Wow. I can't believe I'm back.

For those of you that are new here, I began this story back in 2014. Life got in the way, as well as writer's block and just about every other obstacle possible. Genesis went on hiatus mid-2015 as I tackled several life-changing events and the monster of text I had written that just wasn't that good. But I'm back like I said I'd be, and hopefully you guys enjoy what I've been cooking up.

Disclaimer: I don't own Nintendo, but I own a Gameboy. Same thing? Probably not.

In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth. And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep...

-Genesis 1:1

Like any legend, it begins with an omen.

Or perhaps it's the other way around, Zelda muses, lightly tracing the back of her left hand. She sits curled on her windowsill, feet bare. It's morning, the only time she forgoes her gloves long enough to appreciate the feel of air between her fingers. Only this morning, the air lies stagnant across her skin.

The first time the wind died, it was with her father. The atmosphere itself seemed to hold its breath the morning his body was discovered in bed. Passed in his sleep, the crown doctors said. Natural causes.

But the wind only returned once the day of his funeral arrived. With no mother or father to guide her twelve-year-old self into the role of sole monarch, her private guard, Impa, took on the task. Training, tutoring; she was brought up in the way of the Sheikah.

The sun watches from the horizon. There's a phrase tossed around in the south providence of Hyrule, one traders passing through her court like to repeat in poor seasons.

An eastern breeze brings nothing good to the west.

Zelda knows this is false in the same way she knows her own skin. It's better to have a poor breeze than none at all. After all, the last time there was no breeze, her kingdom was invaded. Put under lock and key, she only felt the wind again with mud lining the hem of her dress, golden arrows pinched between her fingers. A lifetime of preparation, and she was still caught off guard.

But this brings her back from her ponderings, and into the present.

She sits curled on her windowsill, feet bare and resting against the cool stones chilled by morning. Knees tucked in, arms crossed, and there isn't a breeze.

And as her father always said, 'Never ignore the omen that strikes twice, for the third may be your last.'

The door to her room opens slowly, silently, quite a feat for its unoiled hinges. There's only one who can manage it.

"Your Highness?" Impa says, the phrase half question and half demand. It's admirable how she can pull that sort of tone off.

"Yes, come in," Zelda replies with a wave of her hand. Impa's already through the frame before she finishes speaking.

Her personal guard is not a slight woman, but she certainly isn't overweight. Her height easily tops most of the men of the guard, and her width is a good bit thicker than Zelda's. All muscle, all grit.

Metal plating and thick leather complete her bulk, sharpening the angles of her face and short, harsh pony tail. A few daring wisps escape the bind and create the fringe framing her face. If there were ever an audacity to find in non-living things, Zelda would find it there.

The Sheikah woman isn't one to give in to imperfection, but it makes sense. Her people are warriors that thrive on code: honor, discipline and loyalty. After the Great War three generations back, the tribe upped their training by the tenfold. It's surprising and slightly terrifying that any survive past adolescence.

Nevertheless, Zelda is pleased to see her.

Her body guard nudges the door close behind her. Balanced on her palm is a silver platter and tea pot, shined spotless and doubtlessly worth a small fortune. Completing the sight is a scratched porcelain teacup, the paintings on the side long faded off.

The beginnings of a smile tug at Zelda's lips. "You brought Father's."

Impa hums lightly. "Today is a special occasion." She sets the platter down on the vanity besides the bed, pouring a spot of tea into the cup before passing it along.

It warmth grounds her, and she takes a moment to feel for the familiar chip on the rim before speaking. "You know, for as long as I can remember, it has only been myself, you and father."

Impa raises a brow. "It's unlike you to be sentimental."

"And it's unlike you to bring me tea," she counters half-heartedly. "I feel as if something terrible is on the horizon."

"That's not the sort of attitude a princess usually takes on the day of her crowning," Impa says casually.

"You are determined to be contrary this morning, aren't you?" The tea is Gerudo Flower, sweet with a burn that scorches her throat. She lets the feeling subside before responding, "No, but times are unusual these days. Aren't they?"

Her guard nods once, a motion so short it borders on a twitch. Zelda's bare feet rub against the worn stone of her window, smooth grain rolling beneath skin as she drags her toes toward the outer wall. Add mixture to wall. Breaking down, she makes note. So much to do, so little hands to help.

"I had another dream," she mutters. "It was of a man this time, glowing brighter than the sun. He was above the land, the ocean. The people. Everything below him folded upon itself."

Impa stays silent.

Zelda rallies on. "But he didn't stop there. There was a course he followed, something he was after that could only be attained by following a certain path. And everything left in his wake was destruction."

"What do you think it all means?" Impa asks carefully.

"I haven't the faintest idea. The dreams arrive, the interpretation arrives later. I'm still waiting for interpretations that have been years to come."

"Then let us not worry over them," Impa says. At Zelda's look, she smiles. "I thought you were the wise one?"

She starts, then closes her mouth. She accepts the offered hand and pulls herself into the room where the plush carpet warms her feet. "You're right."

Impa hums lightly and retrieves Zelda's slippers. "There are few instances where I'm not. Now bundle up, or you'll catch a cold."

Zelda does so, taking a second look at her guard's appearance. "What is that?" she asks.

"Hmm?" Impa quirks a brow, following her eyes. "Ah, this is the ceremonial garb. You aren't the only one who has one."

Impa's ceremonial garb is hardly anything compared to the ill-fitting robe she has to wear. Rather, it is a thin leather band fitted at the waist with three burning orange feathers dangling at her side.

Zelda frowns. "That's hardly fair."

"I disagree." Her smile grows even wider. "Now, follow me. I have something to show you."

The hallway is like the honeycomb of a beehive. Castle servants buzz through with caskets of wine and roasted cuckoo, wheels of goat cheese and barrels of fresh fish from the Zora's domain.

The smells mix together to create not a wholly unpleasant experience, but it's a blessing in disguise when Impa leads her away to where no servants would be heading.

The East Corridor.

This portion of the castle was hit the most during the Twilight Occupation, only half of it deemed safe by the inspectors brought from outside of the province. Though it's been nearly a year since any fight had taken place in its halls, Zelda swears the dust is still settling.

Three of the walls are puckered with nicks and gouges almost hidden in the black soot coating an entire section. Scorch marks. The other wall is missing, and a protective shield of her own making stands as temporary cover.

Zelda shuffles through the wreckage, clenching the sides of her sleeping gown for warmth. A stray piece of rubble sits in her path and she nudges it aside with her toe.

"We're making progress," Impa says. Zelda absently wonders if the double meaning is intentional.

"Yes," she agrees. "Though I assume you didn't bring me here for an update?"

The hole in the side of her home is unfortunate, but in the grand scheme of problems it isn't all that big. Still, the architects have made it their personal mission to bother her over the matter every meeting.

Impa hums in response. Her red eyes glint where the sun filters through the shield. Hylians slowly occupy the streets below, awake with purpose.

To them, the hole is hidden with her power. For one, it's a horrible idea for anyone to see inside the halls lest there be someone daring enough to attempt an attack. But it's also for morale. If one of Hyrule's main fixtures were to be damaged, it would reflect poorly on the throne.

Just beyond the street corner is the tail end of a banner. A carpet rolls out from under it, down past where Zelda cannot see.

She knows what lies on the other side. The Castle Town Square is already decorated for the crowning scheduled late afternoon. Colorful streamers, purple and gold for the Royal Family, are strung between buildings. Lanterns and fairy bottles that had been hung last night now wink in the early morning.

At the center of the decorations is the stage. Garnished with silks and flowing tapestries, this is where she will be crowned Queen.

"You're awfully silent this morning. Did the Hero return your message?" Impa asks abruptly.

Her advisors suggested the Hero should take a place somewhere on the stage out of respect. Of course, she hasn't met with the Hero since he left Arbiter's Grounds. There simply hasn't been time to make travel to Ordon, and even if she did something tells her he won't be home. There was an unsettled spirit in his eyes, that last day.

Restless bones make a skeleton show.

That being said, she's rather bothered by his lack of response. Communication is something she values, and dealing with someone who keeps a sealed mouth is like painting plaster across her own.

"He neglected to do so," she finally says. "But the ceremony will go on as planned. The people will find another way to pay his dues."

"If they haven't already," Impa says.

"True."

Speak of the devil- a little boy frolics past, a floppy green hat waving ridiculously atop his head. They can be found everywhere now of days, with Malo Mart selling them on discount for special occasions. A stray mutt trots down the street after him, a roasted cuckoo leg in its maw, the owner none the wiser.

Zelda smiles in amusement before sobering. "Have your guards found nothing?"

A shake of the head. "Nothing you haven't already guessed, Your Highness."

But Impa knows her well enough that she doesn't wait for the command, instead barks an order. A guard steps forth from the shadows not a second later, bowing low. He wears the Sheikah Eye on his chest like the others, though this one holds a special black outlining.

Personal assistant to the Chief.

"Melo," Impa says. "Report."

Still bowed, Melo recites, "The stray Chu's in Death Mountain have been contained. The jelly is already being processed for mass distribution in Kakariko village. The last Bulbin sighting was in the Gerudo Desert, and they show no signs of moving west. The neighboring kingdoms haven't tried to take advantage of our situation yet, but Ninĕn has been steadily expanding their borders the past few months, as has been predicted by Your Highness."

Zelda nods thoughtfully, though she's already read the reports. It comes as no surprise that the kingdom of Ninĕn is making a move. If it were her, she would. Hyrule is a land ripe with fruit despite the Twilight Occupation that roughed it up a year ago. If she were one of the neighboring countries that didn't place belief in gods or chosen lands, she wouldn't hesitate to send out her forces towards this literal goldmine.

Still, the timing is disappointing. There aren't many jumping at the chance to join the guard, nor are there many capable of jumping. The flood of monsters that arrived with Ganondorf took more out of the people than some care to admit.

"I see," Zelda says slowly. "Thank you."

Impa nods towards the guard and he steps into the shadows, gone.

"You protected our tribe the last war. Let us protect you," Impa says in his absence, "though sending you to an allied kingdom is out of the question. If I had my way last time, I still would have stayed."

"And fall with the rest of my guards?" Zelda reminds her quietly. "The Sheikah are a fraction of what they used to be, and I can't afford to lose you. It's enough that a handful of you have already returned here, the capitol, where any number of spies may be hidden."

Impa scoffs. "Take today as a celebration and let me carry your burdens, at least for the while. Alright?"

The question is punctuated by a light smile, and Zelda wonders not for the first time how this woman was the same warrior who single-handedly destroyed legions of Hyrule's enemies in her youth. She returns a smile of her own, accompanied by a slight nod that weighs more than she cares to admit.

The people below move with a confident gait. It is hard to tell if they notice the change themselves, that it is not just one man walking with his head held high but the whole crowd, children laughing freer and women giving them lighter reign. The mood has brightened considerably in the past few months as it tends to, when people leave the darker things behind for what light is ahead.

We're making progress.

"...and by the Goddesses' blessing, may Her Majesty prosper this nation and its people. All hail the Queen!"

With the priest's final blessing finished, the people repeat after him. "All hail the Queen!" The crowd erupts in applause as the musicians begin to play the Royal Family ode.

The hot summer air does nothing to dissuade the people. All across the Square are Hylians, Zoras and Gorons; anyone and everyone allowed to participate in the festivities. At the priest's cue Zelda is permitted to stand from her place, and the dances begin.

Not a second passes when a man approaches her. He is garbed in a blue robe so dark it borders on black, his pristine white gloves poking out like teeth from a sneering mouth. His curly hair slithers out of his cowl like serpents, and Zelda fancies the image of them eating out his sly green eyes. She knows this man.

"Queen Zelda," he purrs, claiming her hand as he bows forward. "May your reign be long and fruitful." He kisses her knuckles and she has the sudden impulse to pinch his nose.

But the desire passes and she replies, "Earl Hanta. I would say you've been working against that."

Despite the heat, his face remains pale as ever. He raises an eyebrow. "Oh, Your Majesty?"

She smiles. "I would, if I didn't know better."

He returns her smile with one of his own. "You're as charming as your words, Your Majesty."

Daring. She puts it aside. "Tell me, how does Ninĕn fair?"

Hanta, Earl of Ninĕn and man after her own country. He is a godless man, driven by greed and, from what the stories of his family say, madness. He has a certain amount of gall to attend her own crowning while he steadily widens his territory towards her own. There has to be a greater reason for coming, one she already has an idea of and hates.

The Earl directs his attention to his hand, inspecting it for a speck of dirt. "My kingdom is well and fruitful, as you have undoubtedly heard." He raises his eyes to hers. "The subject of which I was hoping to speak with you elsewhere. Preferably over, say, tea?"

There it is.

She hides her discomfort easily. "Earl, it would-"

The back of her hand tightens like the skin is trying to rip itself apart.

Hurts, she absently thinks.

"-be in your best interests and my own if you would be plain in your speech," she continues without a hitch. "But as you said, this conversation is best saved for later. I will have the details sent to wherever you are lodging." Her tone is clipped but acceptable.

"You must excuse me," she adds as a second thought, both for her manner and her leave. She stands from her throne and he bows, and she avoids his eyes while achingly making her way down the stairs and into the cover of her guard. Impa flanks her not a moment later.

"Your Majesty?"

Afraid to speak for whatever it may cost her, Zelda waits till they are inside one of the many hidden passageways of the city before collapsing, startling her company. The back of her hand lights up like a golden beacon and she grits out between labored gasps, "The Goddesses are calling."

The guards lower her to the floor at Impa's instruction. It is too late to reach the inside of the castle, and transporting someone in the throes of a vision was known to have consequences.

A cold hand smooths away the hair that has plastered itself to her forehead. "Clear mind, clear vision." Low and smooth. Impa's voice.

Her last thought, embarrassingly, is the faint regret of missing the pastry table. Then her eyes close and she slips away, into the folds of the spirits. It's like jumping into a pool of water without the resistance. There's the fall, then the inevitable rise.

She is floating.

There is no other way to describe it; all around her is fog, cool like morning mist. Condensation begins to settle on her face and she closes her eyes to its touch.

Clear mind, clear vision. Impa's words from before flutter across her mind, and she startles to awareness. There's no time for distractions.

She takes a tentative step forward, hesitant of the lack of ground. Whatever is keeping her up doesn't falter, though, so she takes another step and begins to walk.

But after a good minute, the fog hasn't left. Smoky tendrils curl around her eyes no matter how much she casts her hands around, golden Triforce light bouncing off the thick cloud and blinding her back.

Panic tightens up her neck. She needs to be quick, as the bearer of Wisdom she's expected to be. Visions don't last forever, and unless she hurries up, whatever the gods are trying to tell her will be lost. She hikes up her skirt and breaks into a sprint, barreling forward until she crashes into a wall that leaves her tumbling to the floor.

A splash of water rises from where she hits the ground, drenching her. She spouts a small stream of water that managed to land in her mouth and brushes away a few strands of hair. Visions have a way of making the strange normal, and after a few episodes she is well used to their oddities. But nothing could have prepared her for this.

It's him.

She can't fathom why his presence holds such weight. He may have been the Hero, but for a reason she can't shake, this seems personal.

His name is Link. The thought is less vocal and more internal, and her mind greedily drinks it up.

Link my friend is Link is called LinkLinkLink- She pinches the bridge of her nose. "Link?" she says hesitantly, half expecting the words to tumble from her mouth in blocks.

He stares forwards, looking as if he sees something in the distance. She waves her hand in front of his face but receives no response. Just as she is about to knock him over for the sake of it, another figure appears.

He is a few yards away, clad in red and boasts a thick mustache. He gives no inclination towards her presence but rather stares past her. The fog slowly thins and reveals more people, each one stranger than the last.

A tall, muscular man with an analytical gaze. A fox standing by a small yellow rat, both with an intelligence behind their eyes that the average animal didn't possess. One particular being has her taking a step back. They seem like a monster out of legend, coated in metal with a solid green eye.

All around her stand a variety of creatures linked shoulder to shoulder. Shoulder to knee in some cases; there's no pattern to their genetic makeup. Only one thing do they have in common- their positions.

Like an army, she belatedly realizes.

He boasts hair the color of the molten depths of Death Mountain, a mockingly thin, gold crown twisting through its rows. His armor is missing, worn desert rags in its place. It does nothing to soften his frame.

Instead, the raw, sun-dark skin exposes the barely compressed muscle coiling underneath. She counts the veins worming from his heart down bare arms, threading over knuckles that adorn calloused fingertips.

Lamplight eyes burn past her own.

Some men are more than human. This one is a monster born of legend, a beast with a gaping, holy wound.

She takes a step back, hand trembling over her mouth. They were grossly unprepared, barely capable of handling one impending invasion much less two.

Goddesses-

Before she can finish the thought, a figure appears on the other side of Link. She steps closer to confirm what her eyes already drink in.

Sheik stands before her, the name created out of petty revenge after her one-year naming ceremony for Sheikah training. She was seven-years-old and hardly cared about tradition, much less tact.

(Of course, she regretted it the minute she told Impa of her choice, as the woman only replied, unbothered, "You're the one who will have to live with it.")

Instead of a character with a silly name, a being born of shadow and flaming eyes acknowledges her in cool expectation.

Sheik tilts her head to the other figures, and she follows the movement. The figures disappear one by one, back into the fog. Sheik points towards Ganondorf, then towards the floor of water.

"I don't understand," she tells her.

Sheik repeats the gesture while Ganondorf's body gradually drifts away.

After the last bits of his body are devoured, the fog wraps around the Sheikah's body. Sheik touches her own forehead, the sign for Wisdom. With that confounding gesture, the fog eats her up and only Link is left.

She turns. Startlingly blue eyes meet her own. There is a wilderness in them, an energy so feral she half expects him to transform into the blue-eyed beast he was when they first met.

The water level is increasing rapidly, and to make matters worse, she's powerless here. Though she knows he isn't real- somewhere in the living realm he may very well be sipping goat's milk on horseback- she can't help but extend a hand towards Link.

He takes it without question, but just as his fingers should curl around her own, they faze through and she feels as though her innards have been pitted.

By now the water is up to her waist. She shuffles forward, frantically trying to reach Link. He opens his mouth, and the terrible noise from before mutes his voice.

As the water begins to pour over her shoulders, she tries one final lunge towards him, all of her strength put into this last desperate move. The water is well above her head and murky with fog, but she reaches his body and holds onto him.

His heartbeat is so slow.

She kicks with all her strength, must get to the surface do not die, do not. But it's no use; she is held down by his weight and tendrils of fog latch onto her ankles that pull and bruise skin.

She holds on as long as she can, gives her last breath to him, but the pulse stops and her tears join with the water.

He is dead, and she will die with him.

Zelda awakens with the taste of chalk in her mouth.

Everything hurts. The cold, jagged stone of the sewer floor beneath her, the air sucked in by her paper lungs, the dull throb of blood that sloughs through her veins. Every bump of movement places another pin through her skin that should keep her grounded, yet she can't stop herself from jolting up with a shriek.

Half the guard bounce back in surprise while the other half steps forward to help. Only Impa stays in her place, appraising her with needle-point eyes.

Zelda doubles over onto her hands and knees, taking well over a minute to catch her breath. A spot of crimson catches the light of the stones lining the walls, and Zelda belatedly tastes iron. She'd bit the inside of her mouth.

"Your Majesty?" one of the guards asked. She holds up a hand for silence before hoisting herself to her feet through sheer willpower. Impa doesn't have to ask, instead offers an arm that Zelda gladly accepts.

"I will speak further in my chambers," Zelda says. The formality of the words is dampened by her slur. The group moves onwards.

Though she must look a wreck, the castle servants pay no mind as they pass. Once they reach her chambers, she folds herself into her chair for the appearance of power, though all she wants is to curl into her bed and sleep the next week. After clearing out the lesser guards till only a select few Sheikah remain with Impa, Zelda takes a breath and relays her vision.

By the time Zelda finishes, a steaming mug of tea is in her hands and Impa paces the room.

"Hyrule is in no way prepared for another war," Impa says. "Much less the Dark King."

"Something tells me it isn't Ganondorf," Zelda replies. "I feel there is someone, perhaps something at work in the shadows." Her dreams lay unmentioned in the room, their presence heavy.

Impa considers her words, fingers stroking her chin. "It is true no neighboring kingdoms are inhabited by those you described… Perhaps there is a separate realm involved, similar to the Twilight?"

One of her guards twitch.

Zelda sees this and sips her tea slowly, the spice of Gerudo Flower blanketing her tongue. It's hardly believable that she drank the same cup this morning. Truly ironic, it was.

Regarded as a High Society commodity, Hylians paid quite the penny for just a dab of Gerudo Flower. And yet it was but a century ago that her people wiped out the desert tribe, looting and pillaging their treasures until only their stories and king were left.

"Your Majesty," Melo begins from the guard, uncertainty plain in his voice. He bows his head.

"Speak plainly, Melo," she says.

He straightens. "I- I may have something worth mentioning." He hands her a flier worn neatly down the middle. It is intricately painted with swirling colors of blues and greens, outlined in a solid red that bleeds through the page. Despite its wear, the ink looks new enough to have been drawn hours before.

"'Super Smash Bros.,'" she reads, fumbling on the last word. "'Join the brawl. Sign-ups closing soon.'" The text is hardly as interesting as the pictures.

Depicted underneath the lettering is the red man posed to fight. His opponent is the small, yellow rat along with a muscular, tightly-clad man.

"Do they... look familiar, Your Majesty?"

Her eyes shoot to his, reading carefully for any malintent, and he withers under her gaze. Upon finding none, she relaxes her attention. "Yes, they do."

In the bottom right corner sits Link with the Master Sword, his blue eyes as sharp as she'd last seen them. Which wasn't so long ago, she thinks. The picture is detailed enough that she can imagine him jumping off the parchment.

"So, that's where he ran off to," Impa mutters.

"I thought they matched Her Majesty's description." Melo swallows. "And the Hero is there as well…"

Zelda squeezes the flier in her hands. "Where did you find this?"

He flushes. "A week ago this day, not far from Kakariko village. That tournament is one my father took me to many times before he passed, and I have such fond memories of the place. You must understand, Your Majesty-"

Impa bristles at his words, and Zelda raises a hand to stop her.

"-I would have said something sooner if I'd known the importance, I really hadn't-"

"Calm yourself," Zelda smiles gently to ease the poor boy. "You're telling me now. This must be fate, really." She rubs the back of her hand absently, pausing. "I think I'm supposed to go to this tournament."

He remains silent, looking as if he swallowed his tongue.

"It's a fighting competition?" she eases. The word 'brawl' can't mean much else.

Despite her intentions, Melo pales further. "About the location, Your Majesty…"

And as he speaks, a wind picks up in the east.

I don't know if you guys like long chapters(?) but I wanted to get right into the action. This was probably rough for those of you who don't know The Legend of Zelda, but rest assured that next chapter will introduce some characters you all know (and hopefully love). If you followed this back in the dark ages, you know how horrible I am with updates. UPDATES WILL BE SLOW. But they'll happen. In time.

Several things-

I'd like to thank all of you who have kept in contact with me while I was AWOL. Your support means a lot. This is for you guys.

If you fell in love with the old version, I've moved it to my account on AO3 under the title "Genesis:In the Beginning." I'd prefer if you stuck this one out. It's a little different, but it's the same story at heart and I've changed none of the plot. Promise.

P.S. The nostalgia is real. I wrote the disclaimer and it felt like old times.