The town stood quiet and empty. Empty except for a single man. He walked slowly through the abandoned town, a deep sadness in his eyes for what his former home had become.

But he was there for a reason, and couldn't let his regrets slow him down.

There stood a house on a hill just outside the town, the nicest one around. And beyond that were the woods. That was his destination.

He climbed the hill, making sure to keep a sharp eye out as he ventured into the trees. Since Hyrule Castle had fallen, there was all manner of danger to be found.

Sure enough, the man found his purpose for coming kneeling before an old grave. He uttered a sigh.

"Damn it, I told ya, you can't keep coming back here!" he snapped, "You know there's been Guardians spotted not far from here?! We gotta get back, and quickly!"

His friend—a weathered man with a drawn face, blonde hair lightly tinged with grey, and blue eyes clouded with so many regrets—gave no indication he had heard. The man sighed again and knelt beside his friend, paying his respects to the one who lay buried below.

"I know you miss 'em both but gettin' yourself killed isn't gonna bring 'em back..." When he still received no response, he pivoted to a different topic. "You know, I think it would make the others feel a whole lot safer if you considered joinin' our defense force." He chuckled to himself. "Hardly feels right even calling it a force. We're a meager lot, that's for certain. And we could sure use someone who knows their stuff. I reckon you can't have lost all your skills from back when you were the King's best knight—remember those days? Besides, I seem to recall you sayin' somethin' about trainin' your little Faron—" He paused, sobering. "Back when she was around, that is..."

His friend stayed silent. He sighed a third time, gazing off into the distance.

"You ever regret givin' up life as a knight?" he asked quietly.

At last, his friend stirred.

"No," he answered, his voice no more than a whisper.

His thumb unconsciously began tracing a triangular shape on the back of his hand.

"She was worth it, Zan," he said, his eyes still fixed on the tombstone.

"Where do ya reckon you'd be now?" queried Zan, "If ya hadn't left that all behind?" He chuckled again. "What was it people called ya back then? 'Fearless.'"

He drew out the word dramatically, but it seemed to have no effect.

"Courage is a surprisingly easy thing to lose," murmured his friend, ceasing his absent-minded tracing.

A long silence stretched between them, broken again by the one called Zan.

"Where do ya reckon Faron is nowadays?" he asked gently.

A pained smile broke through his friend's somber expression.

"I hope she's all right," he said simply, "I hope she's found peace. And...I hope she's forgotten all about me."

Zan looked at his friend in surprise.

"Now why would you say a thing like that?"

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The former knight ran a shaky hand over his face.

"I called it 'training' back then," he said, "That's not what it was." He turned his gaze skyward, his eyes gone red with unshed tears. "I was so afraid of losing her too. I thought the best way to protect her would be to make her strong. Turns out the thing I should've been protecting her from...was me." He rested his head in his hands, exhaling shakily. "I had one job: to be her father. And I couldn't do it. Oh, goddesses...I might've ruined her if she hadn't gotten away from me."

Zan stared wide-eyed at his friend, trying to absorb the full meaning behind his words. He felt he should say something, but all he could manage was to speak his friend's name.

"Link..."

"I am so proud of her for finding the courage to leave. She's braver than I ever was, and deserves so much more."

Another long silence followed. Zan lifted his own head in turn to the sky, thinking of the mere handful of times he'd seen Faron after her mother's death. Link and his daughter had become so withdrawn after the burial that, after a time, he had almost entirely given up visiting. But now, thinking back to the moments when he had, seeing Faron—always silent, her eyes growing increasingly cold and distant with each visit—it all made sense now.

Had he known, could he have done something? How would things have changed if he had? Or would they have even changed at all?

"You don't ever wish she'd come back?" he asked Link gently.

Link clasped his hands in front of him, trying and failing to still their shaking.

"I dream about it sometimes," he admitted, "I see her climbing the hill to our home. I try to tell her how sorry I am...but it's never enough." He drew a ragged breath. "'Sorry' can't undo what I did. So it's better that she just move on."

Silence again, in which Zan pondered what Faron might've moved on to. Perhaps his pondering was useless; perhaps she was dead. It wasn't easy for a child to survive on their own, unless she found someone to take her in. Or maybe she had survived, only to perish in the Calamity.

Or perhaps she'd moved on to grand things, following in her father's footsteps and putting her hard-learned fighting skills to use.

A thought struck him, and he nudged at Link.

"Hey, you remember those rumors? Somethin' about the Princess' bodyguard bein' a woman?" He shrugged, knowing what he was about to say was a hell of a stretch. "Maybe that was Faron."

Link gave a sad smile.

"I thought that once or twice myself," he confessed.

Then his smile died. Zan knew the reason why well enough. If Faron really had been that rumored bodyguard, the likelihood of her having died during the fall of Hyrule Castle was even greater.

"Or maybe she settled down somewhere," he suggested quickly, "Found someone. Started a family."

Link's sad smile returned. Zan turned his gaze back to the gravestone.

"Who do you reckon she was more like? You? Or her mother?"

"I always thought she was more like her mother. But she always claimed that Faron was more like me." Link uttered a mirthless laugh. "That's probably the first time I ever hoped that her, well, remarkable insight was wrong."

"Yeah, she was always a bit keen, wasn't she? I guess her always being prone to sickness and all—knowing her time would probably come sooner than others'—made her see the world a bit different, a bit sharper, ya know?"

Link looked around, his eyes moistening.

"She and Faron used to come to these woods and pick wild flowers. They'd die so quickly but they were beautiful while they lasted." His voice cracked. "I...I destroyed Faron's memory of her mother. I reduced the woman I loved to her disease, her death."

He grabbed fistfuls of his own hair, his body shaking with muffled sobs. Zan couldn't even imagine his grief. He placed a hand on Link's shoulder, a small gesture of comfort.

"I know you hoped she could beat 'er sickness," he said, nodding at the headstone, "And I know you probably think if you'd just accepted it, things between you and Faron might've been different. Maybe you're right. But all you can do now is keep hopin' the best for her...that she's moved on, like ya said. And right now, you need to move on yourself."

Link shook his head.

"I can't."

"You said it yourself," Zan persisted, "'Sorry' ain't gonna fix it. Neither is wallowin' in past mistakes. Ya can't go back and protect Faron from yourself, Link. But there're others that need protectin'. And like I said, you got the skills to do it." He sighed, letting his hand drop from Link's shoulder. "Ya got nothin' but what's ahead of you. I ain't saying this'll fix what you did, but...you at least got the choice to be better than you were yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that. And maybe by the end, well...you'll be a decent man."

He pushed himself to his feet, extending a hand to his friend. Link considered it, then clasped it firmly, rising to his own feet. Zan clapped him on the back, feeling a spark of hope for his friend.

"Let's go," he said.

Link cast one last look at his wife's gravestone, then took his first step into the future.