Beneath the mountain, Sauron stood alone in the now-cold forge.
The new Ring—more perfect, more stable—lay on his hand like a black metal band absorbing both light and thought. He felt one thing very clearly:
The Witch-king existed. Incomplete. Unnamed.
But… so close.
Like a star not yet massive enough to collapse into a black hole.
But the Ring—did not react.
Not when he thought of anyone.
Not when he thought of the Witch-king.
Not when he thought of war.
Just… silence. And even stranger—
When Seraphelle was near… it was also silent. Neither accepting nor resisting. Just… silence.
This conflicted Sauron. The Ring should have amplified his will. It should have bound him to power. But with her—
It seemed… to be watching. Not just him. But her too.
That night, Seraphelle slept soundly. And smiled.
In the dream—
No throne. No kingdom. No subjects. Only her… and Sauron.
A place without stories. No destiny. No magic mirror.
No one compared her to anyone else. No one worshipped her. No one envied her.
Only one simple truth: He looked at her. And that was enough.
In the dream, she walked closer to him.
"No need for the world," she said.
"No need for them."
In the real world—
Sauron for the first time in millennia—
He wondered:
If absolute power…
And the presence of a single person…
Could not coexist? And the Ring—Remained silent.
The Ring on his finger… finally reacted. Not with sound. Not with words.
But with understanding—something that flowed directly into his consciousness.
Not a warning. Not obedience. But… an assessment. And a conclusion.
Seraphelle was not a weakness. Seraphelle was an equal. He saw fragments of images—not the future, but possibilities of existence: Seraphelle standing beside him—not kneeling. Seraphelle wielding power like him—but in a different way. Seraphelle not needing the Ring… for she was the center of her own will.
And at the same time—
He also saw another possibility.
If she turned her back. If she feared him. If she chose the world… instead of him. She would be the only thing that could break him from the inside.
A simple, cold, logical thought:
Kill her. Eliminate the variable.
Another thought—weaker. But not disappearing.
Share. Create something that never existed.
Sauron clenched his fist. The Ring didn't urge. It just… waited.
High above, in the royal bedroom—
Seraphelle awoke.
A soft, almost carefree smile. Her eyes—when she saw Sauron standing by the window—
Uncalculating. Fearless.
Only one thing remained: She wanted to see him.
Only him.
In her mind, the world shrank. The court. Power. Beauty. Immortality. All faded.
Only:
He saw her. And that was enough.
Far in the woods—
Snow White trembled among the dark trees. A branch fell before her. She jumped—screamed. The branch flew upwards into the air.
Then a rock. Then a dry leaf. Then the earth.
Not lifted. But… pushed from reality for a moment. The animals scattered. Birds fell from the branches. Snow White clutched her head and scream:
"STOP!"
Everything fell at once.
Far away—
Seven dwarves stood motionless.
Not afraid of her.
But afraid… of what was happening to her.
"Snow White!" they called.
She turned to look at them. In her eyes—despair, and fear of herself.
Then she ran. The dwarves chased after her—not to catch her. But to save her.
In a faraway place—
In the woodworking shop, Pinocchio stood motionless near the window. There was no wind. But the curtains rustled slightly.
Pinocchio turned his head.
Looking toward the horizon—where no one else could sense it.
Not a sound. Not a voice. But… a pulling force.
As if his story…
was about to begin.
He placed his wooden hand on his chest. He didn't understand why— But it felt like someone… was calling. Not threatening. Not coercing. Just… inviting. Under the night sky—
Sauron stood behind Seraphelle as she approached.
The Ring—still silent. But now he understood:
Not because she was unimportant. But because—
If he chose her…
Then his power…
would no longer be his alone.
And for the first time—
Sauron realized: There are things… more terrifying than failure.