Sauron paused in his practice with the force, his attention caught by something at the edge of perception. A whisper drifted across the barren rocks, too faint to make out words but carrying unmistakable intent. The sound bore the weight of ages, reminding him of the deep places beneath Angband where secrets older than the First Age still dwelled.
He turned, scanning the desolate landscape. The voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, as if the very stones themselves spoke. It carried the same darkness he had felt in Morgoth's presence, yet different - wilder, less controlled, but no less malevolent.
The whisper grew stronger, wrapping around him like smoke. Though he couldn't understand the words, their meaning seeped into his consciousness - promises of power, of knowledge, of ways to reclaim what he had lost.
Sauron felt no fear - he had dealt with ancient powers before, had been one himself. But caution stayed his response. In his weakened state, he couldn't afford to dismiss any potential source of power, nor could he risk becoming entangled in someone else's schemes. He had played that role before, under Morgoth, and had no intention of repeating it.
The voice persisted, its tone growing more insistent. It pulled at him, trying to draw him in a specific direction. The force around him responded to the whispers, swirling with dark purpose. Whatever spoke knew this power intimately, had perhaps helped shape it into what it was now.
Sauron remained still, analyzing. The whispers held knowledge he needed, that much was clear. But knowledge always came with a price, and he had learned the importance of understanding terms before entering bargains. He would listen, yes, but on his own terms, at his own pace.
The whispers wove through his mind, fragments of meaning taking shape like shards of broken glass. Sauron settled onto a fallen pillar, letting the alien tongue wash over him. The sounds held patterns - he had mastered countless languages during his time in Middle-earth, and this one would be no different.
Syllables repeated, gained context through the force that accompanied them. When the voice spoke of power, dark energies crackled around him. Mentions of death brought cold emptiness. The correlation helped him grasp basic concepts, though the full meaning remained elusive.
He caught himself reaching for his former power, the ability to simply tear knowledge from minds and bend them to his will. But those abilities were lost with his defeat, and this strange force worked differently. Instead, he observed, analyzed, let the words sink into his consciousness.
Time held no meaning in this place. The sun crawled across the sky, set, rose again, while Sauron remained focused on the voice. His patience was infinite - he had spent ages building his power in Middle-earth, and he would do so again here. Each new word added to his understanding, each phrase building on the last.
The language carried echoes of something ancient and cruel, not unlike the Black Speech he had crafted for his orcs. But where that tongue had been designed to corrupt and dominate, this one held deeper purpose. It spoke of philosophies and powers he had never encountered, of ways to bend reality that even he, in all his millennia, had not imagined.
He traced the worn symbols carved into the pillar beneath him, feeling how they resonated with the voice's words. The script was as alien as the speech, yet he sensed connection between them. Understanding would come with time. It always did.
Sauron felt the shift in the air before he saw it - a presence that pressed against his consciousness like a wave of darkness. The whispers crystallized into clear words, their meaning sharp and focused. A code, repeated with religious fervor:
"Peace is a lie, there is only passion."
The words resonated with truth - he had long known peace to be nothing but a hollow dream of the weak. But this presence presumed to teach him, to dominate. Him, who had once bent the will of kings.
"Through passion, I gain strength."
A shape coalesced from the shadows, tall and imposing. Not physical, but a spirit-form that reminded him of the Nazgûl, yet far more ancient. Its malevolence matched his own, a darkness that had festered for millennia.
"Through strength, I gain power."
The entity circled him, testing his defenses. Sauron stood unmoved. He had faced Morgoth himself, had weathered the judgment of the Valar. This creature, powerful though it was, did not compare.
"Through power, I gain victory."
The voice bore down on him with crushing force, attempting to drive him to his knees. Lesser beings would have broken, their minds shattered by the assault. But Sauron had been forged in the fires of creation itself. He met the pressure with his own will, unyielding.
"Through victory, my chains are broken."
Each word hammered against his consciousness, demanding submission. The air crackled with dark energy, and the force swirled around them in violent eddies. The entity's presence filled the temple, its power seeking entrance to his mind.
"The Force shall free me."
The code spoke to something within him, a philosophy that aligned with his own beliefs. But he would not be made to kneel, would not submit to another's authority. He had played the role of servant before, to Morgoth, and those days were long past.
Sauron drew upon memories of dominion and power, letting the Black Speech roll from his consciousness like thunder across a battlefield. The words held weight beyond their meaning, each syllable infused with thousands of years of practiced control.
"Ash nazg durbatulûk" The ancient language cut through the temple's oppressive atmosphere. The spirit-form wavered, its assault faltering for a moment. But the force pushed back harder, threatening to overwhelm his weakened state.
His voice cracked on the next phrase, the words dying in his throat as dark energy crushed inward. The pressure built against his mind, seeking entrance through any crack in his defenses. For a heartbeat, doubt crept in - had his defeat left him too weak to even speak the language he had crafted?
No. He was Sauron, Lord of Gifts, creator of the One Ring. He had bent the will of dragons and corrupted the hearts of kings. This upstart power would not silence him.
"Ash nazg gimbatul" The words emerged stronger now, each syllable a hammer blow against the spirit's assault. The force rippled around him, responding to the ancient evil woven into the speech. "Ash nazg thrakatulûk agh burzum-ishi krimpatul!"
Power surged through the words, different from what he remembered but no less potent. The Black Speech had always carried his will, his dominion, and even here in this strange realm it remembered its purpose. The spirit's pressure wavered again, its certainty shaken by language that predated its own existence.
The force between them churned, caught between two immovable wills. But Sauron had not survived ages of warfare and defeat by yielding to any power save his own. He pushed back against the spirit's presence, not with raw strength but with the inexorable patience of one who had watched mountains rise and kingdoms fall.
The pressure eased gradually, like a tide retreating from shore. Sauron maintained his defensive stance as the dark energy coalesced, taking shape before him. The spirit's form solidified into a tall figure wrapped in ancient robes, its presence both familiar and alien. The ghost bore markings of authority and power - not unlike the kings he had corrupted in ages past.
Shadows writhed around the apparition as it studied him. The force flowed between them, no longer hostile but cautious, probing. This was not submission from the spirit, Sauron noted, but rather a shift in approach. The entity had tested his strength and found him worthy of... something.
The ghost's mouth moved, forming words in that strange tongue he had heard in the whispers. Though the sounds remained foreign, their meaning crystallized in his mind through the force that carried them.
"You speak with power from another realm," the spirit said, its voice echoing with centuries of darkness. "Do you understand my tongue, creature of shadow?"