Marvel: Silver Hand

The dimly lit cave shimmered faintly with Celebrimbor's ghostly presence, his expression unyielding and resolute. Alexander sat cross-legged, still recovering from the last memory. His breath was steadying, but his heart still carried the heavy weight of bloodshed.

"Do you wish to continue?" Celebrimbor asked.

Alexander nodded, his jaw tightening with determination. "I have to. If this is what it takes to be ready… then I'll endure it."

Celebrimbor inclined his head approvingly. "Very well. The next memories are vital—they will show you both the heights and depths of my people's struggles. Learn from them, Alexander. Every strike you see, every lesson you absorb, will make you stronger."

Before Alexander could respond, the pull took him again, wrenching him out of the present and plunging him into Celebrimbor's past.

The scene unfolded on a mountain pass shrouded in mist. Alexander found himself inhabiting the younger Celebrimbor's body again, clad in finely crafted armor that gleamed faintly despite the overcast sky. Around him, dozens of Elves crouched silently in the undergrowth, their eyes fixed on a large group of Orcs marching below.

Beside him stood two imposing figures. One was Curufin, Celebrimbor's father, his sharp features exuding a dangerous intellect. The other was Celegorm, broad-shouldered and fiercely handsome, his eyes alight with bloodlust.

"Hold the line," Curufin whispered. "Let them draw closer."

The Orcs trudged through the narrow pass, their guttural voices filling the air as they barked orders and jeered at one another. They were heavily armed, their blackened blades gleaming ominously. Alexander could feel the tension in Celebrimbor's body—the anticipation of battle, the thrill of impending violence.

When the Orcs were almost directly below them, Curufin raised his hand. "Now!" he shouted.

The Elves sprang into action, loosing a rain of arrows that tore through the Orc ranks. Screams erupted as the first wave of Orcs fell, their bodies riddled with arrows. Those who survived scrambled to form a defense, but the Elves were upon them in seconds, leaping down from the rocks with swords drawn.

Alexander felt his body move with fluid precision, Celebrimbor's skills guiding him as he plunged his blade into the throat of an Orc. Blood sprayed across his armor, and he pulled the sword free in one swift motion, turning to face the next foe.

The ambush quickly devolved into chaos. Orcs roared in fury, swinging their crude weapons wildly as the Elves cut through them with deadly efficiency. Alexander moved like a whirlwind, his sword flashing as he struck down one Orc after another. The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood and the stench of death.

"Focus!" Celebrimbor's voice rang in Alexander's mind. "Do not hesitate. Do not falter."

An Orc charged at him, its jagged axe raised high. Alexander sidestepped the blow and drove his sword into the creature's side, feeling the blade bite through flesh and bone. The Orc collapsed with a gurgling cry, its lifeblood pooling on the ground.

As the battle raged on, a deafening roar shook the pass. Alexander turned to see a massive troll lumbering toward the fray, its thick hide covered in scars and crude armor. It swung a massive club, sending Elves and Orcs alike flying as it barreled through the battlefield.

Younger Celebrimbor didn't hesitate. Grabbing a spear from a fallen Elf, he sprinted toward the troll, dodging its crushing blows with uncanny agility. Alexander could feel the strain in his muscles, the adrenaline coursing through his veins as he leapt onto the troll's back.

The beast roared in anger, thrashing wildly as Celebrimbor climbed higher, gripping the spear tightly. With a fierce cry, he drove the weapon into the troll's skull, the point sinking deep into its brain. Blood and gore erupted from the wound as the troll staggered, its roars fading into a low groan before it collapsed with a thunderous crash.

The battlefield fell silent. The remaining Orcs, seeing their champion slain, fled into the mountains, their cries echoing as they disappeared into the mist. The Elves let out a victorious cheer, their voices ringing through the pass.

Curufin approached, a rare smile on his face. "Well done, son," he said, clapping Celebrimbor on the shoulder. Celegorm nodded in approval, his expression fierce but proud.

Alexander felt a strange sense of pride mingled with exhaustion as the memory began to fade.

The next memory hit Alexander like a tidal wave, plunging him into the heart of chaos. The air was thick with smoke and ash, the ground trembling beneath his feet as armies clashed on a scale he could scarcely comprehend.

"This," Celebrimbor said solemnly, "is the War of Wrath. The final battle against Morgoth."

Alexander looked around, his heart racing. The battlefield stretched as far as the eye could see, a sea of Elves, Men, and Dwarves fighting against the endless hordes of Morgoth's creatures. Dragons soared overhead, their fiery breath turning the sky into an inferno, while Fiery demons strode across the battlefield, their whips of flame lashing out with devastating force.

Younger Celebrimbor stood at the forefront of the Elven host, his sword gleaming in the hellish light. Alexander could feel the weight of his armor, the heat of the flames, the overwhelming pressure of the battle around him.

"Hold the line!" a voice shouted, and the Elves surged forward, clashing with the enemy in a storm of blood and steel.

The battle was unlike anything Alexander had ever seen. Orcs, trolls, and other abominations swarmed the battlefield, their sheer numbers threatening to overwhelm the allied forces. Younger Celebrimbor fought with unrelenting fury, his blade cutting through the enemy ranks as he led his warriors into the fray.

Alexander could feel every strike, every kill. The ground was slick with blood, and the screams of the dying filled his ears. The stench of burning flesh was nauseating, but there was no time to dwell on it—there was only the fight.

As the battle raged on, a shadow fell over the field. Alexander looked up and saw a Balrog striding toward them, its massive form wreathed in fire. The creature's whip lashed out, sending Elves flying as it roared with fury.

"What is that thing?" Alexander asked, his voice trembling.

"A Balrog," Celebrimbor replied. "A corrupted Maia, one of Morgoth's most powerful servants. Do not fear it, Alexander. Face it."

Younger Celebrimbor charged toward the Balrog, his sword glowing with an ethereal light. The two clashed in a titanic battle, the Balrog's fiery whip colliding with Celebrimbor's blade in a shower of sparks. Alexander felt every blow, every parry, every moment of searing pain as the Balrog's attacks grazed him.

The fight seemed endless. Younger Celebrimbor was relentless, his strikes precise and powerful, but the Balrog was equally fierce. Finally, the creature landed a devastating blow, its whip wrapping around Celebrimbor and slamming him into the ground.

Alexander felt the impact, the air driven from his lungs as he lay on the scorched earth. The Balrog raised its flaming sword, ready to deliver the killing blow.

Then, a brilliant light filled the battlefield. A tall figure appeared, his form radiant and his sword gleaming with a divine power. With a single strike, he destroyed the Balrog, its fiery form dissipating into ash.

"Who is that?" Alexander asked, awestruck.

"Eönwë," Celebrimbor said. "The herald of Manwë, chief of the Maiar and one of the most powerful beings in my world."

Eönwë extended a hand to younger Celebrimbor, helping him to his feet. His presence was overwhelming, a beacon of hope in the midst of chaos.

The memory shifted again, and Alexander found himself standing in a lush valley. Young Celebrimbor stood at the center of a group of Elves, his expression proud as he surveyed the land.

"This," Celebrimbor said, "is Eregion, the realm I founded. A place of beauty, knowledge, and craft. But also the stage for my greatest mistake."

Alexander could feel the younger Celebrimbor's excitement, his vision for the realm shining brightly in his mind. But there was also a shadow, a foreboding sense of doom that lingered at the edges of the memory.

Before he could dwell on it, the memory faded, and Alexander was pulled back to the present.

Alexander opened his eyes, his body trembling from the intensity of what he'd experienced. Celebrimbor stood before him, his expression solemn.

"You have seen much, Alexander," he said. "You have felt the blood on your hands, the weight of leadership, the horrors of war. Use these lessons wisely, for the path you walk is fraught with danger."

Alexander nodded, his resolve stronger than ever. "I won't forget. I'll make them pay for what they've done."

Celebrimbor placed a hand on his shoulder. "Then let us continue. There is still more to learn."