Marvel: Silver Hand

The late afternoon sun was beginning to dip below the mountains when Clara returned home, her coat dusted with a fine layer of snow from the chill outside. She found Alexander in the living room, sitting cross-legged on the carpet and flipping through a comic book he'd discovered in one of the old drawers.

"Hey, buddy," she greeted, setting her bag down and kicking off her boots. "How was your day?"

"It was okay," he said, closing the comic. "I had pancakes for breakfast, watched TV, and… I went to the basement."

Clara paused in the middle of unwrapping her scarf. "The basement?"

"Yeah," he nodded, sitting up straighter. "There are a bunch of swords and armor down there. They look really old. Why do we have them?"

Clara's expression softened, and she sat down on the couch across from him. "That's because they're part of our family's history. Did you know our family used to be blacksmiths?"

"Blacksmiths?" Alexander repeated, tilting his head.

"Mm-hmm," Clara confirmed. "For thousands of years, our ancestors worked as blacksmiths. It's a tradition that goes back further than I can even trace. Those swords and pieces of armor in the basement? Your grandfather made them."

Alexander's eyes widened. "Grandpa made them?"

"He sure did," Clara said with a small smile. "He was really talented. He loved his craft. When he was younger, your mom and I would watch him work in his forge for hours. He made everything with so much care."

"What about the other stuff?" Alexander asked. "The things our ancestors made?"

Clara's smile dimmed, and she hesitated. "Well… not everything survived. A long time ago, when your grandfather was just a boy, our family lived in a big manor in England. It was beautiful—at least, that's what he used to say. But…" She paused, glancing at Alexander, who was hanging onto her every word. "The manor was destroyed in a fire."

Alexander's expression shifted, his excitement fading. "A fire?" he whispered, his voice tight.

"Yes," Clara said gently, immediately realizing her mistake. She reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. "I'm so sorry, Alex. I didn't mean to bring up—"

"It's okay," Alexander interrupted, though his face betrayed the sadness he felt. "I just… I miss him. I miss Dad."

Clara's heart ached as she pulled him into a hug. "I know, sweetheart. I miss him too."

After a long moment, she pulled back and smiled softly. "How about we get you ready for bed? You've had a long day."

Alexander nodded silently, allowing her to guide him to his room. She tucked him in, pulling the blanket up to his chin, and kissed his forehead. "Goodnight, Alex," she said softly.

"Goodnight," he mumbled, already beginning to drift off.

The house was silent, the night settling in like a heavy blanket. Alexander slept soundly in his room, his breathing slow and even.

Celebrimbor's wraith form materialized by the bedside. He gazed down at the boy, his expression unreadable, before turning his attention elsewhere. The pull of the dark energy in the basement was impossible to ignore, and now that the house was quiet, it was the perfect time to investigate.

Floating silently, Celebrimbor passed through the walls and into the basement. The air felt heavier here, almost suffocating, though it didn't affect the wraith's incorporeal form.

He drifted past the rows of swords and armor, his sharp eyes appraising the craftsmanship. They were adequate—solid, functional—but nowhere near the level of mastery he was accustomed to. His gaze moved on, settling once again on the chest in the corner.

The dark energy emanating from it was unmistakable, curling around the room like an invisible fog. Celebrimbor approached cautiously, his form glowing faintly in the dim light.

The chest was an old thing, its wood warped and discolored with age. Strange symbols were etched into its surface, their meanings lost to time. He reached out a spectral hand, testing the barrier that surrounded it. The energy pushed back, resisting him.

Frowning, Celebrimbor tried again, pouring more of his will into the attempt. This time, the barrier buckled slightly, and the lid shifted just a fraction of an inch. Peering through the tiny crack, he glimpsed something inside: three large ingots of a metal unlike anything he'd ever seen.

The metal was silvery-white, glowing faintly as if lit from within, and sparkled like a thousand diamonds. Its purity and brilliance were unlike anything he had encountered in all his years as a smith.

But the ingots weren't the only things inside. Resting beside them was an amulet. Its frame was made of gold, adorned with intricate carvings and embellishments that gave it a regal, ancient appearance. At its center was a depiction of fire—bright orange and yellow flames that seemed to swirl and flicker as though alive. The entire piece radiated power, both alluring and dangerous.

Celebrimbor's gaze lingered on the amulet, unease settling in his chest. Whatever this was, it was not of this world.

Summoning all his strength, he tried once more to open the chest. The energy pushed back violently, repelling him with a force that sent his form flickering. The lid snapped shut, sealing the treasures within.

Defeated for now, Celebrimbor retreated. As he ascended back to Alexander's room, his thoughts remained on what he had seen. The ingots and the amulet were powerful, that much was certain. But what were they doing here, hidden in this quiet house in Snow Valley?

He settled beside Alexander's bed, his form dimming as he resumed his silent watch. The mysteries of the chest would have to wait—for now, his priority was the boy.