When Elseth's figure finally vanished beyond the horizon, the composure Arwen had forced herself to maintain shattered completely.
Tears she had been holding back for far too long streamed down her face.
This farewell was not like the others.
This time, there was no turning back.
Perhaps… it was even a final goodbye.
How could a mother accept such a thing?
Sylas felt the pain just as deeply. He pulled Arwen into his arms, holding her tightly, and whispered with gentle firmness:
"Don't be sad, my love. This separation is only temporary. Believe me, we will meet again."
"Really…?"
Arwen lifted her tear-streaked face, her eyes filled with longing and fragile hope.
"Really," Sylas replied without hesitation. "Trust me."
By ancient custom, once one left the Central Continent and sailed to Valinor, returning was nearly impossible. But Sylas knew better than anyone that nothing in this world was truly absolute.
If he grew strong enough, If his power reached the level of a true transcendent existence, then returning to the Central Continent would be nothing more than a matter of will.
This journey west was not merely to behold the land of the gods.
It was also a path of ascension.
In the Central Continent, reaching the his current realm was already the absolute limit. For five hundred years, Sylas had searched relentlessly, exploring ancient ruins, summoning powerful souls of the past with the Resurrection Stone, and using the palantíri to witness history firsthand.
With his current power, he had even traced back the Wrathful Battle of the First Era, witnessing mountains collapsing, continents sinking, and the world itself trembling before divine fury.
Yet no matter how deeply he searched, no further path revealed itself.
If he wished to grow stronger, Valinor was the only answer.
With his present power, Sylas was already invincible within the Central Continent. Immortality was secured; he could have remained there until the world's end if he wished.
But there was still one mystery he could not unravel.
The true origins within his body.
Even now, despite his strength, Sylas could not locate its, not in his flesh, not in his soul. It was as if it did not exist at all.
And so he suspected the truth:
This origin belonged to a far higher order of existence.
Only when his power surpassed that of a mere transcendent, only when he approached the realm of true cosmic entities, would he be able to comprehend it.
Moreover, he had already marked every place in the Central Continent that could be marked.
To mark anything beyond, he would have to reach Valinor.
The silver-white ship sped westward across the vast ocean, its chimneys constantly venting steam that trailed like mist across the sea.
Waves crashed relentlessly against its hull.
On the boundless ocean, the massive vessel looked almost fragile, like a lone boat that could be overturned and swallowed at any moment.
Yet the helmsman showed no fear.
The ship pressed forward, cutting through wind and waves alike, unwavering on its course.
To Arwen and Elroth, nothing seemed unusual. They felt only the steady passage westward across the sea.
But Sylas could sense the truth.
This ship was no longer sailing upon a normal horizon.
It was leaving the world itself.
Layer by layer, it passed through folded space, slipping into another dimension beyond mortal comprehension.
Soon, torrential rain descended, so dense it obscured everything, making it impossible to see even one's own hand. Direction became meaningless; only a faint, irresistible summons from the West guided them onward.
The violent waves vanished.
In their place came an uncanny stillness.
It felt as though the ship were gliding across a perfectly calm sea, one without ripples, without sound, without time.
The rain continued for an entire month.
During that time, Sylas, Arwen, and Elroth remained indoors, sheltered from the endless downpour.
Then, one day, a fragrance drifted through the air.
Cool, yet warm. Sweet, yet pure.
The scent of flowers, and nectar.
The fresh scent of grass, living plants, and morning dew filled their lungs.
Almost instantly, the weariness that had accumulated throughout the long voyage began to fade. Muscles loosened, minds cleared, and a deep sense of comfort spread through body and soul alike. Without realizing it, their spirits lifted.
At the same time, soft singing drifted from the surrounding waters.
The melody was gentle and ethereal, as if it rose from the sea itself, clear, layered, and impossibly beautiful, like celestial music echoing from another world.
Then, without warning, the rain transformed.
The falling droplets shattered into countless shimmering silver fragments, like broken glass suspended in the air. They dissolved before touching the deck, and warm sunlight poured down once more. Bathed in this light, the Silver Ship reflected a cool, moonlike radiance, scattering beams of silver and white across the sea.
Sylas, Arwen, and Elroth stepped out of the cabin and walked toward the bow.
What greeted them was a sight so unreal that even Sylas, who had seen the rise and fall of ages, fell silent.
The vast blue sea before them looked like an enormous, flawless gemstone, clear and radiant, reflecting countless colors from the sky above. Within the waters swam many mermaids.
Their faces were as exquisite as those of elves, their hair flowing like fresh blossoms, snow-white, silver, and softly glowing. Pale arms reached gracefully above the water's surface as they sang, their voices weaving together into a song that stirred the heart and beckoned the soul, making one instinctively want to leap into the sea and embrace them.
Their upper bodies were breathtakingly beautiful, while their lower bodies were clad in shimmering, iridescent scales. Their long tails flashed with countless hues as they slipped in and out of the waves, appearing and vanishing like living light.
The mermaids followed alongside the great ship, clinging playfully to its sides as they sang, guiding it onward.
Above them, the sky was no longer the deep blue of the Central Continent. Instead, it carried a soft, translucent golden hue, gentle and serene. The sun hung low and impossibly close, yet its light was neither harsh nor scorching. It fell like a thin veil of warmth, hazy and tender, dyeing the sea with brilliance like shattered diamonds.
Ahead stretched an endless coastline.
The sand was pristine white, untouched by time or mortal feet, each grain as fine as crushed pearls. Beyond the shore, gentle slopes rose upward, covered in strange and beautiful plants never seen in the Central Continent.
Higher still stood forests of towering trees with sturdy trunks and branches. Their bark was silvery gray, their leaves glowing gold, the vast Mallorn Forest of Aman, far grander and more ancient than even Lórien's Golden Forest. Under the sunlight, the leaves reflected countless specks of golden light, illuminating the land like a sacred tapestry.
Beyond the forest rose an immense mountain range, stretching endlessly into the distance.
These peaks dwarfed even the Misty Mountains. Their stone was not dark or somber, but pale, almost milky white. Snow-capped summits gleamed softly under the sun, radiating a holy brilliance. The highest peaks were wrapped in drifting mist, from which faint echoes of sacred, celestial music could be heard.
This was the end of the long, winding path.
The continent of Aman.
The land where Valinor lay.
The Silver Ship glided onward, crossing the final stretch of sea before entering a breathtaking bay on Aman's eastern coast. There stood a natural stone arch rising from the ocean itself, carved by ages beyond memory. Above it, stars shone clearly even in daylight.
This was Swan Harbor.
Along the flawless white shore lay countless treasures scattered as though abandoned by the gods, pearls, crystal-clear diamonds, egg-white stones, and glittering gems, as numerous as grains of sand.
Palaces of milky white stone rose along the coast, adorned with the finest pearls and gemstones, making Swan Harbor unimaginably beautiful. At the docks floated many ships shaped like swans, their beaks forged of gold, their eyes set with gold and black jade. Their snow-white hulls made them resemble enormous swans gliding upon the sea.
Graceful, elf-like beings moved throughout the harbor. Their hair shone with silver-white or rainbow-golden light, their expressions calm and radiant, their steps so light it seemed they barely touched the ground.
Círdan guided the Silver Ship beneath the great stone arch and slowly brought it to rest beside a dock of pristine white stone. Elf crew members moved with practiced ease, securing the ship and lowering the gangway.
Sylas took Arwen's hand, with Elroth following close behind, and stepped onto the land of Aman.
On the dock ahead, a group of figures had already gathered, waiting.
...
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