"There are other worlds than these."
Link woke with the whisper still echoing in his ears. He heard a Wolfos howl in the distant dark, and the ghostly cries of its brethren in response. Close... but not too close. I have yet another hour I can sleep. But sleep wouldn't come. He lay back with his hands cupped behind his head, using his deerskin pack as a lumpy pillow, and regarded the stars. The fire had died down to mere embers, and they glowed a sinister red - red like the eyes of the villains he'd slain. The red of avarice, the red of gluttony, the red of evil. He closed his own eyes but could still see the stars; he was awake, the kind of awake that offers no concession to the rest he needed. The Wolfos let out another howl - closer now, markedly closer, so perhaps he might as well just walk the rest of the night away.
He moved slowly at first, as his waking body fought the chill of the early morning air. It didn't take him long to pack up his simple camp. He kicked dirt over the stubborn coals and took a swag from the waterskin he had strapped across his chest. He tucked his bedroll away and shouldered the pack. He'd long ago lost his sword and was now, here, grateful that he didn't have to carry its weight anymore. The sword was too heavy for long travel - his daggers had proved sufficient.
Still, as he found his way back to the untravelled road from his encampment in the woods, Link somewhat missed it's reassuring weight all the same. The Master Sword. It had been his steady companion when all others had fallen. And now it too was gone, lost to the tale like so many friends and lovers, years and miles and moments of joy.
No matter. His destination lay ahead, and when he reached it, he would look back and call out the names of the dead, the forgotten, the left-behind. He hoped it would be enough to save his soul.
For now, the road lead onward.
And he followed.