Selection day. It was a day you’d been dreading for ages—- the day where you would have to choose a knight from the ranks of this year’s best.

You surveyed the line of young men in front of you, all dressed in red, blue, and gold, swords strapped to their ruler-straight backs. King Rhoam gently tapped your shoulder. “Go on.”

Reluctantly, you rose, descending the steps on a servant’s arm, then starting at the far right of the line. You worked your way down. Too stoic. A little scary-looking. A younger knight that looked like he was about to collapse under your gaze.

But there was one knight that caught your eye. A blonde, lithe young man, keeping his sky-blue gaze trained on the wall opposite him.

“This is Link, your majesty.” The servant beside you whispered, noticing your peaked interest. “He comes from a family of knights in the West.” “Very well.” You tap his shoulder, and he steps forward, before bowing curtly.

You lock eyes with him. “He has… taken an oath of silence. Of sorts.” Your servant explains. “He will not speak.” “…how old is he?” You take another look at his face. Boyish, yet stoic. It doesn’t suit him. “Seventeen, your highness.”