When Annatar emerged from the black portal, his attire had changed. Still immaculate, it had adopted a strict military cut, with sharp, authoritative lines. A long white coat, perfectly tailored, fell to his legs, and a white cap rested upon his pale hair, further accentuating the icy aura of discipline that emanated from him.
He had teleported into a dark room containing nothing but a desk and a comfortable chair. Taking his seat at his workstation, he examined the various documents neatly arranged upon the desk. There was also a map of present-day Arda, over which several flags floated, representing different nations. Numerous banners bearing a blazing Eye were scattered across several countries as well. It was the result of thousands of years of meticulous preparation.
It was worth noting that one of the largest continents was largely occupied by a single nation. It was within this country that Sauron now stood. The revolution spreading there would soon allow him to unify the continent before the true war began. Very soon, his work would enable him to begin equipping his war machine.
The Dark Lord paid only distracted attention to the reports presented to him. He could not help but reflect upon the path he had traveled.
At the dawn of the Fourth Age, while the Valar were still debating his fate, Morgoth had attempted the unthinkable.
He had sought to possess him—not his body, but the spiritual root of his very existence.
Imprisoned outside the world, chained to the Eternal Void, Morgoth had tried to use his disciple as a vessel, an escape. Had he succeeded, he could have been reborn, free, within a body already shaped by darkness.
But he failed.
First, because his imprisonment drastically limited the amount of power he could project beyond his prison. And second—and above all—because he had challenged a will unlike any other.
Sauron was not a mere servant.He had never been a mere servant.
His will was among the most formidable Arda had ever borne. Where others would have shattered, he resisted. Where others would have yielded out of fear or devotion, he opposed.
The attempt at possession failed.And in that failure, Morgoth damned himself forever.
The betrayal of his former master freed Sauron from his final chain. Never again would he be another's shadow. Never again would he share his destiny.
But that liberation came at a price.
Deprived of the Ring, weakened by millennia of exile, it took him more than six thousand years to accumulate enough energy to reform a physical vessel. And even now, that form remained unstable—fragile, temporary.
Normally, the destruction of the One Ring should have reduced him to impotence until the end of time.
But Morgoth had made a mistake.
In his attempt at possession, he had embedded a fragment of his own divine source—his primordial power—into Sauron's soul. A tiny seed, almost imperceptible… yet real.
During his exile, Sauron fused that essence with his own.
Weak, certainly.But sufficient.
That divine source allowed him to slowly rebuild his power. More importantly, it gave him the potential to reach a level of power equal to—or even surpassing—that of the Valar.
One of the reasons he had offered rings to the jinchūriki was to discreetly absorb a portion of their power.
That was the fundamental difference between him and Morgoth: where the latter relied on brute force, Sauron always employed intelligence. It was how he had borne the title of Dark Lord for two Ages, while his former master had ruled only one. Where arrogance sustained Melkor's power, Sauron never hesitated to use every means necessary to increase his own.
Weakened and without allies, Sauron relentlessly rebuilt his empire. To do so, he influenced and intervened in countless ways throughout history, never once revealing himself to the eyes of the Valar.
A thousand years ago, he encountered an ambitious emperor who wished for his Empire to endure forever. At its founding, the Empire possessed nearly limitless resources and housed some of the greatest minds in the world, the First Emperor wielding absolute authority. At one point, eager to ensure the permanence of his nation, the emperor ordered the creation of powerful weapons.
Sauron then appeared before him. He offered new weapons, which he named Teigu. He taught the Empire's blacksmiths and alchemists how to create them. This led to the forging of forty-eight Teigu. In the eyes of the master smith, most were blatant failures. Some were powerful—but not powerful enough for the Dark Lord.
The only one to display exceptional potential was Demon God Manifestation: Demon Extract. This Teigu was created from the vital blood of a high-class beast living in the northern regions of the Empire. It was isolated from all other Teigu due to the danger it posed to its user, for all who drank it eventually descended into madness. It was an elemental-type Teigu, granting its bearer mastery over ice.
Though powerful, Sauron took no interest in it, as it was incompatible with him. He was a forger, and his elemental affinity was Fire. Had he used a weapon like Demon Extract, his power would never have been able to express itself fully.
Eventually, after many experiments, he found the perfect material for his own Teigu. Through the Empire's resources, he managed to obtain a phoenix heart. Sauron locked himself away in the imperial forge for several weeks. When the doors finally opened, the Emperor came to admire his master smith's creation, but finding no one inside, he believed himself betrayed. He sent his finest soldiers in search of him—without success.
The truth was that Sauron had used much of the power he still possessed to create his Teigu. This prevented him from regaining a physical body for five hundred years.
When he finally recovered enough energy, he resumed his work of influence and manipulation, guiding events to favor his return. By then, the Empire had become a nation where corruption gnawed at the nobility like a cancer. Ironically, Sauron had no direct involvement in this decay: opulence and men such as Prime Minister Honest were enough to drive the nation to the brink of ruin.
Exploiting the chaos, Sauron regained a physical form and infiltrated the imperial army. He rose rapidly through the military ranks thanks to his many exploits—and his Teigu. Today, he was a general of the Western Army, tasked with defending the Empire's western frontier and leading military campaigns when ordered.
He was now known as Anárion (Son of the Sun, in Sindarin), and alongside the Ice Queen Esdeath, he was among those most feared by the Empire's enemies. His adversaries had dubbed him the Phoenix of Ash. The Empire was the ideal foundation upon which to rebuild his armies and subject Middle-earth to his hegemony.
He was close. So very close to obtaining everything he desired. When that day came, even the Valar would know despair before him. Perhaps he might even find her again…
Knock knock.
Someone rapped on the door of his office, interrupting his thoughts.
"Enter."
His second-in-command stepped into the room, holding a sealed letter. Her name was Saeko Busujima, one of the Empire's most talented swordswomen. She had long, smooth, lustrous violet hair, a triangular fringe falling just above the bridge of her nose, blue eyes, and a generous figure. Sauron trusted her absolutely, for her loyalty belonged to him alone—not to the Empire.
In a solemn tone, Saeko informed him,"My lord, we have received an order from the imperial capital."
Sauron opened the letter and carefully read its contents. After reviewing his new directives, a faint, anticipatory smile formed on his face.
The chessboard was set. The game was about to begin.
"Saeko, prepare the First and Second Legions."
"Yes, my lord! Where are we going?" his right hand asked.
"To where everything will begin. The imperial capital."
The world of Men was about to be set ablaze.