A few hundred feet from the hustle and bustle of the village proper loomed Kakariko's windmill, situated on the top of a small cliff. Between the stony edge and the bricks of the structure sat a cloaked figure, legs hanging over the precipice. The slowly revolving blades of the structure hid this individual from the spiteful gaze of the Gerudo child above—clearly, whether they knew it or not, outcasts thought alike. From this shrouded position the Chilfos watched the proceedings, taking in the sea of lively, grinning faces sailing a sea of green cloth. The ceremonies of Hylians were an alien concept to Frore; in fact, the notion of celebration at all escaped him. Despite this total lack of understanding, however, the icy warrior felt oddly drawn to the festival preparations. It was more than the voice whispering in his head over the course of the last few days, which his companion had assured wasn't his voice. Perhaps it was simply the joy omnipresent in the sacred day's activities, bright enough to warm even Frore's frozen heart. Naturally he couldn't walk among men without causing a fuss, though, so on the edge of the cliff by the windmill he sat.

The shadow cast behind Frore by the cheery late morning sun watched the villagers as well. No ordinary umbra, this spot of darkness was home to the Chilfos' trusted companion. Few in this world of light had ever seen the being within that shadow, and of them only one had the privilage of knowing Cain. The Hero of Time festival reminded Cain bitterly of similar joyful events back within the Twilight Realm. For months now memory of his home had been steadily slipping away, like water in a cupped hand, but several weeks ago a voice had pleaded with him in the depths of night to attend this very festival. Cain had experienced stranger things in his day, but even this was new to him. The incessant, nightly nature of the pleas had made them hard to ignore. Having been in Lake Hylia at the time, working as a mercenary for a few Zoras seeking to exterminate a sudden mass hatching of Gohma larvae, Kakariko had been quite far away. Neither Frore nor Cain had even originally known about the festival's existence, but luckily their Zora employers had been able to fill them in. Well, they did the best they could. Communicating was a tricky process for the pair; Cain had a voice but was bodiless, while Frore had a body and couldn't talk. Unable to ignore the pleas any longer, and faced with an increasingly consternation Chilfos, Cain had decided to steer his host toward Kakariko Village in hopes of finding out who -or what- was messing with their minds.

And now they were here. Here were the morning rays, gleeful villagers, the fateful day, and a brooding spy from another world hiding in the shadow of a monster endowed with sentience. Neither belonged in this place, and yet they were here. Frore candidly watched the people, satisfied enough to observe them going about their chores and business, but Cain, not so easily entertained, grew restless. After the windmill broke the general peace of the moment with an especially loud creak, Cain decided to find something else to occupy him. “Stay around here; keep a low profile,” he murmured to his partner in his signature lilting, ethereal accent. “I am going to browse the markets.” Slowly, not really paying attention, Frore inclined his Y-shaped head in what passed for a nod. If a shadow could roll its eyes, Cain did so, and he leaped from the shadow of Frore into that of the windmill's, from which he could reach the village itself.