Cover art provided by thelovelessalchemist . deviantart art / Link-and-Dark-Link-69418140 (remove all the spaces to view)

The hero of time, garbed in a shade of sapphire like the zora's sacred stone towered, towered over the creature of darkness. His chest heaved, and the holy sword clutched tight in trembling hands was held over his head, ready to deal a finishing blow. Sanguine teardrops fell from the blade into the murky water that covered the floor, casting faint, pink ripples against the dark one's battered body.

The dark one's breaths were shallow, and his eyes, muddy-red like brick, hid beneath lids that struggled to keep hold of his unnatural existence.

Tense moments passed in this way, until at last the hero moved, lowering his sword from above and even sheathing it away, no longer in need of its ability to cause harm. The loser of the fight was clearly incapacitated.

Kneeling down beside his opponent, the hero extended a hand to the shadow being's ashen face stained by dreariness imparted unto him by his master.

The hero searched the outwardly blank gaze of his foe and was startled to notice something there he had not yet seen in other monsters he had fought. This creature's eyes followed his movement, widened and weakened with pain or alarm; they almost seemed sentient, like this thing was a real hylian.

Standing suddenly, the hero drew away, disturbed by his very own thoughts. If this thing wasn't a monster, and he'd fought it into the ground, would he be responsible for the death of a living, breathing person?

Reaching into his bag, the hero withdrew a vial, which he hastily slipped into the dark one's hand.

"Drink," said the hero, stepping away and averting his gaze, which was soon placed upon a door no longer blocked by iron bars.

The dark one watched the hero disappear into the room before sitting himself up and observing the vial he'd been gifted. It was ruby red in color, brighter than the blood he'd shed. Weakened as he was, and accustomed to obeying orders, he uncapped the vial with trembling fingers and shakily touched the tip of the vial to his lips.

The liquid was sweet and caused his throat to tingle as it slid down to his stomach, which it warmed like a gentle fire, radiating out to each limb, magical energies present in the potion being absorbed into his bloodstream and coursing through his body, gently healing from the inside out the wounds he'd sustained in battle.

As potent as the potion was, the dark one was too weakened physically to keep himself upright, so he let himself lay back in the water, its gentle ebb against his body comforting against the backdrop of fog.

Aside from the shrill bite of the hero's master sword, and his touch just moments ago, the waters and the smooth stone of the prison were the few sensory experiences the dark one had ever experienced. For what little he'd known, he was grateful for these things. It was a better way to die than to return to the blackness he'd been born of.

As his consciousness slipped away, the water was disturbed once more, crashing against his tattered tunic. Moments later two hands touched upon an arm each. It was the hero again. It had to be. There were no other people here. He'd returned. To finish the job, perhaps. The dark one cared not. His muscles loosened, and he fell limp in the hero's arms.