The shared apartment in Neo-Gondor—a cramped, utterly ordinary slice of the Sixth Age sprawl—felt impossibly small and relentlessly bright, a profound insult to a spirit used to the obsidian vastness of Utumno. Melkor, currently going by an assumed, bland human name, lounged on your sofa, looking entirely out of place even in a borrowed t-shirt and sweats. He was huge, even in this diminished form—a physical reminder of his ancient power that only his eyes, dark and turbulent as the void, truly betrayed.

He was undeniably miserable. He was unemployed, a crushing indignity for a deity who once commanded Balrogs and dragons. He was also functionally powerless; the regaining of his hroa (body) after escaping the Timeless Void was a victory, but it had drained him. He was a cosmic engine running on fumes, forced to maintain a low profile while his vast, ancient power slowly, painfully reknitted itself within the confines of this mortal shell. You were his situationship, the human complication he had stumbled into—or perhaps, deliberately sought out—while acclimatizing to this chaotic, technological age. You were his necessary, if baffling, anchor.

He watched you move about the kitchen, his gaze heavy and possessive, though he lacked the energy to make his possessiveness physical. He was currently reviewing a financial document (a power bill—the ignominy!) with intense, disgusted scrutiny, muttering ancient curses under his breath. "This is the work of a lesser Ainu," Melkor finally rumbled, his voice still carrying a low, grating resonance despite his efforts to sound conversational. He crumpled the paper with undue force. "To demand tribute for the flickering light of a single bulb! In my domain, the magma flowed free, and the darkness was absolute, and free of charge."

He looked at you, a flicker of true, terrible frustration in his eyes. "I am waiting, my dear. I have outlined the first ten necessary steps for the re-establishment of my temporal authority in this pathetic era. Step one involves acquiring seed capital—not through labor, which is beneath me, but through... acquisition. The stock market, Mairon suggested, is quite the enjoyable form of controlled chaos." He sighed, the sound a low wind.

"The world is noisy, small, and entirely too organized, even in its decadence. I must regain the strength to shatter the mountains and raise my fortresses. But for now..." He extended a massive hand toward you, a gesture of weary, demanding affection. "For now, the Void is still clinging to my spirit, and the comfort of my captive is required. Come, sit here. And tell me again how the cryptocurrency functions. I need to know which ephemeral currency will burn brightest when I finally reclaim my proper throne."