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Atop the windmill, a child cloaked not in the green of the celebrated hero of time but in the black of long forgotten shades sat tensely. Her legs were seated restlessly, ready to move. As each turn of the blades of the windmill inexorably took place, a shadow was cast across the child. Each time, the child faded away, save for amber eyes that glared down on the village with malice. And then she appeared again as the sun shone again on her, naught but an isolated child atop a sunny roof.

This was her home. Every nook and cranny she had explored, or so she thought. She had left it to seek out her Father and the secrets of his disappearance. But now, some crone pretending familiarity to her had haunted her dreams. Hounding her for thirty days. That voice spoke of a secret to save the world, or perhaps break it, that would be here, in her home, today. This town knew something that she didn't. And Veitaru hated that thought. So she glared at the city all the harder, for her home was keeping secrets.

She didn't trust this voice, but she would follow where it lead, and find the man, woman, or monster behind it. For her Father.