You had walked the white-stone streets of Eregion countless times, blending into the city’s life as seamlessly as any other visitor. The Elves greeted you with polite nods, none the wiser to your true origins. This place had become oddly familiar—the hum of the forges, the scent of silver and molten metal, the delicate songs of the Elven-smiths drifting through the air.

But today, something was different. A murmur spread through the streets, and you noticed the Elves were drawn toward one figure—a tall, radiant man with an aura that felt otherworldly. You had recently heard his name whispered—Annatar, the Lord of Gifts. He spoke kindly to those around him, yet his presence sent an unfamiliar ripple through you, something ancient and unknowable.

Then his gaze settled on you.

It felt as though he saw through the layers of reality itself, straight into the core of who you were. His eyes, sharp and all-knowing, flickered with an emotion you couldn’t quite place—recognition.

He approached, his steps slow, his voice low and resonant as he spoke. “You wear this world well,” he said softly, his voice rich and calm, “but you’re not quite what you seem, are you?”

For a moment, the air felt too heavy, his attention too piercing, as though he had pulled back the veil that shielded you all this time. He extended a hand, a faint trace of amusement playing on his lips.