The darkness was overwhelming.

There was simply no other way to describe it. As he descended the stairwell, journeying deeper into the earth itself, the young elf was aware of many things. The dusty smell of mold and cobwebs, the speaking drip of some distant leak, the rustle of strange things in strange corners. More than anything, however, he was aware of the dimming light. As he made his way down the stairs, it seemed to fade with each step.

At the bottom, the world was black.

He felt about his travel pack and came up with a small candle. The candle sat atop a brass plate with a loop on one end in which a thumb fit quite nicely. He took hold of it, and held it to the darkness.

As if aware, the candle came alive, coughing out a cracking flame that illuminated the dark void. The young elf was not surprised, it was after all, a magic candle. Magic was strange like that. Hold magic before you; let it find its own way. His uncle had said that.

The elf's stomach dropped at the thought. His uncle was dead. Slain, to be precise. Slain in turn was a fancy way of saying 'run through with a blade', which was precisely what happened. That had been the beginning. Heartbreaking, horrifying as it was, it was simple. What had come afterwards had been anything but.

Premonitions, princesses, prophecies. A trifecta of circumstance. Fitting. Try, tri again.

The elf made his way deeper into the shadows, the candle before him. The world was made of small blue bricks. A floor of bricks, walls of bricks, yes, even a ceiling of bricks. Bricks, bricks, bricks. The elf had never before felt the effects of claustrophobia, but he surely felt it now. Indeed, he would not even know the word, were one to inquire. He was a simple farmhand, after all. The linguistic arts were to him as color to one struck blind.

He pushed forward, slowly.

A rustle sounded from his left, and without thinking, the young elf acted. He fell to his shoulder, rolling across the hard terrain. The pain was instant, but minor compared to what could have been inflicted upon him. As he rolled, he was vaguely aware of the sword cutting across the empty space where his neck had been moments before.

He came to his feet, and drew his sword with his free hand. With the other, he shoved the candle forward. It proved to be the stronger of the two weapons.

The skeleton screeched the sound of the damned, and backed away from the flickering light. It raised a boney hand against it, but with no flesh for blocking, it did little good. The thing looked like the bones of a man, but the elf knew better - it was a Stalfos, a jailed warrior. A soldier who had taken his own life. Had he gotten trapped in this dungeon, searching for the same treasure? Had the dark halls over come him? Had he drawn metal to his own flesh to escape it? Who knew for sure? What was certain was that it was no longer human.

What was certainly certain was that it was out for blood.

The elf swung the blade in a high arc, hoping to catch the skeleton's throat. Instead, metal rang against metal as two swords clashed in the wavering darkness. The elf let the recoil moment carry him, and spun counter-clockwise to his original strike. This time he aimed low.

It proved to be one of his better decisions.

The skeleton separated at the waste. Screaming, it fell in two to the floor. The horrid noise of its dead tongue cut off abruptly as the bone touched stone, and promptly turned to fine ash. It was over nearly as soon as it began.

And all that left was the door. Old, ancient. Waiting.

The elf approached it slowly, sheathing his blade as he did. His hand, now free, found its way to his green tunic. It withdrew a golden key, adorned with a bright red rupee at its head.

The elf slid the key into the lock, and turned it slowly. The mechanisms, ancient and stubborn, turned over deep within the door itself. It opened easily enough.

And the darkness was washed away in brilliance and purity.

It stood there, beyond the door. A triangle of pure gold. Not of the lakes, or the mountains. Not of the plains or the deserts. Not of the whole of Hyrule, but of the stars. Though incomplete, it sang loud.

"Link," it spoke in a voice, female and familiar. "You have found the first piece. You have already done more than the strongest, best trained soldiers of the land. You, a farmhand, have struck the first blow against the Theifking."

The elf approached the artifact, afraid to speak. It spoke for him, in the voice of a princess he had once known in a time that seemed so long ago.

"Go forth," it said.

So he did.