Warriors of the Twilight (Updated Version)

Prologue

Dusk fell over the Wild, the last light of the sun fading away in the direction of the Western Sea, leaving the lands below in the keeping of night. Creatures of the darkness came from their holes and hollows, scurrying about on the ground. Owls winged silently over the fields and through the forests, watching for prey below them. The new moon lent no light to the land, leaving all in the keeping of the shadow.

Elendil rose, shedding light over the land, for, unlike the moon, the light of the Evenstar neither waxes nor wanes, always bringing light and hope to the earth over which it shines.

Far below the celestial canopy, the ruins of the great ancient Elven city, Minas Tirith, stood. The walls and houses and towers of the island citadel had long since crumbled to the ground, giving in to the destructive way of time—all save one.

At the center of where the ancient castle had once towered, stood a single, strong spire which had withstood the tests and trials of time. But, yet, even this, the strongest tower in that city of the High Elves of the West, had slowly given way to the patient strength of age.

The uppermost room of the tower was windowless, with but one door, which had been locked from the inside since the Eldar Years, and since that time, darkness had filled the room, changing not for centuries. Silence also, like a stern sentential, kept guard over the chamber, wherein nothing stirred.

The outside of the tower, also, was silent and still, save one small bit of mortar.

For time, with the aid of the elements of the world, had worn away at the stoical sentential, until at last, it found a chink in the armor of stone and mortar.

Down fell the mortar, leaving behind it a tiny hole, hardly the size of a robin's egg.

Yet, despite it's smallness and insignificance, the westward facing chink allowed for a single beam of the light of the Evenstar to shine into the tiny room, piercing the darkness which had ruled for so long.

And whither by fate or by chance, the light struck the only living creature in the room.

And the age-old spell of sleep, which since the First Age had lain on that room, was broken by the light of the Evenstar. And the light of that Star, of the Silmaril which lit Elendil, shone into the darkness, bringing to life that which had been sealed within the tower since the Mairon himself had dwelt there. That which had never before seen the light of day.