Sheik

Impa never told me much about him, she only taught me to look like him.

What I did find out about him didn't come from her or any living person, for that matter. It came from a trip to Kakariko's graveyard and the house where my old mentor and nursemaid once called home. Actually to be more accurate it started in the old house, stretched across all the valleys and peaks of Hyrule, and ended up where we all end up: six feet under.

I took the time during the seven year period when Link was missing. By this point Ganondorf had a firm control of the populace, monsters roamed freely, and all that I could do for the time being was wait not-so-patiently for the chosen hero to finally arrive. Seeing so much depravity in a once beautiful kingdom drove me to the distraction Impa had warned me against. However, Impa had left long ago and I was now alone in a world that shunned its princess.

She had warned me, once-upon-a-time, that the bedtime tales she told me were only for my entertainment; the stories were glorified to such an extent that I would not be frightened. The true nature of the Sheikah—the shadow people—was not as glamorous as her tales made them out to be.

Yes, they were honorable warriors that once fought for Hyrule and its monarchy, but that was a long time ago—a very different time.

Still, even knowing I might only find disappointment, my curiosity as a girl raised on fairy tales of brave heroes and beautiful princesses provoked me to go on this journey. It began, as I said, at her house—the place she once called home in the once-mysterious shadow village of Kakariko. There were books to be found here, filled with histories and accounts of all that had happened in the past according to the Sheikah's knowledge.

The titles ranged from broad sweeping, stoic accounts of history to the journals and diaries of some of the people who had lived as Sheikah—personal, firsthand accounts of the way life was lived in a time I could not even imagine.

Unfortunately, Sheik did not conveniently have a journal lying about that contained all of the events of his life. However, I found the next best thing. Several of the journals mentioned him, mentioned how he had lived and what he'd been like around the village, in his own element. They painted the picture of a young man, the talk and pride of his town. A truly special boy.

"Sheik, don't climb up there," one of the elders of the village hissed, witnessing the agile boy scamper on top of his neighbor's roof like a monkey.

"I'm just training," he shouted back, his voice still retaining the youthful squeak of one not yet mature enough to let wander too far, but at just an age to wander as far as he dared.

"Training involves discipline," a new voice said, but there was a smile hidden behind the stern words. Sheik turned to see his father quirking an eyebrow up at the boy. Guiltily he shimmed back to the ground and sheepishly scratched the back of his head.

"I was just—."

"—Causing trouble?" his father finished, his lips barely resisting a grin.

"I was not!" he defended adamantly.

"Sure you weren't," his father chuckled. The elder looked at them and shook his head dismissively.

"You ought to discipline that boy more, not just use it as a threat," the man hummed in disapproval. "What would your wife say if she saw you meandering about with him?"

"Elder, with all due respect," his father said slowly, turning his attention away from the boy. "I would appreciate it if you wouldn't speak of my wife or her wishes. I somehow doubt you ever understood what she truly wanted out of life or what she wanted for her son." Sheik stared up at his father wide-eyed, jaw dropped open in shock. No one was supposed to speak to elders like that—not in such a serious tone.

"Hmph, she'd be rolling in her grave," the elder muttered, turning and shuffling off to the next house. His father frowned after him for a long time before finally allowing his shoulders to slump in defeat. The boy looked at him worriedly, but he just placed a fake grin on his face and hoisted the boy onto his shoulders.

"Come, what you say we dine in Castle Town this evening?" he asked. The boy quickly forgot about the previous strange encounter and the mischievous grin he'd worn earlier quickly returned.

"Okay, but I want to be back before it gets too late—I promised Touer I'd stop by sometime today!" His father laughed at this and jostled the boy on his shoulder.

"Very well, we'll try to make it in and out like the stealthy folk we are," he proclaimed, carrying the boy towards the village's exit. "We'll be so fast that we'll have eaten them poor before they can blink their eyes. We'll slurp up all of their wine before they even have a moment to consider hiding it!"

Sheik laughed again and together they left the village. Sometimes he felt like the place was far too stuffy—he felt cooped up, so he always had to go and make his own adventures. Luckily whenever his father was home it would be just the two of them, having a grand old time. And as they mounted up on their separate horses and took off towards the bright lights of Castle Town, he was reminded again why he so enjoyed having his father around.

His father blessed him with these opportunities to go outside of the village and see the world with his own eyes. This was something very special indeed—all the other boys of his level didn't get this treat, whether their fathers were home or not. They were all so jealous of his good fortune—to be able to see the wide world yet not be fully grown. It was a privilege and a special treat only for him. Some of the boys were cruel, saying he only received the special treatment because he had no mother, but the older boys always shushed them.

And the older boys were some of the wisest people Sheik had ever known.

"Here we are," his father said happily, leading them to a small structure set up for travelers to keep their horses while their owners gallivanted about town. They set their horses up in a pen and made their way to Sheik's favorite place. It was a restaurant where people came in, looking a little shifty-eyed, but then as they warmed up to the mood they turned out to be fun folk. His father had called it a home-away-from-home for those who had lost their ways.

It was a very special place and Sheik loved it here. He felt like he fit in best with this crowd that now surged around him as he and his father made their way to the back corner—to their favorite table. It was a funny little quirk his father had that Sheik had picked up on early in his life: his father was always very cautious about where he sat in a place. He always scanned the entire room slowly, carefully, before he would even move a step insider.

It was a habit that Sheik had started to pick up and use. At first he didn't understand why his father did it—it seemed to him you neither achieved nor lost anything through the action—but then he slowly started to notice small things he hadn't before. He, for example, noticed that all of the boys took after one or both of their parents when it came to seating choices. If the parent was prone to selecting a seat that indicated power, then the child would as well.

Sheik had pointed out this odd little tidbit to his father, and asked what his seating choice said about him. His father had laughed and answered: "It says 'I'm cautious, I'm a shadow, I choose wisely and do not make mistakes—I am a Sheikah!'"

His father ordered the usual meals for the two of them as Sheik thought on this for a moment, this idea of being a Sheikah, and then a thought occurred to him.

"Father, why did you name me Sheik?" he asked, tugging at his father's shirt sleeve to gain his attention. He had been talking to an oddly jumpy fellow, and the boy had not in fact missed the odd look the stranger had sent his way. His father nodded farewell to the man before answering his son's question.

"You were named Sheik by your mother," he explained. "Her father—your grandfather—was very insistent that it be your name." Naturally a boy of his age only has one thing to say to this:

"Why?"

"Because,"—Sheik picked up on the brief but almost unnoticeable pause that indicated something less than truthful—, "your grandfather felt you were a very special little boy. And to us you were. You're our most precious son, and the name Sheik is a powerful one—it summons up the entire will of all the Sheikah to support just one brave soul."

"Isn't that greedy?" Sheik asked, confused.

"No it's not greedy," his father said slowly, but this time it wasn't a lie—it was truthful consideration. "It's more like your parents give you a name hoping that the name will bring you some degree of good fortune—that it will protect you due to something called a namesake."

"Namesake?" the boy echoed.

"It's where the name comes from, and in your case—."

"—It comes from the entire village," he concluded happily. His father laughed and ruffled his hair.

"Ah a smart one you are! You catch on quick, lad!" The boy positively beamed at his father, and then the waitress brought their food over—the usual as his father enjoyed saying—and they tucked into their meal with all the ferocity of starving wolves. Or perhaps in the boy's case a starving wolf pup.

After their meal concluded his father—sipping on a dark, smelly stuff that Sheik wasn't allowed to drink—took him around and introduced him to all the various people present. Sheik shook hands politely with all of them after his father promised him it was okay to do so, and before they knew it they were the centers of attention. And for a boy raised to blend with shadows Sheik started to feel a bit uncomfortable.

But his father carried on happily, and if his father made it seem okay then it must be just fine.

Sheik saw all manners of people that night. Funny people with gills as well as lungs—people like fish, yet they had minds like Hylians. Oh and the Hylians. There were so many of them—their pointy ears bobbling up and down in merriment, sharp eyes laughing with their lips. There were even some large, roundish creatures—yet when he went up to bravely poke one's tummy, he found it to be rock hard. The silly creatures even claimed to eat rocks, but Sheik highly doubted that—he had tried rocks and they were horribly nasty things.

The crowd jostled them, surged towards them, then relaxed and retreated. Laughing faces blurred together and Sheik felt dizzy just trying to keep track of all of them. Finally—what must have been hours later, but only felt like mere moments—the waitress hustled the few remaining folk out of the restaurant. Sheik was surprised to see the sun saying hello to the earth already. It was only once he saw the early morning sun and felt it warm his skin that he realize how tired he was.

"Come on, let's get you home little one," his father said softly as he tethered the younger horse to his own and scooped the boy up. He rode the horse as gently as he could, trying his best not to jostle his sleeping son. They made it home a short time later, and he laid the boy down on the soft mattress in their home. However, he did not stay for but a moment, just long enough to smile fondly at his sleep son. He returned outside and the noise he made cause Sheik to awaken just enough to hear the fierce words.

"How dare you take him away from the village all night and return in this condition?" a familiar voice he could not place shouted.

"How dare you tell me what to do with my son?" his father rebuked smartly.

"What part of we must not expose him don't you understand? The more people see him the closer the Sheikah claw towards their graves!"

"Be silent! You might awaken him!"

"And so what if I do? Maybe he'll come out here and force his precious father to explain all the racket, and then maybe the no-good-worthless-bastard who got my daughter killed will finally have to answer for his sins!"

"You bite your tongue old man—elder or not you overstep your bounds!"

"And you don't respect your duty to your people!"

Sheik rolled over and grabbed at one of the soft pillows on the bed, covering his head with the comforting warmth of it. He didn't like hearing arguments—especially not when people were yelling at his father and especially not when he didn't understand why they were yelling at his father in the first place. It took only a moment for the pillow to work its magic, and soon he drifted off into a sleep filled with odd dreams that he could not make sense of.

The next morning—actually that evening—he awoke to find his father standing next to the fire, gazing into the pot that sat on it as if it held all the answers in the world.

"Daddy?" His father turned towards him, looking surprised for a moment before striding over to the bed and sitting down next to his son.

"I'm surprise you're awake," he said with a quiet voice and sad eyes. "I have dinner just about done, but I wanted to talk to you first, okay?"

"Is this about the man yelling at you?" Sheik asked, visibly upset by his father's distraught manner.

"Ah—well, yes, that's part of it," he said hesitantly. "The man was the elder—your grandfather."

"Grandfather? But I thought it was just you and me dad?" the boy asked confusedly.

"It's very complicated son, and I do hope you'll understand and forgive us all someday," his father answered, letting out a slow sigh, rubbing the stubble on his chin, and then wrapping a thoughtful arm around his son's shoulders, drawing him closer.

"Daddy?"

"You're a very special boy, Sheik," he whispered. "Your grandfather wanted to protect you in his own way, but your mother didn't like it, so we kept you to ourselves and your grandfather didn't like that. We didn't agree, we had a fight, and that's not fair to you, but that's how things are. There are many things you'll learn in time, my son, and as you grow older you'll learn more than you ever wanted to know. But never be discouraged; know that our paths are led by courage."

Bang, bang.

The door suddenly flew open and a man about his father's age burst into Sheik's home. He looked worried and scared. Other men and women were shouting in the background—Sheik could see them between the door and the man's bulky frame. They were running about like they were all playing tag with each other.

"We need you now," the man who had burst in panted. His father stood up quickly, all the sleepiness from his motions burned away by the action. He darted over to the shelf and gathered the gear he had taught Sheik about long ago—weapon of war, to protect and defend. His father made to pick up a piece of cloth and tie it around his belt, but paused and thought better of it—instead he turned back around and walked over to Sheik.

"We don't have time!" the man at the door hissed angrily.

"I'm making time," his father shouted back just as furiously. He faced his son and held out the piece of white cloth. It had a picture of an all-watching eye, the symbol of the Sheikah, embroidered in red. "This was your mother's once, Sheik, and now I want you to have it—keep it safe for me, okay?" The boy took the cloth without a second thought, but then quickly jumped up as his father made to leave.

"What's going on? Where's everyone going?" he asked worriedly, the foreign feeling of fear welling up in the pit of his stomach.

"You need to stay here, and you need to stay hidden," his father said quickly, without turning back around. "No matter what—stay here, stay hidden. Don't come out until a day after there's no more sound, and even then creep with caution."

"Daddy—!"

"Sheik you must be brave now," he said, and this time he did turn to look over at the boy. "No matter what happens, remember, we are all guided by our own destinies and led to our own fates. That's not something anyone can take from us, nor is it anything someone can change."

With these final words he rushed outside with the man who had barged into their home. Sheik raced over to the door and put his hand against it, ready to push it open and help however he could. Yet some force—some feeling built deep into his mind told him no.

No. Don't go out there, no matter what.

He pulled back his hand for a moment, and then he slammed the locks shut instead. He started to walk over to the pot of warm food, figuring he could at least have supper—but then a thought occurred to him and he stopped. He should wait for his father to return. Father would be upset if he ate without him, because he made the food so he should get to have some too. And he always said it was the best of times when you could share meals with those you loved.

So instead Sheik returned to the bed. He climbed back onto the soft surface for a long moment, but he didn't feel right there. He dragged a pillow and blanket under the bed and huddle in the far back corner—as far away from any doors or windows as he could go. Minutes ticked by like hours and he did not fall asleep, he did not stop listening, and he did not move again until a day had passed since the final sound.

The Sheikah journals ended around the time that Impa had referred to as the Great Betrayal. Not even she knew what happened that night, not exactly. All anyone knew about it anymore was that as night fell upon Kakariko, a sudden, unexpected force tore through the village. It was a force strong enough to catch the Sheikah off-guard and overpower them. Only a scattered handful escaped that night and they'd all been given different directions, making their entire culture—just a day before so vibrant—nothing more than a fairy tale.

That was where the Sheikah knowledge ended, but I was convinced that someone somewhere had to see some of the Sheikah that survived. They could not have lived out their entire lives in shadows away from each other and all of society. Impa's existence alone was proof enough of this.

So I left Kakariko and made my way to the closest, oldest neighbor of the Sheikah—the Gorons. Although they were all shaken due to threats from Ganondorf, I did manage to find an elderly Goron who was something of a coinsure of historical knowledge, at least where it pertained to Gorons.

As soon as I mentioned the Sheikah he bobbed his head in understanding and tapped his chin thoughtfully. He pointed out that I actually looked a lot like a Sheikah, but he was fairly certain they were all extinct by this point—so, likely as not it was just a coincidence. I readily agreed with him for the sake of my secrecy and he revealed to me the easiest way to search out information regarding the Sheikah: always ask about their red eyes.

When his trembling feet settled down on the damp, blood-stained earth all he could do initially was stare wordlessly at the carnage. The early morning mist had come down from the mountains, giving his entire village a surreal glow through shattered sunlight that bounded heedlessly through the misty droplets. The air was thick, hard to breathe, and stunk like rancid meat.

Where was father?

He stumbled clumsily through the village, desperately turning to look only to be repelled by the sights that met his eyes. Shattered bones lay scattered about like snapped toothpicks tossed aside by giants. Blood-puddles made his boots squeak as if he were walking through the after-effect of an afternoon storm: a night filled with black, endless pools.

Daddy?

Why… why was everyone cast about? Why were they all lying there? Why were his friends staring with wide-open eyes at a sun that scorched them? Why wasn't anyone moving? Why weren't they breathing? Why had he been such a coward?

Why was he alive?

Daddy?

Daddy?

"Daddy!" a young man screamed, jolting up-right in his bed, night-sweat painting his body in a silvery-sheen. He looked around quickly, quietly, assessing his surroundings, heart pounding. After just a moment he realized where he was, though. Not home—not in the village, not seven years past. He ran a slow hand down his well-built torso, checking for signs of endangerment, but his body was as he'd left it when he'd fallen asleep here in this place.

It was still dark out, the full moon shining brightly down upon him. It would be a good night for traveling, and there wouldn't be any real use in trying to go back to sleep. He rolled up the blanket and pillow he carried with him, tied it to the rest of his minimal gear, and climbed out of the little abandoned animal den he had found. It was time to move again, he could feel it.

It was that same feeling that had kept him alive, allowed him to survive for seven long years without ever seeing a familiar face. It was what some people might call instinct, although such a sharp one would surprise most people who would call it that. He'd tried to learn about this Sheikah instinct as well as what exactly had occurred seven years prior, but the deeper he dug the more he realized what the weight of being alive—staying alive—meant.

All their history, all their records, their very existence, had been wiped clean by someone. Books had been burned along with sacred tapestries that had been gifts. When he asked people they would always disregard him, asking, "Aren't you a bit old to believe in imaginary people?" That was how he learned just how secretive the Sheikah had been—and how he'd realized just how difficult it would be finding anyone who actually knew anything about them.

Now the funny thing was, he could always tell when someone did know, even if they weren't willing to divulge information. All it took was one look—as soon as they saw his eyes they knew or they simply did not know. He quickly learned that it was the strange color of his eyes that gave him away, and that having these eyes were both a blessing and a curse. For all he knew, he could have the very last pair of fierce red eyes in the world, a blessing, but at the same time his eyes made him an easy target for discrimination.

It seemed there was a wordless law going around: do not associate with the Sheikah if you find one. Once people who knew realized they were quick to tell him to leave. They threatened to call the local military or shoot him themselves, but there was a certain quivering fear underlying their words that made the threats hallow. They'd been told to fear his kind, and that provoked violence in most people.

He thus concluded that towns and cities—populated areas—were no longer safe. Hylians, people his family had once worked alongside were now untrustworthy and thus a liability. So he had turned to a people nearby that might know of the Sheikah, but who weren't Hylians—the second closest friends of the Shadow People, the Gorons. He would finally make it to the summit of Death Mountain tonight, and with any luck he would find much needed answers.

He stood meters below the highest peak and looked around in curiosity. He'd never been to the Gorons' home—of course he'd seen the rock-like creatures, but most living beings weren't built for casually stopping by a Goron's house. So he realized that he didn't know where the entrance to their supposed great city was. More accurately, he'd known before climbing all this way that it might be difficult or even impossible to find the way in.

Still, he had limited options and had to extinguish each to their fullest before giving up. After all, he'd tried to blend in with Hylian society for four long years before giving up on the idea.

It took the entire night, until the moon shimmered and vanished, before he found what he believed he sought. It was a round hole, too round to be natural—the size too particular to be simply nothing. He had grown much taller since the time he'd left his village, and he now had to slouch over in the darkness of the tunnel in order to pass through it. The path wound on and on, leading him on a seemingly endless journey. After an hour's time no light filtered into the tunnel—cave darkness strangled his vision, strained his eyes.

He disregarded the uncomfortable feeling, closing his eyes, and continuing on as if he had done this every day of his natural life.

It took another half-hour before something mentally kicked him—a warning, a buzzing note in his skull. He resisted the urge to open his eyes wide, knowing it would only serve as a distraction. Instead he strained his ears as much as he could and drew very still. He placed his hands on the walls of the circular tunnel and waited for no more than a minute before he felt it. A rumbling started to shake the walls, little bits of dust and rock falling into his light-blond hair.

He would never be able to out-run whatever was coming; he noticed a while ago that he was climbing up a slope, and if his assumption was correct, then the thing coming towards him was rolling down that slope, gaining even more momentum than it already had. But just as quickly as he dismissed the idea he realized his other option was limited to what was on his person or in the small rucksack he carried around.

A blanket, a pillow, some nonperishable rations, water, and… flint. But there was no tender way up here in the mountains. Any scraggly trees had been passed by a long time ago. But no wait—he did have fuel. He pulled out the blanket and held the flint firmly in his hands. Just as he was about to strike it he felt his muscles lock up, refuse to carry out his orders.

This was a familiar problem by now.

It had occurred first the day he stepped foot out into the destroyed village, his body had refused to move, his eyes locked on the bleeding face of his father. It had only happened on certain occasions since then, but he understood why from the very first. He had something the Sheikah would be ashamed of: fear, hesitancy, and attachment.

The blanket he now in his hands, ready to burn in order to slow, stop, or at least injure whatever was coming his way, was the very same blanket he had huddled in for those long days during the extermination of his people. It was the last thing his father had touched aside from a weapon. It was precious; it meant so much, but now it meant his life in a different way.

It's a piece of cloth, damn it! Burn it!

With shaking hands he finally managed to strike the stone and cause a spark. The blanket caught fire better than he was expecting and for a moment he worried he'd lit it too soon, so he threw his pillow on top of it, just for good measure. The rumbling approached, growing louder and louder until it was painful in his delicate ears, and then finally—.

It halted, grinded to a stop, and nearly burned itself alive in the process. It unfurled and scampered back a bit, eyes filled with fear.

"Whoa! Brother, this is dangerous!" he crowed, truly aghast at the sight of the flames.

"I'm sorry, I feared you might have otherwise crushed me," Sheik explained, kicking what was left of the burning cloth aside so that he could stretch his hand out in a friendly gesture. "My name is Sheik—do you know where the Gorons' city is?" The rock-and-flesh creature across from him chuckled merrily before grabbing a hold of his hand.

"Of course I know where it is!" he said with a grin. "I live there! Oh, but we'll need to exit the tunnel in that direction." He pointed in the direction Sheik had come from, inadvertently causing his muscles to groan in protest. Slouching along the tunnel for so long was starting to make his back ache.

"Very well, but I must warn you, I can't roll," Sheik answered after a moment of consideration.

"It's okay, Brother," he said in the same happy tone as before. "We'll just take it slow—we know how Hylians are no good at rolling." Sheik instinctively flinched at being called the same thing that had attempted to hunt him down on multiple occasions, but figured it best not to correct him and reveal that card just yet.

They took off back down the tunnel; progress slightly quicker to Sheik now that he was going downhill, and after a short hour filled with light banter they were met with the fresh air of a clear morning. The Goron then led him to what he'd sought earlier but could not find—in retrospect he should have waited until daybreak to move again. Even if he hadn't slept he could've at least stayed warm. Then again, his senses had told him to move and they hadn't been wrong yet. Perhaps it was simply predestined for him to meet this Goron.

"Here we go, Brother Sheik, this is Goron City," he proclaimed once they entered through the rocky opening. Sheik had to take a measure degree of appreciation for this city; it truly was a great place, filled with the pure-hearted sense that all Gorons gave off. Young ones rolled about on roads especially carved for their kind as the elderly men sat off in the corner cracking jokes and cracking their rocky backs. It was a sight that filled Sheik with a certain sense of nostalgia, but he dismissed the feeling right away.

There was no time for it now that he'd finally found his way into Goron City.

"Is your leader the type to meet travelers?" he asked as his Goron guide pointed out different facets of the community. His answer was a prompt and resounding, 'Yes.'

"Biggest Brother loves company, especially since we don't get many travelers up here," he explained. "Some silly Hylians say it's far too difficult to climb the mountain, yet look, our young babes play here as if though it's nothing. You're not like those Hylians, I can tell—you're much stronger and braver. Follow me; I'll take you to him!"

And so Sheik found himself standing before the Goron patriarch. This Goron was by far the largest he'd encountered in his entire life. Even though the Gorons he met when he was younger seemed very large, he understood now most of them were merely average size for their species. Not this one, though. This one had arms and legs like mature Deku trees, and his height simply dwarfed Sheik, who was a respectable height for his own kind.

"It's so good to see a brave Little Brother!" he proclaimed. "My name is Darbus. What brings you all the way to the mountain top?"

"I came here hoping that you might be able to help me," Sheik began, carefully considering how to best ask for such precious information. Considering the nature of the Goron would it be best to offer up a trade, maybe a demonstration of strength? Force should come second, negotiations can only come first.

"Do you need the might of the Gorons to slay a dragon and rescue a princess?" Darbus joked fondly. "Because we gave up that profession a long time ago, Little Brother."

"No, it's not asking of a physical favor," he explained. "I actually need information about something that only the Gorons might know about."

"We do not play in the shadows, Little Brother," Darbus remarked with a frown. "We are not the type to collect and spread information—maybe those fishy-folk might be able to help you though."

"Wait, please, it's not the kind of information the Zora would have," he corrected quickly. "It's about the Sheikah—the Village of the Shadow People—it—!"

"Stay calm, Little Brother," Darbus answered with a slight smile, holding up his hands. The great Goron looked around the room with a certain look of pride and contentment on his face. They were currently standing in a relatively large room for a Goron, but really it was no larger than the average front room of a house in Castle Town—granted the roof was much higher. This place was certainly no capitol, but it was surrounded by a thriving empire.

Darbus stretched a moment before plopping down on the ground, shaking the room in the process. Sheik watched wearily as some dust fell from the roof, but took a seat, cross-legged, a moment later when the patriarch gestured for him to stand down. They sat like this for a long moment, Darbus with his legs stretched out before him, leaning back on the palms of his hands as he stared up at the distant roof of the room. Finally, he spoke again.

"Little Brother, your face is tanned and scarred, your hands are rough, and your hair has been touched by the sun. But these traits alone show only the hard-working man; it is your eyes that show the true man. One who looked strangely like you, more so than the other people you once lived with, came to me once long ago." He stretched one hand out before him and gestured as he spoke.

"He told me that bad things were going to happen to the people he loved, but despite knowing this, he was too weak to protect them. I believe he came to ask not for the Goron's help in stopping this bad thing from happening, but rather he came to ask us if we could make him stronger. We trained him and taught him much about our ways, and he was a truly good man and an honorable student. Still, he left one day, saying he had a little baby boy who had just been born to return to.

"What he didn't say he had no need to, for we knew without a single word: for all our help, he was still far too weak to change the course set before him.

"'Guided by our own destinies, led to our own fates,'" Sheik muttered sadly.

"So he grew wiser after all," Darbus said, mostly to himself, nodding happily. "It's good to know he raised such a fine boy—and I'm happy to have met him."

"What makes you think it was my father you spoke to?" Sheik asked doubtfully. "The Sheikah all had similar features, much like the Gorons—it would be hard to tell them apart I imagine." Darbus laughed, a rumbling sound that filled the entire room.

"Don't be so silly, Little Brother," he chuckled. "Everyone, regardless of race, is spectacularly different. If you have the time you should look at some of the Gorons out there and ask yourself if they really all look the same. You are his son—you have that same look in your eyes that he had, and your mouth quirks in the same when you speak and think." Sheik looked at him, truly surprised by this. He'd noticed that little quirk in his father—but he never imagined that it was a trait he shared.

"So if you really did know my father, then maybe you know something about what happened?"

"What happened?" Darbus asked, frowning now.

"My village—Kakariko, the village of the Shadow People known as the Sheikah—was turned over—utterly destroyed," he explained, desperation tingeing his voice. He leaned forward, knees and palms grinding into the dirt as he looked up at the Goron patriarch desperately. "All of my people are dead because of some mysterious attack—the Hylians refuse to give me answers, but I thought surely our own neighbors might—!"

"Hold on a moment," Darbus sighed, holding up a hand and cutting him off. "Now think: you know not many people travel here, and you should also figure from that knowledge that not many Gorons travel down there. All we know of any attacks was the one your father mentioned many years ago."

"What did he say?" Sheik asked, doing his best to relax his shoulders and listen calmly—getting worked up now would no more bring back his father than running out into the battle would have all those years ago.

"He mentioned that the Shadow People were slowly being betrayed," Darbus said thoughtfully. "He said they had to be slow and cautious about it, because his people were very sharp. But it surely happened, the people who worked against your own kin found a way inside. From the sounds of it, the night was a throat-slitting—a cowardly move by someone." The great Goron paused and thought back, carefully recalling any other information that might help his young friend.

"Oh, and he mentioned you, of course," he concluded. "He said that he just hoped the people plotting against your own would take plenty of time—time long enough to train you."

"Train me?" Sheik asked, confusion returning. His expectation of betrayal had been confirmed, but what he had to do with this story he did not yet know—he never could have imagined having a greater role in it at all.

"Your father mentioned that you were a special child," Darbus paused again to glare lightheartedly at Sheik, "and no do not ask me how you are special, for I was not told. All he said was that if you could reach full maturation before the betrayers made their move, then your people stood a fighting chance—and don't give me that look. You can no more control the rate at which your body grows than you could have stopped the attack single-handedly."

Sheik leaned back and crossed his arms, thinking now, despite the urge to run and scream and break something. This trip seemed to only have lead to a more frustrating dead-end. This little bit of information only told him that he might have played an instrumental role in his people's destruction, but it didn't lead him a single step closer to the people who had actually held the blade at their throats.

"Don't look so sad, Little Brother," Darbus said, standing and patting him on the back. "You may stay here for as long as you wish, though unless you enjoy rocks you may have to hunt for your own food. Still, resting here may do you some good—give you some time to think away from people who do not trust you. Something tells me you haven't had the feeling of being safe in a long while."

Sheik nodded his thanks, stood up, bowed, and made to exit the room. He didn't bother to tell Darbus that he hadn't felt safe since a traitorous force had burned down his home—and even here in this friendly city he could not feel safe. He'd seen well-protected, functioning societies wiped out in a single eve before, and he would never be caught off guard by such a thing again. Goddesses forbid he ever witness such death again, but next time he would fight it—or die trying.

"Oh, Little Brother," Darbus called out just before Sheik left the room. "Perhaps you can go through some Goron training while you're here like your father did, and perhaps it'll take your mind off of things for a while. Sometimes punching a rock feels good, right?" Sheik looked back at him and smiled wordlessly.

Some training would be greatly beneficial to his mission and give him time to consider what his next move would be. He would sleep dreamlessly that night and again for the next six months as various Gorons took him through their own specially designed workouts until he was bone-tired. The Gorons, though a great refuge, clearly knew very little about what happened the night his people were slain.

When he had a spare moment to think he came to the conclusion that his next step was far away from where he'd been raised—far from where he'd ever set foot. The Zora were useless—they were a mostly secluded and secretive people who did not communicate outside of their own kind frequently. If his next stop turned into a dead-end then he would return to the Zora, of course, but that wasn't the way to go now.

Now he had to make his way far across Hyrule to a people as old as the Hylians. A people who had adapted to their surroundings much like the Gorons and Zora, but unlike these nobler races, they had fallen out of the favor of most every other race of people inhabiting Hyrule.

Sheik would travel to a wasteland where the Gerudo resided. The entire race was a group of petty thieves and cutthroats composed entirely of women. If there was a single group of people who knew of the secret, under-handed actions of others it would be these inhabitants of the Great Desert.

The elderly Goron I spoke with told me that there were some stories, passed down along the line of one of the descendants of the founders of the tribe, about a red-eyed people. The stories were fairly basic; things about the Sheikah that all people knew. That they had existed in dreams and stories, they had been called a Shadow People, and many Hylians were uncertain of their truthful existence. One story, though, told of a specific Sheikah—two in fact.

Supposedly they both came from the same clan, but what that meant in Sheikah terms was anyone's guess. Their most notable features were their red eyes—that and they had supposedly been very good warriors, though how the Gorons knew this was unclear as they knew they'd never waged war against them. The story goes that these two Sheikah entered the Gorons' city at very different times, and neither came seeking material goods.

They were spoken of in a positive light, but sadly, whatever they actually did come to Goron City for was lost with the memories of the Goron ancestors. Both Sheikah talked secretly with the old Goron leader, but what they spoke of was not known. The Gorons, understanding their own ways, assumed it had to be a pact between Brothers.

What that meant, from what I understood about Gorons, was that something very important happened on this mountain and it led Sheik to a new place for a purpose unknown. Although, if I had been the last surviving member of my people—because now I did indeed know he survived, thanks to the Gorons' accurate time keeping skills—then where would I go? What would I do?

I couldn't say for certain in Sheik's case, but I knew that if I was left all alone in the world with no purpose and plenty of questions… I would seek out the answers by whatever means necessary. Perhaps that was only the power of the goddess I was blessed with speaking, but it seemed to me that if you were intelligent enough to survive genocide, then you were intelligent enough to desire answers.

But where would that lead him? Who would have such answers if not even the Hylians knew?

And then it dawned on me, in an almost divine burst of insight.

The opposite of the Hylians, because the Hylians knew nothing—the Gerudo.

Leaving Goron City after residing there for such a long stretch of time was slightly upsetting, particularly to Sheik, Darbus, and Sheik's Goron masters. However, they were all strong, proud warriors, and they said their good-byes with booming laughs and the promise of a future visit.

The last Sheikah "borrowed" a horse and made his way across the great plains of Hyrule Field. The journey took several days, and it gave Sheik plenty of time to think, to digest what exactly he would do once he arrived at the desert. He'd re-stocked most of his supplies with the Gorons, snagging nonperishable foods as he made his way towards his destination, but something about what Darbus said still bugged him. He'd never quite been able to put it into words, but he felt like he simply knew what it was that was special about him.

That killer instinct of his—was it something inherited or was it something that could've stopped the attack on his people?

Maybe the instinct wasn't the key, because there had to be a reason for the Sheikah's service to the high-ranking people of Hyrule. It was what separated them from the Gerudo, in fact. He'd been told stories when he was a boy about the Gerudo—the men of the village always joked about the differences between Sheikah and Gerudo, because when you looked closely they were a very similar people. Both relied on the shadows to accomplish their tasks, both were filled with an uneasy mix of honorable thieves and do-anything cutthroats.

Even though the Sheikah leaned more towards the honorable warrior side of things, the Gerudo were no pushovers, even if they did use frowned-upon methods to win their battles.

That only brought him back to square one: it would be difficult to simply sneak into their heartland and find the information he sought.

The horse slowed, moving surreptitiously towards a nearby river and Sheik allowed it, feeling his legs tingle with lack of use. He jumped off the so-far loyal steed and walked in slow circles near the water. A bobbing piece of what appeared to be driftwood caught his eye and he crouched near the river's edge. He reached in and pulled it out to find not a piece of shabby driftwood, but a rather surprisingly smooth, malleable piece of bark. He turned it over in his hands and a thought came to him…

If he was truly the last living Sheikah, with the rest of their heritage and culture burned in a cruel act, then he should leave something, make something that would be carved into the earth—proof that he was here. That his people had been here.

A mask.

He would carve a mask from this piece of wood—it was just the right shape for such a thing. Here he would whittle this part away, cut it into this and—yes. After what felt like a moment, hours had passed, and he had in his hands a mask carved from abandoned wood. The all-knowing eye, the symbol of the Sheikah, stared back at him sadly, and he frowned to himself, something missing. His mount stomped her hoof angrily, indicating that she was ready to move again.

No time to consider aesthetics for now. He stuck the mask in the back of his belt and mounted off, kicking the horse off into the direction of the desert once more. They made it this time, just as night was falling over the land—the perfect time to sneak in and not be seen. He didn't bother tying up the horse, figuring it would be luck to survive the desert and even luckier to find the horse again. A bridge stretched out before him, and it was with a grimace that he walked across it.

Bridges were too open, too narrow—not a good place to fight and an even worse place to be caught off-guard.

Then his sixth sense felt like it had kicked him in the back of the head—he looked up in time to see a shadowy figure drop down from the cliff-side. He made a dash for the end of the bridge and rolled off just in time to dodge a volley of arrows.

Shit.

He assessed his surroundings as quickly as he could—he'd made a big mistake coming here without doing more reconnaissance of the area; the desert terrain was totally foreign to him, giving the enemy the advantage. He turned, seeing an opportunity in the form of a split in the rocky surface, but as he strained his muscles towards the opening a heavy weight crashed down on him, setting his skull on fire. The world started to blur and fade; the last thing he saw was a curvaceous woman sauntering towards him.

The next time he awoke he found himself in a dungeon with no visible escape—no that wasn't true, there was a high window, but it was sealed shut, not to mention it would be nearly impossible to reach the height, considering the smoothness of the walls. The small door of his prison swung open and the same woman from before walked in, hips swaying side-to-side in a manner that kept Sheik's eyes busy despite all his training.

"Eyes are up here, male," she purred, immediately breaking him from his staring.

"Why did you imprison me?"

"Why did you come here armed?

They both fell silent for a long moment, assessing the strength of the other. He felt he could probably overpower her, but there was no telling what weapons were hidden along her generous curves. That was likely the only reason she felt bold enough to step into his prison and close the door behind her.

"If you're honest, then you may be spared—just think, if you comply with our wishes we may be so kind as to just dump you in the desert," she said, arms crossed—negotiation clearly not an option. These weren't the friendly Gorons or even the passively hostile Hylians. The Gerudo were a very real threat.

"The weapons were in case I was attacked—although it's clear my skill with them is a bit rustier than I had anticipated," he answered honestly as he carefully considered the situation. "I just came seeking information."

"Not strong with weapons, hmm? Then you probably won't last long if you try to seek information here," she remarked, leaning back against the bars. "We value weapon skills more than physical skills, and a show of skill is the only way to access the information some of us hold."

"How about you give me one freebie?" he responded, voice carefully neutral. She smirked at him, turning and glancing out of the cage for a moment.

"I tell you what, I'll allow you to test yourself against me on your terms—a battle of strength," she said, turning back around and swinging the door open again. "Interested?"

"If I win you'll answer my question?"

"A question, yes."

Sheik watched her as she stepped outside of the prison, gesturing for him to follow. He knew that this could be his only chance—even if it meant a fight, at least it was an opportunity to escape. His steps fell silent as he followed her out, looking carefully for any escape routes. The walls were high, steep, smooth… only one door, and it was the one they were headed towards. He resisted asking any questions, figuring they'd be answered soon enough, and doubting that he'd actually be able to elicit any information from her.

She guided him through the door, down two more long passages, and finally they arrived in a circular room, the door and the slightly raised middle of the floor were the only remarkable parts of the place. And the raised floor clearly cut the shape of a ring—probably for general use, but it would be well suited for grappling. And now he knew where his escape route was—there'd been two doors before they entered this one leading into the arena, so the other must have led outside or at least towards that direction.

The Gerudo woman hopped lightly up onto the raised floor and Sheik followed suit.

"Rules are fairly simple," she said, pacing back and forth, already looking for an opening. "First one to pin the other for more than ten seconds wins. Anything goes, including bone-breaking, if that's your style. Ready?"

Sheik nodded wordlessly and the woman charged at him, and for a wild moment he thought the fight might be over quickly—she was much sloppier than he had anticipated. But then at the last second she ceased her headlong tackle, shifted her weight, and dropped to the floor, sliding towards him. He twitched to lower his defense, having been ready to defend higher, but she'd been too close when she'd shifted.

He felt her arms wrap around his left leg, felt her fly between his legs, and using her momentum, returned to her feet, in effect sending Sheik onto his back. He winced at the feeling of his leg being twisted and his breath left him in a huff as his back slammed against the ground. He managed to get his hands in position and spun his entire body, hoping to send her flying off, but she merely released his leg and dodged back.

He pushed off the ground and returned to his feet, already inhaling hard from his sudden acquaintance with the floor. The woman smirked back at him, sensing an easy win.

"I have to apologize," he panted. "I really thought this was going to be much less difficult. What's your name?"

"What does it matter? You'll be thrown out in a short while and it would be suicidal to return here and test your luck," she answered, eyes darting up and down his body, considering her next move as she started to circle him. He shifted his weight to the left, making sure not to let her catch him in his blind spot.

"I want to know the name of the powerful warrior able to get me on my back," he replied simply. Even though he had the upper hand in strength, it didn't matter if he couldn't get his hands on her—and that's what she was counting on. Her miniscule size made for a smaller target.

"Garuda," she said, not giving him time to respond. She rushed towards him, feigning right, but this time Sheik had kept loose so when she made for his left side he was able to lock hands with her. She frowned, far from worried but they both knew that if she gave him too much time it would be over—he'd finally gotten a hand on her.

He thrust his entire weight forward, hoping to send her off balance, but she countered by shifting his weight over her shoulder, only able to do so because he'd rushed into the move. He cursed loudly as his back slammed into the ground yet again. He looked up to see her smirking above him. He lashed his arms out, hoping to grab her ankles, but it was an easily predictable move and she was ready. She leapt up, spinning slightly to land with one foot on either side of his waist.

But he saw a second opportunity in this and quickly twisted to his left, rolling and effectively snagging her feet in the motion. She hadn't had time to tense for another jump and went tumbling down on top of him. When they finally rolled to a halt Sheik seemed to have the upper hand at last. He straddled her waist with his hands on either side of her head, pinning her arms above her. They were both panting now and he smirked triumphantly.

"Don't get so cocky," she snapped, just as Sheik felt her legs twist around his neck. Automatically he snatched his hands away from her arms, clawing at her legs as his oxygen was cut off. He leaned back, and she used the shift in his weight to push him all the way back; now she sat on his chest, her legs still twisted across his neck. He rolled again, this time to his right, but she was expecting it this time around and jumped off as he rolled himself off the edge of the arena, falling a brief second before his abused back slammed into the ground once again.

He rolled over and into a kneeling position, squeezing his eyes shut. This wasn't going as well as he'd hoped. His eyes drifted back to the door. There was no way. She was too fast for him to outrun her. He looked over to see her standing there, waiting patiently for him to re-enter the ring. Something was off—she was going too easy on him. He blinked hard, keeping his eyes shut for a moment, trying to tap into that sense he knew was there.

Grunting he stood up, climbed back up on the raised portion of the floor, and cracked his neck. He had to trust that feeling—it was right there, right beneath the surface; he just had to listen. She took up her stance again, and something in the tilt of her head told him she knew something was off—something had changed. But would she realize what it was before it was too late?

This time he took the initiative, stepping lightly, feigning from side to side in an attempt to throw her off, but she simply held steady and watched his approaching form carefully. His right hand snapped out in a fist, swinging towards her head, but she easily dodged it. Smirking he threw his left hand out, hoping to grab her arm. But no, she was ready for the distraction and the actual attack. She grabbed his wrist and flipped herself over his head, kicking out her leg as she did so.

He turned and blocked the kick easily and reached out again, attempting to catch her before she returned to her center of gravity. He made to grab high, but—finally—he felt it and dropped his shoulders and hands, diving forward to tackle her around her waist. She brought her fist down on his shoulder blade but it did nothing to stop the rush of momentum they'd just created. They tumbled and rolled, halting in the center of the ring.

When the dust settled—to her shock—it was Sheik on top. He had her arms trapped behind her back, one of his knees pinning down both her legs. She struggled for a moment, trying to kick out, squirm away, anything, but it was clear that this little game was over. With a defeated sigh she relaxed her body and counted to ten.

"You win," she said, but he didn't let her go. "What? You want your question answered before you let go of me? Fine. What do you want to know?"

"Do the Gerudo know anything about what happened to the Sheikah?" he demanded.

"Someone does, I'm sure," she answered. "I'd heard they were wiped out, but that's all I know, unfortunately for you. Now let me go."

"And why should I let you go?" he asked, feeling her body tense again. It was too late to realize it now, but he wouldn't be relinquishing his upper hand any time soon. Then again why would he have? Just to be thrown out, or worse, to be thrown back into his prison cell?

"Fair enough," she said, realizing what her position truly meant. "Look, I know you're not the type to trust someone—I can tell just looking at you—but I actually need something from you. So considering I need a favor from you do you really think I'd just kill you as soon as you let me go?"

"Of course you wouldn't kill me right away if you need me, but you would eventually," he answered. "And because I wish to survive I refuse to let that happen. And anyway, what could you possible want from me?" She suddenly tensed her body, managing to catch him off guard and roll him off her. He cursed at his lapse of judgment as she smirked down at him—on his back once more.

"I want to tell you a fun little fact about us Gerudo," she purred. "We're an all female race. In order to reproduce we take on men from outside of our home. Not many men travel this way, so it's typically a pain to be chosen to increase our population. Imagine my annoyance when I was picked—and then my joy when a man happened to stumble right into my clutches."

"W-what?" Sheik stuttered, truly thrown for a loop at this revelation. "You want me—."

"Look, it's not like it's a bit deal or anything," she said, barely managing to keep her eyes locked with his. "Like I said, I know it's hard for you to trust someone, especially if that someone locked you up, but I need you to help me with this. If you do, then I'll make sure you find out all we know about what happened to your people."

"That seems too good to be true," he answered, going for mistrusting because he honestly had no idea how else to react.

"It's our curse," she said bitterly. "And despite what you've heard we really do honor strength and our promises. You've proven you're strong enough, that's all I need. And I'm willing to strike a bargain for this—that's all there is to it: you scratch my back, I'll scratch yours." Sheik considered this for a moment. Now that he'd missed his opportunity to escape…

"Fine," he grunted. She slowly got off him and let him stand up.

"Great, I have a place all prepared—."

"No, we're doing this now," he disagreed, grabbing her by her shoulders and pulling her close to him. "I don't really have time for formalities." She merely smirked at him as his lips engulfed hers.

Sheik couldn't say he disliked the action but he didn't find any particular enjoyment in it either. It was simply a necessary action in order to progress further forward. Even as he looked into her eyes, glimpsing the pleasure that he wasn't sure was reflected in his own, his mind focused on the goal of learning about the night of his people's fall. It crossed his mind for only a fleeting moment that this might be something his father would have encouraged.

To keep their genes, their blood, their unique traits alive.

He finished his end of the bargain after a short time, and she explained to him, as they lay on the dusty arena surface, that the one mostly likely to have the information he sought was the Gerudo's current leader. She would take him there and make sure he got his information.

And then she said something truly surprising: she apologized. And she promised that if she could make it happen, then he would see his child at least once. He simply grunted and replied that he might not even have impregnated her—there was no real way to tell until the child came. To which she replied he'd just have to return to uphold his end of the deal.

After that they dressed themselves and made their way to the largest, most prominent building in the village. The Gerudo who saw him eyed him up and down wearily, but seeing him with her seemed to humor them, as they smirked at the two as they walked through the village. He couldn't help but notice that the woman walking alongside him seemed rather embarrassed by their looks. After a moment of debate he did something rather surprising to both of them and rested a hand on her shoulder as they walked.

Of course neither acknowledged their surprise and his hand fell away as they entered the room of the one in charge.

She was a woman with the same traits that most of the other Gerudo shared: prominent nose, dark skin, gold eyes… and red hair. He had thought it odd that most of them seemed to have red hair as they had made their way here, but now he realized that the hair color was normal. He glanced briefly towards the woman who had brought him here and noted her hair was a very odd purple color—odd, anyway, in terms of the rest of her race.

"Garuda, why have you brought a man to me? I believe you have more use for him than I," the woman said in way of greeting, swinging her feet off the armrest of the gold throne she sat upon.

"I've made use of him," Garuda answered, bowing her head respectfully, "however I promised him a favor in return."

"Why would you do something like that foolish girl?" the older woman snapped. "We don't owe him anything since we caught him. His freedom should be reward enough, and if not we can easily change that." Sheik, tired of hearing the formal banter finally stepped forward and spoke.

"I'm not here to offend you or your people," he began. "I've provided you a service and in return I want information. Supplying me with this information will not harm you in anyway unless it was in fact your doing."

"You have some gall to speak to me like that in my own home," the woman growled, narrowing her eyes dangerously. "But I am curious as to what information you seek. You've gone through an awful lot of trouble for this 'opportunity' of yours."

"I want to know anything and everything the Gerudo know about the Sheikah and what happened to them."

For a long minute no one moved, the leader keeping her expression carefully neutral. Garuda stood next to Sheik, head still bowed, hands clenched together. Such a fierce warrior, required to bow to someone simply because of rank. He looked back towards the leader and his frown deepened. Something told him that the stronger woman here was not the only in the position of power.

Finally the leader swung her legs off the throne and stepped down off her pedestal. She sauntered up to the two and stared them both down. Guards in the room shifted in an almost unnoticeable fashion, clearly ready to control the situation should Sheik decide to be impatient. She let out a sigh and shook her head.

"Okay, guards leave us be," she commanded. They hesitated only long enough to see the serious expression on her face before they all filed out. "You too, Garuda. I want to speak to him alone." It was a credit to her character and a show of respect towards Sheik that she did not hesitate. She turned and walked out of the room without a single thought, sound, or a glance back.

"What's your name?"

"Sheik. Yours?"

"Nabooru."

"Interesting name—but is it?"

"You're perceptive," Nabooru said with a grin, crossing her arms. Sheik merely stood there wordlessly, arms relaxed at his sides. "Nabooru is a title given to the woman temporarily in charge."

"Temporarily?"

"Our kings are all men, but unfortunately we only give birth to one every hundred years or so—every generation, one, out of all those born," she explained, a far-off look in her eyes. "But I don't believe you came here to learn about us specifically. I would never say it in front of the others, but I can tell she made a good choice in choosing you. You'll be honored as a hero if your kin is the one.

So speak, while you have my patience, what do you already know?"

"I know that my people were unjustly slaughtered in a single night," he recited. "They were caught unaware, I believe, because it was someone the village trusted that lead them to this ruin. My father had some advance warning of the attack, but he was unable to, for reasons I do not know, act upon his knowledge." He decided not to mention that his father had believed that Sheik would've been the one to save them, had he been old enough.

Nabooru listened carefully, the thoughtful look from earlier returning to her eyes. Although she put up a tough face she actually had some consideration within her. A good trait for a leader: to be fierce and decisive, but not blindly so.

"There are two versions of the story going around at the moment," she said after a long pause. "One is the version that the Hylians have been telling the other leaders of Hyrule. They say that an enemy of theirs from far off discovered the Shadow Village and attacked it, knowing that the Sheikah served as guardians of the royal family. They were very upset that it happened, but moved on quickly—they couldn't dawdle because they needed a new defense system, so it wasn't lack of sympathy that they basically ignored any survivors.

"Then there's the version that I believe. Someone within the royal family ordered the hit. It took a mix of assassins, mercenaries, and minimal royal soldiers. Those soldiers that did go along were in disguise—no one wore royal colors so that suspicion wouldn't be thrown towards them. The family would know the specific details of how it all played out, but there are some interesting theories circulating about why they did it.

"Some say it was a matter of betrayal on the Sheikah's end," she paused and walked back towards her throne. "But anyone who's ever led a group of powerful warriors knows the real reason—it's too obvious to miss. Someone in the royal family did indeed order the hit because they started to grow fearful. Who wouldn't? The Sheikah were powerful, talented warriors who were careful not to draw unnecessary ire.

"And because of that they were in the perfect position to overthrow the royal family."

Sheik's training and years of experience were the only things that stopped him from crying out. His people never would have even considered turning on the royal family. It was because of the royal family that they could go on living peacefully and without worry. Or so they had thought.

"We never would have done that," he said quietly, no trace of anger in his voice. It was a simple statement of fact, and despite himself he felt it needed to be said.

"I know," she agreed, watching his reaction.

"How high up does it go?"

"Why bother trying to find out? You want the head of the dragon, cut its neck—don't waste time immobilizing it by chopping off its feet. It'll still be able to burn you even without its legs." Sheik nodded and turned to leave, knowing where his next—and final—destination would be he had no more need to remain in this place. Nabooru called out to him at the last moment though, causing him to turn and look back, wondering if she had thought of some piece of information that would be useful.

"Be safe, kid. We're not totally heartless about the fathers of our children around here," she said quietly, looking at him with a mix of pity and sorrow. He simply grunted and turned back around, exiting the throne room only to find someone else waiting for him outside.

Garuda, the woman with the purple hair that he had fought with.

"Are you leaving now?" she asked, struggling to keep her voice calm. "I could help you if you'd like—if it's revenge you're after."

"I thank you for all your help," Sheik answered stiffly, feeling the awkwardness of the situation weigh down upon him, despite his determination to reach his goal. "But this is something I must do on my own—if I should fail then it was simply meant to be for us to die out. And aside from that I'm not sure that it is revenge I seek." She looked up at him sadly, looking like she wanted to say more—much more—but decided for the only words one warrior could give another.

"Show true courage, then, and best of luck." He felt a lump in his throat, not upset about leaving, but rather feeling guilty about leaving yet another place that could've accepted him. Abandoning a potential home—no, that wasn't right. He'd lost his home long ago. He would never find another, as nice as it might or might not be. This place wasn't for him, and they both knew it.

Without giving himself a chance to think twice he wrapped her up in a brief hug. He stealthily grabbed the mask he'd carved from his back pocket, having recovered his gear earlier before they walked over to visit Nabooru, and slipped the piece of wood between them as he let her go. She took it and examined it, accepting the token, but neither of them said a word.

He moved away as silently as ever towards the direction he knew would lead him back into the heart of Hyrule—and once he got there, he would be sure to stab his dullest blade through it.

The Gerudo were not a people I really wanted to mess with, and I knew that if Impa could see me now she'd be frowning at my stupidity—risking my capture, my life, for the purpose of unraveling a fairy tale. Still I had no other ideas as to where I could find information on Sheik. He'd been good about moving without being noticed—the proof of that lay in the fact that no one even believed a Sheikah survived pass the time they were attacked.

And considering that made this situation seem even more hopeless than before.

I was currently crouched in the shadows of the Gerudo village, watching as the women marched back and forth on patrol. Aside from the fact that none of them would be willing to talk to me, it was hard say that anyone of them even knew of Sheik. It was a possibility that he hadn't come here after all.

Who—if anyone—would know?

My eyes were drawn to a building with a sign posted out front, guarded by a single woman with several others pacing nearby. It looked like an older building—maybe the oldest in the village. I dropped down and crept up to the building, dodging between alleys and moving between breaths. Security was tight around the building to say the least, but that didn't really mean much—the whole place was crawling with guards. They were very on-edge.

A sizeable crack in the wall ended up being my ticket in after some digging, chipping, and wiggling.

The inside looked as ancient as the outside. The walls were lined with torches and there were several doors along the wall, with one standing notably alone—the entrance, obviously. Now, though, the question was what hid behind those doors that didn't lead back outside—or did they? Were there warriors waiting just inside?

Did I really want to do this? Was finding out about Sheik worth the risk of my life? The Gerudo all served under Ganondorf. They wouldn't even hesitate to hand me over to them. They were never particularly loyal or amiable towards the Hylians—my father had warned me long ago that I should always use caution when dealing with the Gerudo. Sometimes it was hard to know what they were thinking.

Not that he'd taken his own advice.

And now look, here I was, standing before doors that could lead to the answers I sought or the end of the line—unless Link… No, I had to be here to help him. This was too risky. I shouldn't have ever left Kakariko. Chasing this illusion might've been one step from ending my life—defiling the memory of everyone who sacrificed to give us the chance to take down Ganondorf. All the people who gave up love and life to be sages, those who died in Ganondorf's onslaught, those who lost loved ones…

But then I knew that was exactly why I had to finish this fairy tale. Sheik's tale was one of persevering, of overcoming hopelessness—and his story held a key to a part of Hyrule's history that would otherwise be lost, I just knew it. If—when—we came together again as a nation, how could we ever look at ourselves honestly if we turn away from our history?

No matter how dark, no matter what mistakes, no matter what shame lie there.

Fighting for a nation that would turn away from its full history wasn't worth fighting for at all. None of those people sacrificed exclusively to save me or even the Hylians. The Goron, Zora, Kokiri, and even the Gerudo all put something into this fight—an entire nation, filled with many races. This wasn't just about the Hylians and those I ruled over. This was about discovering a truth…

No matter what.

I took a deep breath and walked through a door that had an old spelling for the word "Gerudo" above it—it almost looked like it was pronounced "Garuda."

Sheik's luck held up until he reached the outside of the Hylain castle. His horse stayed put and it seemed he hadn't lost much time at all in the Gerudo's village. But the castle would be a problem. There was no way he'd be able to simply walk through Castle Town—someone would spot him, recognize him, and it would all be over.

So instead he circled around outside of the great walls that protected the city and castle. There was a small river that flowed into the guarded area—right up to the palace if he wasn't mistaken. He dismounted, grabbed his supplies off the horse, and smacked its rump. The mare took off, hopefully going back to her owner, or at the very least to find more of her own kind. He sincerely hoped she had a good, long life, wherever she headed towards.

He dumped his gear on the ground and quickly sorted through it, burying the food and bandages. He wouldn't have time to stop and recover. The weapons were the only things he needed to take—wait, what's that? He examined the blade he found with a frown. He was sure he'd never seen the scimitar before, so when….

He smiled softly despite himself and tucked the blade into his belt. He would have to return to thank her, it was only polite.

That was it, then. He tugged on all of his straps, making sure nothing would fall or come loose, and scaled the high wall before him. Fortunately the sloppy craftsmanship allowed for enough footholds to pull him to the top. The city bloomed before him, the night lights creating a surreal glow over the entire place. A place that held so many fond memories from his childhood, yet at the same time could, even now, be housing the man that slit his father's throat.

It all ended here, and it would end tonight.

He dropped into the back allies and made his way through the city, pressing himself up against the walls and blending into the shadows when a Hylian came too close. It took only a few minutes for his swift and agile feet to carry him to the next wall—the one that kept commoners and riffraff from entering the castle's grounds. This wall, unlike the last, was littered with guards. He couldn't help but scoff a bit. None of these men were at the level of the Gerudo.

But even knowing he could easily take them, that buzzing in the back of his head told him no. Don't take them out—they're not the ones you're here for. So instead he found some vines that had dropped down from a nearby tree and used them to sneak over a portion of the wall bathed in shadows. They were fools not to have anyone posted at this point—were these really the ones that had wiped out his entire people? Scrum like this?

Anger started to broil deep in the pit of his belly, but he repressed it. Anger, hate… those were the things that killed people, and if he started slaughtering people he was no better than the ones who killed his people. There was no guarantee these Hylians even knew about his people's slaughter, if what the Gerudo had told him was true.

He slunk through the shadows and silently slipped into the moat when he reached it. Climbing out on the other side he was immensely thankful to whoever had designed the Sheikah battle armor. It was tough, solid, but water and other slippery materials drained right off it—nothing clung to make his footsteps squeak. He followed the outer edge of the castle itself, checking carefully for any points of access, but for a wild moment it seemed like it was utterly sealed. The windows were reachable, possibly, but he would certainly be noticed.

Then he spied a grate on the far side of the castle, rusted and easily breakable. He tore off the sad piece of metal and a shimmed into the newly made hole, coming out in a small pool on the other side. It looked as if he was in a courtyard of some sort, tall, neatly trimmed bushes making for good blind spots. But where were the guards? He made his way across the soft grass, mindful of escape routes should he need one.

Although by this point he hardly expected to turn tail without a fight.

Then he found the guards and the sickened feeling from earlier returned. The lazy swine were sitting around a fire, chortling and drinking while they were supposed to be guarding their precious royal family. He resisted the urge to teach them a valuable lesson, knowing they wouldn't be worth his time. Instead he navigated the courtyard until he found an open window that led to the throne room—a room currently abandoned, dark, and silent.

This might be the truly tricky part—finding his way through the massive castle to wherever it was the royal family slept. And even these people wouldn't leave them unguarded while they slept. But then, without knowing how he knew, his feet carried him along the path he needed to take. It was that same feeling that tickled his mind whenever he was in danger or when he absolutely had to do something. That sixth sense that had guided him this entire time, kept him safe.

As predicted, guards stood outside of the king's room, but only two. He had heard others patrolling, though, and knew it would be suspicious to take these guards out and move them. He could taste his goal—it was so close—but he couldn't rush now, or it would all be for nothing. A throwing knife flashed throw the air, slamming into one guard's neck, and before the other could even turn to see his companion fall, Sheik was there, slamming another knife into this neck.

He dragged the two men into the shadows and waited as patiently as he could for the others to come by. It took longer than he would've liked, but all three patrols returned at the same time—giving him the perfect opportunity. Again he threw a knife, taking out the one furthest away, before quickly moving to take out the closest one. The third one had time to react, though, spinning and seeing an angry flash of red eyes for the briefest moment before his world went black forever.

Sheik looked without pity at the men whose lives he'd just ended, stopping only to retrieve his weapons, not even bothering to wipe them off. His bloody hand clutched the handle on the door that led to the king's room and swung it open soundlessly. Just in case any other guards came looking, he moved the heaviest piece of furniture—a sizeable dresser—he could manage in front of the door. It would at least give him some warning.

And then, just as easy as that, his journey reached its climax as he gazed upon the face of the man who held all the answers, the man who may very well have caused the death of his people—the king of Hyrule himself. The man Sheik would have some day sworn his loyalty to if not for the wretched twist of events.

He calmly walked over and snatched the man up, pressing a blade against his throat as he awoke with a start. The king nearly started to struggle, but then winced as the sharp metal pricked his tender flesh. For a moment the two of them stood there, bathed in the moonlight that streamed in from the open balcony, neither even daring to breathe.

"I want you to know that my name is Sheik," he said quietly, feeling the man tense at the name. "It's a name that I'm sure you know—one that evokes the name of the Sheikah, a race of people not too long ago until some son of a bitch ordered they all be killed." He released the king, flinging him down, and stood there, blade in hand, fists trembling.

"And I'm here to kill that son of a bitch," he growled, drawing out the scimitar he'd found in his possession earlier. "You've put me through hell—you murdered my family, but I'm not like you. I won't simply run your through right here and now. I'm going to give you a chance—something you denied my people. Explain yourself and tell me everything."

"Don't be stupid boy," the king spat bravely, surprising Sheik but not enough for him to show it. "You think giving me a chance to say something before you kill me justifies what you're about to do? Why don't you think a minute before you say such things? You kill me and you'll be an outlaw for the rest of your life—you'll leave Hyrule without a king. And as for telling you anything—forget it. You'll either kill me regardless or you'll see the light and run out."

Wordlessly, restraining his rage, Sheik stuck the blade out and sliced at the king's arm, causing a rush of blood to gush for. The king clutched his injured arm and cursed in pain, but Sheik merely raised the blade up and spoke again, as softly and fiercely as before.

"I'm no cheap assassin," he growled. "You think I care what happens to Hyrule? This place has already outlawed me. Your people won't even look me in the eyes—although I'm sure you know why that is." He tugged off the cloth obscuring his face and glared down at the man before him, his red eyes glowing fearlessly in the night—burning with justified conviction.

"What's the point, if you know all that?" the king asked, this time noticeably more fearful. "I'm giving you the chance right now—if you leave and never come back, then I won't send my men out to hunt you down. Leave this childish endeavor of revenge behind."

"Childish revenge? No," Sheik corrected. "You've misinterpreted my purpose here. If I really wanted to kill you then you'd already be dead. I want to know why you killed my people—I want to know what happened that night."

For a long minute they only glared at each other, the king refusing to utter a single sound. Meanwhile, Sheik's mind started to turn, figuring out the best way to make him speak. He hadn't counted on the king being even slightly strong-willed. He'd expected the man to cave and beg for his life—it would've been an easy ploy to make him exchange his information for his life. Now it seemed he might need a new strategy.

"This is why I killed them," the king said softly—so softly that Sheik almost didn't hear him. "I assembled a force, risking my pride and the respect of my people, in order to kill off the Sheikah just for this very reason. I always knew they were more powerful than my general military soldiers—I wonder, how many you killed to get here? It doesn't even matter anymore though does it? I let one piece of scum slip through my fingers and look at me now—bleeding and speaking with trash."

This time Sheik couldn't stop the instinct to lash out, and with a swift flash of steel the king lost his injured arm.

"You… will not… speak of my people like they were so far below you," he growled, blood dripping from his raised blade. "How could you kill them all? How could you take their trust and shatter it like that?"

"Gah—how dare you?" he demanded, grinding his teeth and using all the strength he had to stay conscious through the pain.

"Answer me!" Sheik yelled, his voice reverberating and shattering the silence of the night. The king spat off to the side and clutched the stub of his arm tighter.

"I killed them because the risk of them betraying us was greater than their usefulness," he revealed. "You put down dogs that start to bite. The Sheikah had started making alliances with other people—people I didn't approve of. It was clear to me they were building their strength, making sure I couldn't move to take them out—even if I wanted to—later on."

"Your idiotic fear and paranoia killed my father and left me as an outcast," Sheik growled. "I have two more questions for you. Someone knew you were plotting against us, but he couldn't do anything about it—do you know who that man was?"

"He was the bastard I executed myself!" Schwick. Blood flowed freely from his other arm now, and it was apparent that he was about to pass out from blood loss. Sheik had to end this quickly.

"That man mentioned a child. He said the child would've saved the Sheikah if he'd been fully mature—what do you know about that?"

"I'd heard rumors, but I never found out exactly what it meant," the king replied and it nearly broke Sheik to see he was clearly telling the truth. The king finally fell forward, passing out for now, but he would be dead within minutes at this rate. The last Sheikah watched him bleed for a moment and sudden he felt loose, disconnected from the world. This was where it began and this was where it ended, but it felt so anticlimactic after everything he'd been through.

He turned and moved the furniture blocking the door, exiting and fully intending to leave—but then he heard a soft sound from down the hall. He looked over to see a small girl approaching, and he considered whether or not he should simply take off. But that same feeling—a feeling he would never know the extent of now—told him to stay; confront her. He walked over in a daze and knelt before her. She looked back up at him fearlessly, despite the blood on his armor.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"Princess Zelda," she answered.

"Wasn't that your mother's name?" he questioned, vaguely recalling having heard the name before.

"It's the name given to all females of the royal family," she responded, still looking him in the eye. "Your eyes are red."

"It's their natural color."

"No, I mean there are tears in them," she clarified. Surprised, he reached up to feel tears flowing from his eyes. When had he started crying like this?

"I see," he muttered. "How old are you?"

"Ten."

"I see," he repeated.

He watched her carefully, some immense wisdom pouring out of this small child. Something special—and that was the only thought he needed to feel an odd, inescapable bond with this girl. And then he looked down at his hands and realized the wrongness of the situation. After so much time he had his revenge—but was this his revenge? Taking a little child's father away from her—depriving her of the same thing he'd lost. Was that all there was to avenging his people?

"You need to go take care of your father," he said, not recognizing the sound of his own voice. "And then I want you to meet me by the pool out in the courtyard once everyone's attention is focused on your father." He couldn't call him the king—the king was the ruthless brute that murdered his family and shattered the innocence of his childhood. But he was a father—and being a father was something he knew was a precious thing.

Without waiting for her agreement, he took off, back to the pool where he would escape if she didn't show up within an hour.

Not to his surprise, she showed up no more than twenty minutes after he arrived at the designated spot.

"They are all very worried about him, but they think that he will live," she said right away. "Who are you, sir?" Sheik sat on the edge of the pool and the girl—Zelda—walked over and sat next to him, looking up at him as if anticipating a great story.

"My name is Sheik," he whispered. "Seven years ago the king of Hyrule murdered my people. I came here tonight to avenge them and find the answers to all of my questions, but then I realized that no question asks what I really want to know: why did they have to die? Why should anyone have to die simply because someone was afraid? I'm sorry this is a bit much for a little girl I imagine."

"No, it is very interesting, and I just know that you've done a good thing tonight," she answered. "I'm sure the goddesses will bless you." Sheik, much to his surprise, chuckled a bit—the idea of being blessed… what a dream. He stood up and waded into the pool, about to leave when he thought of something. If he left without another word then his people would fade into nothingness. They would be forever forgotten.

"Zelda, please hear me and remember this well," he said slowly. "My name is Sheik. I was the last Sheikah to swear fealty to the royal family of Hyrule. My people died in a betrayal, but they were forever remembered as honorable warriors, as recognized by the same family they had served for generations. I disappeared one day and no one ever knew what became of me.

And the people who betrayed the Sheikah were never discovered."

Much to my surprise, when I entered the decrepit room, I found myself in an old library. It seemed like someone's personal collection—it really didn't seem large enough to be the entirety of the Gerudo's literature.

I slowly approached the center of the room, fully expecting some sort of trap to be sprung, but as I walked around the perimeter and brushed my hand against the shelves it became apparent that it was merely what it appeared to be: a collection of books.

Examining the titles I recognized some, but others were in foreign tongues that I hadn't even heard of. Most of the books seemed to tell the history of the Gerudo people, or at the very least they had something to do with them.

For a while it seemed like I'd run into a dead end. Even though the books were filled with history, it would be nearly impossible to read through all of them before being caught.

That's when it caught my eye. A small journal, much less formal than some of the other texts in the collection. Maybe it was because it seemed to exude a lack of importance, but my fingers were quickly drawn to it. I flipped through it and happened upon a single page that mentioned a name I never thought would be in any of these books: Sheik.

The passage about him was short, and it was, according the Gerudo, a story that a Zelda of the royal family from long ago told them. Why it was she told the Gerudo remains a mystery, but the passage was written as follows:

"A brave man with red eyes told me a story when I was a little girl. It was a story about betrayal and heartbreak, but the extent of his story will be lost to time, I imagine. He wished for me to tell you only a few words. He wanted people throughout time to remember the brave Sheikah for what they were: honorable warriors. The story of their disappearance is one he chose to take with him to his grave. The story he wanted everyone to know is carved into stone in his village."

And that was it.

Zelda herself didn't mention the name "Sheik," but the Gerudo's annotations seemed sure that this was the man's name. On my part, I knew it had to be him because it followed with everything I'd learned about him. He was mysterious and he didn't leave tracks. But what he was beyond that—maybe a caring father or brother, maybe a kindhearted soul—was lost now.

With a heavy heart I left the Gerudo's village and returned to Kakariko. The entire return trip was filled with thoughts of Sheik. Of all the possibilities, of all the questions left unknown. Of what possibly could have simply faded with time.

He was, I realized, a man I would never honestly know.

I did, at least, find the stone that was mentioned by the former Zelda. Kakariko graveyard housed the spirits of many important people, but right up front—the first thing someone would see upon walking in—was a stone inscribed with the following words:

"Rest in peace. Here lie the souls of those who swore fealty to the Royal Family of Hyrule. The Sheikah, guardians of the Royal Family and founders of Kakariko, watch over these spirits in their eternal slumber."

Sheik disappeared for a year after his encounter with Zelda. He showed up again at the Gerudo's village, looking for a woman he'd left and a child he'd never seen, but that he knew would mean so much to him once he found.

He was only able to find one of the people he sought.

Nabooru approached him as he stood by her grave, staring blankly at it, unsure of how to react.

"She was a brave woman and a great warrior," she said, pausing to see if he would react to this, but he just listened silently. "She passed away giving birth to her child, but she said she had no regrets. She requested two things of me should you return. The first was to tell you that she's sorry she won't be here when you return. The second was, honestly, much more difficult for me to agree to." This did catch his attention and he looked at her wordlessly.

"She wanted, should you return, for you to have the child. But…." Nabooru let out a sigh and placed a hand on his shoulder. "The only ones who know about the child are you and I now. Follow me—I'm sure you have your share of secrets already, but I need you to take on one more."

She led him back to the throne room, through another door within there, and to a small crib. She paused just inside the door, and gestured for him to go in. She stepped to the side, closing the door behind him, and watched him carefully as he uncertainly approached the child. He paused, refusing to look for a moment, squeezing his eyes shut in what looked like pain, but then he stepped forward and looked upon the child.

She heard his gasp as he realized why the child had been kept secret, but she gave him his time to observe the child and adjust to the idea.

Sheik peered at the small life form, noting that it looked much more Hylian than any Gerudo he'd seen. But no, it wasn't Hylian. The Sheikah genes had apparently been much more dominate than the Gerudo genes, because there the child was with pointed ears, a little nose, a pale complexion, and beautiful, bright red eyes. The hair, though, was from his mother: purple. The unique trait catching on stronger than his fair blonde hair had.

Sheik stood there, looking in absolute amazement at his small son.

His son.

"I should keep him here and make him a king," Nabooru said at last. "But, damn it, I'm soft, I guess. More than that, though, I promised her—she didn't know it was a boy when she asked, but I have the feeling she would've asked anyway. He's yours and he deserves to be with his father."

"Will this cause problems for you?" Sheik asked at last.

"What's going to be so bad about ruling for a while longer?" she asked with a sigh. "Besides—something tells me that this might just be a fluke. I mean, look at him. He doesn't even look like a Gerudo—I don't think anyone would follow him even if I did make him king."

"Thank you." Nabooru looked up at him in surprise, blushing slightly at the look on his face. It was a look she'd never thought she'd see on a worn, wary warrior. A soft, loving look—a look of a man that had taken his life full circle, but knew he still had much to do. He reached in and picked the boy up, looking fondly upon him for a moment before speaking.

"I gave her a mask—do you know where that is?"

"Yes, did you want it?"

"Yes. The era of the Sheikah has ended. That mask no longer belongs here," he explained. She nodded and led him back to the throne room, pulling out the mask from a bag alongside the throne. He opened his mouth to ask, but she beat him to it.

"There are supplies for the baby," she answered. "And I tossed the mask in here—just in case you decided you didn't want to take it for some reason. I know it doesn't belong here." He walked over and hefted the bag over his shoulder, mindful of the child. Nabooru placed the mask on top of his head with a smirk.

"There's a horse waiting outside," she said, crossing her arms with a look of satisfaction. He nodded and turned to leave, but paused. For the briefest moment he considered saying something. That he would visit. That he was thankful. But in the end he left in much the manner he'd come: without a single sound.

He traveled far, far away to a place where time flowed differently. A place that waited for time to be set right. It was a place that wasn't necessarily safe, but it was developing and would turn into a better place given enough time—given the blessing of time.

Though the obvious disease of the place had given it an ironic name: Termina—a terminal place.

Sheik made his way under the cover of night and found the mayor of the place. That was a reason he liked this place—no king. He walked into the modest building startling a man and woman as they prepared for bed. The man was quick to take up arms, but a single gesture from Sheik caused him to stand down. He placed the bag of supplies—what was left of them—on the ground, and showed the frightened young couple the child.

This couple—he'd watched them from afar for a long time before making his decision.

"I apologize for coming here in such a manner," he explained quietly, mindful of the sleeping child. "But I need you to look in the deepest part of your hearts and do me a great service. I can't give you anything in return, not even my loyalty for that lies in another land far from this one. I want you to take in this child, treat him like your own."

"That's quite a responsibility," the woman said hesitantly. But she gazed upon the child in a way that spoke of something quite different. "Why would you abandon such a beautiful child?"

"I am not abandoning him," Sheik answered fiercely, surprising the other two. "He will always be in my heart, but where I'm going he cannot follow. It's best for him to stay here, in a place far away from his parents sins, a place where he can do what I could not."

"And what's that?" the man asked at last.

"Live his life, love his family."

The young couple looked at each other. It was a time before the pressures of being in charge had started to wear on them. It was a time still free of stress and worry. It was a time when, as they looked into each other's eyes, something wordless passed between them. Then their attention turned back to the child and they both nodded ever so slightly.

"We'll care for him—we'll give him the best life has to offer," the man promised quietly as the woman nodded her agreement. They both stepped forward, getting a better look at the boy. "Does he have a name?"

"Yes. I've decided to call him Kafei," Sheik answered, looking upon his son for what he knew would be the last time. To deprive his own blood of his true father—a despicable thing indeed—but in the end it would break his heart more. The boy would forget about his origins—he was far too young to remember his true father's face in the future when he could actually consider the oddness of his being here in this place he really felt no connection to.

Sheik swallowed hard and embraced his small son as tight as he possible could without waking him, before handing him over to his adoptive parents. No words would express what the boy meant to him, and no words he said would stay in the child's memories.

Without another word, Sheik quickly ducked out of the house—vanishing in the short time it took for the man to run out and look for him. There was one more piece of business he had to attend to in this place, so without hesitation Sheik made his way to the inside of the clock tower, where an odd, fidgety man stood, sorting through his overflowing bag. The odd man immediately felt Sheik's presence and turned to greet him, but was brought up short.

"I have a mask for you," Sheik explained, holding up the mask he'd carved so long ago. "It's a symbol of my people, but it's not a symbol that should remain in normal time. And I know you don't function in normal time." The man simply smiled at him and shrugged, not having much to add. Sheik handed over the mask and turned to leave, but finally the man spoke up.

"You added this part more recently, didn't you?" he asked, examining the workmanship. "This tear drop."

"Yes," Sheik answered. The man looked at him expectantly, but the last Sheikah said no more. Instead he left, disappearing into the night, and fading into legend.

A/N: This is just the little note to go along with this story and how it came into being. Ever been so busy that you absolutely know you must focus and can't take a break or stop to work on anything else. Even though you so badly want to kick back and write a couple of chapters for your stories, there is simply no time. And then you see something and inspiration hits you like absolute lightening, and you realize that there's no way you can't write this story. No matter the consequences we only live once and a couple of hours of lost sleep never killed anyone. The funny thing is as I jotted down the idea loosely, I looked back up and that thing that had just inspired me… was no longer there. I looked around on the webpage, confused, but never could find it. Maybe I was seeing things, maybe I was just looking for an excuse, but I think I would most like to believe that sometimes writing's just in your blood and it's like breathing—if you don't do it, you'd simply die.