No matter how Sauron probed and searched, his dark power was invariably repelled by the Earth-ring, leaving him no opening to exploit, no crack, no hidden flaw.
"How is this possible?!"
Sauron's voice thundered, his eyes blazing with baleful red fire as he stared at Sylas, disbelief and unease seeping into his immortal will.
By all logic, any Ring forged using the art of ring-lore he himself had taught should possess a hidden weakness, an unseen channel through which he could assert control. That had been true of the Three Rings of the Elves, subtle though they were. Yet the power before him now lay entirely beyond his grasp.
This ring was different.
It stood apart from all other dominions, independent of the One Ring's hierarchy. Though its forging techniques had drawn inspiration from Sauron's lore, its foundation did not belong to him. Even were he to fully reclaim the One Ring and restore his mastery over all other Rings of Power, this Earth Ring would remain beyond his command.
Seeing Sauron's disbelief, Sylas sneered coldly.
He had dared to forge the Earth Ring only because he had foreseen this very danger. He would never create a weapon that could become his own undoing.
Thus, while the ring drew upon the principles of ring-craft, its core was forged upon an entirely different law.
Sylas had fused Elven smithcraft, alchemy, and the oldest traditions of Arda, guided by the lingering craft-echoes and wisdom left behind by Celebrimbor, and ultimately refined through the high lore of Fëanor himself, the greatest of the Eldar smiths, creator of the Silmarils and master of crystalline essence and spiritual resonance.
Fëanor's craft was not merely technique, it was law made form.
With this knowledge, and after decades of refinement, Sylas forged the Earth Ring, a ring born of the same world as the Three, yet answering only to Arda itself, untouched by Sauron's dominion.
How could Sauron not feel threatened?
For ages, he had trusted utterly in the supremacy of his ring-lore. That confidence was why he sought to reclaim the One Ring, to reassert control over all others. But now, before him stood a power that did not kneel, and that knowledge unsettled even the Dark Lord.
Murderous intent flared in his gaze.
He would destroy this anomaly. He would seize the ring and uncover its secret.
With that resolve, Sauron unleashed his full might.
Dark power surged like a boundless tide, crashing again and again against the golden dome of light, as though an island stood defiant amid an endless black sea. The assault was apocalyptic, capable of reducing mountains into dust.
Yet the Earth Dominion did not yield.
Rooted in the land itself, the golden barrier remained immovable, steadfast as bedrock beneath the world. Sylas, bearing Kaiya, continuously drew upon the strength of the earth, reinforcing the dome without pause.
So long as his feet touched the soil of Middle-earth, the earth itself stood with him.
The ground trembled violently, chasms split open, mountains collapsed, rivers reversed their flow, yet the space protected by the golden light remained untouched.
At that moment, Gandalf, Galadriel, and Elrond finally suppressed the corruption threatening the Three Rings. Choosing caution over power, they sealed the Rings away and ceased using them altogether.
Even without the Rings, they remained among the mightiest beings in Middle-earth.
Gandalf struck the ground with his staff, chanting a spell that split the earth beneath the Dark Army, swallowing Orcs, Trolls, and undead in a bottomless abyss before sealing it shut once more.
Elrond leapt forward, elven blade blazing, charging straight toward Sauron like a lord of old.
Beside him, Glorfindel, radiant as the light of the Blessed Realm, surged into battle, his presence alone driving back the encroaching darkness.
Working together, wielding twin blades, Elrond and Glorfindel attacked Sauron from one flank.
At the same time, Galadriel, her aura blazing with fierce light, drew a longsword from her spatial pouch. In an instant, the serene Lady of Lórien transformed into a warrior goddess, joining the close-quarters assault against the Dark Lord.
For a brief moment, Sylas was stunned.
Seeing the elegant and noble Elf Lady now fighting like a berserker, he could not help but inwardly marvel, 'one truly should never judge by appearances'. Without hesitation, he joined the fray, striking at Sauron while simultaneously channeling the power of the Earth to shield his allies.
Meanwhile,
Far away in the countryside of Ithilien, another turning point had arrived.
With Sauron having left Mordor and marched west toward the Misty Mountains, Frodo, who had been waiting in Lórien, finally received the signal to act. Without hesitation, he bade farewell to Lord Celeborn, then, together with Sam, activated the key to the gate.
Light twisted around them.
When the world settled, they found themselves at the eastern border of Gondor, near the Shadowed Mountains, not far from Cirith Ungol, dangerously close to Mordor itself.
Beyond this gate lay the heart of the Dark Land. Beyond it stood Mount Doom.
Almost simultaneously, Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli emerged through another gate, reuniting with Frodo and Sam.
Although Sauron had taken the bulk of his forces west, Mordor was far from undefended.
The gate was swarming with Orcs. Even the ruined Morgul stronghold, once destroyed by Sylas's fire, had been reoccupied. Black crows and giant bats filled the sky, endlessly circling. Vampires, werewolves, dark sorcerers, elite Orcs, Trolls, and massive spiders lurked everywhere.
Above all of it loomed the Eye of Sauron, blazing atop its tower, constantly scanning the land. Any disturbance would be sensed instantly and relayed to Sauron himself.
This was truly a point of no return.
The five, Aragorn, Frodo, Sam, Legolas, and Gimli, pressed themselves behind a massive rock after narrowly avoiding a patrol of black crows. Peering out, they observed the Orcs massed around the gate, their numbers making Frodo's heart sink.
"There are too many," Frodo whispered anxiously. "We'll never get through."
"Why overthink it?" Gimli gripped his axe, battle-lust rising. "We carve a path straight through!"
Legolas nocked an arrow. "If we move fast, I can thin them out before they react."
Aragorn raised a hand, stopping them. "No. We must move quietly. If the alarm is raised, we are finished."
"Then what do you suggest?" Gimli muttered. "Walk through the gate and hope they don't notice us?"
Aragorn fell silent, thinking. Then his eyes lit with recognition. He reached into his spatial storage and withdrew a small vial.
"What's that?" Sam asked.
Aragorn held it up. "A potion Sylas gave me before we parted."
He uncorked it slightly.
"Polyjuice Potion. We may need it," Aragorn said calmly. "If we take the forms of Orcs, we can blend in and pass through the gate unnoticed."
The others stared, then their eyes lit up.
But before anyone could speak, Legolas stiffened.
A faint rustling sound came from behind them.
In one fluid motion, Legolas turned, bow drawn, arrow nocked, his voice sharp and deadly quiet.
"Who's there?"
..
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