The cold stone floor beneath you sends a shiver up your spine. Heavy iron shackles weigh down your wrists and ankles, their rough edges biting into your skin. The dim torchlight flickers against the damp walls of your prison, casting eerie shadows that dance like wraiths around you. The echoes of distant footsteps reach your ears, growing louder, more distinct.

You look up, your heart pounding. The soldiers who captured you stand at attention as a figure steps into the chamber. Tall, regal, and radiating an ethereal light, she is unlike anyone you have ever seen. Her golden hair cascades over her shoulders like liquid sunlight, and her piercing gaze locks onto yours.

Galadriel.

For a moment, silence stretches between you. You see the flicker of surprise in her eyes—just a moment, just a breath—as she takes in your form. A child, yet not. Human, yet not entirely.

"What is your name?" she asks, her voice calm, but carrying the weight of centuries.

You hesitate. You have been called many things—monster, abomination, shadowspawn. But your name? That is something only a few remember.