It has been so long since I've updated a fic so consistently—last time was 2019, I think. I'm just so happy that I'm finally getting my groove back. Anyway, please enjoy!

Chapter 6: Opportunity on the Frontier

Frank waded through snow up to his knees, blinking through the falling sleet. The wolf trudged ahead of him, its tail whipping in the merciless wind.

He stopped; wait, why wasn't he at camp? No, that was the night before. He'd been in the snow already, and had found . . . what was it?

"This isn't right," Frank said. "I shouldn't be here; not again."

The wolf turned, sitting with its tail curled around its paws. The ground steamed around it, clearing until only the gray permafrost remained.

"You shouldn't be here at all," the wolf said.

Frank was used to wolves talking through his mind—after all, he trained with Lupa herself before stumbling to Camp Jupiter. This one, however, had a much deeper, masculine voice, and not nearly as intimidating as the Great She Wolf. It invoked a similar emotion in Frank, but instead of fear there was . . . motivation? Perhaps not the best word, but Frank had bigger things to worry about than his vocabulary. For example, frostbite.

The son of Mars scanned the horizon, only there was no horizon to see. Just snow, snow, and snow for kilometers, stretching out endlessly. He was beginning to hate that word—snow. If it wasn't for the heat dripping down his fingers, he would not have remembered warmth.

The wolf tilted its snout downward. Frank followed its—his?—gaze to his arm, as torn and gruesome as ever.

He huffed. "I can see we haven't much time. I'm sorry this happened in the first place, demigod."

"What do you mean by—"

The bird woman's face flashed before him. She lowered a hot, wet rag to his face, an herbal smell assaulting his nose. Her words escaped him, though the furrow in her brow deepened as she spoke. Frank hoped she wasn't putting him out of his misery; she seemed angry enough.

Frank returned to the mountain, flat on his back and bleeding once more. The wolf was almost nose to nose with him, his glowing red eye regarding him with concern. Maybe this wolf was dedicated to breaking Frank's impression of Lupa's pack.

The demigod grabbed the side of the wolf's face, not unlike how one would begin to scratch a dog's ear. The wolf didn't move, but his eye did drop to the blood seeping through his golden fur.

"Lupa—," another vision of the bird woman, bloody bandages between her hand-feathers, "—she needs to know where I am. If you find her, maybe she can get to Camp Jupiter—."

The wolf stared at him blankly.

Frank felt a sob growing in his throat. "P-please. You have to know who Lupa is. Right?"

He shook his head. Frank's hand fell from his face. "I only know your kind by your power, demigod. I'm sorry."He prodded his shoulder as Frank began to cry, his tears freezing as they fell.

The pain sparking up his arm did nothing for his anguish, instead amplifying it as the agony along his flesh and bone tightened. Whoever that bird woman was, Frank almost wished she'd kill him if it meant escaping the pain. But going hand-in-hand with it all was the sight of Hazel and his friends, all seated on the Argo II, joking about their doom. . . .

"You're laughing," the wolf deadpanned.

Frank could not answer him, as he had no answer for himself either. The wolf continued to watch him, its gold fur melting into brown feathers every few seconds.

To his surprise, the wolf twitched his ear in amusement. Somewhere else, the bird woman spooned something into his mouth. "That's good. You remind me of him."

Whatever the bird woman gave him, it was good. His lip began to numb, a tingling sensation trailing down his throat and into his esophagus. Frank's laughs died into quiet giggles, though he couldn't quite feel the sound within his throat; he only heard it.

"No! Stay with me," the wolf implored, nosing against his chest. "You have to tell him about his fate, demigod! Hyrule will be lost if he doesn't know. He must know that—!"

Frank's body slipped from the ground, floating away as the world began to spin beneath him. A gold dot remained at the axis, shouting something unintelligible after him. Frank tried to wave goodbye, or even utter a farewell, but his voice failed him. The world quickly faded into the brown, feathery face of the bird woman, glaring at him cautiously.

X X X

"Tell him," Frank muttered. "I have to tell him."

The bird woman flinched away from him, dropping a roll of gauze. "Thank the goddesses, you're alive!"

Frank lolled his head away from her. His right arm refused to move (later, when he was less medicated and well-rested, he would discover a sling holding it tightly to his chest), but that didn't stop him. He rolled like a champ, muttering, "tell him, tell him," as he plummeted off the bed and towards the sweet bliss of unconsciousness.

To his despair, the bird woman caught him. She carefully lowered him back into the bed. "You can do that later. Right now, you can tell me why two humans have shown up half-frozen in Hebra."

"Are those arms or feathers?" Frank asked, poking her appendage.

Instead of answering, the bird woman glared at him. He'd seen a similar expression on Annabeth—hey, where was Annabeth?—more times than he could count, but Annabeth usually didn't look like she wanted to gut him like a fish. Leo, however. . . .

"You're not ready to speak," she assessed, sighing. Frank almost felt bad for her, but he couldn't feel much at the moment, anyway. "I—"

Frank watched as the bird woman stomped around the small cabin, throwing far too many logs in the fire on the far side. The shadow she cast was long and dark, though she couldn't have been much taller than Hazel.

"I need a BREAK!" She shouted several other things, her heated words dissolving into frantic squawks. Frank listened patiently, though he wasn't sure why; his overall impression of the bird woman wasn't that great, but she did save his life. Maybe some part of him, deep down, beyond the numb of her medicine, recognized he now owed a debt.

A debt better paid later, so it would seem. Amidst the bird woman's screeches, Frank watched as the room faded to black.

"That there," Malon said, pointing, "is my father's favorite furniture shop. He'd never paid much attention to home decor, but he loves Rito bedding. He sleeps more than a cat!"

"I know a few kids back home who would get along with him." Annabeth's dark eyes betrayed something smug beneath their amusement. Nothing sinister, though, which was all Malon cared about.

Malon smiled. "Is that so? Oh, but. . . ." She stopped, turning quickly to grab her arm. "I'm sorry that you have to wait to go inside. I got here early so that I could shop, so I didn't anticipate company."

Annabeth shrugged; Malon saw her mouth twitch slightly. Whether from annoyance or humor, she had no idea. "It's fine. I just want to get there by today."

"Well, at least allow me to apologize. I have an order to pick up at this one place—I think you'll really love it!"

"Lead the way."

The human girl followed closely. If it wasn't for Malon's grip on her wrist, the girl would have long been lost to the crowds beneath the shop covers and spat out onto the wet street. Malon was just happy to have another girl her age with her; it had been too long. The last one she spoke to was the innkeeper's daughter, who (bless her) was anxious of everyone and everything. Before that had been. . . . Well, Malon needed more company.

"'Malo Mart,'" Annabeth said, squinting up at the brightly-lit sign. "At least, I think so. Are you—?"

She wrinkled her nose. "—Named after it? Thankfully, no. I think the owner might actually be younger than me, but no one's sure about his age."

"Why?"

"Oh, you'll see."

As they entered, several customers parted ways for them without looking up from their merchandise of interest. Part of Malo Mart's appeal was the set up; most shops were bland, their sales arranged behind a counter with too much negative space everywhere else. Mr. Malo (Malon hated calling him that) introduced Hyrule to browsing as one shops—which meant that he scattered things every-which-way on hangers and shelves across the store. For ultimate dissonance, he painted the walls and ceiling eye-melting shades of yellow and blue.

Malo Mart still held strong through the storm; in fact, it was doing better than ever. Droves of customers—most with puddles of what Malon hoped was rain water at their feet—cluttered the shop, buying and ordering as many clothes, toiletries, and well kits beyond what many of them could afford. (Sound familiar?) A line longer than Malon's family tree winded amidst the panicked scramble for emergency supplies. And as was Castle Town fashion, a toddler was slamming his tiny fists onto the floor, his mother dragging him up.

Malon turned around so quickly she almost lost her head. "I am so sorry—"

"Oh, please; most American stores are like this," she refuted. "You said I could look around?"

The Hylian looked around, wondering if anything remained for Annabeth to really look at. Her new friend seemed the reading type; Malo Mart's book catalog was far more interesting than its bookshelves. Maybe—

Someone tugged roughly on her skirt. "Mistress Lon Lon, who is this?"

"Malo?"

The owner of the shop looked up—yes, up—at her, his small, pudgy hands tight at his sides. He could have been the tantruming toddler's brother to a stranger, but Malon (unfortunately) knew that he didn't take kindly to baby-talk. The top of is head, which was too large for the rest of his body, barely cleared three feet. Pooled at his feet was his waist-wrap. Despite his appearance, he wore quite a mature scowl, like Ingo when . . . actually, all the time. Malon had never seen either people (men?) happy a day in their lives.

According to Castle Town gossip, Malo once claimed that he had "thirty years in the business." That was when Malo Mart was still a table on the side of the road, though, so he was likely trying to make a name for himself. Anytime Malon decided he was one age, young or old, she couldn't help but start leaning towards the opposite. He was an anomaly, that boy.

He tugged at her skirt again. "Is this a new customer?"

"Er—"

Annabeth surged forward, her hand outstretched. Even so, she didn't look completely sure about what she was doing. "Annabeth Chase, Mr. Malo."

"Mm-hm." Malo shook her hand, the pop of her joints loud enough to hear over the chaos around them. "I'm the owner of this store here."

"I've heard. Malon here was nice enough to bring me here on my first visit to Hyrule."

She glanced at Malon, who was trying her best not to carry Malo back to the counter. She needed her order sorted out, and quickly. She still had another shop to pop in before her appointment. . . .

"Is that so? May I ask where you're from?" he asked. Malon didn't miss how his eyes bore into her face; she ignored him.

"You might not have heard of it; Malon didn't."

"I'm sure I will." (Malo never passed up an opportunity to insult someone's intelligence.)

"America."

Malo bowed his head, his forehead so big and pale the already harsh light nearly blinded Malon. Whatever bothered him, he recovered quickly; however, his grim expression gave Malon no hope.

"Follow me," he said, shuffling away. Several customers shouted their complaints as they watched Malon and Annabeth trail after him, disappearing behind a door labeled CLERK ONLY. The clerk himself twitched his mustache at them, then continued nodding along to an old man's drawn out story about the "REAL worst weather" from his day.

The door slammed behind them. This was Malon's first time in the storeroom, and she was beginning to think that Malo only brought them back there to brag. Lon Lon Ranch's storeroom was just a few measly crates and a horse or two ready for shipping; Malo Mart's was just as flamboyant and boastful as the rest of the store, crates and cages rattling with frivolity after frivolity. Malon saw at least three fanciful carriages and eight crates with ruby-studded hilts protruding out—and neither were even close to the most extravagant purchases available.

Malo disappeared behind the shelves and stacks, muttering a hard, "Wait here," as he left. Malon was beginning to contemplate grabbing Annabeth and fleeing when Malo returned, her order in his toddler hands.

"Is this to your liking?" he asked. By that gloat in the curve of his mouth, he already knew her answer.

Malon inspected the bow carefully, taking it into her own hands to better feel for it. Link's was a darker wood, and almost sinister with how dark iron pointed inwards to the riser, or handle. The metal on his bow was ancient, designed intricately by a smith. Of course, the bow was never intended for him as this one was for her; if she remembered correctly, he found it in some woods.

Her bow was a custom order where his was a discovery, with fine hickory wood stained chestnut and polished to perfection. The ends were brass arched horse heads, like chess pieces. Just as she had intended, the riser was bound in soft leather and beautifully molded like horse shoes.

Annabeth leaned forward, her dark eyes skimming across it. "What amazing craftsmanship . . ."

"I couldn't agree more." Malon tugged experimentally at the bow string, pleased with how easily it pulled back. Years of horse-breaking and cow-wrangling left her fingers strong and calloused; on horseback, this bow would do her just fine.

Malo blinked up at her, clearly waiting patiently for more praise. Malon handed him the final fee—a shiny silver rupee—and her bow along with it.

"I'll have to come pick it up after my appointment at the castle. You'll have it ready for travel, I'm sure?"

He slipped the rupee into his belt purse, handling the bow delicately. She hadn't noticed until then that it was longer than he was tall. "Of course. We can't have it in this rain, can we?"

"Thank you."

"Now," he began, "why don't you pick something out, Miss Chase? I'm sure you can find something to your liking here."

Malon wondered if Annabeth's praise was getting to him, but she felt something off about him. She had no doubt Annabeth sensed it too; perhaps her perceptiveness is what had landed her a spot as an emissary.

Even so, Annabeth muttered her quiet thanks and began to skim the store room, poking through merchandise hastily. She returned just as quickly with folded blue-and-gold textile. Before Malon could question her choice, Annabeth unfurled it, her eyes nearly boring through the cloth as she analyzed it.

It was a simple shawl, the kind often worn on cold days in Castle Town; in fact, Malon was wearing one of her own. The shawl was a shade away from navy blue, and not quite as saturated. Gold tassels dripped along the hem, the Wing Crest sacred to Hyrule blaring at the corners. Annabeth didn't strike her as the souvenir type, but Malon could see something other than appeal in her face. She looked at it not as a tourist novelty. More like. . . .

Like she was in love with the color blue.

Annabeth nodded, showing her prize to Malo. "How much?" she asked.

"Fifty rupees."

At least pause before you tell her the price, Malon thought, already fishing into her wallet. The poor dear just got here from a foreign country—

A hand clapped her shoulder. She turned, Annabeth holding out a purple rupee for Malo. "I've got it."

Malon blinked, withdrawing her hand. How did she have money?

"That'll do," Malo said. "Let me guide you out the back."

Vetra's chicken curry was so good, Jason could almost forgive her family's cannibalistic feast around him. Almost.

In all fairness, birds of prey did snatch up their smaller counterparts in the wild, so it wasn't that far-fetched. Watching Vetra's gaggle of children rip through their chicken curry like it was their first and last meal had Jason struggling to swallow every bite, though.

The nearest to him, a red Rito girl, eyed his plate as she demolished her own. At this rate, Jason was tempted to share if it meant not throwing up everywhere.

"Araceli, dear," Vetra said, neatly picking through her food, "would you clean your face, please? We should be showing Jason our best manners."

Araceli chirped (literally chirped!) and wiped her curry-stained face.

Amphorn, the only boy and closest on Jason's right, loaded more rice onto his plate. Unlike his sisters, he seemed far less enthusiastic about dinner, something that didn't go unnoticed by Vetra.

She paused with her fork halfway to her beak. "Amphorn, you need to eat at least some chicken before the night is over. Rice won't warm you up nearly enough, dear."

"I thought we were having salmon for dinner," he pouted quietly.

I wish we were having salmon for dinner, Jason though, forcing more curry down his throat.

"We can't go fishing out in this weather; pigeons are the next best thing. And you told me you liked pigeons."

He shrank in his seat. "N-not anymore . . ."

His mother sighed, scooping some off her own plate and onto his; Jason expected steam to pour out his ears with the way he glared at her.

"Finish that much, at least."

If it wasn't for his sisters watching him, Amphorn probably would have writhed in that chair until he froze over. He begrudgingly began picking through it, though his glare never left Vetra's direction.

"Psst, Round Ears?" someone whispered beside him.

Jason looked down at Araceli, who was leaning in with her face covered by her wing. At first, he thought she was going to snatch his curry away; instead, she gestured for him to bend down.

He looked around the table quickly, deciding that everyone else was too preoccupied to notice. "What's up?"

"Amphorn is actually really nice most of the time. And he does like cucco curry."

"Um, okay."

"He just wants salmon meuniere 'cause it was his dad's favorite."

"You aren't siblings?"

"No, our mamas are friends. But all of us have been staying with Aunt Vetra ever since most of our parents went on a trip." Araceli clamped her other wing over her beak, stifling an excited squeal. "I hope they bring me back something nice!"

Huh. "Thanks for telling me."

She nodded. "I had to clear his name. Champion Passarelli would do the same!"

With that, she pulled away, returning to eviscerating her dinner. Jason was about to do much the same when he felt eyes on him.

Across the table, Vetra stared daggers into his skull.

"Jason, dear? Let's talk outside," she commanded, already rising from her seat.

His blood ran cold. What did he do?

X X X

"I don't know why I expected them to listen to me," Vetra started, massaging her temples with her wings. "Why did I? They haven't even grown out of tattling, yet."

"I just don't understand why it's such a big deal," Jason lied.

Her wings fell to her side. "I may not know much about you, Jason, but I do know that you're not stupid. I mean, almost every adult off on vacation, at the same time? You can't really believe that, can you?" Despite her accusing tone, a dim, ragged hope remained in her eyes. Jason was sorry to crush it.

"No. No, I really don't."

Both stood in silence, looking beyond the village as they considered what to say next.

Jason had yet to take in the world around him until then; in fact, he might've been avoiding it. But he saw no reason in putting it off anymore. He was standing next to a seven foot bird woman, after all. There wasn't even a whisper of a chance that Hyrule was a part of his Earth.

Rito Village was a small, pin-like island in the middle of a deep, cold lake, with the lake itself behind hundreds of feet below the land encircling it. Light snow fell on that land and the trees blanketing it. Far to the left, however, a mountain plunged straight into the clouds, so stark white that Jason was blinded by the dimming sunlight reflecting off of it.

"Those are the Hebra Mountains."

He flinched. Gods, Vetra sounded like a husk of a woman.

"Champion Passerelli lives close to the summit," she said, pointing with her wing. "She's angry because Gran suspended her there for now. Because of you."

Vetra didn't seem furious with him, but Jason knew all too well that demigods should be careful whenever grudges were mentioned. But he was curious. And curiosity was also discouraged.

"What really happened here?" Jason asked, trying not to look too desperate.

She stepped carefully to the railing. When she tilted her head at him, he followed.

"For the past few weeks, there have been worrying reports of the Yiga running around."

"Yiga?"

"They are a clan of bandits. An evil sort, they are; they betrayed Hyrule hundreds of years ago."

"Ah. Continue."

"Well. . . ." She faltered, clearly deliberating over how to explain everything in a way that Jason's alien brain could understand. "A chief from a different tribe in Hyrule came to help us investigate these appearances, and my husband and the other Rito warriors worked with her. They were supposed to start their search a little ways from here."

". . . And?"

Vetra sighed. "We don't know. They disappeared two weeks ago. Elder Ferrago sent a search party after them, but. . . ." She shrugged. "All gone. We don't know what happened to them, either. Champion Passerelli wanted to search for herself, but she's our last defense. We have no more warriors."

Jason squeezed the railing. "But what does that have to do with me?"

"I told you how our Champion found you on her way to the training grounds, correct?"

Hesitantly, Jason nodded.

"Gran had just ordered her to not search, so she wanted to blow off some steam. Instead, she found you, a freezing human boy, right where she often goes." She leaned close, her eyes flashing like Imperial Gold armor. "Do you understand what I'm saying, dear?"

His heart drummed in his chest. "I, um. . . ."

"She's saying that Passerelli thought you were to blame," someone squawked behind them.

Jason turned, finding Elder Ferrago's big eyes an inch from his face. If it hadn't been for her snagging her cane on his tunic, he would have fallen halfway to the lake before he got his bearings.

"She's so dramatic, that one!" the Elder tutted, pulling him up. "What could a human-sicle do in the face of a Champion of Hyrule? Nothing more than freeze to death, I'm sure!"

"And her suspension?" he asked.

"She wanted to interrogate you, see if she could get anything out of you and find our missing people. So, I suspended her," she explained, simple and tutted. Like she was describing a recipe instead of corporal punishment.

He thought on this for a while, staring at his hands, his knuckles white and orange from his grip and the sun. Jason felt something deep within him, like a string tugging at his legs anytime the Champion was mentioned. Shockingly, he wanted to run — no, fly — all the way up that mountain and find her. Vetra's husband, and the other missing Rito. . . . Somehow, he knew that Passerelli was right; everything was his fault.

And the only way to fix it was to bring her back.

"How far is the mountain?" He stared back at the two Rito women. "In hours, I mean?"

Vetra's shoulders leaned inwards, her neck dipping warily. He must seem insane to her. He probably was. ". . . Why do you ask?"

"How long to the foot of the mountain?" Jason persisted.

"A day by foot, an hour by horseback, and—" Elder Ferrago's eyes flashed cunningly, "—a few minutes by flight."

"No!" Vetra shouted. Just as quickly, she glanced back at her home, where the children were still giggling over their meal. Much quieter, she continued, "You may not. It's too dangerous for anyone to make the journey up that mountain—human, Hylian, or Rito. You would die within the hour!"

Ferrago raised a feathery eyebrow. "What's all this fuss about, anyway? What do you want with the Champion?"

He sighed. "I think I really might know why this is happening, and I think she's the only person who will understand that."

"How would you know?" Vetra pressed, leaning forward. "And why won't we 'understand that?'"

Before he could make a fool of himself, Elder Ferrago waved her wing in front of his face, smacking his knees with her cane. "Oh, let the human boy be. If it really is so concerning, we can send a messenger in the morning. Passerelli will be glad to know we need her back again, right?"

Vetra didn't look reassured at all; in fact, she was staring at Jason. Almost accusingly, he thought.

". . . I'll go put the children to bed."

Elder Ferrago clapped her winged hands. "Good, good! I'll send Jason to his room in just a moment, my dear." She turned her head around, glaring pointedly at him. "We have much to discuss."

Was it just him, or did she look . . . conniving?

When Humayra offered to eat lunch on top of Gerudo Town's wall, Piper thought the little girl was a little psychotic. But Chief Jayaka approved, leaving them to go tend to something called a "sand seal," whatever that meant.

It wasn't nearly as bad as she thought it would be; the town walls were wide, and well cooled by a canal flowing atop them. It was a nice day, anyway; clouds clotted the sky, keeping the ruthless desert sun off her.

"You come here often?" Piper asked, eying Humayra's meal set-up.

"Yup!"

By some feat, the six year old ("Almost seven!") had dragged wrappings of fruit, bread, jerky, and even bladders of juice onto the wall. The climb hadn't been difficult — just a few risky steps off the upstairs balcony — but Piper easily believed that Humayra mastered the art of squirreling as soon as she could walk.

The demigoddess began carving up a coconut ("Palm fruit!") with Katoptris, careful to keep her dagger's glare out of her eyes. Below them mingled several Gerudo warriors, training with spears, bows, and wicked scimitars. Piper found herself wanting to try one herself.

She offered Humayra a good chunk of the inside shaving. "You like watching the guards?"

"Mm-hm!" she replied, placing her piece of coco—palm fruit on bread. "Mama says that I'll start training with them when I'm ten. This is how I . . . stude-ee?"

"You mean 'study?'"

Humayra nodded so hard, she almost toppled off the wall. "Yeah, that! I study them from up here."

Piper watched as one warrior completely missed her shot, nearly kabobing her instructor. "It's good that you watch from a distance."

She resheathed Katoptris, sipping the cool water within the palm. Piper was never a fan of coconut water, but palm juice she could do with.

"Lady McLean?"

"Piper's just fine."

Humayra shook her head. "Mama says that we should always speak to ladies with respect!"

"If you insist." Even so, she couldn't help giggling. As sweet and hyper as the little girl was, she had a great sense of responsibility. If Chief Jayaka wanted Humayra to inherit the throne, then neither would have issues.

"Your dagger," Humayra began, "is really pretty! Are you a warrior, too? When did you start your training? Do you have any—"

Piper stuffed a roll in her mouth. "Slow down, slow down! One question at a time!"

The little girl chewed hard, glowering at her expectantly.

"I am definitely a warrior. There's a long history of warriors in my family, but I'm the first in a few generations." Her dad's action movies did not count.

"Why?"

She shrugged. "Stuff happens." (Piper assumed that Humayra would look at her like an alien if she tried to give her the whole Native vs. White Man history lecture.) "I'm not a warrior for the same reasons they were, though. I only started out a few months ago."

To Piper, it felt like she had fought and bled for a thousand years, but her quest only began mid-December. That meant she wielded Katoptris for eight months now. Eight months! And she fought everyday like she had been her entire life — which, being a demigod, wasn't exactly a lie.

Homesickness struck her then; oh, Camp Half-Blood. And Grandpa Tom's cabin in Oklahoma. To her surprise, she even felt a slight tug towards Wilderness High School. Maybe this situation was driving her a little crazy.

And Jason, Leo, Annabeth — she missed all of her friends, even Coach Hedge's screaming. The prophecy said they were here too, right? She hoped that they were doing as well as she was. A warm, dry place to sleep, at least.

"Lady McLean, does your knife have a name?" Humayra asked, snapping her out of her worry. "We name our most specialist weapons here. Mama's sword and shield have names."

"Katoptris."

"Cat-top-trrees."

"Perfect," Piper commended; Humayra beamed. "What're the Chief's weapons called?"

"The Scimitar of Seven; her shield's called Daybreaker." Humayra leaned forward eagerly. "What's Katoptris made of, anyway? I've never seen that color metal before!"

"Celestial bronze."

"May I see?"

Piper warily unsheathed her dagger, noting how the gleam flashed in Humayra's big, green eyes. "Yes, but don't touch, okay?"

The little girl didn't reply, leaning carefully back as she analyzed it. Not that there was much to analyze; Katoptris was pretty and all, but it was also a simple triangular blade. Other than the visions and its history, Piper encountered many more impressive blades. She was often on the receiving end of other blades, too. Such was the life of a demigod.

Humayra squinted. "Why's the light all . . . wriggly?"

"What?" Piper strained her eyes, surprised to find that Katoptris was unfortunately producing another vision. She tried to reangle it, bringing it dangerously close to her face, but it was too vague to make out. At the moment, it was only a writhing reflection.

A jolt ran through her shoulder, sparking where she had been shot. She flinched, quickly putting the (useless!) dagger away.

"Are you okay?" Humayra asked, her eyes full of sympathy.

"I'm—ugh!" Her bicep spasmed; gods, what was with this wound? It had been fine up until then! "I-I don't think so. Humayra, do you have medics here?"

She nodded frantically, scooping up the rest of their lunch. "Uh, Lady Leenar. Why, does your arm hurt? Will you be alright?"

Piper grit her teeth. "Probably. Can you help me up?"

Strong as ever, Humayra hoisted both their food and Piper to her feet. The demigoddess stifled a shriek when her hand accidentally brushed her shoulder, only to recoil just as quickly.

"L-lady McLean!" she shouted.

"It's okay, it really didn't hurt that bad." Only it did. Seriously, Piper had worse before. Why did a shallow shot like this hurt so damn bad?

She turned to Humayra, ready to reassure her more—she would be fine, and they could get back to climbing every wall in town. But the promise died in her throat.

Humayra's hand was covered in blood.

"Wow," Link said. "And you said this is normal for you?"

Nico sippedd the last of his soup. "I expected you to be more worried about the whole 'transdimensional teenage boy' part. But yeah. We've been getting prophecies once a year, so far."

"The last time we got a prophecy was centuries ago."

"Then consider yourself lucky."

Link drummed his fingers on his knee, flipping through several different reactions Zelda would have to a prophecy of this magnitude. It was awfully vague by Hyrulean standards; most of his people's prophecies were stone carvings bluntly explaining the reader's fate. But this . . . Link didn't like this. That much, he could understand. He knew one thing for certain, though: Zelda's council could not hear about it. They would rip into her like skullfish.

"Are you done eating?" Link asked.

"Uh, yeah." He brushed crumbs off his chin. "Why, do you want the rest?"

The hero took his tray, placing it on the shelf beside them. It might have seemed rude, but the innkeeper was very particular about guests leaving their trays where she could find them. "I was actually wondering if you could take a walk with me."

"I don't know if you've noticed this, but I'm a little incapacitated at the moment," Nico deadpanned, gesturing towards his spider web of wrappings.

"Oh, don't worry; I know how to deal with that."

Nico raised an eyebrow. "What exactly did you have in mind?"

X X X

With a lot of cursing, flailing, and meandering on Nico's part, Link managed to fit the boy into a covered wagon without ripping any of his stitches. Manning it himself, Link wheeled his charge out of the inn and onto his tour of Lurelin Village. The heavy rain and wind did not bother him, though; Epona had earned a break for the day, and he was happy to give it to her. And his cloak spared him some warmth anyway.

"That right there," he explained, pointing across the sandy road, "is the village gambler's business. He calls it the Treasure Chest, but you're more likely to be swindled than anything"

The boy stared blankly, but he had an oddly familiar look in his dark eyes. "I have two friends who would love to run a place like that."

"Don't we all. And that's Baye's house." Link pointed to the pair of huts above the road.

"Do you think she'll be mad at us for leaving?"

"Of course! But you can always say that I kidnapped you."

"She won't buy that."

He shrugged. "It's worth a try. Oh, and that's the mayor's house. He's the best fisherman in the whole village!" Link nodded to the hut by the beach. "I heard he caught enough fish to feed the village for a year when he was in his prime."

"And so concludes our tour?" Nico asked. He squinted past the downpour, clearly searching for more buildings. He found none; Lurelin was such a small village. That's why Link liked it so much (the cuisine, also).

"It's more interesting when it's sunny. But since this storm hit. . . . The livelihood has been stolen from the people. They're relying on food stores and whatever plants that haven't been overwatered."

Nico pulled his blanket tighter around him. "You're not from here, huh?"

Link beamed. "The village, you mean? What gave it away?"

He snorted; Link was glad to see his humor hadn't completely faltered. "I can't seem to put my finger on it. But why are you here? If you don't mind me asking," he added.

"Not at all!" Link chirped. "I was escorting a trade expedition. The main route is too dangerous right now, so I took them along my shortcut. I think we're leaving tomorrow."

"Oh." Nico sounded oddly disappointed.

Link paused at the east village gate. Should he . . . ? Well, Baye was already going to destroy him when she saw Nico's empty bed roll. He might as well milk this for all it was worth.

To his credit, Nico didn't wonder about his doctor's impending rage again. He was quiet as Link dragged his wagon to the rock spires at the end of the beach, passing up several disgruntled grabs as he did. They were no more fond of the weather than the fish were.

"This is where Baye said she found you," Link told him. Normally, the impression of two people slamming into each other would remain in the sand for days; thanks to the storm, however, the site of impact had washed out.

Nico was silent, looking at the world around him. His eyes were devoid of wonder; Link found himself puzzling over the boy. Hyrule was the most beautiful place in the world, rain or shine. How could it not fascinate him?

Link stopped the wagon. "Are you alright?"

"No."

"Not going into shock?"

His mouth twitched. "No."

"Can you say anything other than 'no?'"

". . . When you leave," Nico began, twiddling his bandaged fingers, "what happens to me? Do I stay here? Do I go with you? And what then?"

He considered this. As much as Baye would like to keep Nico for the next few days, he wasn't sure that was in either of their best interests. Zelda would want to meet this boy—oh, he'd have to write a letter! Goddesses knew the princess needed more letters. He could probably take Nico back the way he came, but with those monsters outside of Kakariko Village. . . . With Link defending Nico and driving, they'd be pincushioned with arrows. And Nico riding a horse was out of the question; Epona would have to lug a wagon.

And Baye had her people to worry about, too. Her workload regarding her children was much easier now that Mr. Tapuhi was out of the bay, but her family was only a fraction of her workload. How could she care for the village and Nico at the same time? She would be stretched too thin.

"I'm not sure. Baye will probably want to continue treating you, but your — our? — prophecy changes things," Link admitted. "Do you know where you want to be?"

"I think it would be better if I left; I still have to find my friends. But Baye—"

A shriek ripped through the air around them, nearly drowned out by the booming storm. Several villagers sprinted out of their homes, every single one of them brandishing fishing harpoons. And Link had a feeling it wasn't fish they were hunting for.

"The hell . . . ?" Nico asked.

Link couldn't answer him; he was too busy following their movements, searching for a struggle. He found it on the opposite coastline: several lithe monsters, each dragging wriggling sacks with them.

Lizalfos.

Impa forgot how well trained the village donkeys were for travel. As opposed to her early morning scolding from Komori-san ("Get up, you lazy thing!'), she awoke to Mimi dripping spittle on her face.

"Ewwwwwwwwwwww! Ew, ew, ew!"

Mimi watched pleasantly as she dived for a puddle, splattering mud and grass on her nasty face — which was not much better. At least you're up at five! he seemed to say.

Impa wiped her face on her sleeve. "I don't care; that was mean."

He flicked his tail — the donkey way of saying Get over it.

Despite her rude awakening, Impa readied for the day quickly and efficiently. The cave she found last night was a good travel nook; warm, dry, and no adults asking where her parents were. After restrapping her bedroll onto Mimi's saddle, she just needed to fix her face and munch on something before hitting the road. With a minimum of crying over her sorry luck, Impa managed to repaint her eyes with several minutes to spare for breakfast.

"I think I like pumpkin bread more than my normal breakfast," she pondered, talking around a mouthful (ooh, Komori would be furious!) "What do you think?"

Mimi was eating some greens Tenji-san packed, so he had no opinion on it whatsoever. He was also a donkey, so he couldn't have very many opinions.

With that they were off, splashing through puddles from the previous night's spoiled weather. Dark, heavy clouds threatened to spill over above them, but they had several minutes of glorious sunlight to themselves.

The woods at the foot of Dueling Peaks came to life around them, squirrels and birds making the best of the little time they had. Impa was happy, too; she would see her mother again soon! She couldn't wait to tell her how she swept across Hyrule, beating up monsters and saving towns — she would be a force to rival the Hero!

Impa unrolled the map cinched to her waist. "Looks like our first stop is. . . . Oh, it's upside down." She adjusted it correctly. "'Riverside Stable?' But that isn't straight towards the mountains. . . ."

"Traveling far, eh?"

Mimi stuttered to a stop, his saddle bag smacking Impa so hard she almost fell.

Next to her, standing inches away from Squabble River's flood waters, was a lanky man. He was dressed like any other traveler passing through Kakariko Village, his pack heavy and clothes thick and warm, but his face was oddly similar to Impa's. His eyes were monolidded like hers, but bright, and his hair was spiky and dark. His dark skin might have been beautiful once, but it had the texture of the wax paper lamps hanging around her village. Could he be sick? Impa leaned away in her saddle, just in case.

"Uh, yeah. My father wanted me to travel ahead, see how bad the flooding is. He's on his way." Out of all of Komori's teachings, her Stranger Danger! course was the only one Impa eagerly paid any mind.

This seemed to amuse him somehow. "I see. Riverside Stable, you said?"

Her hands tightened around the reins. "No, but that's where I want to go. Papa wants to go to the Gerudo Highlands." Good save.

"Oh, pity. I was hoping I would have some company for the journey." He really sounded disappointed.

"What?" Impa replied, partially because she really was confused and partially because she hadn't mastered the art of good manners yet. Not that the creep deserved any respect.

He grinned, his mouth like a sickle moon beneath his nose. "I was heading towards Riverside Stable."

The traveler rambled on about his plans at Riverside, including friendly fishing and feasting, while Impa tried to keep her fluttering heart contained. How was she supposed to stay at Riverside Stable now, with this creepy man promising to be there? She couldn't stand him!

Though. . . . The stable wasn't that far. She could probably get there by mid-afternoon, whether rain or shine. And there were surely more caves for her to shelter in Hyrule field. Mimi wouldn't mind. . . .

"Sorry, sorry," Impa interrupted. For good measure, she pretended to look behind her apprehensively. "I really have to keep going! Papa will get mad at me if I don't go ahead."

The man's happy expression dissolved, leaving only his blank face behind. "You wouldn't want to wait for him? I wouldn't mind chatting with your father."

"No, I have to go."

"What a shame."

She felt his eyes digging into her back as she spurred Mimi ahead; she didn't dare ride faster while he was watching her. Impa didn't know why she was so cautious, but somewhere, far below the surface, something whispered at her to stay as far away from him as possible. And she wasn't foolish enough to second guess it.

Rachel was beginning to wonder if she would ever know peace as an oracle. Between her sputtering prophecy and the consequences foretold within each and every one, she was sure she never would.

Her friends' disappearances worsened her tip-scale mind; the other campers gave her no comfort. Chiron was gone most of the day, scouting the woods and listening to every worry of whatever nymphs were well enough to escape the remaining monsters. Will had all but locked himself in the infirmary, tending to wounds that didn't spread but didn't heal. Cabins 5 and 6 marched night and day through camp, led all the while by Sherman Yang and Malcolm Pace.

And Rachel couldn't bear to see them.

She felt like a villain, the Big House her hermitage. After less than two days, Camp Half-Blood's main building had already plunged into chaos; it only just occured to her that nymphs usually kept the place operational. Rachel was no housekeeper; as much as she liked to swear that her money was her father's money (I've never liked that argument; of course it's yours! You live off of it!), her house was dusted and primed down to the last molecule of filth. She couldn't remember the last time she held a broom.

"It all seems so insignificant now," she muttered to no one in particular. Seymour's growl was her only reply; he'd been awfully neglected in the past two days. If only she could remember to feed him more often.

Rachel clasped her hands together. "Please, Apollo. Something."

Nothing.

The night before, she wrung every tear from her eyes; that was sacrifice enough, right? Her patron would hear her? But Apollo was always a flighty god; he might have sneezed himself into the next century, too distracted then by new music or lovers that little Rachel Elizabeth Dare never crossed his mind. Ever again.

Now she had no tears left to give him. No, her grief dissolved into a wild rage, gnawing and burning through her very being. Rachel wondered what would happen if she flung the couch onto its side, or if she broke a window. Or threw kindling onto the lawn. But she didn't really want to do those things; she was just angry, and by the gods, the world would pay.

As she looked into the grass, she noticed a silhouette against the woods — something tall and broad.

Oh, Chiron, she thought.

Chiron, who was helping the nymphs and satyrs with the monsters.

Chiron, who was walking into the woods everyday and returning unscathed.

Chiron, who wandered the very woods her demigods disappeared from.

Chiron, who turned in just after dark.

Rachel swore that she would do anything to return Camp Half-Blood to peace. And she very well intended to keep her word.

End of Chapter 6

Thank you for reading! I'd like to apologize for not uploading the AO3 teaser photos when I promised; I've been having technical issues (read: I cannot figure out what style I want to use) so I have not been able to finish them in a timely manner. In better news, I have finished the script for Chapter 1 of the webcomic and am currently working on both the storyboard for that and the beginning of Chapter 2. While I am sad that this fic hasn't gotten nearly as much traction as I anticipated, I still want to make this webcomic a possibility for those of you who have stuck to this for the past few years. I'm not going to lie, either; a lot of this is for myself!

Again, thank all of you who have stayed or are new, and I look forward to seeing even more readers in the future, no matter how few. I hope you all have wonderful days ahead of you!