Eric sat on the stone steps before the massive gate, his back turned to the battlefield. A gleaming sword rested beside him, its blade pulsing faintly with silver light.
He looked perfectly at ease.
Yet behind the gate, the thunder of drums had fallen silent.
Inside, the orcs gripped their weapons but did not advance.
"That human's full of openings," one of them thought nervously, "but something tells me if I move first, I'll die."
The orcs were violent, impulsive, and bloodthirsty, but they were not entirely stupid. The sword's aura alone made their hearts quake. And the man who wielded it—well, as he had declared before the battle—had indeed succeeded in making every orc know his name.
With that man guarding the gate, and an elven army waiting outside, the orcs hesitated.
Should we really charge?
They exchanged uncertain glances. Even the troll scratched its head, looking from the gate to its trembling kin.
Eric yawned and stretched lazily.
That simple movement was enough to throw the orc ranks into chaos. Some roared and raised their blades, while others turned tail and bolted.
"Nope! Not doing this!" shouted one, sprinting away.
"Forget it! The Balrog's gone home—why should we die here?"
And just like that, the horde broke. The tide of dark creatures rippled, faltered, and scattered in panic.
Even the giant troll, after a few moments of dull contemplation, lumbered off, muttering something that might have been a farewell.
Sauron's corrupt will, which had been driving them onward, was fading, and the Balrog that had served as their rallying point was gone.
The infernal army was finished.
Eric finally exhaled in relief.
He wasn't worried about himself, but the elves had been in real danger. If the orcs or those massive beasts had charged, the casualties would have been devastating.
No matter how skilled an elf might be, a charging giant beast could crush entire ranks before they had a chance to react.
Eric chuckled quietly. "Elves fight with elegance and variety. Orcs fight with… biodiversity."
That, he decided, was a rather accurate description.
The glow on his sword faded as the enemy's presence retreated. He slid the blade back into its scabbard and stood up to greet the approaching elves.
"Thanks for the backup," he said warmly.
A young elven captain saluted with graceful composure. "No thanks are necessary, honored ally. It was the Lady who led us here."
Eric smiled and turned toward the radiant figure approaching through the trees. He bowed slightly.
Lady Galadriel's gaze lingered on the vanishing orc army, her expression serene and knowing. "I foresaw your arrival, as well as the trouble that would find you. It brings me joy to see you safe, Eric."
"That safety is entirely thanks to you, my lady," Eric replied sincerely.
There was no longer any doubt in his mind. She had known he would be here, long before his clash with the Balrog. Her foresight was as sharp as ever.
"This is not the place for conversation," Galadriel said with gentle authority. "A hall has been prepared in Lothlórien. Come, we will speak there."
The mines of Moria were not far from the Golden Wood, and by evening, the company—along with Eric—had crossed into the realm of golden leaves and eternal twilight.
Along the way, many elven warriors could not resist glancing at him with quiet awe.
A man who fought a Balrog and lived? The very idea would become legend.
In history, such feats were achieved only by the greatest of elven lords and kings.
As Eric stepped beneath the golden canopy, the map in his enchanted compass shimmered and cleared, the fog that had once obscured this region dissolving.
The entire forest gleamed with a warm golden hue.
"This place is beautiful," he murmured, eyes wide with wonder.
The elven captain walking beside him smiled faintly. "Most uninvited travelers never see this far. If they wander in by accident, we escort them out again."
Eric grinned. "Don't tell me you blindfold them too?"
The captain blinked in surprise. "How did you know?"
Eric's smile faltered. "You actually do that?"
"Of course. For safety," the elf said, perfectly serious. "Outsiders might find us cold and secretive, but I promise you, we have never harmed the innocent. Every wanderer who entered our realm has been safely guided home."
"And what about guests?" Eric asked curiously.
"Guests usually belong to our kin and know the paths that lead here," the elf replied. "You are among the very few humans to ever arrive willingly."
They continued along a winding path until they reached a glade bathed in a soft, golden glow.
Before them rose the walls of the city of Caras Galadhon, half-veiled by vines and leaves. A river wound around its base, crossed by a graceful arched bridge leading to a gate adorned with gemstones that shimmered like starlight.
It looked both dreamlike and impossibly real, the kind of place that could only exist in legend—or perhaps in the world beyond Minecraft's code.
Guards upon the wall looked down, saw their Lady riding side-saddle upon her white horse, and immediately sounded the signal to open the gate.
As the party entered, Eric felt as though he had stepped into a living dream.
Great mellyrn trees towered overhead, their branches cradling homes and platforms woven from polished wood. Some were simple resting platforms open to the air, while others were elegant dwellings linked by ladders and spiraling stairways.
Higher still, among the largest trees, entire mansions had been built in the boughs—glimmering like lanterns amid the leaves.
Everywhere, elves moved with a lightness that made the forest seem alive with whispers. Many paused in their duties, exchanging excited murmurs about what they had witnessed: a human battling a Balrog, a shattered infernal army, an ancient sword from a bygone age.
It was clear that the Golden Wood would not run out of stories for quite some time.
As the soldiers dispersed, only Lady Galadriel, the elven captain, and Eric remained. They made their way toward the grandest of the mellyrn trees, where platforms encircled the trunk like living balconies.
This was the home of Galadriel and her husband, Lord Celeborn.
"Welcome, Eric," came a calm voice from above.
A tall elf descended the steps of the hall, his silver hair glinting in the soft light. He took Galadriel's hand as she dismounted and turned toward Eric with dignified warmth.
It was Celeborn, Lord of the Golden Wood.
The two elves stood side by side, radiant beneath the golden glow of their forest.
Eric smiled and gave a courteous bow. "It's an honor to visit your realm, my lord, my lady."
Celeborn inclined his head with equal respect. "And it is an honor to receive a guest who brings such stories with him."