Authors note: This chapter is a bit grim and dark at times with some mature themes, but it isn't any more than what you would expect.
Chapter
Why We Failed pt. 17
The Assassin
In the depths of a restless slumber, Jun, Link's young squire, found himself ensnared in a nightmarish memory from his early childhood. Normally, days from his younger years were recollected foggy at best, like from another lifetime, but this one evening was a clear as the nose on his face. He can still feel the heat of the flames pressing on his skin.
The scene unfolded in a village nestled at the foothills of the Dying Mountain Range in the northeastern territory of Hyrule. It was a cold morning, the air heavy with dew brought from an evening mist that weaved through the pines casting a lingering chill that lasted past dawn. Clouds hung low, casting a somber pall over the quaint farms and the meandering stream that had once been a source of life and joy for the villagers.
The village, home to former Yiga members and their families, was a refuge for those seeking a peaceful way of life, away from the strife of war; but was now turned into a place of turmoil and fear. The Draene soldiers of the Hylian army, notorious for their ruthless nature, had descended upon the town with orders to enact the king's justice. Clad in black armor emblazoned with a serpent sigil wreathed in flame, they embodied the intimidating decree they were there to enforce.
A mid-ranking knight, mounted on his imposing steed, addressed the gathered villagers in the square. His voice was harsh, carrying the weight of a grim edict. "Alright, now gather round and listen up you Yiga. My name is Sir Dunk Warrel of Quarry Fort, and I have been sent to parlay and offer you a chance to leave this place un-accosted so long as you cooperate with the orders of the liege lord of the Stonelands and his Majesty, the King. As you may know, the Queen is dead. The king suspects that your kind may be responsible and with that his justice will be poured out upon you. Now Listen up, the commands of my Liege and his Royal Highness are as follows—"
The knightly man stretched out his arm for a subordinate to hand him a long scroll of parchment from out of a cylindrical container bearing the Royal Crest. Clearing his throat, he read the declaration while the people listened to their fate with bated breath.
"—By order of the king and to be enacted by his loyal marshal and servant, Commander of the northern hosts and Lord Paramount of the Stonelands, Danarus of the house Draene, it is hereby decreed that all Yiga and Yiga sympathizers must be treated as enemies of Hyrule and must be exterminated or driven from the Kingdom, if necessary, for the public good," he proclaimed.
The crowd began to murmur in disbelief amongst themselves, unsure if what they were hearing was true, but quickly silenced by one of the standing soldiers who unsheathed his sword to instill fear.
The commander of the Hylian Dragoons continued. "Be it known that anyone caught dwelling within village limits come dawn shall live to regret it. You are hereby ordered to disarm, disband and leave these lands or face the consequences by penalty of death."
The villagers huddled together, their faces etched with fear and desperation, voiced their pleas. "We're not Yiga, we swear!" one begged. "We abandoned those ways long ago!"
Another also pleaded. "We told you everything we know! We're farmers, and decent folks. We've done no harm to any of you."
"Can't you see we're just people trying to start our lives over!" cried an older man, his voice cracking under the strain of injustice. He fell to his knees and bowed his head for sympathy.
Sir Dunk Warrel, unmoved, combed his mop of slick black hair back, clopped forward dauntingly on his steed and retorted coldly, "You've done harm by existing and by dabbling in witchcraft!"
A defiant villager shot back, "It's not witchcraft, it's science, you sad superstitious man! All can be explained if you only listened to us."
"Bah, explain it to my crossbow!" the knight sneered; his contempt palpable, looking for any excuse for violence.
Another villager, a lone mother of two, her voice trembling with suppressed sobs, implored, "None of this is necessary, we will do as you wish! But I beg you, we only need a few days, that's all, please."
Warrel's response was unyielding as he glanced to his men who reaffirmed his position with gleeful smirks of their own. "Out of the question! I was commanded to slaughter each and every single one of you vermin, but I took pity on you beyond your worth. By the goddess you are indebted to my clemency and only by my good graces you are alive today. I have already done enough by offering you leniency to be out by the morrow! My conscience is clear of you."
"But where will we go? What of our children? It's a long journey beyond the borders of the kingdom," the woman begged. "The Scourgelands are an arid wasteland, it would take many days to journey across, if they can even be crossed at all."
"That is none of my concern. You should have thought of that before following your leaders into engaging in treason and open rebellion against the crown. You should be grateful that you were given leave with your lives at all. Which is a lot more than I can say that is in store for them. So count yourselves lucky!"
The air was thick with tension and despair, the scent of morning dampness mingling with the fear emanating from the villagers. The sound of the stream, once a soothing presence, now seemed to mock their plight with its continuous, indifferent flow.
In another part of the village, simultaneously unfolding with the events at the square, was a scene of equal distress and injustice inside a former Yiga man's home. The house, a humble abode filled with memories and tokens of a life once peaceful, was now being invaded by Draene soldiers, exploiting the chaos for their own gain.
The former Yiga, a man whose life had been uprooted, found himself grappling with a soldier. "Hey, get your hands off me, what are you doing? Let go, help!" he cried out in desperation, his voice laced with panic and disbelief.
The leader of the soldiers, a man whose authority was as evident as his lack of morality, barked orders with a cold detachment. "C'mon men, search for weapons."
The villager, his plea tinged with frustration and fear, responded, "I told you I don't have anything. I surrendered my steel and scythe this morning. That's all I had; I swear!"
Unconvinced, the soldier sneered, "You didn't think we'd be fooled, did you? C'mon men, check everywhere. I know he must have a secret stash somewhere in this hovel he calls a home."
As the soldiers ransacked the house wielding torches, the villager watched in horror. "What are you doing? That's my mother's finest pottery! They've been in our family for generations!" The sound of his heritage being shattered was like a physical blow, each crash a painful echo in the once-peaceful home.
Amidst the chaos, one soldier triumphantly held up a find. "Some fine treasure you have here! You silver-haired freaks sure know how to hide 'em. Whoowee! Jackpot! Gerudo topaz and looky here," he called out for his friends to see the loot he found. "Got me-self a shiny silver necklace too!"
The villager's heart sank as he witnessed his possessions being loaded onto a horse drawn cart. "Why are you loading it into the wagon!? You're not searching for weapons, you're robbing me!" The bitter realization was as cold as the morning air seeping through the now-broken windows.
"Yeah? Well, better consider it a warning," retorted the leader with a malicious grin. "You heard the commander. We'll be back on the morrow, and if you're still in this house, it's you who they will be carrying out to the wagon," he said to devilish laughter of his fellow dragoons, who were making off with spoils.
The despair in the villager's voice was palpable. "I can't possibly be out of here by then."
"The king's orders and Lord Draene's command say to exterminate you all—Or expel you from the kingdom. So, if you're not on the road and your way by this time in the morning, you're dead."
"But what about my land? The farm? I can't possibly sell my house that fast, why, I don't even own a wagon, you already taken it. A move like that is expensive. It takes time, please, I'm begging you. And what of my wife and children, what will they eat and drink for the journey? It's a long and treacherous road through the Windy Pass. Many of us are already sick due to the winter already upon us. Please, have mercy."
As the man pleaded for his land, his family, and their future, the cruelty of the soldiers was unyielding. "Sir Warrel has given you enough mercy by sparing your worthless lives! How and what you do with your people is your problem! You knew this day would come, and yet, you decided to settle where you didn't belong!"
"Why, sure, you can sell your house." Another soldier said pitifully, listening to the man's plight. "I'll make you a sweet offer for your land right here and now."
"Y-you will?" the man was desperate and couldn't believe what he was hearing. An offer.
"Why, sure I will!" The soldier couldn't keep up the charade and the pity on his face quickly twisted into a mocking smile as he made a derisive offer for the land. "Yeah, one rupee cash. How's that sound? Just sign over the deed!" The others howled in cruel guffaws.
The villager's shock was evident. "One rupee!? You can't be serious? The acres leading up to the forest meadow and the stone mill alone are worth—"
"—I think it's the most generous offer you're going to get," another interrupted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Better take it while it's still on the table."
"Yeah, back at the public square, I hear they're having folks like you sign away their land for free!...That is, if they want their daughters to be safe tonight." Hooted their lieutenant with a wink to his men as he walked out onto the porch. His men following behind in a chorus of sickening laughter.
The air in the room grew colder, the lingering scent of fear and desperation mingling with the fading warmth of the hearth. The villager's last words were a whisper of despair, a plea to a seemingly distant goddess as the men cackled in delight on their way out, reveling in the misfortune of the Yiga people. "Goddess help us…"
Elsewhere in the village and in the heart of Jun's childhood home, a place once filled with warmth and love, another heart-wrenching scene was unfolding as well. Jun, only four years old, was witnessing a moment that would forever burn itself to the inside of his eyelids every time he fell asleep. A cruel memory he'd never forget. His father, Sanada, a former great Yiga leader, was being arrested by other Draene soldiers, his mother and young Jun forced to say their goodbyes under the watchful eyes of the guards.
"Oh papa! Don't go yet," pleaded Jun, his young voice filled with confusion and fear, unable to grasp the gravity of the situation.
Sanada, his voice laced with desperation, requested the guard cordially as he could muster, "Please, could we be alone for a moment?"
"Not a chance, Sanada," one of the soldiers barked dismissively, his tone devoid of empathy.
"But even a condemned man has a right to a few minutes alone with his wife and children," Sanada argued, his voice a mixture of defiance and resignation.
"Not you, Sanada, we know your tricks," retorted the soldier, unmoved by the plea.
"Tricks?" Sanada's wife questioned back at the insult.
Her query was met with a stern order from the soldier, "Yeah, and your time's up."
"Clothes dear, I need clothes. And perhaps a blanket against the cold, perhaps? If it wouldn't leave you and the children in hardship?" Sanada's voice was gentle, a stark contrast to the cruel tension surrounding them.
"Of course. We haven't much left, but I'll find something that'll do," his wife replied, her voice breaking with sorrow.
"Then, never mind. Just a coat will suffice. My warm coat," Sanada conceded, understanding the direness of their situation.
The impatient soldier urged, "C'mon Sanada, enough already, hurry it up, I haven't got all day."
"Papa, where are they taking you?" Jun's innocent question was heartrending in its naivety.
"I'll be back soon, little Juniper, you'll see," Sanada tried to reassure him, a hollow promise hanging in the air.
"Some Yiga Gran Master you are Sanada', lying to the kid." The soldier leaned over to mock. "Hey little boy, your papa is going to be strung up from the highest tree in Serpent's Court!" the soldier cruelly taunted.
Sanada's wife, her protective instincts flaring, admonished, "He's only four and just a child! Would you want someone talking that way to your child?"
"Papa, take me with you! Please don't go!" Jun's plea was a piercing cry, filled with the pure, uncomprehending dread of a little boy.
"C'mon Sanada, you got your clothes now, let's go!" the soldier urged him with a shove out the front door, unmoved by the family's anguish.
As Jun reached out to his father, the soldier menacingly warned, "Back off you little Yiga rat, or I'll run you through!"
"Sheathe that sword away from my son! How could you—" Sanada' wife began, shielding her son from the unruly soldier, her voice a mix of anger and despair.
"Guard! That is enough, I'm going!" Sanada interjected, resigning himself to his fate.
But then, another voice entered the fray — Jun's uncle. "Stop!" he called out.
"Huh? What is it now? What do you want?" the soldier demanded; his impatience evident.
"Take me instead. I beg you. Leave him. He has a family—" Jun's uncle offered himself in Sanada's stead, a sacrifice born of desperation. A man much older and frailer than his younger warrior of a brother.
"What's he to you?" the soldier questioned, suspicion in his tone.
"He's my—" Sanada started to protest, but his brother cut him off.
"I'm his brother."
"No Rosha, you can't. I need you here to lead the others—" Sanada tried to dissuade him, but his plea was in vain.
"Look, if it's Sanada blood you want, then it's mine you can have but spare him. Please, I beg you," pleaded Rosha.
"Hmm… Very well, then, take 'em both," the soldier decided with a grin, his voice cold and devoid of mercy pointing to the other men to clasp him in chains also.
In the dim light of the room, filled with the scent of fear and despair, Jun's small figure stood, witnessing the unfolding tragedy. The sounds of his mother's sobs, the clanking of the soldiers' armor, and the stern voices formed a cacophony that echoed in his young mind. Though his father's promise of reuniting with him lingered in the air, he knew, deep down, that he would never see him again.
The chill of the morning air seeped through the walls, a cold reminder of the harsh reality outside their once-safe haven. In that moment, Jun's world, his understanding of safety and family, was turned upside down. The trauma of this day, the sights, sounds, and emotions, would stay with him, shaping the person he would become.
Back at the square, and with all the prominent Yiga rounded up and loaded onto wagons wearing fetters, Sir Warell, pleased with himself, spat final commands to those left in the village.
"So, listen up you Yiga and listen close. We've arrested your leaders, destroyed your army and now we have your arms. So, now you have my warning," he paused to relish in their defeated faces.
Wearing a disgusted grin of satisfaction, he sucked in a breath and declared. "You are to leave these lands immediately. And I mean immediately with all due haste. Not the next moon turn, not after your homes are sold, not after your baby is born, I want no excuses! Come daybreak if you and your families ain't out on the road and on your way to the borderlands we'll burn your cottages right over your head, you got me?! And just if any one of you is thinking of being brave, do not imagine, do not think for one moment that you will ever see your precious leaders alive again. Their fate is written, their doom is sealed!"
The people were in shock by the decree. The Dragoons, led by their commander, reared their mounts and left, with their prisoners and booty in tow—the spoils of their victory.
The villagers watched as their new masters rode off down the road and into the darkness of the night, taking hope along with them. Jun, his brother and his mother now alone, witnessed their loved ones being trotted off like common criminals in the back of prisoner wagon, never to be seen again.
"No…" Little Juniper whispered, the tears now beginning to stream down his cheeks. "No! I won't let them take you! No!" the little boy ran, chasing after the riding detachment of Hylian troops, in the hopes of freeing his father by some miracle.
"Jun!" his mother hollered after him, her heart sank but she managed to scoop him up into her embrace before he could get too far. Others watched the scene unfold, their eyes burning with sadness as well, and hearts just as heavy. There would be no miracles today, or likely ever again.
"No!" the boy screamed in his mother's arms. "Papa no!"
"No!" Jun screamed, bolting upright in his bed, his limbs flailing against the sheets. The piercing cry echoed through the dimly lit pavilion. His cries jolted the Princess and her maidens from their sleep. Zelda, her heart pounding, rushed to his side. The maidens followed; their faces etched with concern.
"I won't let you hurt them!" Jun's voice was desperate, filled with terror. For a while he raged where he lay, to the shocking dismay of Zelda and her ladies in waiting.
Distressed, Zelda ordered one of the girls in a frantic plea. "Ilia, hurry, fetch some rags and a basin of water, he's burning up." Zelda and her maidens struggled to restrain Jun, their hands gripping his arms and legs, trying to calm him. The boy thrashed and pulled, eyes shut and mumbling incoherent tearful begs of mercy.
The girl came as quickly as she went. The princess immediately soaked a rag in cool water from the bowl, all the while trying to calm her own composure. Her hands trembled as she dabbed his forehead, her touch gentle yet firm.
"Jun, it's alright, you're safe!" Zelda pleaded, her voice a soothing balm against his distress. "You're safe now! I promise! Nobody is going to hurt anybody!"
Jun tossed in his sheets; his strength surprising the princess. Zelda tried to sooth him again with her voice, offering words of comfort as best she knew. Slowly, his delirium faded, and he blinked, focusing on Zelda's kind face coming into focus leaning over him. The warmth of her smile began to pull him back to the present. Worry gave way to relief as he recognized her.
Zelda, able to catch her breath, sighed. "There, there, it's alright. That's it, shh now, relax… It's just a bad dream."
"W-what happened? A dream?" Jun's eyes widened, a hint of fear still lingering. "Did I…?" Afraid that he may have done something—Or worse, say something he shouldn't have while incapacitated.
"Not to worry," Zelda said, her tone calm and reassuring. "You were just having a really bad nightmare. My ladies and I heard you from our quarters. You gave us quite the fright. We were nearly abed when you stirred. We halfway expected to see someone attacking you, but you were alone. You were scorched with a fever, but fortunately—" She dabbed his head again and felt his neck with the back of her hand. His labored breaths were starting to subside. "Fortunately, it has broken."
Her touch was tender, like that of an older sister, a familial comfort he had long missed.
As he fully came to, Jun saw the four of them wearing their silken white nightgowns; each hovering with a worried look. "What—what time is it?" Jun asked, his voice tinged with embarrassment from the midnight outburst.
"Let's see," Zelda cupped her chin, pondering. "It's been about two hours since I left you to rest, so I'd say it's close to the hour of the Owl, or just shy of three hours past the break of day."
"Then that means—"
"—It's alright," Zelda interrupted gently, pressing against him to lie back down. "We still have around six more hours until the break of dawn. So, try and catch a little more shut eye while you can. Don't worry, I'll have one of my best girls bring you a soothing tea. It should help you get back to sleep. And then, I must as well."
"I'm sorry you had to see that," Jun mumbled, his cheeks flushed with shame.
"Oh, no, Jun, never apologize for grief," Zelda said softly.
"Huh?"
Zelda glanced at the three maids present, then back to Jun. "Leave us, and bring the tea please," she commanded. The maidens obeyed, bowing as they exited the room back to their sleeping quarters; one to fetch the potion.
"It's about your parents, am I right?" Zelda asked, her voice gentle.
Jun could only nod, a sniff escaping him, his eyes still stinging from unshed tears.
"I see…" Zelda's voice was filled with understanding. "You miss them, huh?"
Jun nodded again, a hiccup in his voice. "Yeah…"
"Might I ask what happened to them? You were shouting all manners of things in your sleep, but not much made sense."
"They were…" Jun whispered, hiding his face from her. "They were murdered yearsago." His voice was cold, the weight of his words filling the room with sorrow.
Zelda's heart ached at his confession. She hadn't expected such a tragic answer. For a brief second, her soul felt a pang of deep empathy as she saw the sadness in his shivering. The pale moonlight shone through the veil of the tent, casting a soft glow on his young, grief-stricken face when he turned back to face her. She realized then that despite his youth, he had seen more darkness than she ever had. For when she saw his eyes, there was far less innocence than in the reflection of her own.
She gently placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, offering silent support. Following a long and deep breath, she confided in him. "My…my mother also died when I was just a child too." Jun hesitated to reply, listening to what she might say next. Zelda continued, "Though my mother wasn't murdered, and I'll never know the heartache of injustice of the likes you feel, I do understand having feelings of grief from a terrible loss. For many long years I tried to bury that grief…"
Jun sniffed, this time feeling bad for bringing up the subject, however he wanted to hear what she had to say. He could hear the distress in the princess' voice at the recollection of her mother and how much it saddened her. The glow in her face seemed to fade and her eyes began to mirror the heartache shone in his own. "And did you ever?" he asked.
Zelda, a little lost in the remembrance, blinked when he spoke and glanced at him blankly.
"Did you…ever bury the grief?"
The princess shook her head. "No, but I have come to understand my pain and in that, I have found some solace. And in time, you too might find a degree of peace too. I'm deeply sorry for your loss and the terrors it brings you. I won't press you further on how it happened. Not until you're ready to share."
Jun nodded at her words and Zelda continued. "But also know that you don't have to keep that burden to yourself. You are so young to hold such darkness hidden away in you. When you're ready, let someone else also bear the load."
"W—who?" Jun looked up to her, wiping the tears away from his eyes.
"Well, you have me for starters and, don't forget, Helmsworth. I'm sure he would want to know his squire better and to help him in any way he can." Zelda then cupped his cheek with her hand, her touch gentle and soothing as a midnight stream washing away a burning fire. "You're not alone anymore."
Jun could only offer a slight smile in return, feeling better at the thought of what she said.
A long silence ensued after, her sweet thoughtfulness only to be interrupted by one of the maidens returning. "Sorry to disturb, but the tea you requested, Your Highness."
Zelda pulled away and reached for the warm concoction from the girl. "Here, Jun, drink this Moonshade Elixir. It's brewed from a mix of Blue Nightshade and Moon Berries. Our clerics are quite adept and creating potions. It will rest your weary heart once it takes effect, I promise."
The young squire took the drink and gulped what he could as Zelda and the maid watched. The princess then stood up and spoke a final word on the matter. "Rest easy now, Jun. May you find comfort in your sleep. I'll see you in the morning."
Jun, mumbled just as she was about to exit the flap of his entrance. "T—thanks, Your Highness."
Zelda smiled and with that she departed back to her quarters with her attendant. Jun laid back on his soft, down pillow, and stared above through the crack of the tent, beyond the pale moonlight and to the only twinkling star in the sky, hoping without hope he would indeed get a good night's rest. It didn't take long for the potion to take effect and he fell fast asleep.
However, his young wish would go unanswered, and instead of sweet dreams of what may come finding him, past nightmares ensued, and in that sub-conscious moment, all he could wish for was the dawn.
The air grew tense as shadows danced around the stone mill, the fading sunlight casting eerie glimmers on the innocent faces of the Yiga villagers. Broken, the people were gathering their belongings swiftly as they could while others conversed what they should do next. Hardly anyone agreed and even now, a few fires were still smoldering from the homes that were burned as warning to them. Little Jun, his brother and mother were one of the frightened among them.
It didn't take long and the debate one what to do next came to an end. At the edge of despair, a consensus was reached. They must flee and be on the road at first light, prepared or not. For the perils of the borderlands were not as fearsome than if they overstayed their welcome.
But before Jun's mother could plan their exodus with the others, the harrowing sound of hooves trampling ground resounded down the road. A whisper of unease snaked through the air as the thunder of steps of grew louder heading toward their small village again.
"Who could it be?" A villager pondered aloud.
"It could be others who are coming to join us," another offered, not wanting to fear the worst.
"No, it's the Hylian army, I just know it. They've returned to finish the job." Panicked another.
"Shh, quiet, you're frightening the children." Jun's mother said.
"Yeah, didn't Sir Warrel say, we have until the morning, it's hardly twilight." One of the older men insisted hopefully. "Surely, he wouldn't break the peace, right?"
Unfortunately, it didn't take long and soon their worst fears were realized. Hylian Dragoons were now in plain view down the road past the tree line that twisted into the village. The inhabitants were clinging to the false promise of safety, uttered by the very men that now returned under the veiling shadows of dusk.
"Quickly, into the thicket, into the bushes to hide!" Jun's mother implored, taking no chances and her two sons and some villagers with her.
"They're going to kill us, they are going to kill us," Cried a middle-aged woman in the shadows of the foliage.
"Shh, they'll hear you. Let's wait and see what they came for. We don't know anything yet." Jun's mother whispered, offering her hand to clasp over the mouth of the lady.
As the regiment of around fifty soldiers halted their advance at the edge of the town, a knight armored in black, bearing the red sigil of a serpent on horseback clopped forward. One villager, a glimpse of hope in his eyes whispered to the others huddled near him. They were all hiding for out of fear for their lives. He was just a teen boy. "Nah, I recognize him, that's Sir Caspin, and he promised me we have til' the morrow to leave. That we'll be safe so long as we leave by break of day. We're okay. Don't worry ma'am, everything will be alright. No need to cry, you'll see. He isn't like that horrible Dunk Warrel."
The boy stuck out his neck bravely from out behind a tree and called out to the oncoming riders. "Hey Captain, what brings you back? Peace man, peace!"
The boy's voice got caught in his throat that instant. To his shock he could only gargle incoherent words, strangled by the sharp agony erupting around his neck. It was then he realized he couldn't breathe and was gagging on his own blood. Red began to drench his tunic and he collapsed onto the road. The whimpering cries from the lady in the bushes were replaced by an ear-splitting shriek of sheer terror; revealing their position.
In a few short moments the boy suffocated miserably as his body convulsed before letting out a final gasp to no avail. He was dead. A quarrel had pierced the apple of his throat.
With a sinister grin dancing on his lips, Sir Caspin put away his crossbow and unsheathed his sword, his eyes gleaming in the reflection of his blade with morbid delight as he led the charge. "Alright men, cut down anyone wearing breeches and cut to kill!"
The once peaceful atmosphere turned into a symphony of screams as steel bit through soft flesh, the very air stained with betrayal and despair as blood misted the air. The Dragoons rained down death upon the unsuspecting villagers. The echoes of the massacre reverberated through the once tranquil village, leaving a haunting reminder of the treachery that had befallen it. Jun's mother swiftly wrangled her children and several others before the guards could get to them.
"We have to get to shelter to hide, somewhere they won't find us!" She said, fleeing while others unfortunately met their demise against dragoons in the road. Some of the former Yiga men attempted to fight but to their folly. Farming tools were no match for castle forged weapons and armor. But their sacrifice wouldn't be in vain as the delay bought time for Jun's mother to take others to safety. Or so she believed.
To her unknown dismay, one of the troops caught a glimpse of one of the stragglers and where they fled to. A creepy grin twisted under his half-helm. "Looks like they're going to hold up in the blacksmith's shop! Quick, to the smithy!"
Several of his compatriots followed after him and one congratulated him on the find. "Good eye Port. These Yiga think they're so clever, to the forge shop men!"
Inside the dimly lit smithy, Jun's mother and a group of fifteen terrified villagers huddled together, their breaths shallow and their bodies trembling. The night outside was filled with screams and the sounds of chaos as the dragoons unleashed terror upon the village. Jun's mother clung to a fragile hope that the soldiers would overlook the abandoned shop, focusing their brutality on the more inviting homes nearby. They waited in the oppressive silence, praying fervently for the goddess's mercy to spare them.
Outside, the dragoons circled the small building, its crumbling brick and log walls giving it the appearance of an abandoned workshop. One dragoon, a sinister grin spreading across his face, nudged his companions. "Hurry, we can loose quarrels through the cracks! They're hiding inside and have nowhere to run!"
Panic surged inside the smithy as arrows and bolts began to rain through the narrow openings of the crisscrossed log walls. The villagers screamed and scrambled for cover, their fear mingling with the cruel laughter of the soldiers outside. The dragoons treated the massacre as a twisted game, each kill eliciting howls of excitement.
"It's like herding cuccos in a pen!" one dragoon shouted, his voice filled with perverse glee, his comrades cackling in agreement as they reloaded their crossbows.
The villagers who survived the initial barrage sought refuge behind anvils, overturned desks, and anything else that might provide a semblance of protection. Blood stained the dirt floor, and the cries of the wounded filled the air. Jun's mother lay among the fallen, her life slipping away as she bled beside her two sons.
Realizing their desperate situation, the villagers hurried to bar the door, hoping to buy themselves a few more precious moments before the soldiers could break in to finish the job with their swords.
Amidst the chaos, Jun's older brother, his face pale but resolute, made a split-second decision. He grabbed his baby brother Jun, only four years old, who sat crying in a corner, his small body shaking with fear. He saw a small opening, a break in the foundation where the logs of the wall met the ground. However, the crawl space was too small, even for his nine-year old body. Instead, he reached for Jun and spoke his final farewell. "You have to listen to me, Juniper. This is your only chance. The soldiers are about to break in any minute. The bar on the door won't hold. You must get out of here!"
"I don't want to go. I don't want to leave Mom. We need to stay together," Jun cried, clinging to his brother.
The door of the shop burst open, and five dragoons stormed inside, their swords gleaming with a merciless hunger. The villagers' desperate resistance was met with swift, brutal violence. Screams of terror and pain filled the air, mingling with the sickening sound of flesh being torn apart.
Jun's brother, his heart breaking, knew they had only moments left. He shoved Jun into the crawlspace, his voice a frantic whisper. "Mother is gone, Juniper. She's dead, and soon I'll be too! You must leave now, go!"
"I can't, I can't do this, please don't leave me," Jun sobbed, tears streaming down his face. "Please don't go." His sobs became hushed whimpers as he was pushed out.
"I'm sorry, Juniper, but there's no other way. You can do this," his brother insisted, his voice trembling as he pushed Jun through the break under the foundation. The small opening led to the woods behind the smithy, a slim chance of escape. But Jun hesitated, his eyes wide with horror, watching from outside as his brother turned back to conceal the crawlspace.
Inside, the dragoons advanced, their footsteps echoing ominously. "Bring a torch, will you? Goddess almighty, l can't see a damn thing," barked one of the cruel men. With torch in hand, they reveled in the carnage, surveying the bloodied bodies strewn across the shop floor. Some still clung to life, their bodies twitching in agony. A dragoon methodically finished them off with his blade, ensuring none survived.
"Aye, that's old man Kurota, isn't it? Wasn't he the Sheikah turncoat who was pardoned by Lord Abaster back during the war?" one of the soldiers called out, pointing to an old man crawling on the floor, wounded and trembling with a quarrel lodged in his leg. "We ought to help him, don't you think?"
"I don't care, he's fraternizing with the enemy now, and that makes him a traitor," the leader of the pack sneered. He slapped the torch into another soldier's hand and stepped toward the old man. "Hey Kurota, you sneaky old man, I see you have a crossbow there hiding under your belly. Is it loaded?"
Kurota, mustering all his strength, raised his hands in surrender. "Take it. I never loosed a shot."
"Well, let's just see," mocked the leader with a crooked smile. He held up the crossbow, feigning inspection, before pulling the trigger point blank.
"Oh well, I guess he was right!" he said with evil satisfaction, the laughter of his comrades echoing in the grim scene-except for one, whose expression remained stoic, perhaps even conflicted.
"Y—you killed him." One of the soldiers stammered, disbelief etched on his face.
The leader smirked, handing the crossbow to another. "I should hope so, at that range."
"But he was just a wounded, yielding old man?" the soldier protested, struggling to reconcile the brutality before him.
"He's a Yiga, ain't he? What's done is done." The leader retorted, casting a critical eye around the room to inspect their handiwork. Bodies lay still, the air heavy with death. "Looks like we got 'em all, lads," he declared, ready to order his men back to the town square when another voice interrupted.
"Wait, hold up, there's a young one hiding in the corner there," a Dragoon pointed out, lifting his bow. With chilling precision, he loosed two arrows into the crawlspace.
"Now that's what I call a double bull's eye! One in each socket. Took his head off, too." The leader hooted, his men joining in the menacing laughter, all except for the soldier who had spoken up before.
"But he couldn't have been more than nine years old?" the soldier whispered; horror evident in his voice.
The archer took a theatrical bow, his face split into a grin. "Nits make lice! If he'd grown up, he'd have been a Yiga."
"That's right, he would have," another Dragoon concurred, patting the new soldier on the back. "Don't worry, you're just a bit green, that's all. If you'd seen what these vermin are capable of, you wouldn't shed a tear for them. Now, let's get out of here."
But before they could leave, one Dragoon got carried away with some business of his own at the other end of the smithy. The leader noticed and chuckled, lifting an inquisitive brow. "Hey Farga, what are you doing with that lady's blouse and bonnet over there?"
The soldier pillaged the clothes from the maiden's corpse, careful not to rip the fine fabrics. He left her bare-breasted on the floor, tauntingly laughing as he held up the garments. "I'm going to give it to my sweetheart, I am! The lady who owned it sure isn't going to need them anymore!" The men roared with laughter, except for the new one among them. "These satins are worth a pretty rupee too!"
The young Dragoon knew better, but if he was to be one of them, he was going to have to go along with their cruel, insatiable appetite for bloodshed. So, he forced a smile when the others would glare at him to get in line.
Outside, Jun stood just beyond the crawlspace, unwilling to leave. Foolishly, and with the naivety of a small child, he peeked inside, hoping his brother might have been spared by some miracle.
He didn't want to believe he was truly alone in the world. But as he looked, his worst fears were realized. The bloodbath and the inhuman decapitation of his older brother drained all the color from his face. The boundless depths of dread took hold of him, and he screamed, alerting the dragoons to his presence.
"Hey! One of them has gotten away outside!" the leader hollered. "Quick, around back!"
Jun's scream echoed through the night as he tore his gaze away from the gruesome scene. He knew he had to run, but his legs felt like lead.
Jun forced himself to move. The adrenaline rush clouded his mind, the events blurring into a frantic whirlwind. One moment, he was behind the building, and the next, he was darting through the dense woodland. Instinct took over, and he found cover under a tree near an old rodent burrow.
Flakes of snow began to fall, dusting the forest floor as the dragoons searched the woodland, their torches casting flickering shadows among the thick winter shrubs. The evening grew late, their torches dimmed, and their hunt grew weary.
"Ah, forget him, Farga. Let's go," wheezed Rockwell to his compatriot. "If he's out in those woods, he's as good as dead. Besides, it's getting cold, and Port promised us the first round of drinks when we get back."
"I like the sound of that," grinned Farga, waving his torch one last time to inspect the surroundings. "To be honest, it's the least he can do for slowing us down earlier with his questions."
"Ah, c'mon, give the lad a break. He's new. You were green once too. We just need to toughen him up a bit, that's all," Rockwell affirmed.
Jun lay still as a stone, barely daring to breathe as the soldiers conversed just above his hiding spot. He listened intently, trying to calm his racing heart. The darkness and snow provided just enough cover to keep him concealed.
Their leader approached from behind them, his presence commanding attention. "You did well, men, but Sir Caspin needs us back at the village. No more wasting time on a little Yiga mouse. Besides, he won't last long. If the chill doesn't get him, the beasts will. Good riddance," he said, his words met with nods of approval. He chuckled, adding, "Now, let's head back. Our captain wants us to have a little bonfire."
"The whole village, right?" asked Rockwell.
"Yup, orders are we are to leave no cottage untouched and no log atop another. All of it must burn."
"Whoowee, I can't wait," said Farga. "But um, sir, did the king really order this?"
The leader's thin, villainous lips curled into a cruel smile. "Now, that all depends on which King you're talking about."
"Sir?" Rockwell questioned, confusion etched on his face.
"You were always a slow one, weren't you?" the leader mocked. "Our direct orders come from our Lord Paramount Danarus Draene; however, he has been given license by the King to enact his will and deal out his justice. Now, that goes without saying, they didn't specify which King gave the decree, did they?" He let another chuckle escape, the fog of his breath mingling with the cold air.
It started to dawn on the pair, the realization setting in. Farga's eyes lit up with understanding. "Why, that sly, masterful fox—"
"Careful what you say. He is still our Liege Lord. But yes, we still have the decree set forth by the great ancient King in our hands. Doesn't mean these Yiga filth need to know about it, though. What's done is done and soon will be forgotten. Besides, after what we've accomplished, the Kingdom will be safer for it and the King will approve and perhaps reward us in time. So long as we keep quiet on what happened here today. And if he can be spared the gritty details of it, all the better."
"I see, I see," said Farga, listening intently, the torch in his hand casting flickering shadows on their faces as the leader huddled them close.
"And that is where we come in," continued their leader. "We still have more work to do. Our Lord wants us to handle these vermin quietly, and tactfully. We are Dragoons after all, and we are tasked to do the deeds of light among the shadows."
"Sounds good to me," concurred Farga first.
"Yeah, me too," added Rockwell.
"Alright then, what say you we have ourselves a drink and a Yiga cookout?" the leader winked devilishly before leading them back to the heart of the village. It didn't take long for the glow of their torches to dim and their presence to fade away.
Jun lay frozen, tears mingling with the snowflakes on his cheeks. He clenched his fists, the cold seeping into his bones as the dragoons' voices faded. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't think beyond the immediate horror of what he had witnessed. The world seemed to close in around him, the darkness of the forest becoming a cold, indifferent blanket over his small, trembling form.
He dared not venture back to the village, not yet. The boy lay low in the burrow. He was in shock, struggling to discern if this was reality or a terrible nightmare. Maybe, just maybe, he would wake up and find his father, mother, and brother safe, along with all the townsfolk.
To his heartbreak and his shivering recollection in the cold, the dark forest was shattered by the sudden barrage of bright flashes emanating from the village. It was not a dream.
The reflection of the inferno glowed in his teary eyes as homes erupted into pylons of fire, their flames licking the night sky above the treeline. In that instant, all the happiness and love he had ever known in the world turned to ash and smoke, blotting out the moon and stars.
As the Dragoons fled from the village, Jun hurried back, desperate to find survivors. The radiating glow of the burning embers singed his skin, but he didn't care. Someone might still be alive. Maybe even his mom and brother, though deep down he knew otherwise.
He ventured back to the blacksmith shop, clinging to a sliver of hope, only to be met with misery. The roof had collapsed and turned to cinders, burying all those who were left behind. Jun hated the world in that instant. He even hated himself for living while they perished. But most of all, he hated the Hylians for everything they had done.
The dam broke and the little boy cried out in pain, tears streaming down his cheeks as he screamed into the foreboding emptiness of the town. The crackling sound of burning buildings was the only reply. In shock, the boy collapsed to his knees and buried his face in the dirt at the foot of the smoldering remains of the smithy. There, he pleaded to whatever god or goddess might hear him, clenching the cold earth in his hands as he wailed and wept, squeezing so hard that blood dripped from his closed fists. The agony of losing all he cherished persisted for some time, but as the night dragged on, his cries became quiet whimpers. Eventually, the fires dimmed around him, and silence returned. Fatigued and destroyed within, he succumbed to his weariness and passed out.
"Hey, I found one. But he's just a little kid," said a stern voice, cutting through the silence of the charred village.
"Is he dead?" another voice asked, stepping closer to investigate.
"No, just asleep. Look, he's breathing," answered another, leaning down. "Poor kid, he must have passed out from the shock."
"Well, wake him. This is no place for him now," commanded a rougher, more authoritative voice.
"Right," said the first man. "Hey, time to get up, kid. Wake up."
Jun felt a stiff kick to his back, where he lay curled on the ground, his arms wrapped around his knees for warmth. The boy slowly rose to his feet, and as he came to, panic surged through him at the sight of the men. He nearly bolted before being grabbed by the leader.
"Hey, hey, easy, easy now! You're okay!" said one of the taller ones, grabbing him by the torn tunic. "We're not Dragoons! We're like you. Except, we came too late. Much too late."
Jun stepped back, albeit more calmly, afraid to speak as he watched seven more men, who had hair just like his, circle around him.
"Are there any other survivors?" asked the leader again.
Jun hung his head, gave a sniff, and shook it silently.
"I see," said the man, cupping his chin. The others suddenly realized the full devastation that had ensued here hours earlier. "Well, you're welcome to come with us. But first, we need to know your name, kid."
"J—Juniper," the boy slowly said, still processing everything that had transpired.
"Juniper, eh? Well, that's a tad too long for my taste. Not to mention it sounds a bit much on the Hylian side, and I bet you don't want anything more to do with them than you have to, especially with what they've done, right?"
Jun barely nodded as the man continued. "I know, from now on, you'll be known as Jun. How's that sound?" he said, crouching to his knees to meet the eyes of the child. "And you can bet, we're going to make them pay for everything they did. I promise you, that if you obey our orders and listen to what we teach you, they'll pay for their crimes."
Jun stood silently, digesting the man's words, giving no answer. The others glanced at each other and then back at the boy who stood amid them in awkward quiet.
"Well, you do want revenge, right?" the man said, standing back and folding his arms. The boy never answered, instead lost in a daydream of sadness staring at the remaining ashes of the town beyond them.
The leader grew impatient. "Ah, forget it. He's gone. Just like the village. Let's move out, men. We have work to do if we're to ambush that Hylian—" his words started to fade from Jun's mind as he continued to reflect on the loss he had just sustained. The boy stood in silence as they began to march away from him, but as they did, something sparked deep inside him. A desire to live on. A desire to get justice for those he loved and lost.
The boy lifted his head and hollered to them. "W—wait, I'll come."
The leader only tilted his head, cueing the lad to join them. "Remember, if you come with us, you are part of our brotherhood, not just by blood, but by oath. In time, when you're older and the grief has subsided, we will show you what it means to enact justice and vengeance. But you must be willing to do what must be done when a task is given. Can you do this, Jun?"
The boy nodded vigorously as he got close to march alongside them.
"Well, men, what do you say? Can Jun join us?" The others all nodded in agreement, and some even gave the boy assurances of their own if he swelled their ranks. Though he was just a small child, they would all raise him to be the man he would eventually one day become.
"Remember, Jun, the task must be done when given."
"I can't, I can't…" Jun whimpered in his sleep, clutching the soft satin sheets of his bed in despair. "I can't do this…I just can't, anything but this…" The young squire tossed and turned, but this time, his anguish remained quiet enough that no one would hear. Abruptly, he awoke to find himself drenched in sweat and breathing erratically. His heart raced as his thoughts churned in turmoil.
I can't do this…I can't. Link isn't like one of them, he's not. And then there's the Princess too. She's so kind to me when nobody ever was. They're both my friends, aren't they? I can't…Unless…unless it's a trick. A clever deception to hide their cruelty for the right time? After all, the Hylians I know are heartless and evil at their core. Sensei says there's no saving them no matter how they may seem.
The boy shook and gripped his head, his mind a battlefield of conflicting emotions. No, they wouldn't….They just wouldn't… I can't do this to them…It's not like how I imagined it would be. I just can't…I….I can't…
But then the insidious voice of doubt crept back in, its whisper relentless. …I must…. I must do this. I will do this…
"It will be done; I promise you…. Justice will be done…." he whispered to himself, the resolve in his voice shaky but firm. The squire then slunk back into his bed to await the dawn which would be soon upon him.
Authors Note: I hope you enjoyed this insight in Jun's background though it may have been a tad dark at times. However, it was crucial for the next part of the story which wraps up this past arc. I'll try and tame a bit of the maturer themes, but this was unavoidable.
Next chapter we return to the POV of Link. I hope you guys are excited to see the climax of this part of the story. Let me know your comments and as always, stay well wherever you are in Hyrule.
P.S. Remember be sure to be subbed for chapter updates.