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For the next eight years of Rook's life, things would remain utterly unremarkable. His skills as a swordsman were slowly starting to plateau, even after developing some acrobatic techniques on his own, the small training waster he received from Heroth was becoming more and more ineffective and degraded. He tried on many occasions to borrow a sword from the village guardsmen to no avail, despite everything, many of the villagers still thought Rook foolish for forsaking flight, and would remind him that there was no future for a grounded Rito. At first, he brushed off these remarks, but as the years wore on, the grim specter of doubt began to seep into his mind. Could he really be a great swordsman like Captain Heroth was? Was there a future for a bird who was afraid of heights? Could he really protect his dear friend Komogo with swordsmanship alone? These questions haunted him for months.

It all came to a head during an ill-fated training session, his fading confidence resulted in a mistimed maneuver. Instead of hitting the makeshift dummy he had set up, he brought his waster down onto the boulder beside it, shattering the rusted blade into shards. He stood motionless for a long while, staring at the broken hilt in his hand, unable to stem the tide of emotions swirling through his head until finally, he snapped. With a shout of anger, he hurled the remnant of his waster at the training dummy, which bounced harmlessly off its surface, and collapsed to the floor. He felt useless, as broken as the shards of the sword, and before he could contain himself, tears were already streaming down his beak. He'd failed himself, he'd failed Captain Heroth, and he'd failed Komogo, he was an embarrassment to his people. Again did the specter of doubt find its mark, threatening to tear Rook apart as he cried into the grass.

Rook had no idea just how long he had been lying on the grass until he heard a familiar voice calling out to him. He stirred, casting his eyes off towards the path, in the distance he saw Komogo running towards him. He scrambled to his feet, Rook didn't want his brother to see him in such a state and turned his back as Komogo finally caught up.
"There you are, Rook. I've been looking everywhere for you!"
"I've been busy-" He muttered, unable to keep the shaking from his voice.
Komogo paused, he hadn't seen Rook look so dejected in years; the feathers around his eyes were glossy from crying, his fists were clenched tight.
"Rook-"
Rook whirled around, meeting his eyes with a ferocious stare. "I am fine, Koko." He snapped. "What are you doing here?"
"Looking for you! The postman came by with a parcel, a pretty heavy one. Said it was urgent."

When the two finally returned home, Komogo presented Rook with the parcel and left to give him space. It was a long, rectangular box, and stuck to the top of it was a letter. Rook immediately recognized the seal; he'd seen it often on letters coming to and from the outpost while he trained with Heroth; The Hylian Military Seal. He cautiously opened the box, and contained within was a battered, old-looking book, and to his surprise, a sword. Lifting it gently he took a moment to examine it, it was one of the swords the outpost soldiers used, beautifully smithed and sat within an equally well-made metal sheath, emblazoned with gold. His eyes widened at the realization; This was Heroth's sword. The same one she had used to protect both him, and Komogo all those years ago. He turned his attention to the book, it looked as if it would fall apart at any moment to the slightest of winds, and opted to leave it. Then, finally, he pried the letter off the top of the box. It read:

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Rook.

With deepest regret, I am writing to inform you that your mother and father, who were last seen leaving from Hateno Villager, were found dead.
Ordinarily, I would not write such a letter back to a civilian, however, since you were trained by both myself and Captain Heroth, I deemed it was
within reason to do so. You have the right to know.

We discovered their bodies on patrol, victims of an ambush. Their cart was ransacked, and all items of value taken. We have yet to find the killers
but rest assured that we are doing everything we can.

I have not much to offer to alleviate your sorrow, however, once Captain Heroth learned of what happened, she insisted upon sending you this
parcel. Within, it contains two personal effects of the Captain; Her sword, which she wishes to pass on to you to aid in your training. And her journal,
it was not explained to me why she wanted you to have this, but treat it with care as it is very old.

We will do our best to keep you informed of any developments to the situation, and I wish you the best in your training.

Sincerely, Captain Laram.
=====

Rook scowled. The only word he could make out in the entire letter was his name. And no matter how much he squinted, no matter what angle he looked at it from, he couldn't understand anything written on the page. He didn't want to ask Komogo for help reading it after he had snapped at him earlier, so instead, he opted to place the letter gently within the battered journal and slid the parcel beneath his hammock. He cast his eyes back to Heroth's sword, he felt a twinge of anger at himself as he looked over its gleaming hilt, his mind flew back to their heartfelt conversation a week before she was dismissed from service. And as he reflected on the passing of time, the creeping tendrils of doubt began to fade, that same fire of determination reigniting in his heart; the Rito might not believe in him, but Heroth did. Why else would she give him her sword? He fastened the sheath to his belt, its weight providing much-needed comfort. Tomorrow, he told himself he would return to training. No holding back. He would become the finest swordsman the Rito had ever seen, whether they believed in him or not.

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