Prologue:

It watched. It had watched the world for a long time. It surveyed all its countries. All its peoples. It was aware of every malicious thought, every silent curse, every evil intent. It savoured them, judging by them the world's readiness.

Thousands of years It had been a mere shadow of a frown, a twitch of dissatisfaction on a man's brow or a small shiver of cold.

Powerless.

Lifeless.

Beaten.

Beaten but not destroyed. It bided Its time. Time was all It had.

And while the memory of Its captors faded with the passing of eons, it gathered strength. Every act of malice, every raised fist, every drop of blood spilled on the earth… nourishment.

For so long It was deadened, Its consciousness shattered. Only the most primal urge to feed had been left. And it hungered. Eternal, insatiable hunger. For Power.

Its memories slowly returned, each century mending a fragment of Its self. This was not the first exile…

With the memories returned the fury, the ravaging hatred that had once made the world quake.

It burned. It burned with endless desire. Not long, now. Wards fade. Seals splinter. And most of all: People forget. All was as it should be. As it had always been. This was not the first exile… Not the first time it had been defeated. But each time It learned…

It burned. Burned with the impatience of the once powerful turned impotent. But it would wait. Wait for the world to be ripe once more. Wait for the perfect moment to set it aflame yet again and watch as its people clawed at each others throats to please It.

It burned. Burned with the desire for power. Already it could feel. It would not be long now. It would once again see Its fiercest adversary bleed. And if It failed once more it mattered not. It could not be destroyed. It would return. And, It thought, I only need to succeed once.

Even in Its half conscious state, it felt a grim satisfaction.

It smiled. And the world trembled.

Chapter 1

The clouds parted and sunrays blinded him even through his closed eyes. The gusty wind rustled the leaves of the apple trees and blew a few strands of his hair on his face. Cicadas rattled endlessly in the summer heat. He heard the muffled bustle of the kitchen from underneath the flat roof he was lying on. The smell of grass and tree was more and more replaced by the smell of freshly baked bread. He heard one of the children squeak excitedly over something or other. He heard the familiar cracking of the old wooded house as the sun warmed it. He opened his eyes a little. Deep blue eyes looked upon row after row of old, gnarled apple trees, gently wafting in the wind. A sheep was nibbling on grass a little way off, apparently separated from its flock.

Goddesses above it's boring!

The fifteenth summer of the same. The same daily routines, the same people, the same complete and utter absence of anything exciting. It was stifling.

Today was especially bad. He had absolutely nothing to do. His father had left for town hall to pretend at being important and so the smithy was cold.

… That had been needlessly mean, he scolded himself. His father was a good man. And, probably, the only person that put their village of Ord on the map. If not for his steel, not even the neighbour village would know where Ord was. But as it was today, not even learning the trade provided distraction.

He looked at the nearest tree's shadow. About one in the afternoon. His stomach grumbled reflexively. He grimaced. Not even eating was an option. His mother would cook properly for the evening when his father came back. Until then it was every man for himself.

Alright, enough moping!

He hated these moods he was having. Waste of the energy that he so enthusiastically fed his body. Not a day had went by for the last month where his dear mother hadn't commented that he ate too much. "Din's fire! You're eating more than your father! What do you do with all the food that's vanishing inside of you? You'll eat us poor!", she would say before giving him another helping before he could even ask.

Speaking of his mother and food…

He lazily got up and stretched his body, yawning. At least he tried to. Halfway into a good stretch a few muscles complained. Only those in his hands, arms, shoulders, neck, back and legs. Exhaled through gritted teeth. How was this supposed to be "healthy"?

He finished his stretch, very gently, feeling like an old man. He brushed his blonde hair out of his face with his fingers and scratched his chin. Long way or short way?

Unnecessary question! He took a brief running start over the roof, jumped the 2 meters towards the closest tree, the one with the perfectly grown horizontal branch, grabbed it with both hands, swung once until his momentum stopped, turned like a cat in mid air, re-grabbed the branch, now from the other direction, swung back, let go, landed on the rim of one of the empty cider barrels, hopped off immediately and landed perfectly on the ground. He looked back up towards the roof and the tree and nodded to himself. A job well done!

His muscles recovered from their initial shock and complained even more loudly. He winced. "Can't please everyone…"

He heard a metallic clank behind him. He tried to hop out of the way but it was too late. A bucket full of water splashed all over his back.

"What by Din's hellfire were you doing on the roof again? And then scare me half to death with your racket! I thought you had fallen off, you crazy monkey!"

Despite his sobering cold shower he had to grin like an idiot. He had just run on a shingle roof with his mother in the room below. His mother, who had a very firm opinion on monkeying around on roofs or trees. He turned around, still grinning sheepishly.

"Don't grin like a dolt. I said DON'T! Gods you drive me nuts when you are bored. Sir Russel should put you through the wringer even harder, drive that energy out of you."

She stood, her hands on her hips, slowly shaking her head. Meera was the very figure of a matron. Not tall but firm in figure and mind, no-nonsense about everything and doting to a fault. By now he was half a head taller than her, but her genuine wrath was still the single most dangerous thing he could imagine.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to startle you." The voice of a young man, not that deep, but spirited.

The apology seemed to take most of the fire our of Meera's eyes. She relaxed just a bit.

"Why are you even here? Go into town, meet your friends! Go! I can't have you around when all you do is drive me up the walls!"

The "town" would be just as boring. And his friends would be busy, he knew. But there was little point in trying to argue with her right now so he nodded.

"May I grab a bite to eat?"

"Bread and milk. Don't even try to get me to make you something."

He didn't have to. His mother's fresh bread was a treat in itself. He stormed past her, ripped a loaf in two and bolted out again.

"Grab the whole loaf, why don't you!" she growled when he passed her.

"Sure!" he chirped, turning on a dime and strutting back to the kitchen.

He could almost feel the diamond-hard eyes boring into the back of his skull.

"If I see only more of your dirty fingerprints on my fresh bread, I'm going to put you in the oven and bake you alive."

"Hmm. Would I turn out sweet or savoury, I wonder…" he mumbled with an exaggerated thinking pose. Then he flashed his most lovely grin at her. "Definitely sweet, I think!"

"Pff, yeah, like rot."

He finally made his way towards the gate of their property.

"Link!" he heard his mother yell. He turned around, mid bite.

"If you see your father, tell him to come home before sundown if he wants his dinner warm!"

"Wiww do!" He shouted back via the medium of bread.

Link followed the dry, dusty road into the village centre. He wasn't sure what he'd do when he got there. His two closest friends, Marten and Ricco were most likely busy with their apprenticeships. Marten was the bowyer's son. Link loved the simple but efficient yew bow he had gotten for his last birthday, but he barely ever used it. Since all three of them were busy with learning a trade now, they rarely had time to spend together. Much to the village's relief, Link added with a little smile. Bow practice was boring when you're alone. You had to have someone there to show off when you'd hit a particularly hard target. Where were the days where hardly an hour could pass without seeing one of them? Now he was lucky when he could hang out with them once a week. And on the rare opportunities when they all had time, there was sword practice… He winced and shook his head, trying to shake that thought out of his skull.

10 minutes later he arrived in Ord's main plaza, if you could call it that. In a village of exactly 82 people the "main plaza" was a round cobbled space with 15 metre diameter and a large well in the middle, which was overshadowed by an impressive mulberry tree. As always, it was busy. The north road had a lot of traffic and Ord was only a stone's throw to its side, so each day brought quite a few travellers. He looked around at today's assortment. Hylians mostly, of course, but a travelling group of Gerudo had also found their way here. They were bartering aggressively, as was their way. But old Vemma, the village's potter, was too set in her ways to even consider lowering her price. A few words of the group's heavily accented speech reached Link's ears. He had always liked the sound of their language. Hard and melodic, evoking the picture of a warlike, yet highly cultured people.

Link also liked the way their women dressed… with not much…

"Link!" he heard a familiar voice. To his delight he saw Ricco sitting at a table of the tavern, waving him over. He weaved through the closely standing tables towards his friend.

"So busy ogling these Gerudo ladies that you hardly even noticed me. Pretty sight, I'll give you that."

Link felt himself blush just a tiny bit. He couldn't even deny it.

"What are you doing here, lazing about?" he said as greeting.

"Oh, I am very busy, technically. I was sent as front man to coax customers into the tavern. But, having done a superb job already, alas, we've run out of tables."

"Superb job, my cheeks. Shouldn't you help with serving then?"

"New serving girl… dad wants to see how she handles the floor herself, with me only stepping in if it gets critical. So far she's a gift from the goddesses. Putting me out of work though." He finished with a theatre worthy sigh.

"My heart goes out to you. I know how hard you usually work, your back bent under dishes, hastening from table to table like lightning… maybe with the new serving girl people will finally stop starving at your tables…"

"That coming from someone who struggles at making a straight nail. Maybe you should look into the corkscrew business?"

They both grinned at each other. Ricco got up to get two lemon waters. They clinked their cups and were silent for a few moments, just enjoying the company.

"Shame we don't see each other more often…" Ricco offered.

Link was relieved to hear his friend state what had bothered him all spring.

"Hmm." He agreed. "It really is. This whole year so far has been so unbelievably boring."

Ricco gave him a look. "What are you talking about? You, old Russel's chosen apprentice, the champion of Ord, the finest swordsman in…" he got louder and louder with each word until Link shushed him.

"Alright, alright." Link hissed under his breath, signalling his opposite to keep it down. He glanced around briefly to make sure that nobody had reacted to Ricco's outburst. "I get what you're saying, you dolt, but this whole tournament business isn't exactly what I wanted. Swordfighting? Sure. But being carted off to embarrass myself in front of all of Hyrule city? That's not really one of my priorities in life." He grumbled with a frown. "And special training with Sir Russel might sound exciting, but it really is just a chore. He's drilling me as if I was in the royal guard!"

"Bla bla, quit complaining! You still have more excitement than Marten or me, so you don't get to moan about that. And by the way, travelling to Hyrule city sounds great. The people, the impressions, the girls… I'd take a few bruises and sore muscles for that."

Link knew that Ricco was right, in theory. He'd like to see the capital again. He'd been there with his father when he'd been seven or eight. He also knew he should be honoured to be chosen to compete in the junior tourney of swordmastery. But he lacked motivation. He had never cared that much about winning and even if he did, it was just the junior tourney. Nobody would remember him anyway. The attention of the recruiters of the royal guard would probably be his biggest recognition. There was no material prize attached to winning, not that he would have cared much about that either. He had enjoyed the prospect of receiving additional training but he once again found that he hated training alone. And Sir Russel certainly wasn't great company in any situation. Another problem was that, of course, most of the other combatants would be some noble sons (or, rarely, daughters), that had probably been trained since they could walk. They also didn't have any work or chores, the pampered brats, so they could focus exclusively on mastering the sword. Also, these wretches most likely thought they needed to keep the honour of their family by winning, or some such nonsense. He, Link, on the other hand was a bumpkin from Ord. Nobody expected him to win. The only reason he was chosen to participate was to please the rural population of Hyrule. A few other yokels from different villages or towns would be there, but what chance did they stand, really? Bah! What was the point?!

"What's up with you the last few weeks, anyway? The few chances we get to hang out you mope around as if you had the worst lot in the entire world. And every time someone mentions the tourney, you make a face as if you'd just been beaten already! You know we're all supporting you, right?" Ricco grumbled with a quizzical smile.

"I know that, Ric. But that doesn't really make it any easier, you know?" Link sighed.

"So are you just that nervous then? That doesn't seem like you…"

"I… guess I am. But not for the right reasons, if that makes any sense. I feel like its just a pointless event, yet I still want to show what I can do. I don't think I have any chance to win, yet I don't want to let all of you down. I tell myself its just a bit of sport, yet I don't want to embarrass myself in front of the whole capital. It's driving me mad!" Link finished, his head in his hands.

"Whoa, wouldn't have thought that it bothers you that much…" Ricco said, not unkindly. "But it seems to me that all these dilemmas would be solved if you trained like a beast and just got better than all the others. The three of us have been fencing since we were old enough to hold a stick. I know you and I think you can do it!" He said, boxing Link on the shoulder.

Link knew that was high praise from his friend, who would have loved to compete himself. If only to get sweet with one of Hyrule city's girls afterwards. So he straightened up and made a brave face.

"Thanks, brother. I'm not convinced, but I promise I at least won't whine about it any longer."

"That would be a good start. Damn, the kind way worked for once. I was ready to drag you to the back of the Dinnery and smack some sense into ya!"

Link winced, but not because of the threat. Dinnery! Who ever had thought of the name "Ord Dinnery" for the tavern should have been smacked! Link had always hated that pun. But he seemed to be alone on that front…

Aloud he said: "Fine, fine, you won." And he made a grimace of a hyper-exaggerated grin. "Better?"

"Much! But with your face everything would be better."

"Is the offer of a back-alley brawl still standing? I think your face could stand a little reorganizing."

It was a relatively hollow threat. Link might be superior with a blade, but Ricco, a head taller and about twice as broad, had a considerable weight advantage and knew how to use it. Brawling against him had very rarely worked in Link's favour.

"Nah. Old Russel would have my hide if I broke his favourite toy." He smirked evilly.

Link shuddered. He dreaded today's lesson from Ord's resident knight. At almost 60 the old bastard had stamina like a beast and enough skill with the sword to beat Link from one end of the square to the other. And he hadn't practiced yesterday, disobeying his instructions.

"Non of that face!" Ricco warned.

"Alright already! But you could stop bringing it up, you know."

"Take all of my fun, why don't you." Ricco smirked.

"Gladly. Why don't you join me in the square today, serve as my personal assistant. You could be my training dummy. You move so slowly anyway, no-one would notice you aren't made of wood. I'd even let you serve me lemon water, so you could even feel like you're doing your job!" Link suggested nastily.

"Yeah I'm slow, there's a new one!" Ricco replied, ignoring the jab about him being a server. "Come on, let's stop fighting. You'll be running for your life long enough as it is today, right?"

Link gave a conciliatory nod. They bumped their cups again and drank.

"Say, can I scrounge a bit of food before the "lesson"? Since father is out till the evening, mother won't cook dinner."

Ricco sighed dramatically. "A bit of food" in the lexicon of Link usually meant half their larder. "Let me see what I can find. How can you eat so much and look like a skeleton? Bloody mystery!"

"It must be the grace of the goddesses for all my good deeds." Link canted.

Ricco replied by making a fart noise with his mouth and lumbered towards the kitchen.

Now sitting alone, Link tried to recall their conversation. It was rare for them to have such a serious talk, so it meant something. "You know we're all supporting you, right?" …He had find motivation. It was a chance to prove to the city folk that the country was worth their attention. He would show them. He would like it!