Yneira strolled down Lurelin's main road, quietly marveling at how pristine and untouched by the Calamity the village was. Lurelin had been spared the fate much the rest of Hyrule had suffered thanks to its remote location. They had a gate and some guards, sure, but their form was sloppy at best. They might stop a few bokoblins, but even a half-serious assault would be enough. And that was without considering the threat by sea.

She shook her head. 'Am I truly so lost that I see monsters in every shadow?' Really, she should be grateful; if Lurelin had been destroyed, she wouldn't exist.

She also wouldn't be stuck with her current... health problems.

Still, it was good to see that not much had changed here—or, at least, she thought it hadn't. She was only six the last time she was here. Still, it felt the same. The atmosphere was relaxed and the air was warm and clear, if a little fishy, and everyone she passed wore a smile. Up the road, a group of kids were playing a game with wooden hoops and sticks that had attracted the attention of a few of the adults as well. She chuckled and stepped to the side as one of the hoops went rolling past her.

One of the watchers, a dark, stout woman, cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted, "Kalph! You watch where you spin those!"

"Yes, mama!" The boy who had launched the hoop ran after it, pausing briefly to bow his head at Yneira. "Sorry about that, miss!"

"There was no harm done, kid," Yneira laughed. "Though you should go get your hoop before your friends win."

The boy's eyes widened as he yelped and darted after the hoop. Still chuckling, Yneira quickly slipped off to the side of the street, angling toward the woman who had called out. Odds were that her grandmother still lived in the same house on the other side of town, but it had been long enough that she might as well ask.

"Sorry about that," the woman said as she approached. "I've told Kalph time and again to watch out for others on the road, but does the boy listen?"

"He's a boy; give him some time to figure it out."

"I'm sure he will," the woman laughed. "Oh, but where are my manners? I'm Erim, and welcome to Lurelin village."

Quietly marveling at how open and welcoming the villagers seemed to be, Yneira gestured at the palm thatch houses and simple ships in the harbor. "Yneira, and thank you. I visited once or twice with my parents, but that was years ago. It's nice to see that the village feels the same as I remember it."

Erim nodded. "The more the tides shift, the more they stay the same. You've obviously traveled far; will you be staying long?"

Yneira shook her head and patted her sickle's hilts. "No, I was in the area on some business—taking care of some monster bounties—and thought I'd drop in on my grandmother. Does she still live on the far side of the village? Old lady, somewhat ornery, good at knitting?"

"You must mean old Casha. Oh yes. She's weathered many a storm, that one. It'll be a dark day when we finally lose her. She's your gran? I didn't know she had any family."

Yneira snorted. "I'm not surprised. She and my parents had a falling out the last time we visited."

That was putting it lightly. The last time she'd seen her grandmother, she'd railed at her father and mother over their decision to join the Yiga Clan. Demon's own foolishness, she'd called it. And then she'd thrown them out—physically, in the case of her father.

She wasn't looking forward to the encounter, if she was being honest with herself. She'd only come because of a comment the crone had made. "Your blood has awakened." She didn't know what that meant, but if this was all because of her blood, then that left only one person to ask.

Erim must have sensed the shift in her mood because she reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder. "There there, dear; I'm sure that whatever quarrel Casha had with your parents, she'll be glad to see you."

"Would that I shared your confidence."

The hand on her shoulder gave a quick squeeze. "It'll be fine. Wait here for a moment; I've got a fresh loaf of bread for her. Take it and earn yourself some good will."

Yneira hesitated. There wasn't any guarantee that it would work, but… "Why are you helping?"

"You're not the first lost and confused young woman to be blown onto my shores this season, and I suspect you won't be the last. Besides, it's the right thing to do."

With another squeeze and a wink, the woman disappeared into the house behind her. From within, a small girl watched her quietly. Yneira smiled and waved at her, earning a shy wave in return.

A few moments later, Erim returned with a small, cloth-covered basket. "Here. It should get you in the door. And if she turns you away, you are welcome to join us for supper."

Yneira's mouth watered as the fragrance of fresh-baked bread wafted past her nose. "Thank you. Your gift won't go to waste."

Erim just laughed and waved her away. "I'm sure it won't. Off with you now, and good luck."

'I'll need it.' Basket in hand, Yneira strolled down the road. Behind her, she heard the boys' mothers calling them in for dinner. She smiled; hopefully, Ganon's monsters would never reach them.

It didn't take her long to leave the village proper. It was small, and despite having amenities and attractions for travelers, not many people actually lived here. The houses quickly gave way to open beach broken only by the occasional palm tree. The road beneath her feet shrank down to a narrow, sandy path that wound its way around the dunes before snaking back north toward the slate cliffs that sheltered Lurelin and up to the small hut that marked the edge of the village boundaries.

For the first time in decades, Yneira got a good look at her father's ancestral home. Cradled in a cleft in the stone, the house had clearly seen better days. The frond roof looked frayed in places, and paint had peeled away from the outer walls, leaving only hints at what had once been. Its ramshackle appearance did nothing to mask the delicious scent of onion and fish drifting from indoors.

In contrast, the small garden to the side of the cottage was immaculate, its plants laid out in neat rows with nary a weed in sight. To her surprise, she saw several hydromelon plants mixed in among the standard onions and garlic. 'I didn't know that you could grow those outside of the desert. I wonder if they taste any different?'

Wrapped up in her musings, she didn't realize she'd come up onto the porch until she registered the change in her footsteps, going from the reassuring, muffled whump of sand to the solid-hollow thunk of wood.

This was it. Yneira lifted a hand to knock—and hesitated. She'd hunted molduga, fought Gerudo warriors, and faced off against whatever Van had become. Thrilling challenges and life-or-death struggles, all of them, and she'd never flinched.

And yet, she found herself more nervous at the prospect of speaking with a little old woman.

She took a deep breath to steel herself and knocked on the door.

A firm, aged voice rang out from inside. "It's open! Please, come in; I can't leave the stew unattended."

With a glance back toward the beach, Yneira did as she was bid. She was an arbiter. Or, well, former arbiter. She could do this.

The inside of the little house looked lived in, but in a comfortable way. Yneira slowly strolled through the entryway, which also doubled as the living room, where memories began returning to her. She couldn't have been more than six the last time she was here. Bright blankets and patterned tunics hung from the walls and backs of the chairs. Knick-knacks covered the few shelves, souvenirs of a life of travel. She didn't recognize anything, but they seemed to fit with her memories.

Those memories tickled her mind as she scanned the room, but try as she might to recall them, they slipped away like sand through her fingers. She sighed. 'Guess I'll have to hope that Gran doesn't remember either.'

To her left, an open arch led to a corridor that ran deeper into the building. Remembering what Gran had said, Yneira started towards it. She'd rather have met her grandmother in the front room—easier to retreat from there if Gran decided to be hostile—but the kitchen would have to do. She stepped over to the archway and was about to go through when something caught her eye.

Behind one of the chairs bordering the arch was a low shelf filled with a few more trinkets. She ignored most of them, her attention caught by what was clearly a folded tunic. Hesitantly, she bent down and unfurled the tunic with her free hand, revealing the intricate boar stitched in gold against the faded red fabric.

Suddenly, the crumbling sand that was her memories solidified, bringing, at last, what she'd been trying to remember.

[:][:][:]

"FINE THEN!" Papa shouted. Yneira peered up at Papa's faceless face from behind Mama's skirts, wide-eyed. She'd never heard Papa be so loud. Or so angry. "Live out the rest of your miserable life in this backwater of a village! It will not be spared the Calamity's wrath when it returns."

"If it returns!" Gran-Gran snapped back. Her face was distorted, bubbly. "You're throwing away your life—a good life!—to go haring off after a doomsday cult! They have nothing to offer you. I can only imagine what your father would have said."

"Dad wouldn't have said anything! In fact, I'm sure that dad would have joined me! Always chasing the next adventure, Dad was. He was never around, but at least he never held me back like you did."

Gran-Gran seemed to swell up, her face growing a deep shade of red. "How dare you? How dare you, after all we've done for you? I've fed you, clothed you—"

Papa's words seemed to fail him, but his hands didn't. With a jerk, he grabbed his tunic—the pretty red one with the boar that he said Gran-Gran had made him when he married Mama—and tore it off. "You care so much for that? Fine, take the stupid thing. Calamity, I wish I'd thrown it in the fire years ago!"

[:][:][:]

Yneira jumped as someone coughed behind her, jolting her from her thoughts. She jerked around and came face to face with her scowling grandmother.

Gran hadn't changed much in the years since she'd last seen her. Though short, she radiated a stern displeasure that brooked no nonsense. Deep lines of etched sorrow framed what must once have been regal features, all of which creased as she frowned.

"I gave you permission to enter, not to go rooting around my home. Whoever it was that taught you manners, they were clearly lax. And—Put that down this instant, young lady!"

With a start Yneira realized that she was still holding the tunic. Her father's tunic. She hastily refolded it and placed it back on the shelf. "I'm so sorry. I saw it, and it reminded me of something."

"Still shouldn't have touched," the old woman grumbled. "Important keepsakes like that… well, are you going to introduce yourself, or did you just come here to fondle my belongings?"

'Already off to a great start. This can only get worse from here.' Yneira gulped. Something about this old woman half her size made her incredibly nervous. "It's—I'm Yneira. Your granddaughter."

For a moment, Yneira's statement didn't seem to register. Then, comprehension dawned on Gran's face. "Little Yneira?" she whispered. "That's not possible. It's been so long, and—well, I'm not quite sure. You look like you could be my granddaughter, but I haven't seen her in over twenty years, and I never thought I'd see her again."

"You used to take me down to the beach to hunt for shells," Yneira said wistfully, understanding the unstated question. "We'd always look for the biggest, swirliest ones, the ones you said crabs made their homes. Mama and I would come over to help you with the garden—you've added hydromelons!—and every other time at least I would build little houses out of dirt while you two gardened. And… and you made this tunic for Papa."

Yneira nervously gestured at the tunic in question. Or tried to. Before she could do more than bend her arm, Gran pulled her into a hug that forced the air from her lungs in a whoosh and caused her to drop the bread basket. "Oh little Yneira, it is you," Gran sobbed. Yneira cautiously returned the embrace, as if she were embracing a cactus, though her grip firmed when she felt her Gran's shoulders shaking.

Eventually, the quiet sobs subsided, and Gran pulled back. "Sorry—I'm sorry. How are you here? What…?"

"It's a long story."

"Well, you'll just have to come and fill me in! 'It's a long story,' she says. Girl, I'm almost seventy years old; that's a long story."

Yneira laughed, feeling some of the tension bleed out of her shoulders. This might just work after all.

"…And then, one of the kids says to me, 'watch this, I've done this before,' before running up and kicking one of the chu-chus. I've never seen one of those jellies move so fast!"

Gran's laughter would have made a bard jealous. "Done it before, has he? Your friends have some spunk, I'll give them that. Could use some more sense though; your granddad once ran into a chu that exploded when struck. Came home with all his hair singed off—all of it."

"Ugh, Gran, I didn't need to know that." At least she didn't have any memories of her grandfather's appearance to tie the information to.

"Honestly, he had so m—"

PfffffFFFWEEEEEEEEEEESH!

To her eternal gratitude, the rest of Gran's response was cut off by the kettle's scream. Gran stood up. "Excellent. Now we can have a proper drink to chase down supper. You stay right there."

Far be it from her to do so. She leaned back in her chair and smiled while Gran pulled the kettle off the heat. Her worst fears had, thankfully, not come to pass so far. No fiery denunciations, no biting invectives. For the past hour, they'd just… chatted. Gran had told her some of what had happened in the village, and she'd shared some of her adventures. It had been surprisingly comfortable.

If only she could leave it as such.

A biting, citrus scent wafted through the air as Gran placed a cup in front of her. "Voltfruit tea," she said. "Give it a minute to steep; it has quite the jolt when fresh."

Gran settled in on the far side of the table with her own tea. "This has been lovely, dear. I'm so glad you stopped by. Hearing about your adventures has been delightful."

"It's been great catching up," Yneira agreed.

"Mmm." Gran gently blew on her tea before taking a sip. Judging by the amount of steam rising from the mug, it was still near boiling. "Yes, delightful. I have to admit though, I find it strange that you've come back with all those adventures and friends… and with your parents having made their decision."

Yneira winced, and Gran nodded. "I noticed your sickles when you entered. Adventurers have no need for such simple farm equipment, and yours have clearly seen much use. So tell me dear; have you been sent to kill your grandmother?"

"What?" It was all she could do not to gape. "Why in Calamity would I be here to kill you?"

Gran shrugged. "I do not claim to understand how cultists think. Perhaps my demise is needed to bring about the Calamity's return. Or a less outlandish idea; your father, in his bitterness, has finally decided to seek closure of sorts."

"Seek clos—Calamity—what—" Yneira's words failed her. The accusation was ridiculous, ludicrous. She scrambled for something, anything, to get her brain working again, and her eyes landed on her cup of tea. She snatched the cup and sloshed back a mouthful. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she registered that the flavor was actually quite good, but it was drowned out by the electric surge that jolted through her.

"N-no, I'm—heuurgh, that's hot—I'm not here to kill you!" Yneira sputtered. "I'm not even a member of the clan anymore."

"And yet you carry their weapons."

"Because they're mine. They're versatile, and it's taken me years to master them. I'm not going to just dump them."

"And you're not here on your father's behalf?"

"No." Yneira blew out a breath in frustration. "No, I'm not. Besides, that wouldn't be possible; they died a few years ago in a skirmish with the Gerudo."

The instant the words left her mouth, she wished she could pull them back. For a moment, Yneira thought that the news might have killed her. Gran recoiled as if she'd been struck, the blood draining from her face. She began to shake, and when she did eventually manage to speak, there was a tremor to it that undercut the iron that had been there before. "Is… is that true? Juzo and Efe are…?"

Memories of their corpses, burnt after hours laying in the desert sun, flashed through her mind, and she swallowed. "I recovered their bodies myself."

She didn't mention that that had been one of her first missions as an arbiter—nor the body count she'd left behind.

Gran took a shuddering breath. "I told them," she whispered. "I told them that they'd get themselves killed if they ran off after doomsday cults. They wouldn't listen…"

Shakily, she used the hem of her tunic to daub at her eyes. "I guess that's what happens to those who serve evil. I don't know… I don't know where I went wrong, but at least you escaped before you suffered the same fate."

Yneira winced again. "A-actually, that's why I'm here. I need to know more about Grandad."

As she spoke, Yneira pulled the neck of her tunic and blouse down, revealing the black, gaping maw on her chest. Her grandmother's breath caught and her eyes widened in horror, though whether at the wound or at her granddaughter stripping to her waist in front of her, she wasn't quite sure. The effect was the same though.

"You were half right. I escaped, but I didn't do it in one piece," Yneira said.

"Hylia's mercy," Gran whispered, hesitantly reaching a hand out toward her. "What could have caused…"

"I was stabbed," Yneira grunted. "I didn't survive."

"But you're—"

"Sitting here talking with you?" Yneira pulled her blouse back into place, hiding the Mark. "Yes. I'm not sure how. I met an old blind woman who hid her knowledge in riddles and metaphors, and the only hints she gave me were that it had something to do with my blood and that I would go somewhere." She shrugged. "I know my mother's pure Lurelin stock, which leaves Grandad."

Slowly, her grandmother settled back, her hand returning to her cup. Her face creased in a frown, her eyes glazing over in thought. Her fingers drummed the side of the teacup, sending small ripples to cascade across the surface of the tea.

Eventually, she looked back up. "Where was this place you were told to go?"

"Some backwater I've never heard of called Drangleic."

Gran flinched, her hand jerking back by reflex and sending her teacup teetering across the table, its contents spilling as it spun over the edge and toppled to the floor.

'Well, that's not a good sign.' Yneira smothered a sigh and pushed a little harder. "Does that mean I'm right?"

"Aye, that it does," Gran said tiredly. "Hylia protect you, but it does."

She stood up again with a groan, as if all her years had suddenly settled in, and, with a gesture for Yneira to follow, shuffled out of the room. Yneira hesitated; something about Gran's reaction set her on edge. It was like the energy she'd exuded so far had never existed. There was a pain there, one older than even what her father had inflicted.

'Well, whatever it is, I need to see this through.' This time, she did allow herself to sigh as she stood. Why couldn't things ever be nice and cheerful?

It took her a moment to find her grandmother. She hadn't gone to the front room like Yneira had expected, but had instead disappeared into what appeared to be a bedroom, though one that hadn't been used in some time. The paint on the walls was faded, though whether from age or dust, Yneira couldn't tell. Most of the furniture had been pulled out of the room, leaving only a bed and the chest that Gran was currently rummaging through.

Yneira plopped herself down on the bed. A cloud of dust, undisturbed for years, poofed up around her.

Ker-chew!

'Calamity, when was the last time she's been in this room?' She rubbed at her nose with one hand while she tried to wave the dust away with the other. She squinted through the dissipating cloud, trying to make out what Gran was doing. There was a small pile of things set beside her, and as Yneira watched, she added an old shield, a pair of books, and a sack to it.

Finally, with a grunt of success, she extracted a small wooden box. Yneira leaned forward as she turned to get a better look. It was made out of a red wood with a strange, winged creature carved into the surface and a simple latch keeping it closed. It was pretty, but it didn't seem terribly special.

"Your grandfather," Gran said slowly, "was from a place called Drangleic. From his stories, it was once a beautiful kingdom, but has long since fallen into decay. Its king stole something and brought a terrible enemy down upon them. He wouldn't tell me much more than that and got rid of most of the things he brought with him when he traveled here. In fact, all I have left of that land is here in this box." She paused, seemingly pondering something, before her expression firmed. "I want you to take them."

Yneira glanced at her, but all she did was hold the box closer. Feeling more than a little trepidation, Yneira reached out and flipped the latch open. With another glance at her grandmother, she carefully raised the lid. Nothing jumped out at her, which was a good start, so she flipped it open the rest of the way.

Inside, two objects lay snuggly nestled into some kind of fabric lining. She frowned and carefully pulled the first from its resting place. It was a small, black wicker figure vaguely in the shape of a person. The wicker was thin, almost spider-like, and all seemed to converge on a darker spot on what felt like the figure's front. As she turned it in her hand, she couldn't help but feel like something about it reminded her of someone. It was hauntingly familiar.

The second object turned out to be a strange, green glass bottle. Something seemed to flicker in its depths when looked at out of the corner of her eye, but when she turned it to look inside, she didn't see anything.

With her strange gifts in hand, she looked up at her grandmother, who just shrugged. "I haven't the foggiest clue, dear," she said as she closed the box. "All your grandfather said was that they were indispensable where he came from. Since it seems you're doomed to retrace his steps, I think you'll need them."

"A glass bottle, probably used for ale, and a little wicker doll?" Yneira asked incredulously. This is what she'd come all the way south for?

"A glass bottle and a little wicker doll," her grandmother confirmed. "Your grandfather wouldn't have kept them were they not important. I suspect that, had he taken them with him on his last adventure, he might have returned."

Yneira tried to be mad. She really wanted to be. But looking at her grandmother, who seemed to shrink in on herself a little more as the conversation dragged on… she just couldn't bring herself to be. Instead, she sighed and slid both objects into her pouch. "Well, thanks, I guess. I don't know what good these'll do, but maybe it'll be clear if I ever get there."

"Oh, I think you'll get there." Gran smiled at her then, a small, sad smile. "You have the same sense of fate that Baldwin had when I last saw him. These things, that mark on your chest, and your blood are all tied together, and will call you away from Hyrule forever. I don't know how I know, but I can feel it in my bones."

"People keep telling me that, and I don't know if I believe them." Yneira ran a hand through her hair and stood, repressing another sigh. She seemed to be sighing a lot these days. "Calamity, what a mess. Well, whatever. I'll deal with it as it comes. I should probably hit the road though; I've got a long ways to go if I want to meet up with the others. Knowing my luck, they'll do something stupid like attacking the Clan before I can guide them through."

She turned to go—and stopped as she realized that she'd been about to just vanish. She turned back and held out her arms. "It's been good catching up with you Gran."

Gran returned her embrace, one just as fierce as the first. Time seemed to slow, though Yneira knew that it was only an illusion; she didn't have whatever Demon-damned temporal abilities the Hylian Champion had. No, this was the slowing that she experienced with friends, where the quiet moments stretched to fill the silence and drove any sense of discomfort out. They were the moments that formed warm, fuzzy memories.

Eventually, though, they all ended, just as this one did. Gran's grip slackened, and when she pulled away, her eyes were moist, and face drawn. "My darling Yneira. It's been a delight to get to see the woman you've grown up to be. I only wish I had more time to do so…"

Yneira opened her mouth to say something glib. "Yeah, it's been nice getting to know my only remaining family member," or maybe, "Well, we'll have more time after the war." But looking at Gran's face carved with deep lines of sorrow stopped the words in her throat. Try as she might, she couldn't get them to come out.

Finally, she did let out one last sigh and gave her grandmother a small smile. "Well, maybe I can leave in the morning. Actually, I think my tea's gone cold. Do you think you could warm it up for me? I'd love to hear more about some of your and Grandad's adventures."

The warm, fuzzy feeling in her chest puffed up in the light of Gran's smile.