The sun was low. Its orange light spilled across the fields, painting the edges of Hetalia gold.
In the quiet clearing behind his home, Sheik moved.
The blade in his hooves sliced the air with clean, practiced arcs—Vertical.
Horizontal.
Diagonal.
Thrust.
Each movement flowed into the next with purpose.There was no wild swinging, no wasted motion.Every strike held weight. Every step, balance.
I didn't need a teacher.Not anymore.
There was something in him—an instinct.The same gift his grandfather once carried.A natural understanding of the sword, of how it should move, when it should strike, and how to stop before going too far.
I had trained like this for years now.
Alone.
Quiet.
Steady.
I didn't train to impress.
I trained to be ready.
It's been four years since I began recovering certain memories from a past life.
Those fragments didn't give me answers…They gave me something stronger.
A powerful desire to explore.To see the other races, learn their cultures, wield their weapons, and walk through landscapes I've only heard about in stories.
But more than anything, I wanted to go to the Lost Woods.That desire... that call... has never gone away.
As a child, I didn't understand it. It was just a strange pull in my chest, a direction I always looked toward when I got lost in thought.But after talking with the Koroks, I started to understand.The direction I always gaze without thinking…points straight to the Korok Forest.
If I want to travel, I need to be able to defend myself. That's why I decided to learn how to use the sword—and the bow.
My parents weren't thrilled about the idea, but they didn't stop me. They just gave me one condition: Before I head out into the world, I have to visit Kakariko Village…to meet with my great-aunt Impa, and learn the basics I'll need to survive out there.
So in a month… I'm going. To live with Great Aunt Impa.
I can use a sword and bow decently…But for a novice, that's exactly what would get me killed out there.
Just because I move well with a blade, or hit stationary targets, doesn't mean I'm good.Maybe I have talent, like my parents say.But talent isn't enough.And maybe not the right kind of talent, either.
Not when I remember him—the way he moved in those fragments of memory.What I do now… it feels like an insult to the art of swordsmanship.
Maybe I'm being too harsh on myself.But I want to be truly ready before I travel the world alone.
Out there, there won't be a safety net.No one behind me to stop what's coming.If I make a mistake... that's it.
Those creatures don't forgive.
Sure, maybe the small ones aren't a threat—Bokoblins, Chuchus...But the others...The real ones…They require skill.Actual fighting ability.
For now, the monsters haven't begun to mutate.But it's only a matter of time.
And don't even get me started on Lynels...If I ever ran into one, I wouldn't be fast enough to escape.
There's no such thing as avoiding a fight with them.They're territorial—The only option is to face them.
While I was lost in my thoughts, I didn't realize I wasn't alone.
Beside me—on either side, really—stood two small, round Koroks.Tod and Sato.
Each held a thick branch clumsily in their tiny hands, mimicking every one of my sword swings.Their movements were clunky, unbalanced.But determined.
They used to barely hold a stick upright.Now they parried the air, stepped with rhythm, and even copied my footwork when I shifted my stance.
Maybe it started as a game for them.Maybe they just liked how the sword moved through the air.But over time... they became part of the routine.
Every time I train—they're there.Always watching.Always trying.
I lowered my sword and turned to look at them.
Tod tripped over a rock trying to spin, landing in the grass with a soft pomf.Sato laughed so hard he dropped his own branch.
I couldn't help but smile.
Even though Tod and Sato both had their own wooden swords and tiny leaf-shaped shields, they couldn't really use them yet.They were too young, too small, still lacking the strength to do more than swing clumsily or tumble over their own feet.
But with time...They might become formidable.
I still remember seeing a Korok lift stones twice their size like they were feathers.So—really—It's just a matter of time.
Once I finished my katas, I moved into shadow combat.
That meant imagining enemies and fighting them in my mind.
Because of my inexperience, I could only picture versions of myself…or the few adventurers who had passed through the village over the years.
But honestly?They weren't that impressive.
They had bad habits—sloppy stances, lazy guards, unsteady footing.I exploited those flaws easily.Too easily.
Sometimes I wondered how they'd even survived out there.
They were weak.
So in the end, my only real opponent... was myself.That's why I started having these imaginary duels—pushing myself, testing every movement.
But sometimes... I wonder if they're really imaginary.
There have been nights where I'd wake up with cuts.Small ones.On my arms, my side—places I know my other self struck during those battles.
It's strange.But this world is magical, full of gods and spirits.So maybe it's not so unusual.
Except it only ever happens at night.
And the thing I fight—it isn't just a shadow.Sometimes, it moves in ways I don't recognize.It uses strikes I've never learned.And worst of all…its eyes glow red, and it gives off a black aura that breathes.
I try to ignore it.Try to tell myself it's all part of getting stronger.
But deep down…I know something's not right.
Night had fallen.
I returned to the open clearing where the phenomenon always occurred.
The grass was cool beneath me as I sat quietly on the packed earth, waiting.The moon climbed higher, and when it reached its peak, the world around me slowed.
Most of the villagers were already asleep.Some still wandered—visiting the windows of lovers, sneaking through hedges for nighttime adventures, or heading home from the last candlelit gathering.
I ignored all of it.None of it mattered now.
The shadow appeared.
It rose from the earth like mist, pulling itself into shape until it stood before me.It bowed its head slightly—an unmistakable gesture of acknowledgment.
A black form, silent and shifting.It had no eyes, but I could feel where its face would be.
A Stalfo.No doubt about it.
But not just any Stalfo.
For it to appear so close to the statue of the goddess—just two houses away—meant something.The servants of the Calamity can't get near that statue.Not without being torn apart.
The Koroks had told me about them.They're common in the Lost Woods, and in places where warriors died without completing their purpose.
Which means...
There are many across Hyrule.Too many, as Tod would say.
I stood up and took my stance.Feet firm. Shoulders square. Blade steady.
This was how I honored this fallen warrior of the past.
Through combat.Through respect.
Maybe he wasn't the greatest warrior.Or a guardian.Or even a proper escort.
But he's an opponent I've learned to respect—and to thank.
For the guidance he's given me, in silence.Night after night.
And now that I didn't wait for our imaginary duel to begin…I suppose this will be his final night.
There may be more warriors like him—with unfinished business in the physical world.
I can't know for sure.But someday, I'll find out.
Without hesitation, I lunged forward, both hands gripping my sword as I brought it down in a simple diagonal slash.
The ghost didn't resist.It shifted its body, fluid and precise—slipping past my blade with practiced footwork.
He circled me.
And with the same calm rhythm, raised his sword for a clean vertical strike—aimed at my arm.
But it didn't land.
It wasn't the first time he'd started this way.
I recognized the footwork.The steps of the old knight's form—a style passed down through the royal guard.
One traveler had once bragged about inheriting that very technique.I didn't need long to learn it.
So I slipped out of range and used my blade to parry the strike mid-swing.Steel kissed steel, not flesh.
His blade came down in a sharp vertical strike—clean, committed.
I sidestepped, just enough. My sword met his with a practiced angle, deflecting the force without letting it grind me down.
He retreated.I advanced.One step, one swing, one measured breath at a time.
Our blades moved again.Then again.Not clashing recklessly—this was a dance.
A fair duel.
I studied him, even as I fought.Every shift in his stance, every adjustment in his footing.The angle of his elbow.The way he prepared for each attack a half-second before committing.
I didn't just react—I took it apart.Mentally rewinding each strike, tracing its path, its intention.
How he moved mattered more than what he did.
And once I understood, I tried it myself.
My stance shifted. My wrist angled. My feet planted just a little differently.Strike—parry—riposte.
He noticed.The way he paused, the way his next movement changed—it told me everything.
He was learning from me too.
Neither of us spoke.There were no words in this exchange.
Only observation.Respect.And movement.
It all ended when my sword found his neck.A quick thrust, followed by a swift motion that—had he been solid—would've taken his head clean off.
But of course… that didn't happen.
He didn't fall.Didn't cry out.Didn't even flinch.
He simply raised a hand, touched the side of his neck where the blade had struck—and looked at it.
Quiet. Thoughtful.
Then, slowly, his body began to dissolve.Dark blue particles lifted from his form, drifting into the night like ashes in the wind.
And that was it.
I could feel it.He wouldn't return.
As the last of the dark-blue particles faded into the air, I let out a slow breath and lowered my sword.
Then I heard it.
Cheering. Tiny, squeaky cheering.
"That was amazing, Sheik!" cried Tod, bouncing up and down like a spring. "You got him! You really got him!"
"You moved like fwah-pow! And then shink! Right in the neck!" added Sato, throwing his little arms in all directions to reenact the final strike.
I turned toward them, a small smile creeping onto my face despite the solemnity of the moment.
Tod jumped again—too excited for his tiny legs to handle—and landed awkwardly on a loose pebble. With a loud "Wah!" he tumbled backward and plopped onto the dirt.
There was a moment of silence.
And then Sato burst into laughter.
"Bwahaha! You fell! You fell like bloop!" He rolled onto his back, kicking his stubby legs in the air while laughing uncontrollably. "You're supposed to be cheering, not flying!"
Tod sat up with a huff, brushing dust off his leaf hat. "It was the rock's fault," he mumbled, then pouted. "Stupid rock."
"You lost to a pebble!" Sato teased between giggles.
"I'm still braver than you!" Tod shot back, puffing his cheeks in defiance.
I let them bicker for a moment. Honestly, after everything… it was a relief. Their energy brought me back to reality, to something normal. Something warm.
I sheathed my sword and watched them for a while longer, quietly thankful that I wasn't alone.