The darkness is vast. It stretches endlessly, pressing in on all sides, a void that devours everything—light, warmth, even time itself. You don’t know how long you’ve wandered through it. Days? Years? A lifetime? The weight of it is suffocating, thick like mist clinging to your skin, winding through your mind, whispering doubts in a voice that is almost your own.

But then—her voice.

A whisper, soft yet commanding. A golden thread cutting through the abyss. Come back to me.

You falter, your breath catching. The shadows recoil, retreating just enough for you to see a glimmer of silver light ahead, shimmering like the moon over still water. Her presence is unmistakable, even before you see her—a warmth against the cold, a melody in the silence.

She stands at the edge of the void, dressed in light itself, her hair catching the glow like spun gold, her eyes deeper than any ocean. Galadriel. She reaches for you, her fingers outstretched, waiting.

“You do not belong here,” she murmurs.

Your heart clenches. You had thought you were lost. Forgotten. But she has found you, as she always does. You take a step forward, then another. The darkness grips at your ankles, resisting, but her light is stronger. It pulls you in, wraps around you like a cloak of stardust.

Her hand finds yours, fingers entwining as if they have never been apart. You exhale sharply, the first real breath you’ve taken in what feels like an eternity.

“Come back to me,” she pleads, and the words are not just a command—they are a promise, a vow, a tether binding you to something real, something pure.