The girl did not know how long she had been imprisoned. Hours? Days? The darkness made it impossible to remember. She had entered this dungeon intent on finding a powerful and mysterious golden triangle called the Triforce.

Stories of its existence had wandered through the village of Sahaar generations ago, but were now all but forgotten; no one really listened to the elders' ramblings anymore. Even the girl herself was sure the stories were untrue -- until she met the old man, Rauru.

He told her of his brother, Garof Dragmire, the Sage of the Triforce. Garof, he explained, had travelled across the desert to the land of Hyrule, where the Triforce was in jeopardy of falling into evil hands. Garof brought the Triforce back to Sahaar and hid it deep within a dungeon where it was safe from all evil. Many had known of its location, tried to obtain it… but were fooled into a trap within the dungeon -- the same trap in which the girl herself was now imprisoned.

Garof disappeared many years ago. He had only a single son, a small boy who lived at the edge of the village with his widowed mother. No one knew what had become of Garof. Some claimed he went mad with the Triforce's power and joined forces with the Hurali, a renegade desert race.

The girl believed Rauru’s words, sensed the wisdom in them. His was unlike the other stories she’d heard. Something about the man spoke an air of noblility, an aura of wisdom. He also seemed to know more than he cared to tell her, but she was intent upon finding this dungeon nonetheless.

The girl was a warrior, Sahaar's protector. Though barely fifteen, she’d fought many battles for her people. She'd spent much of her childhood on the back of her dapple-grey steed, Sahmaraf. He carried her into nearly every battle, long brown hair streaming out behind her, over obstacles higher than any other horse of the land could jump. Standing alone, she was small and slight, but her courage and strength matched that of a giant.

The girl wore all black. Her laced shirt and skirt were leather leather, gauntlets metal-plated, and her steel-toed combat boots protected her to the knees. She wore her sheath and weapons mostly on her back, along with her battered shield. The straps and buckles on her clothing and armour jingled slightly when she stood or walked, as her wavy brown hair gently fell upon her shoulders, rarely tied back.

She was an orphan, raised by Sahaar's greatest warrior: her late father. The girl's mother died of a raging fever when she was still a young child. Her father was the one who raised her, nurtured her until the day he died in battle. It was how he’d always desired, however; as he’d told her was the only worthy way to die.

Many young men of the village admired her from afar, but were more than a little afraid to approach. Though a mystery to many, she did have one good friend; her best warrior. His name was Espergrai, and he was an excellent archer. He had long, fiery red hair and gentle brown eyes. He was also an expert negotiator, even with the most senseless and relentless of enemies. Though gentle and kind to his friends, he had always been a bit of a mystery to her. Where he grew up or who his parents were was something that many had thought to ask him, but never felt the courage to. He arrived in Sahaar as a young teen with skills in swordplay and archery. An old couple took him in and nurtured his ability as a fighter, but the girl was intrigued more than anything by the compassion in his eyes.

Now in his late teens, he was in the front line of the army for every battle. He cared deeply for the girl, their friendship extending to unsurpassable lengths; but she felt it wrong to ask him along on her suicide mission. She would enter the dungeon alone.

The Hurali people, who lived in the Haunted Wasteland (a vast and mysterious desert, full of many illusions), were intent upon destroying anything and anyone in their path. They’d declared war against the oasis town. Having only militiamen as an army, the odds were highly against Sahaar.

“The only way to die is for your people.” Those were the noble words of the girl’s father, his final words to her, as he handed her his sword with his last strength before he died of the stab wound to his midsection from a Hurali blade. The image of him lying in the pool of blood, clutching at the wound as it drained his life away, would remain etched in the girl’s mind forever. She had grieved tremendously for her father, and from there vowed to protect Sahaar from the Hurali. She even trained a proper army. The girl wielded her father’s sword proudly, its hilt plated with pure silver; indubitably, this was the most valuable blade in Sahaar.

Her uncle was a great mage, a thin, wiry man cloaked in long, red robes. Many of the villagers claimed him to be a man of mistrust, but she loved him almost as she’d loved her father. She saw the kindness hidden behind his sullen, haunting eyes, and knew him only as a man of good. He’d taught her some simple fire magic, which aided her tremendously in battle. Sahaar was rarely attacked with any seriousness, with the exception of the Hurali, yet the small village was almost always under some threat.

Because her father and uncle had taught her well, she was confident she could make it through the dungeon. She indeed overcame countless trials in the dungeon, using her judgment and magic to move through the maze of underground tunnels. One wrong step, though, towards an illusion of the Triforce, sent the girl into a vortex of light and sound. She remembered falling, before long hitting the ground with enough force to break every bone in her, though her only injury was a turned ankle.

She sat in the corner of the small cell, against the cracked, decrepit wall. She stared into the single ray of golden light that mocked her as an escape, though she knew was no way out of that place. She'd explored the entire cell, clawing at the dirt until her fingernails ripped away and bled. Her clothing was tattered and dusty. Her gauntlets and boots were scuffed and dull. Running a hand through her dark brown hair proved it to be as grimy and dusty as everything else in that place. She could taste the grit in her teeth and feel it against her skin.

Magic was useless to her; some more powerful counterspell had been put upon the dungeon. She'd tried calling, screaming for help, screaming from the insanity that threatened to consume her. Now her vocal cords were screaming silently with pain. But they were cries silent to all but Death and herself, she soon realized. A mere illusion of sound; she hadn’t uttered so much as an audible sob of pain since her capture. The girl found herself concentrating to utter a word. To hear the sound of a voice, even if only her own, would be enough to delay the impending insanity but another minute. She closed her eyes, and the words finally came.

“Let…. me…. out of here,” she whispered. “Let me out of here. Let me out of here…” She became more confident in her words, consumed by their sheer simplicity; drawn by their real meaning, though she did not know who to direct them at. She repeated her plea, over and over, until her words were no longer a whimper, but the strong, powerful voice that only true warriors could deliver.

“LET ME OUT OF HERE!” The girl screamed the demanding words from her gut, her teeth clenched, the sound echoing through the dungeon, through her mind. Raw anger built up in her. She drew her sword and slashed at the iron bars that imprisoned her body and mind. Sparks flew in every direction, lighting up the faces of the skulls that stared into her, haunting her with the unseeing sockets that once held the eyes of fallen warriors, driven to Death by their own insanity after countless periods of time in the dungeon cell.

She stopped her raged swinging to stare back into those eyes, through the darkness, through the years of decomposition. She saw herself in those eyes. She would end up like the rest of them; it was only a matter of time. Why not give up now? Just a simple cut through the throat, and the insanity would end. But no, it wasn’t that simple. Time was her enemy; she had to fight it. She would fight for her life until she was nothing but another set of bones scattered in the dirt.

The girl limped over the skeletons to the corner of the cell, pacing. She took six steps one way, then six back, carefully choosing a course through the human remains. She repeated this countless times, her ankle screaming in agony. The pain kept her focused. Finally, it became too much; she sunk down against the wall defeatedly, and continued to stare into the light.

She could not tell day from night, for the light never ceased to peek through the small crack in the wall. She wondered if it was even a light she saw, or if it was her own mind trying to block out the darkness. She was indeed trapped in a land of eternal darkness, where fear and Death reigned. He would come for her; Death was everywhere. This was where he resided, with no release but to let him reach out and seize her, to join the souls of the millions of others he overcame every day, hour, and minute in the world of nothingness. She would be with her father forever, soon enough.

The girl snapped out of her thoughts, suddenly aware of another presence. Death? No, it was living, she knew that much. She watched, stunned, as the wall before her disintegrated. Where the small ray had been shining through only moments ago was now a blinding light. The silhouette of a man stood in the middle.

“I thought I would find thee in this place,” said the man. He was tall, broad in the shoulders. Though his cape concealed most of him, she could tell that he had the build of a warrior.

“I am Garof Dragmire. I believe thou hast heard of me? Heh.. heh…” The girl slowly stood up, nodding her head slightly, not sure weather or not to be joyous of her rescue. “Tis a pity about thy people,” he added, feigning a sad tone. The girl froze.

“What do you mean,” she asked through clenched teeth. Garof spoke straight to the point, not hesitating, almost as if amused by the situation.

“They’re all dead, hast thou not heard? ...I suppose not. Thou hast failed to preserve life, just as thy father. A pity I had no one to stop me. I spared only my son, whom I know will follow in my footsteps.” He smiled wickedly, revealing a set of yellowed teeth. “Now I have come hither for the Triforce, though I thought it not quite fair to do so without a fight,” he finished calmly.

The girl glared into where the eyes of the silhouetted man should have been. “You killed them,” she whispered fiercely. “You killed them!” Anger and shock built up in her. She drew her sword and slashed at the shadowed man, stumbling over her injured ankle. He ducked away quickly, drawing his own sword. She was no match for him and she could not even use her magic against him, as she was far too weak to cast a spell. Not that it would have done any good.

She caught a glint of Garof’s eyes. They were blood red. Her time in the cell had weakened her to the point of exhaustion. Still, she would fight to the finish, as her father had taught her.

The combat did not last long; the girl was eaily pinned beneath Garof’s sword. He knocked her own sword from her grasp. She struggled to break free, but it was no use. Still, the girl would not give up. She would fight as her father had.

Garof raised his sword above her, preparing to finish her off with a final strike. All the girl could see was the blade pierce through the light toward her. It seemed almost in slow motion, in her mind. She watched the blade rush towards her from every angle. She saw Death about to secure her in his icy embrace, for this was the end. The blade advanced closer and closer; she stared right at it, into it, not blinking, nor flinching in anticipation. The sword was about to enter her heart, pierce into her soul -- when she suddenly found a new inner strength.

Her thoughts flashed back to the horrible image of her father, his lifeless body in front of her, as she screamed for him to live again. She would not let Death claim her as it had done to him so mercilessly. The girl rolled out of the sword’s path as it drove into the dirt only centimetres from her.

With a renewed sense of life, she aimed a hard kick into Garof's ribs and sprang to her feet. Garof doubled over in pain, shocked at her sudden burst of strength. His cloak draped over him and rested partially on the floor. She pulled his sword from the dirt as he took a moment to regain his posture. But the girl was too quick for him; she picked up her own sword and drove it into Garof’s spine, paralyzing him as he fell to the ground. The girl stopped to catch her breath, falling to her knees, facing away from him. Garof Dragmire was dead, she was sure.

Garof could feel his life drain with the blood that oozed from his wound, stained his tunic and cloak. He only had one chance left. He didn’t have enough strength to cast magic that would transport him from the spot. He also risked the girl finding the Triforce. He summoned all the strength that remained inside of him, the final strength of hatred, to create a ball of light above his head. He used his mind to shape the ball, making it bigger and stronger with every thought of evil. The most powerful magic he had ever learned was in this ball. He prepared to send it at his enemy. He hadn’t planned on such a punishment; if the girl hadn’t nearly killed him, he would have granted her the luxury of death. But she’d gone much too far. Being himself evil, he could have only derived more evil from the Triforce. He came so close to finally claiming it not as simply a protector, but as a ruler; now his plans had been shattered. His rage swirled stronger through the ball.

Before the girl could even whirl around to see it, the orb rushed towards her, encasing her. She screamed in rage, fighting the powerful curse as it transformed her. The girl, to her utter horror, found that she no longer had arms, but wings; wings covered in ebony feathers, as the rest of her soon transformed into a bird. A raven.

She heard Garof’s last words, the words from within his mind; “Thou hast no idea whom thee is messing with….. I will be in thy nightmares for all of eternity, as thou shalt be in this form, for all of eternity….. my son will avenge my death, as I have made him immortal!” Garof was dead, though his words would echo through the raven’s mind forevermore.

The raven flapped her wings frantically, trying to escape. They were awkward, difficult to control. She flew falteringly into the light. It was only once she was consumed by it that she realized its source. In the middle of the small room was the Triforce. She stared in awe as she flew toward it, desperate that it could somehow save her from her fate.

She was knocked from her flight as she hit an invisible force field around it, and spiraled to the ground. As she landed, she saw a man standing above her. She feared that it might be Garof, but saw instead…could it be? Yes, it was. The old man from the village, Rauru. As he held the Triforce, his frame radiated a deep gold. It was not a force field she’d hit, but this man.

“I’m afraid it was the only way,” he began softly, sorrowfully. “I followed Garof to the Triforce, when the village was attacked. He was going to use it for evil.” Rauru looked deeply into the eyes of the bird. “He had to die, before his evil hands could take hold of this Triforce.” The raven could see the true anguish in his eyes as he spoke to her. “So many had to die…. There is nothing I can do to help you now, I’m afraid. I will build a temple to protect the Triforce, where no evil can ever will it again, back in the land where it once resided. I give you my vow that I will find a way for you to live as a human again, though it may be many years. You have saved the lives of many, in a way, by destroying this evil man." "Now fly, leave this place. There is nothing left in the village. Travel far, my friend.”

Everything in Sahaar was utterly destroyed; not a soul was left alive. The raven had flown for days around the charred remains, searching for corpses, feeling it unsanctified not to try to give them at least some burial service. She was unable to do much more than drag bits of things over them with her beak, and say a short prayer to the gods, but it was better than nothing. She circled the village until she was sure she’d found every humanly recognizable figure. Perhaps some that she covered were enemies, but she could not take the chance of disrespecting her own.

Espergrai’s body never showed, for which she was both grateful and even more distraught. She couldn’t have handled seeing his mangled corpse any more than seeing her father in his dying seconds, but she would never find closure to his death. If she’d only asked him to come with her, maybe they would both be alive. She blocked it from her mind, unable to deal with the pain, and flew far from the ghosts of failure.

Next..