Heavy eyelids fluttered open, revealing a blurry, unfamiliar ceiling of rough-hewn stone. The air was thick with the damp, earthy scent of the cave, a stark contrast to the lingering acridity of ash in his nostrils. Every inch of his body felt heavy, unresponsive. He tried to move, but his limbs remained stubbornly still. Exhaustion clung to him like a shroud, making even the simplest thought a monumental effort. He simply stared at his surroundings, too drained to process the bewildering reality of this new place.
"What...is this. Am I alive or in hell?"
He tried to push himself to his feet, but a wave of dizziness washed over him, and his limbs felt like lead. They trembled beneath him, offering no support. With a groan, he collapsed back onto the rough ground. He had no strength, his body a mere echo of its former vitality. All he could do was lie there, his eyes slowly adjusting to the dim light, observing his surroundings and the bewildering question of how he had come to be in this place.
"You're finally awake?"
Just then, he heard a voice, soft but clear, coming from the deeper shadows of the cave.
"Who are you!" he demanded, his voice laced with panic. His body still felt numb and vulnerable. But instead of a verbal reply, he heard the distinct sound of footsteps approaching. Soon, a figure emerged from the darkness and stood right in front of him, blocking what little light there was.
The figure was tall, with a broad physique that hinted at immense strength despite his age. Long, white hair flowed down his shoulders, contrasting with his thick, bushy eyebrows. But what drew the youth's attention most, sending a shiver of unease down his spine, was his pair of eyes. They were a startlingly clear blue, and in the dim light of the cave, they seemed to possess an inner luminescence, glowing faintly.
The old man was wearing a white long tunic, which seemed to not have a single stain on it. Together with his long white hair and blue eyes, he looked pristine, as if not of this profane world. It was an old man, yet despite his aged appearance, he didn't look fragile. Instead, he seemed to brim with a quiet vitality, as if his aged exterior was merely a guise.
"Who are you?" the youth repeated, his voice still weak but edged with a growing apprehension as he stared up at the enigmatic figure.
"Who am I?" the old man echoed, his voice calm and steady, a stark contrast to the youth's panicked tone. A hint of amusement flickered in his glowing blue eyes. "It would be very polite for the young ones to introduce themselves first. Don't you think... boy?"
He blinked slowly, a thoughtful expression crossing his weathered face, as if searching through the depths of his memory. "Who am I?" he murmured, more to himself than to the old man. "I am... my name is..."
Suddenly, his expression shifted. A flicker of realization, tinged with a strange sort of sadness, crossed his features. "You can't remember your name, can you?" he stated, his gaze softening as he looked down at the bewildered youth.
The youth blinked, his brow furrowed in confusion. "My name?" he repeated, the word feeling foreign on his tongue. "I don't have a name, do I?"
The old man sighed, a soft, weary sound that echoed in the stillness of the cave. He shook his head slowly, a look of pity in his luminous blue eyes.
"Don't think too much, just relax your mind," the old man said gently. He lowered himself to sit beside the youth on the cave floor. "Can you sit?" he asked, his voice soothing.
The boy attempted to lift himself, his muscles protesting with a dull ache. He strained, but his upper body remained stubbornly on the ground. He was still too weak.
The old man looked at him with a compassionate expression. He offered a large, calloused hand. Placing it gently but firmly on the youth's back, he provided support, guiding him into a sitting position with his back leaning against the cool stone wall of the cave.
Once the youth was settled against the cool stone, the old man offered him a rough wooden cup filled with a dark, viscous liquid. "Drink up," the old man instructed, his voice gentle but firm.
Suspicion clouded the boy's blurry vision as he eyed the murky contents. "What is this?" he managed, his voice still raspy and weak.
A low, rumbling chuckle escaped the old man. "It's herb, lad. Drink. It'll help you mend in no time."
With a visible tremor in his arms, the youth lifted the cup to his parched lips, taking a small, hesitant sip of the bitter, earthy liquid. He then handed the cup back to the old man, who accepted it with a nod and placed it carefully on the cave floor beside him.
"Where... where am I? How did I get here?" the boy asked, his voice barely a whisper, each word an effort. Did I even survive? How is that possible? A torrent of questions surged within him, yet his strength waned with each syllable, the effort of speaking leaving him utterly drained.
The old man offered a somber smile, his luminous blue eyes holding a depth of understanding. "How you survived is a question that weighs little against the reason why you survived, young one."
"Why I survived?" the youth murmured, his voice laced with confusion and a desperate yearning for answers.
The old man's gaze softened with a knowing sadness. He gently assisted the youth in lying back against the rough stone wall. "Such burdens are too heavy for you now, young one. Rest. This herb will hasten your recovery, and in time, clarity will follow." With a graceful ease that belied his age, the old man stood and retrieved the empty wooden cup. He turned to depart into the deeper shadows of the cave, but a weak yet urgent voice halted him.
"Please... who are you? I need to know," the youth pleaded, his eyes fixed on the enigmatic figure.
The old man, lowered his head slightly, a profound weariness etched on his features as he sighed, a sound that seemed to carry the weight of ages. Then, his clear blue eyes, still holding that faint inner light, met the youth's. "My name is Elrond," he stated, his voice resonating with a quiet solemnity, "and I am known as the Herald of Dusk."
Upon hearing this name , a primal terror gripped the youth. His breath hitched in his throat, his lungs seizing as if an icy hand had clenched around them. The earlier confusion and weakness were momentarily eclipsed by a stark, inexplicable dread that resonated deep within his very being.