The sudden disturbance immediately drew the attention of Gandalf, Arwen, and the others.
Even Aragorn and his army, still clearing the last remnants of dark forces, reacted at once. The moment signs appeared that Mount Doom was becoming active again, Aragorn immediately ordered his troops to withdraw from the eruption zone.
"What's going on?" Boromir asked anxiously as he led the Gondorian forces in the final cleansing of Mordor.
"Shouldn't Mount Doom have quieted down after Sauron's fall? Why is it erupting again so soon? Could it be… that Sauron isn't truly dead?"
"Don't worry," Gandalf said, shaking his head. His gaze was fixed on the distant crater, now stirring once more.
"I don't believe this has anything to do with Sauron, Boromir. I have a feeling… this isn't a bad sign."
After searching for Sylas for so long without success, and knowing that he had vanished within Mount Doom, Gandalf felt a faint but persistent premonition.
The volcano's renewed activity might be connected to Sylas.
And that thought filled him with quiet hope.
Mount Doom's crater boiled violently. Lava surged upward, and flames shot into the sky, forcing even the allied armies to retreat farther from the mountain.
Only a small group remained close enough to witness what followed.
Aragorn, Boromir, Legolas, Gimli, Arwen, Elrohir, Elladan, and others, some riding brooms, others mounted on eagles, griffins, hovered at a distance alongside Gandalf, Elrond, and several professors from Hogwarts Castle.
They watched in tense silence.
Mount Doom grew increasingly violent. Its peak shook incessantly, and rivers of lava leapt skyward like crimson dragons, as though the mountain were gathering all its remaining strength for a final eruption.
Just as everyone braced themselves;
A loud, clear, and melodious cry rang out from deep within the volcano.
An enormous phoenix burst forth from the crater, wings spread wide as it soared into the sky, fragments of volcanic rock cascading from its blazing body.
The phoenix was colossal, seven or eight meters tall, with a wingspan stretching twenty to thirty meters, nearly indistinguishable in size from a thunderbird or a giant eagle. Its feathers were magnificent beyond words.
Bathed in golden-red light and wrapped in shimmering, five-colored radiance, the divine phoenix burned with sacred golden flames. It shone like the sun itself, a true sun-bird reborn from fire.
Its song echoed across Mordor.
Melodious yet powerful, it carried courage, hope, and a comforting strength. Every pure-hearted soul who heard it felt renewed, fear melting away, replaced by resolve and hope.
Those burdened by malice and darkness, however, were struck with sudden terror. Dark creatures fled in panic. Even the great beast Shelob, lurking deep within the shadowed mountain ranges of Mordor, was frightened into hiding, retreating to the deepest parts of its cave.
The phoenix's emergence seemed to consume the final remnants of Mount Doom's fury.
The eruption ceased.
Underground fire was extinguished. Scorching lava cooled rapidly, hardening before the eyes of those watching. The temperature of the entire mountain dropped at a pace visible to the naked eye.
Perhaps it was only a matter of time.
In a few years, the greatest volcano of the Central Plains would become completely dormant.
High above, the phoenix circled through the darkened sky, radiating a vast, divine aura. Flames and light followed in its wake, continuously purifying the lingering corruption of Mordor.
Wherever it passed, smoke and ash dispersed, revealing a boundless, star-filled sky. Upon barren land, countless trees sprouted as if by miracle, growing tall and strong. Polluted rivers cleared, restored to pristine purity.
The sight left all who witnessed it frozen in awe, eyes wide, mouths agape, hearts shaken by disbelief.
Only Gandalf gazed upward with an expression filled with joy and blessing.
"Sylas…" he murmured.
Arwen watched the phoenix circle and dance through the sky, tears welling in her eyes. Joy and excitement overwhelmed her heart.
Riding on thunderbird, Thorondor, she urged it forward, flying straight toward the radiant figure.
Hearing Arwen's voice, the great phoenix turned and flew toward her.
As it drew closer, its immense form began to shrink.
Mid-air, light folded inward, flames dimmed, and the phoenix transformed back into human form.
Sylas hovered in the sky.
With a gentle, beautiful smile, Sylas opened his arms and embraced his wife, Arwen.
"Arwen… I'm back."
At this moment, Sylas was completely different from before.
A faint aura surrounded him, sacred, pure, and immensely powerful. Every subtle movement resonated with the natural world around him, as if magic itself responded instinctively to his presence. He did not rely on any visible power; he simply stepped forward, walked calmly through the air, and landed upon the back of the thunderbird, gently drawing Arwen into his arms.
"I made you worry," he said softly.
Arwen shook her head.
Understanding him completely, she did not ask what he had endured during those days. Instead, she studied him closely, her eyes filled with affection, confirming that he was truly unharmed.
"It's enough that you're back," she said quietly. "Elseth and Elroth missed you terribly."
Hearing the names of his children, a warm light flickered in Sylas's eyes.
"I miss them too," he replied. "Let's go home, right away."
His gaze briefly swept across the countless dark creatures still scattered across the land below. With Sauron defeated, there was no longer any need for him to intervene.
After Sylas and Arwen finished their quiet reunion, a familiar chuckle sounded nearby.
Riding forward on his staff, Gandalf approached. He studied Sylas carefully, his expression filled with awe, admiration, and genuine joy.
"Congratulations, Sylas," Gandalf said warmly.
"I never expected you to take this step so quickly, to reach a realm of power comparable to the greatest beings. This is an achievement without equal."
"Thank you, Gandalf," Sylas replied modestly. "I was simply… fortunate."
But in truth, his heart was overflowing with joy.
Gandalf's praise was not exaggerated.
From the dawn of Elves and Men until the present age, across countless millennia, only a handful had ever shattered the shackles of the soul, transcending mortality and achieving true sublimation.
One such figure was Eärendil, the half-elven father of Elrond.
During the First Age, Eärendil crossed the Great Sea to Valinor, pleading with the Valar for aid against Morgoth. His voyage directly led to the War of Wrath.
In that final war, Eärendil slew Ancalagon, the greatest of all dragons. When Ancalagon fell, his vast body shattered the peaks of Thangorodrim, crushing Morgoth's stronghold of Angband and securing victory for the West.
After the war, Eärendil bore the Silmaril upon his brow and sailed the heavens in the hallowed vessel Vingilot, becoming the Star of Hope, Eärendil's Star.
The other was Glorfindel, Lord of the Golden Flower of Gondolin.
After Gondolin's fall, Glorfindel fought a Balrog alone upon the mountain pass. He perished together with the demon, sacrificing himself so that others might escape. Because of the worth of his sacrifice, Glorfindel was granted reincarnation by the Valar, returning to Middle-earth with power greatly enhanced, one of the very few allowed such a fate.
These two had shattered the limits of their souls and attained a transcendent state beyond ordinary Elves.
And now, Sylas had achieved the same.
But unlike them, he had done so within only a few decades.
Even for Eärendil and Glorfindel, both of Elven blood, their ascension had required long ages of refinement and transformation. Such rapid advancement left even Gandalf filled with admiration.
After all, neither Elrond nor Galadriel had ever crossed that final threshold.
Galadriel, widely regarded as the most powerful Elf remaining in Middle-earth, stood closer to that realm than any other, yet she had never taken that last step.
And now, at this moment, Sylas stood as the most powerful being in Middle-earth.
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