The next day, I feel like the walking dead—not fully awake, but not fully asleep. I haven’t pulled many all-nighters before, so I feel like I have a sleep hangover.

“Neri? Neri, are you listening?”

I flash back to reality to see Midna waving her small hand in front of my face. “Sheesh, you just zoned out completely.”

“Sorry, just tired is all,” I mumble, and try to make my eyes open a little wider.

Midna gives a disapproving ‘humph’. “Link can stay awake for five days at a time, and you’re falling asleep after one day.”

“Hey! Back in my world, people sleep all night every night”—except for the party-hard drunk idiots—“until morning or noon the next day, so get off my back.” It occurs to me that I sound exactly like my old man after he subsequently sleeps for fifteen hours straight.

Midna snickers at my short rage fit and turns back to Link, who is still asleep. I follow her gaze to the young man sprawled out under the blanket. His arms are uncovered, as are his legs, and his mouth is wide open as he snores absently. Midna sighs. “This is the problem,” she says, “once he falls asleep, the real issue is waking him up.”

“What do you mean?”

She gets a devilish grin. “Let me demonstrate.”

I watch with slight horror as she leans over to his ear. Why do I get the feeling that this will backfire on us?

Midna hovers over to his body, jumping into the air and fluttering before landing again; reminding me of Neil Armstrong’s first few steps on the moon. Her lips part, and she declares loud enough for me to hear, “Hey Link, wake up.”

He doesn’t move an inch. His chest rises and falls evenly, his snores uninterrupted.

“Hey, Link, listen!”

His snores pause for a second before his hand itches his nose and he rolls to his right to face away from Midna.

“Link, Neri was murdered while on watch.”

Link cringes slightly and his hand swats the air. Midna barely dodges, and then laughs. The whole time, an uneasy feeling settles in the pit of my stomach. I brace myself for what will probably be the brunt of the impact. Midna grins and her crimson eyes flicker to me. She nods, letting me know that this will end it. “Hey, Link... Breakfast is ready.”

To my surprise his snores falter and then halt, his cobalt eyes blearily open and he sits straight up, then slouches and tries to rub the sleep from his eyes.

I can’t contain my laughter. My hand flies to my mouth, although it does nothing to dull my loud laughs. Midna gives me a huge grin and flies back to my side, and I grab onto her shoulder to make sure I don’t fall. My laughter is the only sound that is heard a within a mile’s radius, alongside Midna’s hissing snickers. Link finally looks to us when he’s aware of his surroundings, to see Midna grinning devilishly and my face as red as a tomato while I asphyxiate from giggling. When I feel my gut starting to ache, it only makes my breaths come faster and causes me to chuckle harder.

“Wha’s so funny?” Link slurs sleepily.

“Apparently, you care more about breakfast than Neri’s life,” Midna relays back to him.

“Tha’s ridiculous.”

She rolls her eyes and holds out her hand as if showing off a specimen on display. “The most oblivious man in the world, everybody.”

After another half an hour of Link waking up, we decide to leave camp. I smother our fire and bury it under some loose dirt and then move the stones that surround the white ashes elsewhere. Link hauls the logs from the fire back to the woods, and then we start. Because Epona was injured a month ago, we have to walk. Link told me that she broke her ankle trying to run from bokoblins, and I could tell he was depressed when he told me. Someone was nursing her, he told me, but I felt bad for wishing that she’d hurry up and heal because walking everywhere was going to be a major pain. Literally and figuratively.

So, we walk. Midna can’t make use of any of her Twilight portals and I don’t know why, but I don’t ask. I can’t expect every little detail to be like the game. We pass through some groves and fields, but mostly meadows. There are some beautiful exotic plants here, with beautiful pink and yellow carnations. I always gape at them when we pass some, and resist picking them. When I was little, I had a flower fetish. I loved them—from weeds to sensitive orchids, I loved them all. As we walk I try to straighten myself out slightly. The white lining of the pink Cabela’s label on my butt is probably not white anymore, but I try to brush it off absentmindedly as we continue walking through the never-ending Hyrule Field; which has an ambiance of ten times larger than the Twilight Princess map.

I steal looks at Link every now and then, expecting something to change. Part of me cannot accept that he’s real, that this has to be an illusion and that he isn’t the game character I’m so used to seeing on my TV screen. His expression remains neutral and patient, and I wonder when he’ll lose his cool—if he ever does. When his blue eyes graze mine I look down sheepishly, a faint blush brushing my cheeks.

No one really talks, but when someone does, it’s Midna saying, “Are we almost there?” or “Are you sure we aren’t lost?” But my absolute favourite is, “I’m starting to get hungry.”

Finally sick of hearing nothing but the wind in the trees, I let my hand wander from the dirtied label on my hoodie to my pocket just below it, until I feel a cool metallic surface rest underneath my fingertips. I predictably whip out my iPod. I hit the quick 1-4-0-1 for the passcode, and the screen lights up to display my sparse collection of apps. I hit the little box with a white music note on it. As I scroll to find a suitable song, I stop at a few, but click none.

“Whoa, what’s that?”

I turn to my right, and see that Midna has materialized out of Link’s shadow. “Is that from your world?”

I guess I forgot to show them my only piece of proof that I’m not from Hyrule.

“Yeah, it has music and games on it. You can click anything you want, and it will play out loud.” I take out my headphones. “Or you listen to it yourself with these.”

“What kind of music does your world have?” Link asks, and looks over my right shoulder at my iPod, and Midna looks over my left. In the span of maybe a second, I already have thought of a playlist that I need to get them to listen to. A diabolical grin pinches the corners of my lips.

“Behold the music of my world!” My finger immediately swipes and clicks, and a recognizable artist comes on, the piano riff slowly gaining urgency.

Just a small town girl

Livin’ in a lonely world,

She took the midnight train

Goin’ anywhere

Just a city boy

Born and raised in south Detroit,

He took the midnight train goin’ anywhere

I smile as Don’t Stop Believin’ by Journey reverberates through the empty field where we stand.

“I like this!” Midna exclaims, her body bouncing in the air to match the strumming of the bass.

I smile at her immediate enthusiasm and turn to Link. “What do you think?”

“It’s...different.”

“Bad different or good different?”

He looks at me with his ocean eyes, and grins. “Good, definitely good.”

I feel my cheeks grow hot, but I smile back.

Then I get an absolutely brilliant idea.

I hurriedly scroll through the songs, cutting off Journey midway through the chorus and click something new. Midna stops her little dance. “Hey! I liked that!”

I hush her, and the quick constant strums of the guitar begin. Link and Midna look in wonder at the iPod, and the strumming becomes louder. At first beginning in a taciturn guitar was hard to hear, but it becomes resonant in a matter of seconds. I wait for it to escalate, and then the drums crash.

That’s right, I’m playing Eye of the Tiger.

With every crash of the drums, I strike a new pose. Midna giggles a bit, and I jazz out to my own song. Link gently takes it from my hand, and looks at the name of the song. I grab Midna’s hand, and start to throw her into my struts every few seconds. A small grin comes to Link’s face, and I can already tell that he’s enjoying the song before the lyrics even start.

Rising up, back on the street,

Took my time, took my chances,

Went the distance now I’m back on my feet,

Just a man and his will to survive

So many times, it happens too fast,

You change your passion for glory

Don’t lose your grip on the dreams of the past,

You must fight just to keep them alive

It’s the eye of the tiger,

It’s the thrill of the fight,

Rising up to the challenge of our rival,

And the last known survivor stalks his prey in the night

And he’s watching us all in the eye...

Of the tiger

“That is awesome,” Link says. Midna nods vigorously and peels the silver device from his fingers. She tries to select another song, but then realizes she doesn’t know how. Her confident expression falls to a lost one.

“So you like my music?” I ask, hoping for a yes. That way I can play music all the time.

“Of course! It’s better than our folk music,” he comments. “But we should probably keep moving,” Link reminds us, scanning the extensive horizon splayed before us.

I groan inwardly. We’ve been walking since eight in the morning! And if my iPod is correct, now it’s 2:46. I’m burned out, starving, and my arm is still sore from when it popped out. My calf is beginning to feel it too, because I still have deep punctures from the black wolf’s jaws and it’s bruised all along the outside like it was clamped into a vice. Not to take into account that I didn’t even get any sleep last night. Don’t get me wrong, I’m fairly fit. Swimming is my life, I can run very fast for very long periods of time, and I can lift someone twice my weight—but I don’t do walking.

When I think about my own injuries, I’m reminded of the one Link sustained while saving me. I quickly glance at his neck, and see a few small puncture marks behind and below his ear and a thin line tracing along the right side of his neck. Guilt makes my stomach heavy—maybe I shouldn’t be complaining, especially after they rescued me and are taking care of me and injured themselves in the process.

Trying not to sound bored, spent, or jelly-legged, I ask, “Link, do you think we could have a break? Just to... I don’t know, relax and enjoy the surroundings?”

At least I’m partly telling the truth. But now that I think about it, I do want to look at stuff. Everything here is so fascinatingly different, from the plants to the animals, technology to even common sense. For all I know, a dandelion will become a mutant venus fly trap and will rip me limb from limb. Holy, get hold of yourself Neri.

It’s not like I’m going to die.

“I don’t see why not. Just don’t wander too far,” he replies. I nod, and then look at Midna.

“Midna, could I have some paper, ink, and a pen?” She nods and waves her hand like she’s done it a million times before, then all the requested items fall into my hands. “Thanks!” I say to her, and jog to the woods. I can’t wait to draw what I see, and hopefully take them back to my world—if I ever get out of here.

Link’s POV

I see Neri’s face light into a smile, and she strides confidently past me into the brush. I hear her footfalls on the grass, dead leaves and pine needles; but they eventually disappear into the thicket with her. I could tell she was getting tired. For someone who I’m assuming has never walked to places—because of those car things—I’d say that she has done a fantastic job of muffling her fatigue. Around an hour ago, she started to lag behind me but I can tell that she’s the type that tries to not rely or trouble others, but rather get the job done herself. I won’t complain—having company other than Midna is a nice change.

In these past few days, I have learned more than I thought possible about Neri. Not only does she endeavor to rely on herself, she’s considerate, and above all: she’s strong. Emotionally, I mean. Even after learning about how she may never see her family or friends again, she didn’t shed a tear. If it’s anything like having your family murdered in front of you, which is what happened to me, then I know how hard it is. But, what’s harder? Having a dead family, or knowing that your family is out there and you can never see them? I wonder.

But I’m different now. I don’t cry and I refuse to, because after what I’ve witnessed everything else seems feeble. However, Neri still intrigues me. She puts on an everlasting mask of contentment, and buries all her agony. I can already tell that she’s calm in the worst of it, but when push turns to shove and she loses her cool, it’s a moment to be feared. It makes me wonder how long it’ll be before that mask cracks and her emotions take control. When I look in her gray eyes, I can easily see tears she holds back for Midna and I. Part of me wants to tell her to cry, to let it out and rid of the weight, to let me be her headstone—but that’d be weird. We barely know one another.

Hey, I’m better at reading into people than I thought.

“So what do we do now?”

I turn to Midna who is sitting in the grass, opposed to my shadow. The short green trimmings barely come past her ankles, stomped flat by merchants who must have traveled this way years ago.

I shrug. “Just relax. Because after this break, we will have to walk until the sun touches the horizon.”

Midna gives an exasperated sigh, and rolls her head back. “But where are we walking? We have to find the last member of our group, then talk to Zelda. So where are we going?”

That question catches me off-guard. I honestly don’t know. These are trails that I have had to walk across many times in the past year, when the Goddesses first told me that I was the chosen hero. It’s a habit, I guess... But now that Midna knows, I can tell she isn’t too happy with me. I can only imagine what Neri will think, and I pray she doesn’t find out.

Midna shoots me an incredulous look. “This whole time, you never had a clue where we were going, did you?”

“I don’t see you walking. You’re in my shadow all the time,” I shoot back.

Midna glares at the ground, and if looks could kill then all of Hyrule Field would be nothing but crunchy brown dead plants. She clenches her jaw and doesn’t say anymore; then starts to grab handfuls of grass only to pull them out and throw them in into the wind. It carries them a fair ways, most fall, but other small chunks lift and are pulled forward, lengthening their journey. At that moment I hear something else carry through the wind.

A blood-curdling scream. It echoes, then stops suddenly like it’s been cut off.

There is only one person it could come ever from—Neri.

I take off running for the woods, and Midna wordlessly flies a few feet behind me, following my trail.

“Midna!” I yell.

“Right!” She pulls out a small black crystal, inlaid with orange designs. Midna bursts forward to match my speed and presses it to where my neck meets my back—almost immediately I feel the power surge through me.

Hairs poke through pores on my body, and I feel my ears move up my skull to the top of my head. I feel my nose and mouth elongate, and my bones and muscles shifting. My legs bend backwards, and my feet shrink. My fingers disappear, the thin coat of fur thickens, and then it’s over in less than a second.

I’m a wolf.

Midna plops on my back, and grabs a handful dark of fur to stay upright, knowing the speeds I can reach.

A few seconds into my sprint on all fours, all my senses sharpen. I hear the chirps of birds a mile away, and hear the patter of rabbit’s feet under a bush to my left twenty feet ahead. I sprint past, paying it no attention. There is only one thought on my mind: Neri.

Abruptly, I stop clear in my tracks. Midna almost flies over my head, letting out a grunt as her grip tightens and she pulls herself back; but I barely notice

I smell something—something like iron.

Blood.

I start off at full speed again, my paws thumping as I accelerate across the dirt and plants. It’s almost like a path I can follow whenever I catch someone’s scent. I just know where to go and I let my instincts guide me—like now.

Hurry, run faster! I scold myself. She can’t be hurt. I won’t let anyone be hurt because of me. I’ve let people get injured because of me for far too long.

I jump over a ravine, and then skid under a log. Midna’s hands ball up my coat, and she jumps over the log so her mask doesn’t take her under. There is no interrupting my concentration right now.

Something out of the corner of my eye abruptly catches my attention. Unlike other types of dogs, I can see colour—and I saw a colour that shouldn’t be in a green forest. I swerve to my right, and Midna grunts as she tries to hang on, and then I stop at something stuck on a twig.

An ink sketch.

It has a detailed bird, a small robin, sitting on a branch while ruffling its feathers with its beak. While I think it’s beautiful, it isn’t what I’m staring at.

Blood splatters the cream parchment, leaching the colour to red—and it smells just like Neri. I growl without thinking, and take off again. Where to, I’m not sure; however I know that my instincts will guide me.

I will find you, Neri...

If it’s the last thing I do.

Neri’s POV

“Aren’t you a pretty thing?” His tone changes to a menacing rumble. “I could almost eat you up.” His pale gray hand lifts my chin and he licks his lips.

His deep brown eyes adventure my appearance and his thin white lips smile at me. He seems to be satisfied with me, but there’s no happiness in his smirk. For a moment his face darkens, and I could swear that the purple lining his eyes just got darker. But I can only see the one eye, the other is covered by white hair that falls in front of the right side of his face.

His one hand is under my chin, chilling my throat, and some foreign spell prevents me from moving generally. The only thing I can manage to do is blink, open and close my mouth, and demonstrate facial expressions. Anything more is off the charts, because my body is completely frozen and the only thing moving is the blood trickling down my arm and dripping from my fingers. The swift slash across my arm he gave me was unnecessary. 

“What the hell do you want?” I spit at him, giving him the worst side of my temper.

“Tsk tsk. Someone is feisty,” he mocks me, and gives a slightly surprised facade. “If you must know, I really just want to hear your scream, Lively One.” His voice darkens as he says my name given to me by the Goddesses. So he must know about my Triforce, then—but how does he know my nickname? If he knows that, it’s possible that he knows my real name too. Exactly how much does he know about me?

I get a little slack-jawed, then recover before he notices. “My scream?”

“Precisely. A beautiful scream, from all the pain I will gladly gift you with.” He gazes darkly at me. How quickly his moods can change and seem believable make the hairs on the back of my neck stand straight. “Silly me, I forgot to introduce myself.” He pauses, and leans his head close to mine—too close to mine. “I am the Demon Lord, Ghirahim.”

I knew I recognized him. “I figured as much,” I grumble. If he heard the comment, he doesn’t let on.

In an instant a slim black long sword appears out of thin air in a small explosion of black and yellow diamonds. His lightless eyes swish to me to see my reaction. I bite my cheek and force my heart to calm down, no matter how hard it is.

I allow my eyes to close, and I take a deep inhale before I muster the most louring evil eye possible. My gray eyes flick upwards, glaring with pure malice into his dark ones. “Let. Me. Go.”

“Now, what fun would that be?” Ghirahim looks at me like I’m insane. I’m sick of his expression, his face, his higher-than-thou attitude. After a silence, he queries, “What are you thinking right now?”

I continue to give him a cold stare. “About you, you mean?”

“No. Yourself—your filthy appearance. Your shameful, pitiful state.”

I give a smirk. “My appearance, you say? Well, I’m happy mirrors never lie—lucky for you, they can’t laugh either.”

His ghost of a smile pales in a moment. 

Before he can refocus, I grit my teeth, throw all caution out the window, and lunge for him with all my might. I hear something crackle, then pop, then an even louder snap—and it isn’t my bones. The spell holding me is being stressed. If I can just hold out a little longer...

His look contorts in rage, and he slams his hand into my neck, against the rock wall. I see stars as the back of my skull hits the rock face of the large stone he caught me against. His furious expression melts, and becomes almost soft.

“I wonder how fun it would be to let you loose.” Ghirahim wonders out loud, using his hand to tilt my neck to the side and expose the vulnerable flesh. “But then again, what could you possibly do if I let you go?”

That infuriates me. “You make me wish I had more middle fingers,” I mutter smugly.

“You think that those pathetic insults will faze me?” He laughs, and presses his black long sword to my throat. “Now,” he leans over to my ear, and his breath tickles me. “Give me a nice scream of fear.”

“Fuck you,” I hiss as much as I can, struggling to meet his eyes.

He growls in rage, and presses the black long sword to my throat. I feel something warm slide down my neck, and taste blood in my throat. What can I say? I have a smart mouth—so I stupidly continue.

“Tsk tsk. Someone is feisty,” I mock him.

Finally, his dark brown eyes glare at me with nothing but hatred and he pulls his sword from my neck. As I see him back up, I think for a moment I’ve won the battle even while I lost the war.

I’m wrong.

He lunges at me with his long sword, and then hits his target. I gasp, and my eyes widen. A sharp twisting pain echoes from my abdomen, that feels cold...then wet and warm. I hear the tearing of flesh; and then the warmness blossoms across my midsection. Ghirahim smiles with his pale white lips, and his purple-lined eyes lighten.

“Now come on, scream for the Demon Lord,” he whispers. I look down and see his black long sword’s hilt protruding from my stomach. Now it has strange orange markings engraving the surface.

He finally lets me free from the spell, and I fall to my knees on the cold ground. My shaking hands rise from my sides and grasp the hilt of the sword jutting from my body.

Ghirahim smiles, and even though I neglect to set my eyes on him I see his white stockings take a step back, left, then right, pivot around, and then stops. I hear a low rumble of a laugh that I don’t even register, I just keep my wide eyes locked at what my hands hold and what is in my stomach.

“Goodbye, Lively One.” I see a flash of black, yellow, and red in my peripheral vision.

My mouth parts open, and I lower myself to sit on my knees.

I feel nausea rise in my throat, and then cough. Blood trickles from my lips and I taste nothing but the crude flavour of iron. For whatever reason, I look over my shoulder and see the black blade sticking out slightly to the side of my vertebrae. I slowly peer forward again, and then see the tiny trickled of blood spreading over my stomach. The chilled ground seeps through the denim of my jeans. When I hold my hands out, the red and sticky substance covers them and runs through the creases of my fingers. Is it really mine?

As the drops of blood fall from the tips of my pale fingers to the scuffed dry ground below, I do the only thing that comes to mind while I hyperventilate:

Scream.