Prologue :   Origins

"Where is my Fool?" roared the demon king.

Glowing crimson lava poured from the fountains on either side of the gold-crowned demon as he sat on the throne, his red brow furrowed in annoyance. Several of the elite guard stood around him, while the various lords and ladies sat at the sides of his table. The remains of the bones of their dinners littered the platters in front of them.

"Right here, Your Majesty," Ghirahim chirped in a sing-song voice, feigning eagerness. "Would you like a song? Perhaps a dance?"

The King's name was Releris, and Ghirahim hated him more than anyone else in the world. Of course, according to the other denizens of the nearby surface world, demons hated everyone. Since Ghirahim was a demon, he would therefore be expected to hate his king, along with everyone else he encountered. Except that Ghirahim didn't have any particular feelings of resentment for most of the other demons he knew. Even the surface dwellers, who every demon in the realm was trained to despise as their mortal enemies, had never filled his heart with any particular rage. Bloodthirst didn't really count as resentment, after all, and he knew of so few of the creatures who walked the surface.

Releris, on the other hand...well, he was the reason for all of the horrible things that had ever happened to Ghirahim. If Releris hadn't found him as a child he could have lived in relative freedom, even trained himself as a sorcerer, but of course the demon king wanted to avoid allowing any potential competition to thrive. It was rare for demons to be born to magic. Ghirahim had had his locked away when he was very young, but he still remembered the moment he had been brought before the demon king. In that moment, he had seen that beyond the enormously muscled exterior of the king lay a magic far weaker than his own. But the king had had access to powerful relics and guards, and Ghirahim had had little control of his power as a child.

The king had told Ghirahim that he would find a use for him rather than kill him. As a child he had interpreted this as mercy. Ghirahim now understood that Releris's motives had been more self-serving. If the King was seen as killing all potential magicians more powerful than himself, the ones remaining might band together to fight him with all their might. But, ah, if he killed only those who fought him, then they might have less incentive to cooperate. That, and, of course, the usefulness of a bound sorcerer, were what had spared Ghirahim's life.

For his power had been locked away and bound to an ancient blade, apparently to strengthen it. He had screamed from the icy pain while they performed the ritual that locked his essence to the blade, and ever afterward he had been able to sense it as if it were an extension of himself. The king never breathed a word of this to anyone, however, and even had the demons who performed the spell killed by the very blade they had enchanted. Ghirahim himself had been made into the King's Fool, which Releris apparently hoped would make him seem unconnected to the blade's enhanced abilities. For if anyone ever killed the sorcerer bound to the blade, the sword would lose its connection to his power. And since Ghirahim had no longer had access his own power, and was not trusted with weapons of his own, he would not have been able to defend himself.

Ghirahim glided closer to the platform where his king stood and bowed. He resented bowing to this creature who had chained him and tortured him and humiliated him-and expected him to be thankful for it! He resented having to seem eager to entertain this king and thankful for his false mercy. Still, today was the day it would all end, so Ghirahim smiled with a light heart as he stepped forward and bowed again in front of the throne.

"Yes, a song and dance about my victory over the rebels," Releris demanded. "If it's very good, I might allow you to sleep by the fire instead of in the dungeons tonight."

What a lovely reward, Ghirahim thought bitterly. His mood rose, though, as he rehearsed his plan. He adjusted his cape and pulled lightly at his gloves . The one thing he was allowed to choose for himself was his appearance, and he took great pride in it. He had crafted all of his own clothing and jewelry himself. His favorite part was the cape. He was allowed to use even the regal color red as a dye, though as Court Fool he had to pattern all of his clothes in some design so he would not be mistaken for a noble, who were the only ones allowed to use entirely solid colors. He had chosen his favorite shape, the diamond. He had also covered himself in slate gray paint, with a bit of purple under his eyes. He looked significantly more fearsome under the makeup, he thought, but fools were not supposed to look too frightening.

He dropped his gaze, not trusting his eyes to keep his intentions hidden. "I will do my best, Your Majesty."

And he did. The King had never seemed more pleased with a performance. To Ghirahim's great satisfaction, the king was even still laughing when his fool capered past the throne and slid the blade across his neck. He stopped then, watching the look of surprise register across the king's face before his eyes dulled. Ghirahim darted back as the body fell forward off the throne. The sword Releris had been holding clanged to the floor, and his crown tinkled over the stone tiles.

"Oh, dear," Ghirahim twirled around, smiling brightly as he brushed his hair briefly away from his left eye. "How clumsy of me." The nobles in attendance all seemed rooted to their places with shock. They stared at him from the feast table, hardly moving.

Ghirahim spread his arms, his left hand still holding the dagger. "But at least he died laughing."

The four guards in the throne room were considerably more responsive than the nobles. All raised their swords. One of them growled. "How did you get that?"

Ghirahim raised the dagger. "You mean this little thing, which has so completely filled my heart with sunshine? You don't really think I'm going to tell, do you?" His long tongue snaked out and licked the blood off the side of it. For so long,you had me take the blood of your enemies as your sword, Releris, but now for the first time I can taste the blood of my own.

"You are a traitor to the throne!" the same guard said, charging towards him. Ghirahim closed his eyes. And I can see right through you... When he opened them he was behind the guard, diamonds still shimmering in the place Ghirahim had stood only moments before. A single slice across the neck finished the guard, and his slack body fell to the marble-tiled floor. Ghirahim turned back towards the three remaining guards. "I don't see how anyone can commit treason to an empty throne," he said, his tone casual. "Does anyone else still wish to serve a corpse, who can give you no rewards for your loyalty? Or oppose me, when who you see before you is now the most powerful sorcerer in the land?" He toyed absently with the dagger in his hands, sparking purple electricity over the blade, his eyes watching the guards carefully. Behind them, the assembled lords had grown silent again, as they sometimes had when mesmerized by a performance he was giving.

The three remaining guards were silent. Ghirahim expected that others would challenge him, and had to hide his growing amazement that no one else seemed willing to do so. Power-hungry lords and bloodthirsty guards alike seemed to have accepted this unexpected turn of events. And it seemed they were waiting for him to make sense of it for them. So he continued, using his acting skills to project a confident and unconcerned demeanor, and taking a deep breath to calm his rapidly beating heart.

"Oh, good. Now, there is the small matter that our late king had no heirs. Tragic, when a king dies so young that he does not yet have an heir." Ghirahim smiled, his eyes cold. In truth, Releris had been a few centuries old, hardly youthful for a demon. But he had chosen to entertain himself with a long succession of mistresses rather than taking a wife who might try to share in his power. Ghirahim knew the nobles of the court would not recognize any of his children as heirs. "But we need not dissolve into chaos. I nominate myself as the new ruler of the Lower Realms. Would anyone like to challenge me?"

The nobles said nothing in response, though a few whispered amongst themselves. All three guards shook their head. One of them spoke. "We will serve you, Your Majesty."

Ghirahim waved a hand in irritation. "Now, none of that." He couldn't stand the thought of even being addressed in the same way that Releris had been. I want to kill every part of him and bury it in dust tobe forgotten."Just refer to me as—Lord Ghirahim."

"As you wish, Lord Ghirahim," one guard said somberly. Then, the three bowed in unison.

"Wonderful." He looked over at the lords still seated at the dining table. "I shall claim this palace and the administration of all the Lower Realms as my own. Also, I will release all hostages Releris held for your good behavior. Cross me and die, but otherwise, any enemy of Releris is a friend of mine."

Nearly all of the nobles looked considerably happier after this announcement. Even I didn't think he had that many hostages."Guards, go to the dungeons and release them at once."

"Of course," the guard said. Ghirahim knew him well. He knew all four of them—well, all three of them now. The one who was doing all the talking now was Orynx. The talkative guard had never seemed interested in meting out the punishment Releris gave Ghirahim whenever the Court Fool displeased him. But the Elite Guard would never disobey a direct order by their ruler, and had therefore often been the means of Ghirahim's torment. But now the guard's ruler was Ghirahim. This is going to be so much fun. He had to resist giggling in delight—he didn't think this was quite the moment for it. But later he would take some time to release his pent-up emotions. The guards bowed and turned to walk towards the large double doors of the room.

"One more thing," Ghirahim said. "I vow to retake the surface, so that demons will live there once again. I vow to use my power to break the Seal once and for all." Scanning the eyes of his audience, Ghirahim could see that he had them now. They were his.

Ghirahim gave them all a small smile, his calm expression concealing the manic energy of his feelings. His torment was over, and all because the Demon King had been blind to the power his newest prisoner had been hiding.

Later that day, as he settled into his palace, he thought again of the prisoner. For the surface dweller, a goron, had been hiding the fourth and center shard of the Triforce triangle, the shard of Earth and Truth. Ghirahim, who was often forced to sleep in the dungeon, had had this very interesting surface dweller as a neighbor the previous night.

Ghirahim had been curious about the goron from the moment he had seen her depressed face. How unusual it was for him to see a surface dweller! Fortunately, the wardens rarely bothered to traverse this far down the dungeon, where it was so uncomfortably cold. And the fact that it was locked away from the rest of the dungeons meant he would have plenty of warning if one decided to drop by. So of course, he had done his best to cheer the surface dweller up, and that had yielded to him an opportunity he had never expected.

The goron had told him she was worried for her family. Also, she said that she feared that Releris would discover and destroy the treasure she guarded, an ancient relic called the Shard of Earth and Truth. Ghirahim had asked what it was, wondering aloud if it was something he could use to kill Releris.

The goron had smiled sadly and said, "I don't see how. It gives you the truth of things that are spoken to you, you see. Like right now—I know you are being truthful about wishing to kill the demon king. Also, it does not let you lie to yourself. It will always give you the truth about yourself. It is for that reason that few can wield it—the truth can be a painful thing."

Ghirahim had tilted his head, puzzled. "So it's like a conscience, or something?"

The goron had smiled again and shook her head. "No, not like a conscience at all. It doesn't tell you what is right or wrong, it only tells you everything you actually are—how you feel about that is up to you. Still, it is my experience that most people would rather keep some illusions about themselves, to believe they are something that they are not."

Ghirahim hadn't been willing to give up so easily. Instead, he had asked, "But if a person were, say, an extremely powerful sorcerer, who didn't know how to access their own magic, it would tell them-truthfully-how to do that?"

The goron had frowned then and said, "I suppose-"

At that point, Ghirahim had instantly asked the goron to give the shard to him, explaining what he planned to do. And because the goron knew from the shard that he was telling the truth, she had agreed. From the relic's power, he had regained his connection to his own powers of teleportation, and his Storm-magic, and all the other powers he had not had use of since childhood. The feel of the Triforce's magic source seemed strange and alien to him, but he hadn't let that stop him from using it. From there it had been a simple thing to steal the dagger.

Later that night, Ghirahim led the goron to the surface. "You are free to go," he said, gesturing to the dense forest around them. The moon hovered above, a shining sliver in the sky.

The goron gave him a long look. "You rule the demons now."

"Yes."

"There will be no war, then?"

Ghirahim sighed. "I never promised that." He felt a pang of regret for it, but this paled in comparison to his desire to succeed at what Releris had so terribly failed at—to make the surface realm again accessible to all of demonkind. And that was not going to happen without conflict.

"I know. And I never dared expect it. The safety of my family from you is all I ever asked for. But I wish I had been brave enough to insist on more. My mother before me would have."

"Then she and I would have had no agreement," Ghirahim said. "I cannot promise such things."

"Still," the goron said. "I want to thank you for what help you have agreed upon."

Ghirahim smiled. "And if I ever find a way to properly repay you, I will let you know. But know that I will always be true to my word. I will visit no harm to you or yours."

The goron smiled back. Then she looked down. "I er...this is embarrassing actually, but I never got your name."

"Ghirahim," he answered. "It's Ghirahim. And it seems I am in your debt again, because I now feel much less awkward asking yours."

The goron chuckled, which sounded much like gravel shifting. "I am called Granite."

Link fidgeted and shifted his feet under the Cloud Tree, staring into the sky. The tree was an enormous specimen, its branches tall and the leaves collecting in rounded tufts near the top like its namesake. But towering over the tree stood the Statue of the Goddess, waiting like a sentinel, her face serene and unaware of the tension far below. A small crowd stood around the boy as the sky grew red and gold with the colors of sunset. The whispers had started –the boy turned away from the crowd and shivered slightly as a chill wind blew past him.

"-never seen it take this long for a Loftwing to arrive-"

"-sure he's ten yet?"

"Course he is—I knew his poor Ma myself. The bird's just a bit late, no need to worry yet."

"If it gets to be nightfall, the bird can't come. Then we need to take him out again on the morrow—what if it's lost?"

Someone hushed the last speaker and pointed at the sky. "Look!"

Link held out his hand in front of him, shielding the sun from his eyes. His gaze tracked across the sky until they landed on a silhouette of wings. The tiny speck started small, but gradually grew larger and faster. Then it was upon the floating isle of land, coming to a landing right under the tree.

Link's expression changed from shock to an exquisite happiness. He let out a cry of joy and ran to the bird. The crowd of onlookers gasped as he vaulted onto the bird's back and the creature flared it's wings.

"It's a Crimson!"

"I thought they were all gone-"

The whispers died down, except for a single voice, a girl's, which murmured, "She's so beautiful..."

The bird turned and to everyone's amazement, launched itself and the boy into the sky. Link held tightly to the bird's fiery mane of feathers, gazing upon a color-soaked sky filled with tiny scudding clouds.

Zelda saw the boy sitting by himself under a tree, reading a book. She walked over to him. "Hi! You're the boy whose Loftwing came yesterday, aren't you? After almost everyone thought your bird wouldn't come, too. She sure showed them!"

The boy closed his book and looked up at her with a smile.

"What's your name?"

He handed her the day's math assignment. The name written at the top of the page was 'Link'.

"Oh. I see. My name's Zelda. You got number seven wrong, by the way."

Link shrugged. His serene smile suggested that he was unconcerned with the error. He took the paper back and circled some numbers. Then he showed it to her again.

"Oh!" She said. "I see now. Who could pass up the chance to draw the triforce out of threes?"

Link nodded. Zelda tilted her head. "Er, no offense, but it feels kind of odd to be talking to you when you don't talk back. Do you have a sore throat today?"

Link shook his head no.

"But why is it you don't speak?"

"'Cause he's a mute! He's got no tongue." a brawny red-haired boy said, cutting in. Zelda recognized the boy as Groose. Link stuck his tongue out at Groose, who scowled and walked away.

"Hmmm," Zelda said, considering the remaining possibilities. Suddenly she had an idea. It would be unusual, but it was the only thing she could think of. You've taken a Vow of Silence!"

Link nodded assent.

"Only the monks and priestesses of Farore do that, though. Are you planning to be a monk? Are you already a monk?" Usually monks didn't train at the school, which was for aspiring knights.

Link simply shook his head no.

"So you've taken the Vow but you're not a monk. Very mysterious." Link responded with a shrug and a sly smile. Then he took a stick and drew a shape in the dirt in front of him. The lines were clean and easy to read—Zelda could see the familiar shape he formed with them.

"The Eye of Truth! You—you're planning to become one of the Knights of Wisdom?" Zelda knew they also took the Vow of Silence. But they were incredibly rare, and usually didn't take the Vow until after they had finished their training.

Link nodded.

Zelda smiled. Why is it so easy to talk to him, even though he never says anything in return? "I heard you live at the Lumpy Pumpkin Inn."

Link nodded.

"Yesterday-there was an old man in the crowd who said he knew your Mother. Is he the one who takes care of you?"

Link nodded and rubbed out his previous drawing. His expression intent, he used a few spare lines to accurately sketch the man's face.

"That's amazing! You draw as if it's no effort to you at all." She took a few moments to admire the drawing.

Link only shrugged, one corner of his mouth quirking up.

Zelda looked up. "I've never been to the Lumpy Pumpkin, but I got my Loftwing recently, too," she said. "His name is Cerulean. Maybe we can both ride to the Inn after school and get some pumpkin soup?"

Link smiled and nodded in agreement.