Okay, sad(ish) headcanon time:
Ganondorf receives word that his stronghold in Gerudo Desert has fallen - and his greatest lieutenants along with it.
On the eve of the final battle, he goes in secret to the Sacred Grounds. There he finds the bodies of Zant and Ghirahim. The light has long since left their eyes, but the smell of their blood and their magic is still fresh upon the air.
Wordlessly, he gently takes their broken forms, cleans them and performs the final rites. He places them on a great pyre with all their weapons and worldly possessions. He cuts two locks of his hair, one for each. Then, in the old way of his people, he sets the pyre ablaze and casts their essence to the four winds.
As he is about to leave, his guarded heart heavy but his last respects paid to his warriors, he sees something in the ashes. He brushes away the dust, and beneath he finds two great swords.
One is the same deep obsidian of a moonless night with a red jewel set in the hilt, elegant in build but no less powerful for it.
The other is chaotic in form, cast from pieces of black and white metal and veined throughout with swirling runes of scarlet and aqua.
For the first time since he arrived, a smile crosses Ganondorf’s lips. He reaches down and takes each sword in hand. The blades thrum at his touch, and he can feel a familiar, exultant rush of power from each. He swings them through the air, testing the mettle of these new weapons. As they whistle through the air, he swears that he can almost here the laughter of a demon and a Twili in the sound. He laughs quietly in reply.
At last he leaves to prepare for war, but this time he is not alone. His lieutenants are with him still, ever steadfast, ever loyal, ever serving and defending him.
Even as his soul falls into the final darkness, they go with him, never to be parted from their master again.