In the East.
The sky cracked open. Not clouds. Not a storm.
But as if… the sky were just a thin layer of skin.
From that tear—Mordor crawled up.
Not built.
Not born.
But dragged up.
Volcanoes rose from the earth like bone piercing flesh.
Lava poured out like the hot blood of the world.
Cities collapsed and burned. Thousands died instantly. Those who survived… wished they could die too.
The lava didn't just flow—it crawled. Slowly. Patiently. Seeking its unfortunate prey.
Roars rose from the cracks and from hell crawled out ancient demons.
Orcs and Uruk killed anyone nearby. Trolls destroyed buildings.
Goblins and Gremlin crawled out of the ruined sewers. Morgul bats covered the sky.
Wolves hunted the scent of fear.
There was no mercy. No war. Only slaughter.
In the dark hall of Barad-dûr.
Sauron held Seraphelle's hand.
There was no music.
Only screams from miles away. The clanging of metal. The roars of beasts. But they didn't care; they simply danced to a slow waltz.
They danced.
Slowly. Close. As if they were the only two people left.
Seraphelle pressed her forehead against Sauron's.
"Finally…"
Sauron squeezed her hand.
"Finally."
The One Ring blazed—not for power, but for synchronicity.
In that moment—Mordor was not just land.
But will.
And that will… was theirs.
Wonderland.
Alice walked through the living chess garden.
No one dared stop her.
She looked toward the Queen of Hearts' castle. With each step—memories surged.
A young man.
He raised a seed. A sapling sprouted—not just a tree.
But a vow to live, loyalty to the Valar. To the light. To the order of the world.
A great hall.
Warriors stood in rows. Hands on their chests. Swearing to wipe out evil… even at the cost of their lives.
Alice stopped.
The wind blew through the rose garden.
She remembered an elf king.
Eyes as bright as stars.
A voice like pure metal.
Golden armor. A gleaming spear. A silver shield.
She whispered:
"Gil-galad…"
Neverland still glowed brightly in the golden afternoon light—a light that never seemed to age.
Peter was smiling.
He circled above Wendy. The Lost Boys cheered below, throwing leaves, hurling rocks, pretending to fight imaginary monsters.
A perfect day.
Then—
The sound came. Not a voice. Not a physical sound.
But…the memory of a name.
Peter froze in mid-air, staggering.
He clutched his head.
The image flashed—
A battlefield under a black sky.
A spear shining like the dawn.
A flag never seen before…but painfully familiar.
"No…" Peter whispered.
Then he fell, Wendy screamed, the Lost Boys and Tinker Bell rushed to him.
Peter was unconscious, but his lips trembled slightly.
"…ga…lad…"
Further away—where the Neverland coast met the black ocean.
A ship anchored silently.
No laughter. No cursing. No drunken sounds.
The sailors stood straight—motionless.
Empty eyes. Pale skin. Like breathing puppets.
Hook stood at the bow.
His black cloak swayed gently in the wind. His eyes—no longer human eyes.
Behind him, the darkness flickered like smoke. Smee stood to one side.
Trembling.
"Captain…" Smee whispered.
"…are…are you alright?"
Hook didn't turn.
His voice was deep—old—like an echo from a grave.
"Finally…"
He looked toward the Neverland forest.
"…I've found you, Peter."
Smee swallowed hard.
For a moment—he didn't see Hook.
He saw… someone else.
Taller.
Colder.
More ancient.
To the North.
The sky turned steely gray.
The Witch-king stood on a rocky outcrop.
Her cloak billowed like living smoke.
Seven Nazgul knelt behind her.
Snow White—no longer Snow White.
The crown of darkness hovered above her head—untouched—yet present. The Witch-king's voice rang out—no need to shout.
"All troops."
The ground shook. The army moved.
Orcs. Uruk. Wargs. Morgul bats. Graug. Carrargor.
Nameless things.
Towards—Rapunzel's kingdom.
A land of white towers. Golden meadows. Sunlight untouched by war.
Unknown.
In the tallest tower. Rapunzel was combing her hair. Sunlight reflected through each golden strand.
Unknown. Far—far away—dark clouds gathered in a swirling vortex.
In Mordor.
Seraphelle stood before the highest balcony. Sauron was behind her—his hand on her waist.
Like king and queen. Like two halves of the same will.
Seraphelle smiled. A smile so beautiful it was painful.
"Rapunzel…" she whispered.
She imagined that golden hair.
Not to be cut. Not to be destroyed.
But to… immortality.
Sauron looked at her. "You want her?"
Seraphelle rested her head against his chest.
"I want her to be something that will never be forgotten."
A moment of silence.
The One Ring glowed—gently—as if in agreement.
Sauron nodded. "Then she will be the gift."
Far away in Neverland.
Peter lay unconscious.
The wind rustled through the leaves.
Far—far away—a spear trembled slightly.
As if waiting. Not Peter Pan. Not the boy who never grew up.
But…
something older than Neverland's destiny.
And on the dark ocean—
Hook's ship silently raised its anchor.
There was no singing. Only the creaking of wood…
…as it knew this journey would be a one-way trip.