more pronounced as he looked off to the side.

"Oh."

Regan gave a sympathetic look. "Sorry if I can't be of much help, but I do know a few directions."

Chesty looked mildly more hopeful at Regan's words. "Where's the closest bit of human habitation that you know of?"

Regan smiled. "You're in luck." He pointed further down the road. "The Outskirt Stable is just a quarter mile away."

Looking in the direction of Regan's finger, he saw what looked like a man made horse's head. It appeared to be made of a wooden frame and covered by several sheets of colored fabric.

"A stable, you say?"

"Yup! With horses and such." Regan explained. "You can even get a bed to rest for the night."

It was an unconventional place to go to, but Chesty was not going to be picky about where he went if it meant receiving help.

"Okay then. Thanks for the directions, Regan."

"No problem, Chesty."

"Good luck with all of the treasure hunting and what not."

"Thanks. I'll try to be more careful from now on."

Offhandedly, Chesty glanced down at the creature he had slain in defense of Regan. "By the way, what the hell is this thing?"

Regan shivered as he stared at the violet blood trickling out of the mortal wound in the beast's neck. "It's a Bokoblin. Ugly little monsters. Vicious to a fault, too."

Chesty kneeled down to take a closer look at the foul smelling corpse. It looked even more hideous up close. The nose was large and pig-like. It had four peg-shaped teeth, with disease ridden, dark pink gums. Atop the Bokoblin's head was a small, keratinous horn. The hands only had three digits each: two fingers and a thumb. The creature's only covering was a dirty loin cloth.

Carefully, Chesty grabbed the arrow sticking out of the Bokoblin's neck. After a few moments of pulling and tugging, he removed the intact, bloody arrow out.

"Ugh." Regan gagged. "Whatcha do that for?"

"Can't waste any arrows if I can help it." Chesty brushed the violet blood off by rolling the projectile in some grass off to the side. Once he was satisfied with its condition, Chesty placed it back in his quiver.

"I guess I'll be on my way." Chesty said. "You take care of yourself, Regan."

"Absolutely. I'll look for my fortune with an eye out for danger. Hope you find the help that you're looking for, Chesty."

The two parted ways, and for once in his brief time in this distinct land of Hyrule, Chesty felt at ease. If nothing else, he was not alone.

I'm starting to really dig this new series of mine. It probably helps that I have an immediate reference to use when writing. As with most of my current stories, I won't be on a schedule, but you can be assured that the chapters will be largely short and sweet.

Most, if not all, of the characters that Chesty will interact with will be actual NPCs from Breath of the Wild. Regan is an actual character you can save from a Bokoblin near Manhala Bridge, where Chesty just crossed.

As always, thanks for your follows and favorites, it really encourages me to write more.