Everyone present was deeply curious about Sylas's extraordinary experience at Mount Doom.
Surrounded by Arwen and Galadriel, Sylas sat down on a soft, comfortable sofa. After a brief moment of contemplation, he began to recount what had happened.
"At that time, I rushed straight to Mount Doom," he said calmly.
"The Ring had already fallen into the hands of the Balrog. It was far stronger than I expected, I was no match for it. And Sauron was on the verge of returning…"
"To stop the Ring from falling back into Sauron's hands, I collapsed Mount Doom itself, choosing to fall into the lava together with the Balrog."
Hearing this, Elseth and Elroth both gasped softly, their faces pale as they clutched Sylas's arm, hearts still trembling.
Although her husband had returned safely, Arwen felt a chill run through her as she listened. The others rose instinctively, their expressions grave.
Sylas gave Arwen a gentle, reassuring smile before continuing.
"After falling into the lava, I transformed into my phoenix form to survive and continue fighting the Balrog. But once the Ring was destroyed in the fire, it triggered the most violent eruption Mount Doom had ever seen…"
"The primordial flame from the earth's core erupted, hotter than any fire I had ever encountered. Even the Balrog couldn't withstand it."
"I couldn't escape either."
"When my body was destroyed, my soul followed the flow of molten lava, descending straight into the depths of the earth."
"There, I saw something unimaginably radiant, a treasure, blazing with heat. It was the very source of the earth's core flames… the origin of Mount Doom itself."
"My soul was drawn to it. I remained there for seven days, immersed in its light. My soul became purer… stronger…"
"And when the volcano erupted, I returned to the surface, reborn through fire and stone, fused with the earth's flame."
"Nirvana," Sylas concluded softly.
"Rebirth through destruction."
Everyone present was utterly absorbed by his account.
But when Sylas mentioned the treasure, Gandalf, Elrond, and Galadriel all stirred, their eyes brightening.
"Elven treasure… deep within the earth?" Elrond exclaimed.
"Could it be that?"
Sylas nodded slowly.
"I believe so. Other than that legendary creation… I can think of no gem with such radiance and power."
In ancient times, Fëanor forged three sacred jewels, the Silmarils.
After Morgoth stole them, one was set into his Iron Crown.
Later, the mortal hero Beren and the elven princess Lúthien infiltrated Morgoth's fortress and reclaimed a Silmaril. Through countless trials, it eventually came into the hands of Eärendil, becoming Eärendil's Star, the brightest light in the heavens.
After Morgoth's defeat in the War of Wrath, the remaining two Silmarils were taken by Fëanor's surviving sons, Maedhros and Maglor.
But stained by blood and bound by the Doom of their house, the Silmarils burned them unbearably.
Maedhros, driven to despair, cast himself, together with his Silmaril, into a fiery chasm of the earth, where it sank forever into the world's depths.
Maglor, in equal torment, cast the last Silmaril into the sea, where it was lost beneath the endless waves.
Thus, the three Silmarils returned to sky, earth, and sea, becoming eternal legends of Middle-earth.
And Mount Doom, the greatest volcano of the world, connected directly to the deepest fires of the earth.
Sylas, reborn through Nirvana, had been drawn by fate to the Silmaril hidden within the earth's core, bathing his soul in its light and achieving instant transcendence.
When Sylas finished speaking, the room fell into stunned silence.
Sylas shifted the conversation toward Gandalf, Elrond, and Galadriel.
He noticed at once that the Elven Rings they wore had lost their former radiance. Where once they had been veiled and untouchable, now they were plainly visible, three exquisite yet ordinary rings, devoid of any power.
"Lady Galadriel, Lord Elrond," Sylas asked solemnly, "now that the power of the Elven Rings has faded, what are your plans?"
Both Lothlórien and Rivendell had preserved their beauty and timeless serenity through the power of the Three Rings. With The One Ring destroyed, that sustaining power had vanished as well.
The last great Elven realms of Middle-earth could no longer remain unchanged. Their decline was inevitable, and with it, the Elves would lose their final sanctuaries in these lands.
Elrond and Galadriel had long prepared themselves for this outcome. When they chose to destroy the One Ring, they had already accepted the price.
Galadriel sighed softly and spoke with calm resolve.
"The Age of the Elves has ended. The Age of Men is now at hand. This is a fate we must accept."
"I have already sensed the summons from the West," she continued."I will board the next ship and depart Middle-earth."
Elrond nodded.
"The Elves of Rivendell are also preparing to leave, one by one. In time, the last Elf will depart from Imladris."
"And so," he said quietly, "we begin our journey into the West."
A heavy silence settled over the room.
Though they had long known this day would come, leaving one's homeland was never easy. Even if the destination was the Blessed Realm beyond the Sea, no one departed without sorrow.
Gandalf, however, seemed lighter than he had in centuries. Since Sauron's fall, an immense burden had lifted from his spirit. Even the fading of Narya did nothing to dim his good humor.
Smiling, he turned to Sylas.
"Sylas, by all rights, you should now be qualified to enter the Blessed Realm. Have you sensed the summons from the West?"
The others looked toward Sylas with open curiosity.
Sylas paused, slightly startled. He closed his eyes, concentrating carefully. After a moment, he opened them again, uncertainty flickering in his gaze.
"I can sense… a distant location," he said slowly.
"It lies beyond the western seas. The feeling is faint, and I have to focus to perceive it, but it's there. Is that the summons?"
Gandalf smiled and nodded.
"Congratulations, Sylas. All who are permitted to enter Valinor can sense its presence and follow that guidance across the Sea. The fact that you can perceive it means the Lords of the West have granted you leave to come."
Elrond and Galadriel also offered their congratulations. Though they had expected such an outcome, hearing it confirmed still brought them joy.
After all, Sylas was neither an Elf nor one born in Valinor. To be granted the right to enter the Blessed Realm was itself a rare and glorious honor.
Sylas felt a surge of happiness. He had long been curious about Valinor, the land where the Valar dwelled.
Still, he turned at once to his wife.
"Arwen," he asked gently, "have you sensed the summons as well?"
Arwen smiled and nodded.
"Yes."
By choosing the fate of the Elves at the time of her marriage, Arwen had retained the right to sail West. The summons had come to her as well.
...
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