Elrond rose, his gaze sweeping over the assembly. Gathered in a majestic clearing, the attendees sat in a circle surrounded by intricately carved Elven statues and columns. The branches of ancient trees formed a golden canopy, allowing soft autumn sunlight to filter through. The place exuded a solemn, almost timeless peace, with each seat arranged to provide a clear view of the group as a whole, symbolizing the equality among the races present.

Standing at the center, Elrond welcomed the participants with a composed gravity. "Strangers from distant lands, old friends," he began, his voice carrying authority. "You have come together to face the threat of Mordor. Middle-earth stands on the edge of ruin; none can escape it. Unite, or be defeated. Each race is tied to this fate, this shared destiny."

The faces around him were grave. Representatives from Elves, Men, Dwarves, and Hobbits were present, each listening intently. Calion, standing a bit apart, watched every movement and reaction closely with his piercing green eyes.

Seated with the others, Frodo felt the weight of the Ring around his neck, acutely aware of the task ahead. Slowly, he rose, feeling the scrutiny of strangers whose gazes were heavy with expectation. He stepped forward and placed the Ring at the center of the table. A palpable silence filled the air, as if even the wind had stilled.

Boromir, clad in the armor of Gondor, stood and broke the silence, exclaiming, "Then it's true… In a dream, I saw darkness creeping from the East, while a pale light lingered in the West, and a voice cried: 'Your doom is near! The Bane of Isildur has been found.' The Bane of Isildur."

Elrond's frown deepened, his gaze hardening. "Boromir!" he said reproachfully. But before he could continue, Gandalf rose, his dark eyes flashing, and spoke in the Black Speech of Mordor: "Ash Nazg Durbatuluk, Ash Nazg Gimbatul!"

A shiver ran through the gathering. Elrond reacted instantly, his voice laced with anger: "Those words have never been spoken in this tongue here, in Imladris." The tension was thick, each face turning gravely to Gandalf.

Unmoved, Gandalf replied, "I do not ask your forgiveness, Master Elrond. For the Black Speech of Mordor is already heard across the West. The Ring is pure evil."

Boromir's gaze remained fixed on the Ring. "This Ring is a gift, a gift to those who fight against Mordor. Why not use it? For generations, my father, the Steward of Gondor, has held back Mordor's forces; it is by our blood that your lands remain safe. Give Gondor the weapon of our enemy, and let us wield it against him!"

Calion exchanged a worried look with Aragorn, who rose to speak with calm conviction. "No one can wield it; none of us can. The One Ring answers only to Sauron; it has no other master!"

A silence fell, broken by Boromir's bitter laugh. "And what would a ranger know of such things?"

Before Aragorn could respond, a blond Elf stepped forward, fixing Boromir with a piercing look. "He is no mere ranger! He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn; you owe him your allegiance."

Legolas's words widened the eyes of some, and Boromir turned, taken aback. "Aragorn? The heir of Isildur!"

Legolas nodded. "And the rightful heir to Gondor's throne!"

Aragorn raised a hand to calm his friend. "Havo dad, Legolas," he said in Sindarin, asking him to sit and ease the rising tension.

Boromir clenched his fists. "Gondor has no king, and needs none!" He sat back down, though his face remained dark, unsettled by this revelation.

Gandalf's voice broke in, carrying authority. "Aragorn is right. We cannot use it." His words seemed to calm the gathering, and Elrond spoke once more.

"You have no choice. The Ring must be destroyed."

Gimli, impatient, sprang up. "What are we waiting for, then?"

Elrond shook his head. "The Ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli son of Glóin, by any means we here possess. It was forged in the fires of Mount Doom. Only there can it be unmade. It must be taken deep into Mordor and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came. One of you… must do this."

The council fell into heavy silence. Boromir rose again, this time visibly uneasy. "You don't just walk into Mordor. Its Black Gates are guarded not only by Orcs. An evil that never sleeps lurks there. And the Great Eye watches always. It's a barren, ash-covered wasteland; poisoned air chokes the breath. Even ten thousand men could not conquer it; it's madness!"

Legolas turned to him, his face set with fierce determination. "Did you not hear what Lord Elrond said? The Ring must be destroyed."

Gimli struck the ground with his axe. "And I suppose you think you're the one to do it, Elf?"

Boromir rose again, agitated. "If we fail, what will become of us? What if Sauron recovers his Ring?"

Gimli, furious, took a step forward, raising his axe toward Legolas. "I'd rather die than see that Ring in the hands of an Elf! No one can trust an Elf!"

Loyal to Aragorn, Legolas rose to defend him, while Gimli and other representatives of Middle-earth's peoples responded with vehemence. Voices rose, each trying to assert their point. Calion, sitting beside Aragorn, watched the chaos intensify, his fists clenched. The air around him seemed to thicken with tension, a heavy heat spreading with the conflict.

The disputes grew louder, and several members stood, pointing fingers or pounding the table. Aragorn stood, attempting to calm them, but his voice was drowned out by the din.

With an imperceptible gesture, Calion tried to control the energy resonating within him, aware that the growing agitation might spark a visible reaction. He closed his eyes briefly, focusing on his breathing to dispel the tension.

Aragorn glanced toward Calion, noticing familiar signs of the energy he had seen before. Concern showed on his face, but he remained silent, avoiding attention. Frodo shivered, sensing this strange heaviness, while Elrond, ever composed, watched Calion sharply. He seemed to understand what was happening but chose to let the debate continue.

Gandalf, too, observed Calion with a gaze of mixed curiosity and understanding. His expression, initially neutral, turned serious, as if weighing the implications of this reaction.

Calion took a deep breath, controlling the tension emanating from him. He lowered his gaze, focusing on dispelling the turmoil within. Gradually, the air lightened, and the unseen energy dissipated. Lost in his fervor, Boromir noticed nothing, continuing his speech while Calion kept silent, blending into the shadows to regain control.

The tension mounted, but then a soft voice broke through. "I will do it!" said Frodo, and instantly, all eyes turned to him. The arguments stopped, and a respectful silence filled the council.

Calion opened his eyes and looked at Frodo, struck by the Hobbit's courage. Slowly, the energy around him dissipated, and the air became light again. He exchanged a glance with Aragorn, who gave him a reassuring nod.

Gandalf approached Frodo, resting a hand on his shoulder. "I will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins, for as long as you need me," he said in a deep, steady voice. Gradually, harmony returned to the council, each member listening attentively to the Hobbit's words.

Elrond rose, his gaze sweeping over the assembly. Gathered in a majestic clearing, the attendees sat in a circle surrounded by intricately carved Elven statues and columns. The branches of ancient trees formed a golden canopy, allowing soft autumn sunlight to filter through. The place exuded a solemn, almost timeless peace, with each seat arranged to provide a clear view of the group as a whole, symbolizing the equality among the races present.

Standing at the center, Elrond welcomed the participants with a composed gravity. "Strangers from distant lands, old friends," he began, his voice carrying authority. "You have come together to face the threat of Mordor. Middle-earth stands on the edge of ruin; none can escape it. Unite, or be defeated. Each race is tied to this fate, this shared destiny."

The faces around him were grave. Representatives from Elves, Men, Dwarves, and Hobbits were present, each listening intently. Calion, standing a bit apart, watched every movement and reaction closely with his piercing green eyes.

Seated with the others, Frodo felt the weight of the Ring around his neck, acutely aware of the task ahead. Slowly, he rose, feeling the scrutiny of strangers whose gazes were heavy with expectation. He stepped forward and placed the Ring at the center of the table. A palpable silence filled the air, as if even the wind had stilled.

Boromir, clad in the armor of Gondor, stood and broke the silence, exclaiming, "Then it's true… In a dream, I saw darkness creeping from the East, while a pale light lingered in the West, and a voice cried: 'Your doom is near! The Bane of Isildur has been found.' The Bane of Isildur."

Elrond's frown deepened, his gaze hardening. "Boromir!" he said reproachfully. But before he could continue, Gandalf rose, his dark eyes flashing, and spoke in the Black Speech of Mordor: "Ash Nazg Durbatuluk, Ash Nazg Gimbatul!"

A shiver ran through the gathering. Elrond reacted instantly, his voice laced with anger: "Those words have never been spoken in this tongue here, in Imladris." The tension was thick, each face turning gravely to Gandalf.

Unmoved, Gandalf replied, "I do not ask your forgiveness, Master Elrond. For the Black Speech of Mordor is already heard across the West. The Ring is pure evil."

Boromir's gaze remained fixed on the Ring. "This Ring is a gift, a gift to those who fight against Mordor. Why not use it? For generations, my father, the Steward of Gondor, has held back Mordor's forces; it is by our blood that your lands remain safe. Give Gondor the weapon of our enemy, and let us wield it against him!"

Calion exchanged a worried look with Aragorn, who rose to speak with calm conviction. "No one can wield it; none of us can. The One Ring answers only to Sauron; it has no other master!"

A silence fell, broken by Boromir's bitter laugh. "And what would a ranger know of such things?"

Before Aragorn could respond, a blond Elf stepped forward, fixing Boromir with a piercing look. "He is no mere ranger! He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn; you owe him your allegiance."

Legolas's words widened the eyes of some, and Boromir turned, taken aback. "Aragorn? The heir of Isildur!"

Legolas nodded. "And the rightful heir to Gondor's throne!"

Aragorn raised a hand to calm his friend. "Havo dad, Legolas," he said in Sindarin, asking him to sit and ease the rising tension.

Boromir clenched his fists. "Gondor has no king, and needs none!" He sat back down, though his face remained dark, unsettled by this revelation.

Gandalf's voice broke in, carrying authority. "Aragorn is right. We cannot use it." His words seemed to calm the gathering, and Elrond spoke once more.

"You have no choice. The Ring must be destroyed."

Gimli, impatient, sprang up. "What are we waiting for, then?"

Elrond shook his head. "The Ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli son of Glóin, by any means we here possess. It was forged in the fires of Mount Doom. Only there can it be unmade. It must be taken deep into Mordor and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came. One of you… must do this."

The council fell into heavy silence. Boromir rose again, this time visibly uneasy. "You don't just walk into Mordor. Its Black Gates are guarded not only by Orcs. An evil that never sleeps lurks there. And the Great Eye watches always. It's a barren, ash-covered wasteland; poisoned air chokes the breath. Even ten thousand men could not conquer it; it's madness!"

Legolas turned to him, his face set with fierce determination. "Did you not hear what Lord Elrond said? The Ring must be destroyed."

Gimli struck the ground with his axe. "And I suppose you think you're the one to do it, Elf?"

Boromir rose again, agitated. "If we fail, what will become of us? What if Sauron recovers his Ring?"

Gimli, furious, took a step forward, raising his axe toward Legolas. "I'd rather die than see that Ring in the hands of an Elf! No one can trust an Elf!"

Loyal to Aragorn, Legolas rose to defend him, while Gimli and other representatives of Middle-earth's peoples responded with vehemence. Voices rose, each trying to assert their point. Calion, sitting beside Aragorn, watched the chaos intensify, his fists clenched. The air around him seemed to thicken with tension, a heavy heat spreading with the conflict.

The disputes grew louder, and several members stood, pointing fingers or pounding the table. Aragorn stood, attempting to calm them, but his voice was drowned out by the din.

With an imperceptible gesture, Calion tried to control the energy resonating within him, aware that the growing agitation might spark a visible reaction. He closed his eyes briefly, focusing on his breathing to dispel the tension.

Aragorn glanced toward Calion, noticing familiar signs of the energy he had seen before. Concern showed on his face, but he remained silent, avoiding attention. Frodo shivered, sensing this strange heaviness, while Elrond, ever composed, watched Calion sharply. He seemed to understand what was happening but chose to let the debate continue.

Gandalf, too, observed Calion with a gaze of mixed curiosity and understanding. His expression, initially neutral, turned serious, as if weighing the implications of this reaction.

Calion took a deep breath, controlling the tension emanating from him. He lowered his gaze, focusing on dispelling the turmoil within. Gradually, the air lightened, and the unseen energy dissipated. Lost in his fervor, Boromir noticed nothing, continuing his speech while Calion kept silent, blending into the shadows to regain control.

The tension mounted, but then a soft voice broke through. "I will do it!" said Frodo, and instantly, all eyes turned to him. The arguments stopped, and a respectful silence filled the council.

Calion opened his eyes and looked at Frodo, struck by the Hobbit's courage. Slowly, the energy around him dissipated, and the air became light again. He exchanged a glance with Aragorn, who gave him a reassuring nod.

Gandalf approached Frodo, resting a hand on his shoulder. "I will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins, for as long as you need me," he said in a deep, steady voice. Gradually, harmony returned to the council, each member listening attentively to the Hobbit's words.

Frodo had just stepped forward, and silence fell over the council as each gaze fixed on the Hobbit. "I will take the Ring to Mordor!" he said with determination, though a faint tremor in his voice revealed his fear.

Gandalf, moved by Frodo's courage, stepped up and laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "I will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins, for as long as you need me," he declared, his voice steady and comforting.

Aragorn, standing near Gandalf, also moved forward. "If by my life or death, I can protect you, I will. My sword is yours." His words were filled with conviction as he placed his hand on the hilt of his sword, sealing his commitment.

Legolas stepped forward next, his gaze fixed firmly on Frodo. "And my bow is yours," he said with a silent reverence.

Gimli struck his chest with his fist, adding with a booming voice, "And my axe!"

All eyes turned to Boromir, who had watched the exchange in silence. A mix of respect and gravity softened his expression. "Our fate rests in your hands, little one. If this is the will of the council, Gondor will join you," he declared, his tone somber as he finally accepted the decision.

Aragorn sought Calion's gaze, a flicker of hope in his eyes. He had always counted on Calion's unwavering loyalty, but now, there was something different—a glimmer of hesitation, even resistance. Calion looked away, his jaw set tight, avoiding Aragorn's gaze. A struggle was evident in his expression, a burden he seemed reluctant to share.

Aragorn felt an unexpected sting of betrayal, a bitterness rising in his chest. He had believed Calion would stand beside him as he had so many times before. But this silence, this reluctance, felt like a wall between them. Calion's secrets, which Aragorn had respected without question for so long, now seemed to drive a wedge between them.

Calion, sensing Aragorn's gaze, remained still, fists clenched. He wanted to reassure his friend, but he knew that joining this quest could expose truths he had hidden for so long. So, he stayed back, choosing to guard his secret despite the disappointment visible in Aragorn's eyes.

Aragorn's stare weighed on Calion like an anchor. It was an inner battle, an intense struggle. Everything within him wanted to stand up, to prove he was still at Aragorn's side, loyal to their friendship. His hands tightened on his knees as he closed his eyes for a moment, trying to chase away the conflict eating away at him.

Elrond, observant, didn't miss the silent exchange between the two companions. His eyes narrowed slightly, noting the tension. Gandalf, standing nearby, raised a subtle eyebrow, sensing something significant was unfolding. They shared a brief glance, united in their silent concern.

Despite the storm within him, Calion remained unmoved, his face a mask of control. But beneath the surface, a whirlwind of emotions raged; he was torn between the need to protect himself and the loyalty he felt toward Aragorn. The disappointment he saw in Aragorn's gaze cut deeply, adding to the weight of his own burdens. Yet, he looked away, knowing he had to preserve his secret, even at the cost of this precious friendship.

As the fellowship's commitment was forming, a voice suddenly called out. "Hey, Mister Frodo's not going anywhere without me!" Sam exclaimed as he rushed to his master's side. Laughter broke out, and even Elrond smiled at the Hobbit's fierce loyalty.

"Indeed, it seems impossible to separate the two of you," Elrond said, amused.

Merry and Pippin appeared in turn, their faces set with determination. "We're coming too," Merry declared. "You'll have to tie us up in a sack and send us home if you want to stop us!"

"Yes, and besides," Pippin added with a mischievous grin, "you'll need people with brains for this sort of mission, quest… thing!"

Elrond looked at them with a gentle smile. "So be it. You shall form the Fellowship of the Ring."

Pippin, raising his arms enthusiastically, asked, "Brilliant! So… where are we going?"

The laughter and smiles slowly faded as everyone became conscious of the gravity of their mission. The Fellowship was formed, and each member knew that the path ahead would be long and perilous.


Later, Aragorn found Calion near a small grove, where the dusk was casting soft shadows in the Elven forest. Calion, seated on a stone, was silently watching the fading light on the horizon, his green eyes lost in thought. Aragorn approached, his step heavy with fatigue and worry. He showed no anger, only a mix of respect and frustration.

"I won't force you to join us, Calion," he began in a calm tone, "but you owe me an explanation. After all this time, all these secrets… it's time I understood."

Calion remained silent, his expression tense. Aragorn sat beside him, staring at the shadows dancing on the ground. "You know I respect you, but if you cannot commit, tell me why."

Calion clenched his jaw, as though battling with himself. "It's not that I don't want to…" he murmured finally. "There are things I can't explain."

Aragorn took a deep breath, searching for the words to express the turmoil he felt. "These… things, Calion—the strange way the air thickens around you, the way you reacted to the Nazgûl, the stories about your lineage… none of it has ever been clear." He paused, his gaze intense. "When we fought, it was as if you recognized one of them. What is going on?"

Calion took a step back, as if seeking an escape. His gaze grew evasive, refusing to meet Aragorn's. "You don't understand… you can't understand." His voice was cold, and a chill filled the air, causing Aragorn to shiver.

"Why can't I understand? We've traveled together for years!" Aragorn retorted, frustration slipping through. "These secrets, this lineage… I need answers."

The air suddenly grew colder, and a light mist appeared with each breath from Calion. He seemed ready to flee, his gaze shifting briefly to the horizon as though considering leaving everything behind. "Aragorn," he murmured in a broken voice, "if I reveal what I am to you, I risk losing you too."

Aragorn felt his anger melt away, replaced by a deep concern. "You won't lose me, Calion. But these secrets are consuming you. It's time to face them, or they'll eventually tear us apart."

Calion stayed silent, his fists clenched as if he were fighting against an inner force. The air around them grew colder still, an unseen threat in its chill. "I… I can't," he finally said, his voice rough, before looking away, clearly ready to leave at any moment.

Aragorn, his face marked by profound worry, approached Calion with unexpected gentleness. "Calion, I see how much these secrets weigh on you… they're eating you from the inside. You don't have to carry this burden alone."

Calion clenched his fists, his eyes shining with a mix of anger and pain. "You think I want this? You think I wouldn't tell you everything if I could?" The air grew colder, a faint mist forming with each breath.

Aragorn placed a calming hand on his friend's shoulder. "You're not alone. I'm here. But these secrets will destroy you if you keep them locked inside."

Calion turned away, visibly shaken, his breath coming faster. "You don't understand… If I tell you everything, I stand to lose far more than you." His voice broke, and he seemed about to turn away, ready to flee.

Aragorn firmly held his shoulder, keeping him from leaving. His gaze was both stern and compassionate. "Calion," he murmured, "there are truths so heavy we think we must bear them alone. But if they haunt you this deeply… should they really go to the grave with you?"

Calion gave a bitter laugh, a sound of ironic frustration that resonated between them. "To the grave?" he repeated, his voice tinged with a dark irony. "That would be a blessing."

Aragorn frowned, troubled by these words. "What do you mean by that, Calion?" he asked quietly, though with unmistakable determination. "If it's as serious as you claim, why not let me understand? Keep your secrets, if you must, but these things unsaid…" He paused, searching for the right words. "They're building a wall between us."

Calion wavered, as if the weight of his secrets were pushing him to relent for the first time in ages. His usually vivid eyes flickered with hesitation, his breathing quickening, betraying his unease. He ran a trembling hand over his face, avoiding Aragorn's gaze. He seemed to be wrestling with a silent, overwhelming panic at the thought of revealing a part of himself he had hidden for countless years.

"Aragorn…" he began, his voice barely a murmur, almost broken. "You have no idea what it means for me… to talk about this." He took a deep breath, as if summoning the courage to confide. "I have never… told anyone these things. Not in millennia." His hand gripped the hilt of his hunting knife, as though searching for some anchor.

Aragorn watched him, his face grave yet full of compassion. "Calion, I know it's hard. But you're not alone. I'm here. Let me help you carry this weight, as you have carried mine so many times."

Calion closed his eyes, visibly struggling to calm himself. "If I tell you what I hide…" he said, his voice trembling, "it could change everything. It could even put you in danger." He forced himself to look back at Aragorn, his gaze a blend of hope and fear. "But… perhaps… perhaps you deserve to know."

Calion walked to a secluded spot on the edge of the Elven city, a quiet clearing where even the sounds of the forest grew distant. The moon cast a cold glow over the ground, and he stopped at the center, his eyes on the horizon, as though afraid that even the slightest movement might shatter what he was about to reveal. Aragorn followed in silence, respecting the distance Calion seemed to need to share his truth.

The ranger remained still, watching his friend. Calion appeared almost fragile, tension evident in every line of his posture. After a long pause, Calion sighed, his voice barely a whisper. "What you're about to hear… no one has ever known."

Aragorn nodded, his gaze steady on Calion's, ready to hear whatever truth he was about to reveal. "I'm listening."

Calion took a deep breath, his eyes gleaming as they caught the moonlight. "There is no lineage, Aragorn," he said, his words slow and deliberate. "I am Calion, yes… but not the eighty-first. I am… the first."

A heavy silence fell, oppressive in its intensity. Aragorn's brows knitted together as he tried to grasp the meaning. "How… can that be?"

"For ages, I've changed faces, taken new names to survive, to hide," Calion admitted, his voice carrying the weight of endless years. "The truth is… I have been here since the Years of the Trees. Since the world took shape." Calion looked away, his gaze heavy with the sorrow of ages. "To keep anyone from recognizing me, I had to blend in, invent lineages and stories. Make everyone believe I was merely a man—a distant heir to a forgotten line."

A storm of emotions swept through Aragorn, a mixture of sorrow and wonder. He took a step closer, but Calion raised a hand as if to keep him at a distance. "Everything I've done," Calion continued, "was to stay hidden, Aragorn. If anyone discovered my existence, if they understood…" His voice broke. "I would be hunted, either enslaved or destroyed."

Aragorn stood speechless, the revelations swirling within him like a tempest. He tried to draw closer to Calion, but Calion held up his hand, maintaining his distance. "Now you see why I have to stay hidden, why I keep away from familiar faces…" His voice trembled. "If anyone knew, I would be pursued without mercy, either used… or obliterated."

Calion fell silent, his breath shallow, his green eyes darkened with painful memories. Aragorn, deeply unsettled, his brows drawn in confusion, whispered, "Are you telling me… that you're immortal? Like an Elf?"

Calion lowered his head, forcing himself to meet Aragorn's eyes. "Not like an Elf, no… something far older." His voice was faint, almost fragile. "I've seen the world change, fall, rise again… and I'm still here."

Aragorn tightened his grip on his cloak as if needing something solid in this sea of confusion. "How… how is this possible? No Elf I know has lived so long, and the Valar…"

Calion shook his head slowly. "The Valar have nothing to do with my condition," he murmured. "It's a curse… or perhaps a gift, though I can no longer tell. But it is no blessing, not for me." His voice broke, his hands trembling. "I've carried this burden alone… for millennia."

Aragorn took a step back, grappling with the enormity of what he'd just learned. "You mean to say… you've seen the passing of ages? You knew the world as it was before?" He sought something tangible, some anchor in this whirlwind of revelations.

"Yes," Calion answered, a bitter smile on his lips. "And each time, I had to vanish, to adopt a new face, a new name. Always in the shadows, always hiding, so that no one would notice my longevity."

Silence fell, heavy and tense. Aragorn struggled to process these revelations. "Then… everything I know of you…"

"It's true," Calion interrupted firmly. "I am your friend; I am the person you know. But what I carry within me… the truth of what I am—I've never been able to share it. And…" His voice faltered, his gaze shifting away. "It pains me to see you suffer because of these secrets, but if anyone were to learn the truth… it would be the end of me. I would know no peace, ever again."

Calion looked down, his gaze fixed on the ground, yet Aragorn couldn't hold back. "The strange things I've noticed around you," he continued, a sense of urgency edging his voice, "this isn't the first time. And when you reacted to the Nazgûl… what does it mean, Calion?"

Calion closed his eyes, as though trying to order his thoughts. He seemed torn, his face marked by silent turmoil. "These phenomena…" he began, his voice tense. "I… I have a connection to the world around me. It's hard to explain, but sometimes, it manifests."

Aragorn nodded, his expression shifting from curiosity to partial understanding. "And the Nazgûl? When you uttered that name…" He paused, searching for words. "It felt like you knew him."

Calion visibly stiffened, his fists clenched. "Yes," he admitted, his voice heavy with old sorrow. "That name… I heard it once, long ago. I crossed paths with that man before he became what he is now." His eyes glinted with a pain that seemed to cut across the ages. "Seeing him as he is now… was like facing a shadow from my own past, a loss I can never recover."

Aragorn frowned, struggling to understand. "You mean you knew him… before he became a Nazgûl?"

Calion nodded, his gaze lost in distant memories. "He was a man once, like you and me. But he made choices… terrible choices. To see him now, twisted as he is, brought me back to a time when I too was different."

"And this… power that seems to follow you?" Aragorn pressed, determined to learn more. "Do you control it?"

Calion hesitated, battling some deep-seated fear. "It's… a part of me." He ran a hand over his face, as if to brush away a painful memory. "It shows itself when I'm in danger or… when those I care about are in danger. But I don't want to use it. Every time I do, it reminds me why I had to disappear, why I live in the shadows."

Aragorn felt a deep ache listening to Calion's words. At last, he understood the weight of his friend's burden. This secret, this hidden existence that spanned the ages… he could hardly imagine its toll, the isolation and constant fear. He lowered his head, his throat tight with emotion.

"I… I don't know if I could have borne such a burden," he admitted, his voice raw. "To be forced to hide, to constantly reinvent yourself, to see everyone you love pass…"

Calion turned away, his eyes bright with emotions he struggled to contain. "It's not a life, Aragorn," he murmured. "It's a curse."

A surge of admiration swept over Aragorn, more intense than he had ever felt before. Standing before him was a being who had borne the weight of centuries, a soul scarred by solitude, yet who had the strength to rise again and again to protect those in need. This strength, this courage, now appeared to Aragorn in a completely new light.

"You are braver than I ever imagined," he murmured. "To carry on like this, without faltering, is a strength that few men—or even Elves—could muster."

Visibly moved, Calion turned away, struggling against his emotions. "Bravery…" he murmured, almost to himself, "… is just a mask we wear."

But Aragorn shook his head, rejecting this notion. "No, it's more than that. What you have done, the weight you carry… it is worthy of the highest respect. And it is an honor to have you by my side."

Calion remained silent, but a glimmer of gratitude appeared in his eyes. For the first time in centuries, he felt seen, accepted for who he truly was.

Understanding at last the reason behind Calion's reluctance, Aragorn looked at him with renewed intensity. "I understand now why you hesitate, why this burden keeps you at a distance. But listen to me," he said gently, placing a hand on Calion's shoulder. "This time, it's different. We need you."

Calion looked away, murmuring, "If I join, I'll be exposed."

Aragorn nodded, mindful of his friend's fears. "I know. But your presence would be a strength, a chance for all of us. Think of the difference you could make. You are more than a mere ranger or a man fleeing his past. Your knowledge, your experience… they are invaluable."

Calion remained silent for a moment, his face marked by an internal struggle. "Aragorn, it's not that simple. If I reveal myself, everything I've built… all those years of hiding…"

"I understand," Aragorn replied, his eyes a blend of determination and compassion. "But some things are worth that risk. And I believe you know that, deep down. This mission… it could change the course of history, and you have the chance to be part of it, to save Middle-earth."

Calion lowered his head, his jaw tight. "It's the same cycle, over and over. I've had enough…"

Aragorn's grip on his shoulder tightened, compelling him to meet his gaze. "It may be the same cycle, but this time, we have a chance to break it. And we can only do that together. You've saved me countless times, saved lives from the shadows. Today, I'm asking you to step out of that shadow, just this once."

Calion finally looked up, his eyes bright with a raw, unnamable emotion. "And if I fail?"

Aragorn smiled, a glint of confidence in his gaze. "Then we will fail together. But at least, we will have tried, side by side."

Taking a deep breath, Calion rested his hand on the hilt of his sword. With deliberate movements, he began untying the leather wrappings that had kept the blade bound for so long. The atmosphere became solemn, almost sacred, and the air seemed to hum with the intensity of the moment.

As Calion slowly unwound the leather bindings, a look of resolve passed over him. His posture straightened, and a subtle but palpable change radiated from within. Where there had been doubt, now there was a quiet, steadfast determination. He lifted his chin slightly, as though finally accepting the weight of his decision. His hand moved without hesitation as he unbound the blade, sealing his commitment.

When Calion revealed the sword, the air seemed to still around him. The blade, now freed from its bonds, was so black it seemed to swallow the light around it. It appeared almost alive, a faint pulse running along its length, as if an ancient power resided within it. Delicate designs, deeply engraved in the steel, shimmered faintly with symbols known only to those familiar with the mysteries of Middle-earth.

The hilt was simple, yet adorned with interlaced runes, and the pommel, entirely black, seemed to absorb the warmth and light from the surrounding torches. A ghostly aura flickered along its edge, giving the impression it was breathing.

Calion lifted the sword, his eyes lost in its dark reflections. "Calimmacil," he murmured, his voice solemn. "The Shadowblade." He spoke the name like an invocation, and for an instant, the air around the sword seemed to vibrate, amplifying the mysterious aura that surrounded it.

Aragorn, captivated, gazed at the weapon, feeling the immense power emanating from this extraordinary blade. "A sword like this…" he murmured, "… holds a power few can understand."

Calion nodded, his gaze grave. "It's a reminder of a distant past. And now, it will guide me in what lies ahead."

Stepping forward, Calion raised Calimmacil, making a silent vow. The torchlight barely touched the black blade.

"This sword…" he began, his eyes meeting Aragorn's, "I do not draw it for the Ring, nor for any kingdom. I draw it for you, Aragorn." His voice was calm, yet laced with deep emotion. "May this blade serve you, as I have."

Aragorn felt a knot form in his throat. He looked at his friend, moved by the depth of his commitment. "Calion…" he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, "I don't know how to thank you. You honor me deeply."

The two men stood in silence, a wordless understanding passing between them. Calion lowered Calimmacil, its dark aura gradually fading. "By your side, until this journey ends," he said with solemn resolve.

Aragorn nodded, his gaze shining with gratitude. "Together, then, as always."