The arrival of a Royal Knight in Ordon was an event of such magnitude that it momentarily stopped the rhythm of the village. The clang of the blacksmith's hammer ceased, the turning of the waterwheel seemed to hush, and conversations died in the mouths of gossiping neighbors. Sir Arion was a figure from another world, a man made of sunlight on steel and the stern authority of the Crown. His armor was not the rough, practical leather and iron of the village watch; it was elegantly crafted plate, polished to a mirror shine, etched with the wings of the Hylian crest. On his back, the hilt of a knight's broadsword rose above his shoulder, a promise of swift and lethal justice.
Link stood beside Impa, the knight's shadow falling over him. He had to crane his neck to look up at the man, his eyes tracing the Triforce sigil on the knight's shield. It was the same shape his mother wove into her tapestries of the legendary hero, the same symbol that was whispered in the oldest stories. To see it in person, on the shield of a living, breathing warrior, made Link's heart beat a strange, unfamiliar rhythm. It was the feeling of a storybook page turning into reality.
Sir Arion's gaze was sharp and missed nothing. He took in the ancient, knowing eyes of the elder and the silent, unnervingly intense stare of the child beside her. His voice, when he spoke again, was devoid of pomp, carrying the clipped efficiency of a career soldier.
"Elder, my orders are to investigate a surge of shadow energy reported by our seers in this province. We've had reports of failing crops and blighted forests from here to the Lanayru border. My patrol noted a particular pocket of corruption in the woods bordering this village. Has Ordon been affected?"
Impa met his gaze without flinching, her posture frail but her spirit unyielding. She was the guardian of this village, and her first duty was to protect its people from the troubles of the outside world, whether they came from monsters or from men.
"We have, Sir Knight," she confirmed, her voice raspy. "The Faron Woods have been… unwell of late. A few days ago, our spring ran bitter. Some of our livestock took ill. There was a palpable feeling of unease."
"And now?" Arion pressed, his eyes scanning the seemingly peaceful village. "Your people seem calm. The air feels clear."
"The Goddesses are good to Ordon," Impa said smoothly, the statement layered with a meaning only she and Link could understand. "The affliction, whatever it was, seems to have passed. The spring water is pure as of this morning."
A flicker of skepticism crossed the knight's face. Blights of this nature did not simply 'pass'. They were growths, cancers on the land that had to be cut out. "I will need to see this spring for myself, Elder. Residues of shadow magic can linger, poisoning the land for years if not properly cleansed."
"Of course," Impa agreed with a slight bow of her head. "I will guide you."
As she turned to lead the way, Sir Arion's gaze fell once more upon Link. The boy hadn't moved, his small hands clutching the wooden whistle, his eyes still fixed on the knight's shield. He was covered in mud, and a fresh scratch adorned one cheek.
"And who is this?" the knight asked, his tone softening slightly. "Your apprentice, Elder?"
Before Impa could answer, Rohm arrived, wiping his hands on a leather apron. The sight of a Royal Knight speaking to his son had drawn him from the forge like a moth to a flame. "That is my son, Link," he said, his voice rumbling with quiet pride and a hint of defensiveness.
"Link," Arion repeated, kneeling to bring himself closer to the boy's eye level. The movement was fluid, practiced, and for a moment the stern soldier was replaced by a gentle curiosity. "That's a strong name. Your father tells me you've had some trouble here. Did you see anything unusual in the woods?"
Link looked from the knight's searching eyes to his father's worried face. He thought of the writhing, corrupted Deku Baba, the flash of holy light, the feeling of its hatred as it shrieked. He could communicate none of it. He simply gave a slow, deliberate shake of his head. It was not a lie. The knight was asking if he had seen anything. The truth of what he had done was a secret he felt, instinctively, he must keep.
"He doesn't speak, sir," Rohm explained, placing a heavy hand on Link's shoulder.
Arion's expression shifted to one of professional sympathy. A mute child in a remote village. The world was full of such small tragedies. "I see," he said, rising to his full height. He looked down at Link, the warrior assessing the civilian. "A quiet lad. Well, you keep your eyes sharp, son. Stay clear of the woods for a while. It's no place for a boy to be playing." He noticed the clean slingshot tucked into Link's belt, a simple, well-made toy. He thought nothing of it.
With a nod to Rohm, he followed Impa up the path that led to the spring. Link watched them go, the knight's massive, armored form a stark contrast to Impa's stooped, robed figure. The knight's parting words, meant to be kind, stung more than he would ever let on. No place for a boy to be playing. He hadn't been playing. He had been fighting.
The void left by the knight's imposing presence was quickly filled by the return of village life. The incident, however, had crystallized the community's anxieties. Fado, the owner of Ordon Ranch, approached Rohm, his face a mask of worry.
"Your boy was right about the water, Rohm," he said, twisting a piece of straw in his hands. "The goats are drinking again, but they're still spooked. I lost one of the kids last night—not to the sickness, but to a wolf. Bolder than I've ever seen them. They're coming right up to the fences. I need another hand, someone to stay with the herd while they're in the pasture. Someone with sharp eyes."
Fado's gaze drifted towards Link, who was quietly observing the conversation. He remembered the merchant, the way Link had seen the truth when no one else had.
Rohm looked at his son. The boy was small for his age, but he possessed a stillness and a focus that most grown men lacked. He was at home in nature, and after the events of the last few days, keeping him within the village confines, with a clear task, seemed like a wise idea. "He is young, Fado."
"He is, but he's watchful," Fado countered. "The goats… they seem to like him. He was out near the pen yesterday, playing that whistle of his, and they all settled down like it was a lullaby. I'll pay him, of course. A few rupees a week."
And so, Link was given his first official duty. He was no longer just the blacksmith's quiet son; he was Link, the ranch hand. Fado gave him a simple wooden staff, taller than he was, and tasked him with watching the village's small herd of goats as they grazed in the pasture that bordered the woods.
It was a role he was born for. His silence, which kept him at a distance from the other children, was a gift among the animals. He did not startle them with loud noises or sudden movements. He moved among the herd like a gentle breeze, his presence calming. He learned the personality of each goat: the grumpy old billy who liked to have his horns scratched, the mischievous young kid who was always trying to wander off, the nervous nanny who was afraid of her own shadow. He didn't guide them with shouts, but with music. A lively, cheerful tune on his whistle would get the herd moving. A soft, gentle melody would gather them together as dusk began to fall.
He became a guardian in miniature. Perched on a high rock overlooking the pasture, his staff across his knees, he was a silent, vigilant watcher. His eyes were not on the grazing goats, but on the dark, foreboding line of the Faron Woods. He was watching for wolves, yes, but he was also watching for the creeping blight, for the oily fog, for any sign that the shadow he had driven back was returning.
Late in the afternoon, Impa and Sir Arion returned. The knight's face was a study in professional frustration. Link watched from his post as they stood in the village square, Arion's armored gauntlets resting on the hilt of his sword.
"The place is… clean," Arion said, the word tasting like a lie in his mouth. "Too clean. I can feel the echo of what was there. A shadow beast of some kind, rooted in the spring. But there's no trace of it. Just this…" He gestured vaguely. "This feeling of residual light, as if it were scoured away. And the rockslide seems far too convenient."
"The spirits of Ordon protect their own, Sir Knight," Impa said serenely.
"Perhaps," Arion conceded, though his tone suggested he didn't believe in such convenient miracles. "I will file my report. The immediate threat to the village appears to be neutralized. However, the source of the greater corruption in the woods remains. My orders are to continue my patrol, not to launch a full-scale expedition." He sounded disappointed, a warrior denied his battle.
Before mounting his horse, he gave Impa a small, tightly sealed scroll. "A royal decree. Post it where all can see. It forbids any villager from entering the deep woods until the Guard deems it safe. If your 'spirits' fail you, use the signal flare in that packet. A garrison is stationed two days' ride from here. They will respond."
His duty done, he swung himself onto his horse. As he gathered the reins, his gaze swept across the village one last time and landed on the pasture. He saw Link, a small, solitary figure standing watch over his flock, his staff planted firmly in the ground. The setting sun cast the boy's shadow long and thin behind him. The image was strangely iconic, a shepherd watching his flock at the edge of a dark and dangerous wilderness. It struck the knight as something ancient and profound.
For a moment, Sir Arion felt an inexplicable urge to ride over, to speak to the silent child again, to ask… he wasn't even sure what he would ask. He shook his head, dismissing the feeling as sentimentality. He was a soldier of Hyrule. He had a mission to complete. This village and its strange, silent boy were just one stop on a long road.
With a final, almost imperceptible nod in Link's direction—a warrior's acknowledgment of a fellow watchman—Sir Arion spurred his horse and galloped out of the village, leaving behind nothing but a cloud of dust and the weight of his warning.
Link watched until the knight was a tiny speck on the horizon. The world was so much larger than he had known. A world with knights and kings, with widespread shadows and royal decrees. But as the last glint of sunlight vanished from Sir Arion's retreating armor, Link felt a deep, unwavering sense of place. His quest was not in some faraway castle or a cursed domain. Not yet.
His quest was here. It was the feel of the wooden staff in his hand, the trust of the animals at his feet, and the familiar scent of woodsmoke from the village chimneys. He was a shepherd. A protector. It was a small duty, but it was his.
As the first stars began to prick the velvet darkness of the sky, he brought the whistle to his lips. He played a soft, gentle lullaby, a melody that spoke of safety and rest. The goats gathered near, their quiet chewing a peaceful counterpoint to the song. The music drifted on the evening air, a blanket of sound settling over the pasture. It was a song of peace, but woven deep within its simple notes was a current of unwavering vigilance. He was the silent shepherd at the edge of the woods, and he knew, with a certainty that resonated in his very soul, that the wolf was still watching from the shadows.