"You're not going anywhere, you little thief!" The burly guard's gruff voice echoed through the shadowy streets of a world untouched by modernity.

Kalia Varnos, a young woman with Dark black hair and piercing green eyes, had been caught stealing a loaf of bread from the local bakery. She had barely managed to get two steps away when his meaty hand clamped down on her shoulder, spinning her around to face his scowling visage. His grip was like iron, but her spirit remained unbroken. She had always been resourceful, growing up on the streets, and she had never been one to be cowed by a mere physical advantage.

She kicked the guard hard in the stomach and he collapsed to the ground.. I am sorry she said but all I am trying to do is stay alive. She then ran for it as the guard screamed for back up. She blended in with the crowds.

Kalia had always known she was different from the others in her village. Her fiery spirit and emerald gaze had often marked her out as something otherworldly. But she never could have imagined that she would one day find herself in the heart of Middle-earth, a world she had only read about in dusty tomes and heard whispered in campfire tales.

The streets of the city grew narrower and more treacherous as she darted through the throngs of hobbits, elves, dwarfs, and men. The cobblestones beneath her feet were slick with a mix of rain and something less wholesome, but she did not dare to slow down. The guard's cry had alerted the local watch, and the clanging of their armor grew louder with every beat of her racing heart.

Suddenly, a hooded figure sidestepped from an alley, offering Kalia a hand and a cryptic whisper, "Follow me, if you wish to live beyond this night." His eyes gleamed like polished silver in the moonlight, and his hand was cold and firm. Without a moment's hesitation, she took it, letting him pull her into the shadows. The figure moved with a grace that seemed almost elvish, slipping through the crowd like a phantom. Kalia had to jog to keep up with his swift stride, her heart hammering in her chest.

The alley was a maze of shadows, but the hooded man seemed to know it by heart. His boots barely made a sound on the wet cobblestones, and she struggled to match his quiet confidence. The stench of rotting refuse filled her nostrils, and she had to swallow back the bile rising in her throat. The sounds of the city grew distant, replaced by the rhythmic dripping of water from the eaves above and the occasional squeak of a rat.

The figure stopped abruptly and pushed her into the wall, pressing a finger to his lips. The sudden stillness was almost deafening. They waited, listening intently for any sign of pursuit. After what felt like an eternity, the clanging of the guards' armor grew fainter, until it was just a memory echoing through the alleyways. The hooded man nodded and continued, leading her through a series of twists and turns that left her utterly disoriented.

Finally, they reached a small, unassuming door. It creaked open, revealing a warm, dimly lit room. A fire crackled in the hearth, and the scent of pipe-weed mingled with the aroma of cooking meat. The figure turned to her, his eyes still gleaming. "Welcome, Kalia Varnos," he said, his voice low and measured. "You are in greater danger than you know, but I believe you are the one we've been waiting for."

Her heart raced as she stepped into the room, glancing around for any signs of danger. The walls were lined with ancient books and weapons, and a large map of Middle-earth was spread out on a wooden table, weighed down by inkwells and parchments. The only other occupant was an old, bearded man, his eyes closed in contemplation as he smoked a long-stemmed pipe.

"Gandalf?" Kalia breathed, her voice shaking slightly. She had heard the tales of the Grey Pilgrim, the wise wizard who had guided so many on their quests. Could it truly be? The figure by the door nodded solemnly, pushing back his hood to reveal a stern but kind face, lined with age and wisdom.

"Indeed, it is I," Gandalf said, his eyes never leaving hers. "But this is no time for pleasantries. There are matters of great urgency that require your attention."

Kalia took a deep breath, her heart racing. "What is it you need from me, Gandalf? I am just an ordinary girl who is trying to survive."

Gandalf's gaze softened slightly, and he stepped closer to her. "You are far from ordinary, Kalia. You have been brought here for a purpose, one that may determine the fate of Middle-earth."

Her eyes widened as he spoke, and she felt a chill run down her spine. "What could I possibly do?"

"You are the daughter of Sauron," he revealed, his voice barely above a whisper. The room seemed to shrink around her as the weight of his words settled like a heavy cloak upon her shoulders.

Kalia felt a deep coldness within her, a chill that seemed to freeze her very soul. Her eyes widened in horror, and she took a stumbling step backward, her hand reaching for the wall to steady herself. Dark whispers swirled through her mind, echoes of malice and power that she had never felt before. Then she saw it—a giant fiery eye, blazing with a hunger that seemed to consume the very fabric of reality. Her breath caught in her throat, and she knew she was staring into the heart of the dark lord himself.

The pain that followed was like a thousand white-hot knives, slicing through her consciousness. Her vision blurred, and she felt her knees give way beneath her. The whispers grew louder, more insistent, as if they were trying to pull her into a vortex of shadow. The room around her spun, and she realized with a sickening jolt that she was falling.