Link and Brigo followed Cado down the gently sloping path winding around the large, wooden houses of the village. They were sturdily built at the foundations, but the roofs were works of graceful art: tightly packed straw held together by wood that combined to form sweeping curves on the top and sides. Link realized their front doors — each bearing a painted eye sigil — slid rather than swung open after seeing a woman leave her dwelling. Upon glimpsing Link and Brigo, however, she had quickly returned back inside.

Privacy’s a grand thing in Kakariko, Brigo had said. That appeared to be all too true. The village itself was set into a steeply secluded valley, ensuring that none could arrive but by the paths leading directly to it.

Presently, however, Brigo’s tart words were for Link rather than their new hosts.

“Could no ‘ave shown them yer bloody slate right off, could yeh?” the patrolman muttered mutinously. “Had to keep ridin’ forward like a bloody prince an’ wait ‘til the last minute to announce yerself. Had to let meh think I was about to ‘ave five bloody Sheikah shafts stickin’ outta meh arse…”

Link let his friend stew. He owed him at least that much. Their “welcome” had signaled that affairs here had changed from the norm, and Link more than suspected he was the reason why. Besides, Brigo would forgive him after the experience earned him a good tale and more than one round of drinks back at the stable.

The pathway spilled out into a modest clearing at the bottom of the village. A small pond, complete with an equally diminutive bridge, lay opposite of an extremely long set of wooden stairs leading up to the largest hut Link had seen. Two male Sheikah stood guard at the bottom of those stairs, but they stepped aside upon seeing the trio approach.

Cado stopped short of the stairway and turned to Link.

“As I said, the Lady Impa is waiting for you, Master Link,” the Sheikah warrior said with another bow. Upon rising, however, he glanced at Brigo before addressing him once more. “Only you, Master Link. Your friend must wait for you here.”

Brigo frowned at this, but did not object. Neither did Link, though that did not stop him from asking a question Cado’s words had created.

“How do you know my name?” Link asked.

The Sheikah’s expression remained impassive. “We have heard the legends from Lady Impa herself,” he said neutrally. “She awaits you inside.”

Link knew he would learn no more than that from Cado. With an apologetic glance toward Brigo, he turned and ascended the long stairway. The double doors at the top were adorned with swirling patterns that reminded Link uncomfortably of the Shrine of Resurrection and the Guardians’ bell-shaped bodies. Two blue, triangular flags waved from the pointed front ends of the roof. One bore the familiar Sheikah symbol: an eye with three triangular lashes and a falling teardrop. The other was identical to that on Link’s cloak: three triangles balanced to form a small pyramid.

Taking a deep breath, Link opened the doors.

The inside of the hut was as vast as the outside indicated. Flags hung from high wooden rafters, all bearing the eye sigil of the Sheikah. The dwelling was nearly all one room, the majority of which was a wooden floor interrupted by perfectly aligned rows of mats and pillows. Those lay on either side of a long rug leading directly to the back of the hut.

Seated at the end of that center rug and atop a precarious pillar of pillows was the smallest woman Link could imagine. Her size was emphasized by an overlarge, circular straw hat from which dangled thick metal replications of the Sheikah eye. She was clothed in a loosely fitting white robe slashed with blue and red. Her face was a mass of sagging skin interrupted by deep wrinkles. Despite her age, she appeared to have a healthy amount of snow-white hair held up in some fashion under the enormous hat. Her thin, white eyebrows were raised above brown eyes nearly hidden by her great age.

“It has been quite a long time, Link.”

Link frowned. Her opening remark insinuated that he should know her, but his memories were as of little help now as they had been upon awakening on the plateau.

Perhaps noting his hesitancy, the old woman — Impa, Link remembered from Cado’s instructions — spoke again.

“I am much older now,” she admitted with a kind laugh. “Time is no ally to anyone, not even me, but surely you remember me?”

Link walked down the narrow rug until he was comfortably face-to-face with the cushion-elevated woman, but drawing nearer to her did not draw any memories nearer to him.

“I am sorry, but no, Lady Impa,” he replied levelly after a brief, searching silence. “I do not remember you.”

Quick as a thought, a wrinkled, bony hand reached out and grasped Link by the chin. It was not painful, but neither did it allow Link to jerk away. Elderly brown eyes studied young blue ones intently.

“You are looking at me as though I am a stranger to you,” Impa said after her considerably uncomfortable search. “Those eyes… they lack the light of familiarity.”

She released her hold suddenly, leaving Link to stumble slightly after trying to hold still under the woman’s scrutiny. Rubbing his jaw irritably, he wondered whether this old relic was completely sane. She had, Link reminded himself, been alive since before the Calamity.

Impa had resumed her flawless seated position atop the pile of cushions. She was still looking at him, her eyes now taking in every detail they could find. Link could almost imagine her processing everything on his person, from the small sword hilt visible over his shoulder to the slate on his hip to the upturned boots on his feet. She addressed none of that, however, instead pursuing the subject of his absent memory.

“It is I, courageous one. Impa.” She said her name pointedly, as though doing so would jog some forgotten part of his past. “Surely you must at least remember the name Impa.”

“No, I don’t,” Link said irritably. Restraining himself was hard. He was tired of not remembering, and even more tired of being reminded of that fact. “I only know your name because Rhoam told it to me less than a week ago.”

A small smile played on the old woman’s face. “Nineteen words!” she said in a very satisfied voice. “Nineteen words and a temper to boot! I doubt you said as many words with as much emotion over an entire day while in Zelda’s company!”

“What do you know of my time with Zelda?” Link asked hungrily. “How did I come to be the knight chosen to protect her? How is it that she speaks to me even now?"

Silence met his series of questions. When she spoke, it was to answer none of them.

“Rhoam?” she cackled. “What did that old wet blanket tell you? Surely more than just my name?”

Link’s irritation was fast blooming to anger. Had she not heard him? He had come here for answers, answers that Rhoam had assured would be waiting for him. Instead, this Sheikah sack was asking all the questions, each of them less helpful than the last. She wanted answers, did she?

“He told me I failed,” Link deadpanned. “He told me the Divine Beasts you Sheikah constructed were overtaken by the Calamity, that they turned on their Champions. So in a way, you failed too.”

It was a childish retort. Link knew it the moment it left his mouth. He did not care. He had not a memory to his name, a name which he barely recognized as his own to begin with. He had evaded death and risked discovery by a people hardly removed enough from the Calamity to forgive him. A village supposedly under their protection was being surrounded by Ganonspawn even as they spoke, and she wanted to toy with him.

Impa did not draw herself up in anger, as well she might have under the heat of Link’s accusation. She placed a bony finger over her lips and tapped it repeatedly, removing it only when she was ready to speak.

“This is better,” Impa murmured, “than the self-pitying boy of which he told me. Perhaps your anger will stave off your guilt long enough for you to learn the truth.”

So Rhoam’s spirit had informed her of their sojourn on the plateau, had he?

“He told me the truth, at least as he saw it,” Link said slowly. “That I fell defending Zelda. That she returned to face Ganon alone. That she is holding him back even now… and that you would know how to help her now.”

Impa’s eyes closed slowly… and stayed shut. Link waited. The minutes dragged on. His anger began building again. He wondered if the old woman was sleeping. He was just about ready to leave this oddity behind and go to Hateno’s aid when her eyes flared open.

“What you know is but the early winter’s frost over a still pond, Link,” she said, her eyes gazing steadfastly at him. “It would take next to nothing for your world to crack, to break apart in pieces floating listless across an ocean of doubt. You rescue yourself before you can hope to rescue Zelda and restore Hyrule to what it once was.”

“Then tell me,” Link half-pleaded, half-demanded, his voice filling the vast hut. “Tell me who I was before I slept in that cursed chamber! Tell me why this burden is mine to bear, why no other could have borne it in the century I slept!”

The Sheikah elder merely shook her head sadly in response.

“You must realize, Link, that telling you who you were would not piece together the lost fragments of your mind or soul. You must know for yourself, as surely as you know how to wield the blade you carry.”

Link’s hand strayed to the hilt over his right shoulder, pondering Impa’s words. To know as he knew the sword… without thought or doubt. He found his anger was ebbing, his head nodding… until he remembered the very reason Rhoam had told him to come here in the first place.

“How, then?” Link asked angrily. “Those who would have known me are long gone. Why would Rhoam send me here only to have you turn my need aside?”

Impa’s aged laugh answered him. “On the contrary, Link, I will turn you to what you need most.”

“Zelda spoke to me,” he insisted. “She urged me to hasten. Whatever I must do for myself cannot take long. She needs me. The people of Hateno need me even sooner.”

“You refer to the masses of Ganonspawn massing near the village,” Impa answered casually. “It is well, then, that your recovery of self begins at Hateno.”

Link’s eyes widened. Would his path finally be clear, even if only one step at a time?

“There is an... unusual abode at the village,” Impa continued. “There resides one who can tell you exactly how to rediscover who you are. While you are there, I would ask you to help Hateno however you see fit. Know that you will not do so alone.”

Before Link could ask what she meant, Impa raised her head slightly and spoke in a surprisingly loud tone toward the doors.

“Enter, Dorian!”

The double doors opened to reveal a face even more youthful than Link’s. The Sheikah’s eyes further betrayed his age as they were wide upon seeing him. He did not, however, fail to make the same perfectly perpendicular bow with which Cado had greeted Link at the village entrance.

“Thank you for your welcome, Lady Impa,” Dorian intoned. “As you have asked, so have I come.”

Impa nodded and replied in kind. “Thank you for coming, Little Brother,” she said gently. Then she turned her attention back to Link. “Dorian will accompany you and your friend to Hateno. More of us will follow, but a day behind so as to avoid the enemy’s notice.”

Link nodded, his pulse quickening at the prospect of action and answers.

“You will no doubt wish to visit the tower near the village,” Impa continued. She did not wait for his confirming nod. “It will be difficult, but not impossible. With the help of Dorian and the patrolman, you should be able to find a path without alerting the enemy. Once you have done so, make straight for the village. After you have concluded your business there, more answers will await you here.”

Link frowned at this. “What answers wait for me that cannot be given now?” he demanded. This was greeted by a sad smile from the old woman.

“You will see when they are given,” Impa answered calmly. “Now, night is fast approaching, and you need to be well rested for your journey tomorrow. My granddaughter will see you and your friend to a place of rest for the night. Enter, Paya!”

The last was once again directed at the doors, which opened immediately. Through them stepped one of the most beautiful women Link had ever seen. Not that I would remember, he ruefully reminded himself. Her eyes were round, enhancing the brown pools that resided in their center. They were divided by a red Sheikah sigil tattooed on her forehead, its teardrop falling down the bridge of her small nose. Part of her hair was held up by two wooden sticks placed just so. The rest spilled down her back in a waterfall of pure white. She, too, wore the dark blue garments of the Sheikah warriors Link had met outside, but they were mostly covered by a short coat that mimicked Impa’s robe in design and color.

Those brown eyes grew wide at the sight of Link, but like Dorian she quickly gathered herself and bowed before Impa.

“I thank you for your welcome, grandmother,” Paya said, but Link noted a tremor of nervousness in her soft voice. He was not sure, but he thought a telltale tightening of the lips indicated Impa’s disapproval of even this minuscule lack of control. “As you have asked, so have I come.”

“Show Link and his friend to their sleeping quarters for the night,” Impa said briskly. “Once this is done, return and partake of tea with me.”

Link did not miss the audible swallow that emitted from the young woman. She rose, however, with as much composure as anyone could muster.

“It will be done, grandmother,” Paya returned with a dignified air toward the doors. Stopping just shy of them, she turned and stared straight at the wall, where she would no doubt wait until Link decided he was ready to leave.

He looked back at Impa, who was eyeing him in turn. Link could not decipher her gaze. Deciding the effort was futile, he gave a mild bow.

“Thank you, Impa,” he said calmly. “I will return for answers soon.”

With that, he turned on his heel and walked through the doors, Dorian and Paya following closely behind.

Impa allowed herself to relax atop her throne of cushions. Her thin fingers wandered to her temples, which they rubbed to ease the headache that had set in during her conversation with the boy.

She had said that time was no ally. This was far truer now than at any time over her long-lived years. Rhoam had overestimated the boy. Despite his completely healed and still-youthful body, Link was far closer to broken than whole.

When Rhoam had told her of their conversation in the Temple of Time, Impa had been livid. To burden his unknowing shoulders simply because he wanted answers was foolish in the extreme, making the boy a danger to himself and everyone around him. Before his sleep, Link had kept the fire of his emotions on a tight leash. Perhaps too tight. Now, however, they were ablaze and on the verge of engulfing everything in their path.

Hylia send that fire be directed at the enemy, Impa prayed. Hateno would need it to survive. She mentally thanked the Goddess for the patrolman, who had already given the boy a lifeline on which to cling. Dorian might well be another. Paya, however…

Impa frowned. Identifying interest between a man and woman was child’s play compared to guiding kings, princesses and heroes. She had already underestimated the impact of Link’s forgotten memories. When Link remembered who he was, he would have no choice but to move on from her granddaughter. Whether Paya would move on from him was another matter. Hylia, why, when her heart finally sang, did it sing for a man she could not have?

Dismissing this unexpected complication, Impa turned her thoughts toward the true purpose awaiting Link at Hateno. She trusted her ally there to further help the boy. There was so much for him to do, so much for him to learn, before he could complete the task given him over a century ago. One mishandled step and it would remain incomplete, to the doom of the entire world.

A knock at the wooden doors brought Impa out of her reverie. The metal chains hanging from her hat clinked softly as she raised her head and once again addressed the entrance to her abode.

“Enter, Cado!”

The leader of her Sheikah warriors showed no surprise at his elder knowing it was him. Cado simply gave the standard bow and greeting, to which Impa graciously responded. Then he stood, waiting with far more discipline than young Dorian or her granddaughter had shown. He did not have to wait long.

“The morning after tomorrow, you will take as many warriors as you see fit to Hateno Village with all speed,” she said briskly. “They are not to be seen until the battle is opened.”

Cado bowed in acquiescence, then addressed his elder. “A question if I may, Lady Impa.”

This was odd for the silver-haired captain, but his years of flawless service more than merited an exception to the rule of his unquestioning obedience. She nodded in assent.

“The boy is brave,” Cado said slowly. “I believe he is skilled. He is also impatient. Headstrong. Is he truly the hero of legend?”

Impa smiled at her captain’s line of questioning.

“Heroes come in many shapes and sizes, Little Brother,” she said gently. “Sheikah silence and solemnity are but one.”

The warrior Sheikah immediately bowed in acceptance of her words. “Of course, Lady Impa. I thank you for your welcome and your answers. If it is well with you, I will part for the evening.”

“Your parting is well with me, Little Brother,” Impa intoned. With that, Cado exited, leaving Impa to ponder the truth of her own words.

“Well I’m glad yeh came out o’ there in one piece, lad. I was beginnin’ to think yeh’d said something to offend them!”

Brigo’s jarringly boisterous greeting ripped through the otherwise tranquil village, his words causing several heads to turn in their direction. Perhaps, Link thought bitterly, that will save them the trouble of trying to look at me from the corners of their eyes. His walk down the long stairway from Impa’s hut was being furtively monitored by nearly everyone within eyesight, though all under the pretense of returning to their own homes for the night.

Link grasped his friend’s forearm in greeting but kept his voice low in reply. “I may have been a touch rude, but I think they will forgive me.”

Brigo’s eyes widened at this, and his heavily accented muttering commenced anew.

“Hylia blind me, but yer a daft fool to be tempting the Sheikah’s wrath, so help me yeh are!”

Link smiled slightly as they fell in behind Paya, who was silently guiding them toward a hut further into the village. The sun had already set well behind the village’s encircling hills, the night’s first stars dotting the clear sky above. The Sheikah had already lit the many lanterns adorning various hut doors and polls. Several passed the small party without making eye contact, remaining distant enough to allow Brigo another round of underhanded conversation

“So did yeh find out anythin’?” the patrolman asked quietly as they walked. “Do they have some sort o’ weapon waitin’ for yeh to wield on behalf of all that is good an’ slay the Calamity where he stands?”

Link shook his head but snuck in a quick response as they neared the hut where they would no doubt be sleeping. “I have more questions now than when I arrived.”

A soft snort betrayed what Brigo thought of that, but he did not say anything as Paya turned from opening the sliding door to the hut.

“You will sleep here, good sirs,” she said softly, her eyes downcast. Link wished she would look up. Something about her subservience seemed wrong.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

Her eyes lifted at his words and, for an instant, met Link’s. He was not aware of anything else. He would gladly drown in those twin pools of brown if he could.

An especially pronounced cough from Brigo shattered the moment. Muttering hasty apologies, Paya sidled down the short stairway from the door before exiting. Link slid the door shut and turned to glare at his friend.

“You have all the subtlety of a wild boar!” Link snarled.

Brigo merely began settling his belongings alongside an already waiting pallet on the wooden floor. This task was accompanied by a less than apologetic explanation.

“Do no get me wrong, lad, that girl would turn any man’s eyes, but yer in no position to be leavin’ lovesick lassies be’ind in every village yeh visit. Besides,” Brigo added with a suddenly wild grin, “‘twas me she was keen on.”

Link snatched up one of the pillows lying about for their choosing and threw it at his friend’s ridiculous face. Brigo merely caught it in mid-flight and promptly made a show of fluffing it before laying down to rest his head upon it.

“So yeh did no learn anythin’, eh?” the patrolman asked seriously.

Returning his thoughts to more pressing matters, Link replied over his shoulder while walking over to a table already laden with all manner of food. At least my hunger will be satisfied, if not my questions, he thought humorlessly.

“Only that my path leads to Hateno for now,” Link said aloud while piling meat, fruit and vegetables onto a plate. “Besides helping the village, there is someone there who can tell me at least part of what I need to know.”

“A merry game o’ chase the chickaloo yer on,” Brigo offered conversationally while joining Link at the food-laden table. “Yeh came here fer one thing. Now we go to Hateno fer another.”

“You’re under no obligation to come,” Link reminded him through a mouthful of chicken.

“Oh aye, I’m to leave yeh runnin’ around like a cucco with its head cut clean off and not e’en knowin’ who yeh are whilst a group of pigspawn are massin’ to kill the biggest remainin’ village in all o’ Hyrule!” Link noted how his friend’s accent was especially heavy when he was being sarcastic.

He said nothing, however, but rather continued to eat in silence. Truth be told, Link was even more grateful for Brigo’s friendship now than before arriving at Kakariko. He had hoped to find guiding answers here. Instead, he was left struggling in an even thicker net of uncertainty. The patrolman, at least, was openly trying to help him.

“I suppose anyone nappin’ a century away would be a mite hungry. Blessed Hylia, but yeh can put it away!”

Brigo’s words startled Link from his distracted meal just in time to see he had already emptied his plate. Only a few well-cleaned bones remained. Exhaling a belch as delicately as possible, he nodded toward Brigo’s already-savaged dinner.

“At least I have an excuse,” Link said pointedly. “How do you sleep at night after accusing poor Giro of overeating?”

For answer, the patrolman popped the last piece of fruit in his mouth and sauntered over to his pallet, where he settled in with exaggerated contentment.

“Same way I sleep every night, lad,” Brigo answered loftily while shrugging himself under the blankets. “With meh eyes closed, belly full, an’ friends grateful Hylia put me on their path.”

Shaking his head at his friend’s antics, Link blew out the lone candle that had illuminated the sparsely decorated hut. Soft darkness shrouded him as he felt his way back to his pallet. No noise penetrated the wooden walls of their temporary abode. The silence seemed the match the people who lived here.

What would Hateno be like? Link supposed there would be more children there. He had only seen one or two in Kakariko, and they had been like their parents: quietly intent on whatever task they were about. Would Hateno’s offspring be the loud, boisterous kind he imagined would dwell in a normal village?

From what Brigo had told him, it sounded as though Hateno was one of the last true Hylian villages remaining after the Calamity. There should be more, Link thought to himself. Many more. Perhaps, by helping Zelda, there would be again. Villages where children could laugh freely and play without the fear he had seen in the eyes of the widow’s son and daughter at the stable.

It was that thought which finally allowed Link to sleep.