“I... I feel like I shouldn’t be fighting you. This isn’t right...”
Link stares at the dragon-knight before them, freezing in place, gripping the Kokiri Sword with their calloused hands, but not lifting it above the ground. The fires of battle rage, but Link refuses to lay blade to their opponent’s body. A memory rings in their mind, one from before their childhood was taken from them. They’d made friends with a little dragon, another who was trying to understand the world just like them- and by evil’s cruel hands, the passage of time led Link to a twisted form of their friend.
(The dragon’s blood was on Link’s hands and they killed him, slew him because there was no choice. There wasn’t another way.)
Link can still hear the dragon’s cries ring out in their mind as their memories threaten to transport them elsewhere. They have to fight it, such episodes would come more often now, reminders of war- but if their instincts are true, then perhaps this will not end as it did then. They can only hold onto hope.
“Do you- remember me...?” they ask, their voice trembling, tears forming, grip loosening on their sword. Majora had followed them here, and so would the burden of memory. It all seemed too perfect, and yet they can't help but indulge the wishes of their heart. “It’s me... Link... I- I’m sorry-”