Zelink Short Stories

The Chief's Daughter

Warning: violence

Song suggestions:

White Flag- Bishop Briggs
Glory- The Score
Lion- Saint Mesa

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The peace between our tribes was a fragile one, always tipping on the edge of war with our violent tendencies. Each generation was taught how to fight and kill in preparation for one of the tribes to make a mistake, starting another series of bloody battles. The Hylians, the largest of the tribes, held our cracking peace together by holding tournaments. Some were to the death, a means of revenge without starting a war. Others were for entertainment, to prove the strength of your warriors. This year however, the prize wasn't blood or glory. It was winning the hand of the next Hylian chieftess. Each chief and chieftess has been training their first borns ever since the competition was announced two years ago, their eyes set on the power of having a hand in the Hylian tribe. Being part of the most ruthless and unforgiving tribe, failure means I not only lose my honor but I also lose my title as heir. I either win and marry the future leader of the Hylians or I die trying. Failure isn't an option.

I've fought in tournaments for four years now, ever since I reached the minimum age. Allowing a child under the age of fifteen to participate is forbidden, a rule created after unprepared children were slaughtered by fully developed adults. The tournaments are not for the weak. They're meant for the strongest and most resilient. My mother being a merciless chieftess and my father a former champion and blademaster, I was raised to be their soldier, to bring glory to my people by spilling the blood of our enemies. And now they want me to marry the girl they raised me to hate. My loyalties run deep and I'll do whatever it takes to get them what they want: the power.

I've been preparing for the tournament since it was announced. Our elders made my armor while I trained, participating in the deadly games for practice, memorizing the strengths and weaknesses of the other clans. My father oversaw my training, pointing out every flaw and made me repeat each move until it was mastered. I can't be less than perfect.

I dress in my armor made of fur, leather, and monster bones. It was designed to show my muscular physique with shorts that end mid-thigh and fur boots. Pieces of fabric with jagged, round edges drape from the belt in the front, hanging slightly past the shorts. Only my chest is covered with a leather spaulder, the two sides connected in the middle with a ring made of bone. The short sleeves are made out of white Lynel mane fur and I have guards on my forearms, the thick fabric tied down with string. My right arm has a bone over the guard for blocking. The last piece of my armor is a monster skull that has been turned into a helmet. The large horns curve down towards my face and the thick red mane flows over my back.

My mother enters the tent, clad in her own furs and bones. My younger sister follows her, carrying a bowl of red paint. Standing in front of me, my mother draws her dagger and slices through her palm, holding her fist over the bowl of paint to bless it with her blood. It's a tradition to mix blood with our war paint. My mother is weakening herself to give me her strength.

With two fingers, she begins painting a line across my arm. "You understand what you must do?"

"Yes mother."

"The odds are against you. They don't want us to win." She paints triangles on my sides pointing towards the middle. "They're going to do everything they can to keep us from our glory." We're direct enemies with the Hylians. We scare them because we thrive off bloodshed. They don't want us to have the power but preventing us from joining the tournament would've been a declaration of war.

"You must be prepared for a disadvantage," she continues, pressing her splayed hand on my stomach, leaving a handprint. "Whatever the disadvantage might be, I expect you to win, do you understand?"