A Moment in the Sky
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Link is standing on the Light Dragon's head in The Legend of Zelda, Tears of the Kingdom. The dragon is turning to the left, but Link is facing forward, watching the sun set. Flying ships and floating islands are silhouetted against the sky in the distance.
One hundred and ten years ago, you were inseparable. Not literally, of course—you had no head for scientific investigation and no patience for affairs of state, so you'd just as often be off dealing with the latest hynox that wandered too close to a trade route. But your spirits were intertwined. You were always the first one to hear about her latest breakthrough in the study of ancient technology, and she was always happy to listen to you gush about the cool sword you'd found buried in one labyrinth or another. When your heart was broken by the boy from Tabantha, she held you while you cried all night. When her father the king locked her in her suite after she told him she had no intention of bearing an heir, you sat by her door all day inventing a code of knocks to keep her company. You never doubted for a moment that you'd win out over the calamity with her at your side.
Five years ago, when your memories came crashing back like a tsunami, you remembered her in the same moment you remembered yourself. Your quest, which you had accepted with an amnesiac's compliance, suddenly became a keen blade of need. She had spent a century of patient exertion trapped in her castle waiting for you, and you'd see yourself damned before you let that be in vain. When you'd finally put an end to the long calamity together and the dust had settled, you held each other and wept for all the friends you'd never see again. You swore together that at least the two of you would remember them, even if no one else did.
Last night, you touched a dragon's tear. The pieces finally came together like an arrow to the gut, and you fell to your knees at the pain of the realization. But you were the swordsman, and no matter how bad it hurt you always moved forward. For the kingdom. For the princess. So you picked yourself up, returned to the Great Sky Island, and kept an eye on the horizon as you set about building a flying machine, maneuverable and swift. As dawn broke, you saw her floating emptily, high above the ground—but not so high you couldn't reach her.
You spend the day atop her, running your fingers through the same golden hair she'd talked you into brushing when you were children. She'd called it "a swordsman's duty" as a joke, but even so young you took your duty far too seriously to think of arguing. Those many hours you'd spent brushing through the years, talking about anything and everything, forged your friendship stronger than any armor.
The dragon below you is luminous and beautiful, but you can sense the void inside her. All the same, you take comfort in her nearness, physical proximity if nothing else, the two of you together again watching the rest of the world go by. You tell her everything that's happened since her disappearance, all the lives you've touched and gossip you've heard throughout the kingdom. You hope that some part of her, locked away within this great beast, takes comfort in you as well. You may not ever know the answer, but even so you know you'll join her in the sky again. And as the sun sets over Hyrule, you imagine her hair like an embrace and you allow yourself to cry.