[Unknown. Unknown Time. Darkness]
Awareness came like drowning in reverse.
First, the body—limbs, torso, head. Heavy, unresponsive. Then something else. A warmth that wasn't warmth. Light that wasn't light. Energy humming beneath skin I couldn't feel.
What the hell?
Darkness pressed in from all sides. I tried to move.
Nothing.
Tried to speak.
Nothing.
Panic clawed up my throat. Was I paralyzed? Dead? Was this—
Pressure. Sudden and overwhelming, pushing, forcing me somewhere I didn't want to go. The darkness fractured. Light seared through the cracks, blinding and brutal.
Cold air hit wet skin.
My lungs ignited.
I screamed.
—•——•——•——•——•——•—
[Cuiviénen. The Years of the Trees. Night]
The woman cradled the bundle against her chest, silver hair plastered to her face with sweat. Exhaustion lined every feature, yet her eyes—gray as winter dawn—shone with fierce joy.
"Beloved Enel," she whispered. "Our fourth son."
The man beside her leaned close, one hand on her shoulder, the other hovering over the infant's head. His hair matched hers—silver catching starlight through the window.
When he smiled, it was soft. Wondering.
"Look at his eyes, Enelyë. Like captured stars."
"He will be strong." Her voice held certainty. "I feel it. The Light in him burns bright."
Enel nodded slowly. His hand finally descended, fingers brushing the baby's brow. The infant—still screaming—calmed at the touch.
"His fate will be great. I am certain of this."
"I hope so. I believe so." Enelyë shifted, wincing. "We should show him to his brothers."
Enel rose reluctantly, pressing a kiss to her forehead before moving to the door. Moments later, he returned with three boys trailing behind—two tall and gangly, one still small enough to peek around his father's leg.
"Children." Enel's voice carried quiet pride. "Meet your new brother."
The eldest stepped forward first, silver hair falling past his shoulders. "His eyes are like stars," Elwë observed, tilting his head. "Just like ours."
"His hair too," added the second son, Olwë. "Silver as mountain snow."
The youngest—Elmo—bounced on his toes. "He screamed really loud!"
"That's good." Enel chuckled, ruffling Elmo's hair. "It means he's strong. Healthy."
"What will we name him?" Enelyë's gaze found her husband's. Expectant.
Enel turned to the window. Beyond it, the great lake stretched vast and still beneath stars that seemed close enough to touch. Their reflections danced on black water, silver-white and perfect.
He closed his eyes. Listening.
The lake's surface rippled.
Wind rushed through the open window—sudden, fierce—tangling hair and tugging at clothing. It smelled of water and stone and something older than memory. The infant stirred in Enelyë's arms, eyes opening to reveal irises that caught and held the starlight.
Under the wind's howl and the lake's churning whisper, Enel spoke.
"Selas."
The wind died.
The lake stilled.
"Selas, son of Enel and Enelyë, of the Nelyar." He turned back, something like awe softening his features. "Fourth-born of my house."
"It's a good name." Enelyë smiled through tears. "It suits him."
"Come." Enel gestured to the boys. "Your mother needs rest."
They filed out quietly. Elmo cast one last curious glance at his new brother—those too-bright eyes, that strange stillness after such screaming.
Enel paused in the doorway, looking back at mother and child, then to the window where stars gleamed over still waters.
He smiled.
His son would be great. He knew it.
—•——•——•——•——•——•—
I was born.
Actually born. As in—exited a womb, got slapped on the ass (metaphorically), the whole deal.
Fantastic.
It took longer than I'd like to admit for the reality to sink in. Days? Weeks? Time felt wrong here. Slippery. But eventually, between feeding and sleeping and staring at the wooden ceiling of our dwelling, the pieces clicked into place.
And "years" meant something else entirely. In the Years of the Trees, time was stretched—one "year" could swallow nearly a decade of the life I'd known. Enough for a child to grow, for habits to harden, for a whole people to change… slowly, almost without noticing.
Quendi. Elves.
Nelyar. The Third Kindred. Also called Lindar—the Singers—because we learned music before speech. In the future, we'd be named Teleri. The Last.
My name was Selas.
And I was completely, utterly screwed.
This wasn't Earth. This was Arda. Middle-earth. The world where actual gods walked around, where wars lasted centuries, where one cranky Vala could plunge entire continents into darkness for kicks.
I was in Tolkien's world.
Pre-First Age. The Years of the Trees. Before the sun. Before the moon. Before elves did anything except sit by a lake and contemplate their navels.
My second chance at life had dropped me into the earliest—and perhaps most pivotal—era of the most dangerous fantasy world ever written.
I should've been terrified.
Instead, I was… excited?
—•——•——•——•——•——•—
[Cuiviénen. Early Years. Morning]
[Selas POV]
Babies are useless.
I'd known this intellectually. But living it? Different story entirely. My body barely responded to commands. Hands flailed randomly. Legs kicked without direction. My head lolled like a drunken bowling ball.
The only thing that worked properly was my brain—racing at a thousand miles per hour while trapped in a meat prison that couldn't even roll over.
Maddening.
At least I could observe. Study. Plan.
Our home smelled of woodsmoke and dried herbs. One large room, a fire pit at its center where embers glowed orange-red, smoke curling lazy spirals toward the hole in the thatched roof. Sleeping pallets lined the walls—furs and woven grasses that rustled when anyone shifted. Tools hung from wooden pegs: stone-tipped spears, carved bowls worn smooth from use, strips of leather in various stages of tanning.
Primitive. But not crude.
The craftsmanship was… odd. Perfect, in a way that shouldn't be possible with stone-age technology. The spear shafts were absolutely straight. The bowls' curves were flawless. Even the leather strips were uniform in thickness.
Elven bullshit. Had to be.
Through the open doorway, I glimpsed the settlement. Twenty, maybe thirty structures scattered without pattern among massive trees. No roads, no walls. Just dwellings placed wherever whim dictated.
And beyond—always visible, always present—the lake.
Cuiviénen. The Water of Awakening.
Birthplace of all Quendi.
It stretched to the horizon, vast and impossibly clear. At night, stars reflected on its surface so perfectly you couldn't tell where sky ended and water began. The water gleamed like polished obsidian streaked with silver fire.
Beautiful.
Deadly, if I didn't play my cards right.
Because I knew what was coming. The Sundering. The Great Journey. The choice that would split the Quendi into Eldar and Avari—those who followed the Valar to Aman, and those who refused.
I had to choose.
Follow the gods to their blessed realm and maybe—maybe—survive what came next? Or stay behind, refuse the call, and try to build something from the ashes of the Avari—the "Unwilling" who'd be forgotten by history?
The smart choice was obvious.
Follow the Valar. Go to Valinor. Live in paradise under the light of the Two Trees.
But I'd never been good at smart choices.
—•——•——•——•——•——•—
[Some years later. Afternoon]
"He's restless."
My mother's voice drifted through the open door. I was outside—finally, after years of being carried everywhere like luggage—sitting on soft grass and trying to figure out how my new body worked.
"He's curious." My father's deeper voice. "All children are curious."
"Not like this." A pause. "Watch."
I felt their gazes. Turned my head to find both parents standing in the doorway, observing me with identical expressions of bemused concern.
I waved.
My mother laughed—bright and startled. My father's lips twitched.
"See?" Enelyë gestured at me. "What elfling waves?"
"Ours, apparently." Enel crossed his arms, but his eyes crinkled with suppressed humor. "Perhaps it's a good thing. The world won't wait forever. Maybe our son knows this."
"Or maybe he's just strange."
"That too."
They disappeared back inside, voices fading to murmurs.
Later that night, I caught my mother watching me again. Not with amusement this time.
With something else. Something that looked almost like… recognition? As if she'd glimpsed something behind my eyes that shouldn't be there.
She looked away before I could name it.
—•——•——•——•——•——•—
I turned back to my task: standing up.
It should've been simple. Every toddler on Earth managed it eventually. But my body was different here—lighter, more flexible, but also less… immediate. Like there was a lag between thought and action.
Deep breath.
I pushed up on shaky legs. Made it halfway before my knees buckled.
Grass cushioned the fall.
Again.
This time I got three-quarters of the way up before toppling sideways.
Again.
And again.
And—
"You're doing it wrong."
The voice was high, childish, and came from directly behind me. I twisted around—too fast, lost balance, landed on my ass—to find a small figure standing there.
A girl. Maybe four years old by human standards, though who knew with elves. Golden hair cascaded past her shoulders in waves that caught the starlight. Her eyes were blue. Deep blue. Ocean blue.
She tilted her head, studying me like I was a particularly interesting bug.
"You're strange," she announced.
I blinked.
"All the other children sit and watch the stars. But you keep falling down." She crouched beside me. "Why?"
Because I'm trying to stand, I wanted to say. Because I'm not actually a child and being trapped in this tiny body is driving me insane.
Instead, I shrugged.
She frowned. "You don't talk much either."
Another shrug.
"Hmm." She circled me slowly, like a predator sizing up prey. Then, without warning, she grabbed my arm and hauled upward. "Come on. I'll help."
I almost fell again from surprise. Her grip was strong—absurdly strong for someone so small—and she adjusted her hold with the ease of long practice.
"There." She released me once I'd found my balance. Stepped back, arms crossed, evaluating. "Better."
I wobbled but stayed upright.
"You're welcome." She smiled—bright and sudden, like sun breaking through clouds. "I'm Ilvëa. Who are you?"
"Selas," I managed. The word came out rough, unpracticed. I hadn't spoken much yet. Hadn't seen the point.
"Selas." She tested it, rolling the syllables around. "From the Nelyar, right? I'm Minyar. We woke up first, before everyone else. That makes us special."
I bit back a laugh. Tribal pride already, and we weren't even out of diapers yet.
"Can you walk now?" she asked.
"Working on it."
"Good. When you can walk, we'll play." She spun on her heel, golden hair flying. "I'll come back tomorrow!"
And she was gone—sprinting toward the cluster of dwellings on the far side of the settlement where the Minyar made their homes.
The Vanyar, I thought. That's what they'll be called. Eventually.
I stood there, still wobbling, and wondered what the hell just happened.
—•——•——•——•——•——•—
[Years later. Evening]
Walking turned to running.
Running turned to climbing.
Climbing turned to swimming in the shallows of Cuiviénen while my mother watched from shore, equal parts amused and exasperated.
I couldn't help it.
Stillness felt like death. Every elf around me seemed content to spend hours—days—doing nothing. Watching stars. Listening to wind. Singing wordless melodies that somehow everyone knew.
Beautiful. Peaceful.
Boring as hell.
So I moved. Explored. Pushed my body to its limits and found, to my delight, that those limits were far beyond anything human.
I could sprint for hours without tiring. Climb trees that should've been impossible. Hold my breath underwater until my lungs burned, then surface gasping but ready to dive again.
The other elflings noticed.
Some watched from a distance, curious but wary. Others—mostly from my own kindred, the Nelyar—started joining in. Hesitant at first, then with growing enthusiasm.
"Race you to the big oak!" Novë shouted one afternoon, already running.
I grinned and gave chase.
Novë was Nelyar like me—silver-haired and lean, with a laugh that came easy and often. We'd gravitated toward each other naturally, drawn by shared restlessness.
Behind us, Denethor—quieter, more thoughtful—kept pace without complaint.
The three of us tore through the settlement, dodging bemused adults and startled birds, until we reached the massive oak at the forest's edge. I won by half a length, but only because Novë tripped over a root.
"Not fair!" He sprawled in the grass, grinning despite the mud stains. "You cheated."
"Didn't touch you."
"You exist. That's cheating enough."
Denethor arrived moments later, barely winded. "You're both ridiculous."
"You still ran," I pointed out.
"Someone has to keep you two alive."
We collapsed in a heap beneath the oak, breathless and laughing. Above, stars peeked through branches—constant, eternal, unchanging.
For a moment, I let myself just exist.
Enjoy this.
Because I knew it wouldn't last.
—•——•——•——•——•——•—
[Same period. Dusk]
[Elmo POV]
Something was different about Selas.
Elmo had noticed it for years now—ever since their youngest brother had been an infant with eyes too old for his face. He'd never said anything. Who would believe him? *Our baby brother thinks too much* wasn't exactly a compelling argument.
But he watched. That was his gift, Father said. Seeing what others missed.
And what he saw in Selas made no sense.
From his perch in a low-hanging branch, Elmo observed his brother lead a group of children through one of his strange games. Running. Jumping. Throwing stones at targets scratched into bark.
The other elflings followed Selas's instructions with eager focus. Even Ilvëa—the golden-haired Minyar girl who'd attached herself to their group—moved with purpose instead of her usual dreamy wandering.
"He's at it again?"
Elmo glanced down. Olwë stood at the base of the tree, arms crossed, watching the same scene.
"When isn't he?"
"Fair point." Olwë hoisted himself onto a neighboring branch. "What do you think he's doing?"
"I don't know." Elmo frowned. "But it looks like… training?"
"Training for what?"
That was the question, wasn't it?
Below, Selas demonstrated a throwing technique—weight shifting, arm snapping forward, stone flying true to hit the target dead center. The other children tried to copy him. Most failed. Selas corrected them patiently, adjusting grips and stances with the confidence of someone who'd done this a thousand times.
"He's never thrown a stone wrong," Elmo said quietly. "Have you noticed? Everything he does, he does perfectly. Like he already knows how."
Olwë was silent for a moment.
"Maybe he's just talented."
"Maybe."
But Elmo didn't believe it. Talent explained skill. It didn't explain the way Selas sometimes stared at the horizon with ancient eyes, or how he'd mutter words in his sleep that sounded like no language any elf had ever spoken.
Their brother was hiding something.
Elmo just wished he knew what.
—•——•——•——•——•——•—
[Later that evening]
[Selas POV]
As twilight settled over Cuiviénen, I slipped away from the settlement. Headed for my secret place—a small cove on the lake's far shore, hidden behind a tumble of boulders.
I'd discovered it months ago while exploring. No one came here. Too far from the main settlement, too isolated.
Perfect.
I settled on smooth stone, legs crossed, and closed my eyes.
The Light was always there. Humming beneath my skin, radiating outward like body heat. Every elf glowed with it—soft, constant, unconscious.
A waste.
If Light was energy—and I was certain it was—then constantly bleeding it into the environment was insane. Like leaving every faucet in your house running 24/7.
So I'd been practicing. Trying to hold it in. Keep it inside instead of letting it disperse.
It wasn't easy.
The Light wanted to radiate. That was its nature. Pulling it back felt like trying to hold water in cupped hands—possible, but requiring constant focus.
I breathed in. Visualized the Light as liquid, flowing through channels I couldn't see.
Breathe out.
Imagine those channels closing. Sealing. Holding everything inside.
In.
Out.
In.
Sweat beaded on my forehead. My hands trembled. But slowly—so slowly—the glow around my body dimmed. Faded. Vanished.
In the darkness, I smiled.
Got you.
I held it for ten seconds before my concentration slipped and the Light burst outward in a rush. But ten seconds was nine more than yesterday.
Progress.
I tried again. And again. Each time holding slightly longer, feeling the Light pool inside me like water behind a dam.
Hours passed. Stars wheeled overhead. The lake lapped gently at stone.
When I finally opened my eyes, the sky had shifted—whatever passed for dawn in this world of eternal starlight was breaking.
And I felt… different.
Stronger.
More.
I stood, stretched, and noticed something odd. The Light around me—when I released it—seemed brighter than before. As if compressing it had somehow increased its intensity.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
I filed that information away and headed back toward the settlement, mind already racing with possibilities.
If Light could be stored—could it be shaped? Directed?
Used?
Only one way to find out.
The path home wound through ancient trees, their branches heavy with leaves that never fell. Somewhere in the distance, an elf was singing—a wordless melody that seemed to rise from the land itself.
I paused at the settlement's edge.
The dwellings sprawled before me, smoke rising from a dozen fires, figures moving between structures in the unhurried way of the Quendi. My people. My family.
My responsibility, whether they knew it or not.
The Sundering would come. Oromë would arrive with his invitation, and the elves would split—some following the Valar west, others staying behind to be forgotten by history.
I knew which group I'd belong to.
But the Avari wouldn't be forgotten. Not this time.
I'd make sure of it.
—•——•——•——•——•——•—
[End of Chapter 1]
GLOSSARY
For those who wish to delve deeper into the world and its terminology. This glossary covers key terms from Tolkien's legendarium that appear in this chapter. Reading it is entirely optional—the story is designed to be understood without prior knowledge—but it may enrich your experience.
PEOPLES & KINDREDS
Quendi (KWEN-dee) – The elven word for "those who speak with voices." The name the Elves call themselves. All Elves are Quendi, though they later divided into many different groups.
Nelyar (NEL-yar) – "The Third." The third and largest group of Elves to awaken at Cuiviénen. Also called the Lindar ("Singers") by themselves, and later named Teleri ("The Last") during the Great Journey.
Minyar (MIN-yar) – "The First." The smallest group of Elves, first to awaken. Later called Vanyar ("The Fair Ones") for their golden hair and beauty.
Tattyar (TAT-yar) – "The Second." The second group to awaken. Later called Noldor ("The Wise") for their skill in crafts and lore.
Eldar (EL-dar) – "People of the Stars." The name given to Elves who accepted the Valar's summons and began the Great Journey to Aman. Divided from the Avari at the Sundering.
Avari (ah-VAR-ee) – "The Unwilling" or "The Refusers." Elves who refused the summons of the Valar and remained in Middle-earth. Our protagonist will lead a group of these.
DIVINE BEINGS
Eru Ilúvatar (EH-roo ill-OO-vah-tar) – "The One, Father of All." The supreme creator deity who made all things through his divine music. Elves are his first children, created to awaken before all other speaking peoples.
Ainur (EYE-noor) – "The Holy Ones." Angelic beings created by Eru before the world existed. They sang the world into being under his direction. Divided into Valar and Maiar.
Valar (VAL-ar) – "The Powers." The mightiest of the Ainur who entered the world to shape and govern it. There are fourteen chief Valar, including Oromë the Hunter.
Maiar (MY-ar) – Lesser Ainur who serve the Valar. More powerful than Elves or Men, but less than the Valar themselves.
Oromë (or-OH-may) – The Vala of the hunt, forests, and beasts. First of the Valar to discover the Elves at Cuiviénen. He serves as herald and guide for the Great Journey to Aman.
PLACES
Arda (AR-dah) – The name of the entire world/Earth in Tolkien's mythology.
Cuiviénen (kwee-VEE-eh-nen) – "Water of Awakening." The lake in eastern Middle-earth where the first Elves awakened under starlight. The birthplace of all Elven-kind.
Endor (EN-door) – "Middle-earth." The great continent where mortal peoples dwell, east of the Great Sea.
Aman (AH-man) – "The Blessed Realm." The continent far to the west where the Valar dwell, separated from Middle-earth by the Great Sea.
Valinor (val-in-OR) – "Land of the Valar." The realm in Aman where the Valar make their home, lit by the light of the Two Trees.
CONCEPTS
The Light – The inner radiance possessed by all Elves, a manifestation of their soul and life-force. In this story, it functions similarly to magical energy or mana, though Tolkien never explicitly defined it as such. Elves naturally radiate this Light, but Selas learns to contain and concentrate it.
Years of the Trees – The time period before the Sun and Moon existed, when the world was lit only by stars and the Two Trees of Valinor. Each "year" was roughly ten mortal years long.
The Sundering – The division of the Elven peoples into Eldar (those who accepted the Valar's call) and Avari (those who refused). A pivotal moment in Elven history that will shape all future events.