Night deepened in the valley of Rivendell. Moonlight still danced on the water's surface, but silence had enveloped the entire valley. The Dwarves had departed, treading their path towards the Misty Mountains, carrying both hope and peril in one company.
Thalion stood on a high balcony overlooking the valley, his cloak fluttering gently in the night wind. Slow footsteps approached from behind, then stopped a few paces from him.
"They have gone," Gandalf said, calmly yet meaningfully.
Thalion only nodded slowly.
"I thought you would go with them. They need all the help they can get," Gandalf continued, touching his beard as he gazed at the sky.
Thalion turned slightly, not fully facing Gandalf. His gaze still swept over the valley, as if searching for something unfinished there.
"I know their story," he finally said. His voice was flat but deep. "I know who will fall… and who will survive."
Gandalf observed the young man's face. There was a tranquility, but also a burden unusual for his age.
"Then what will you do, Thalion?" Gandalf asked. "If not walk with them, then where is your path now?"
Thalion turned fully this time. Their eyes met, and for a moment, the old and the young remained silent together.
"I will follow them from afar," Thalion replied softly. "Their footsteps I will always hear, even from behind the shadows of forests and valleys."
He took a breath, then added with a deep, steady tone, "This journey is not my destiny. But when the darkest hour comes, when their path is closed and hope begins to fade… I will come. With fire. To open the way."
Gandalf looked at him for a long time, then smiled faintly.
"Hopefully, it won't come to that… but if it does, I will be grateful to have you among us."
Thalion returned the faint smile, then gazed at the sky again. The moon still shone. Destiny had moved. But he knew, his time and his role would come—with a flame that would cleave the darkness.
The sun had just risen behind the Rivendell mountains when Thalion was busy assembling a strange saddle in his workshop. It wasn't an ordinary saddle—made of lightweight metal and alchemical magic, it could transform into falcon-like iron wings, ready to carry him high with Griffindor later.
Arwen stood nearby, observing with curious eyes. "Are you truly sure about this, Thalion? Iron wings that can make you fly... it's extraordinary, but also dangerous."
Thalion smiled faintly, his hands deftly assembling piece by piece. He paused for a moment and then looked at Arwen. "Arwen, I want you to come with me on this journey. To see firsthand how the destiny of the Dwarves and the Hobbit unfolds."
Arwen frowned, a little surprised. "Me? Go to those dangerous places? Why should I come?"
Thalion smiled gently. "Because I don't want to face everything alone. I need someone I can trust, who understands what is happening. And... I want you to see for yourself what is happening in this world."
Arwen looked at him deeply, trying to read the meaning behind his words. "But this is no small decision, Thalion. It's full of risks."
She looked down, then lifted her head again, looking at Thalion with determination. "I must speak with my father, Elrond, first. I want him to know and hear it directly from me."
Thalion nodded, accepting wholeheartedly. "Alright. I will await your answer. But time keeps moving, and their journey cannot be delayed."
Arwen offered a faint smile, but her eyes were full of resolve. "Let's speak to my father before our journey truly begins."
Thalion and Arwen stepped together into the great hall of Elrond's residence. Gentle light from the high windows illuminated the room, creating a solemn and dignified atmosphere.
Elrond stood in the center of the room, looking at their arrival with sharp yet warm eyes.
"My daughter, Arwen, and Thalion," he greeted them with a deep voice. "What brings you here?"
Arwen stepped forward. "Father, I wish to go with Thalion to witness the journey of the Dwarves and the Hobbit. I ask for your permission."
Elrond sighed deeply, his face growing serious. "Arwen, you know how dangerous that journey is. I cannot allow you to go into such a perilous field."
Thalion raised a hand, looking at Elrond with conviction. "Lord Elrond, I promise to protect Arwen as best I can. I will not let her be harmed in the slightest."
Elrond frowned, not easily convinced. "Words are easily spoken, but I need more than that. I wish to test your strength and resolve, Thalion. If you are truly capable of protecting Arwen, prove it."
The atmosphere became silent. Thalion nodded slowly, ready to accept the challenge.
Thalion calmly stepped forward, drawing the Ryujin Jakka sword from its scabbard. Its blade gleamed under the room's light, emanating an aura of power and serenity.
Steadily, he plunged the sword into the ground before Elrond, then raised his right hand into the air.
"Jōkaku Enjō!" he cried in an ancient tongue, concentrating his alchemical and magical energy.
Waves of light swirled around the sword and his body, creating a circle of blazing blue fire that danced in the air. A soft rumble echoed throughout the hall, and for a moment, the space seemed to freeze in silent awe.
Elrond's eyes widened, unblinking as he stared at a display of power he rarely witnessed. He knew such power was not merely a trick, but a manifestation of deep resolve and self-control.
After the fire subsided, Elrond sighed heavily and lowered his hand.
"Very well, Thalion," he said firmly, "I entrust Arwen's safety to you for this journey. But remember, if even a single hair on Arwen's head is harmed, I will not hesitate to bring an army to Rohan. This is not an empty threat."
Thalion nodded without hesitation, full of respect. "I understand, Lord Elrond. I will not disappoint you."
Arwen looked at both of them, her heart trembling between relief and apprehension. Their journey was now truly about to begin.
Morning dawned in Rivendell. Sunlight began to creep gently through the gaps in the leaves, caressing the stone surfaces and dew-kissed foliage. The atmosphere was calm and peaceful, but within the preparation room, there was a mix of apprehension and excitement.
Thalion was busy preparing the iron saddle that would be fitted onto Griffindor, the mighty horse that would be their sole mount. Griffindor's body looked imposing, his muscles strong and gleaming from the many elixirs and alchemical concoctions Thalion had created. Steel wings resembling a falcon's were firmly attached to his saddle, ready to carry them soaring through the sky.
Griffindor lifted his head, his deep breath exhaling white vapor into the cold morning air. His sharp eyes looked at Thalion and Arwen as if understanding the importance of this mission.
In another corner, Thalion assembled a new sword—a katana specially designed for Arwen. He named the sword "Sakura." The sword had a metallic blade mixed with a soft pink like cherry blossoms, shimmering with a magical hue. Thalion imagined the sword would sparkle and dance like the Zanpakuto Senbonzakura, but with Arwen's elegant and feminine touch.
Arwen looked at the sword with sparkling eyes. "Sakura... it's a beautiful name," she said softly. "I will cherish it as best as I can."
Thalion smiled. "I know you will. This sword isn't just a weapon; it's also a part of you."
Meanwhile, other equipment was prepared: protective cloaks, small backpacks filled with potions and provisions, and several old map scrolls that had been studied countless times.
When everything was ready, Thalion looked at Arwen and Griffindor.
"We will only use one horse," he said. "But he is strong, and you have Sakura. We must be ready for anything on this journey."
Arwen nodded firmly, her heart beginning to pound.
The three of them—man, Elf, and extraordinary horse—prepared to embark on a path of destiny full of mystery and danger.
The morning air in Rivendell was still cool as Griffindor's hoofbeats echoed on the rocky path. The steel wings folded at the sides of his saddle gleamed in the sunlight. Thalion sat in front, controlling the reins, while Arwen sat behind him, wrapping her arms around Thalion's waist for balance.
In the sky above, birds flew cheerfully. Yet in their hearts, there was a faint tension—a feeling that the world was moving towards a critical point.
Griffindor galloped swiftly like the wind across plains and forest clearings, as if knowing the direction without command. His breathing was steady and strong, every movement full of power. They passed quiet flowing rivers, graceful old tree groves, and rocks that marked the boundaries of Rivendell.
After half a day's journey, the terrain began to change. The formerly green hills started to give way to rocks and dry bushes. A thin mist hung at the foot of the mountains, and the wind carried the smell of damp earth and a faint scent of blood—the smell of battle.
They stopped on the slope of a small mountain overlooking a wide valley in the distance. Below, the faint silhouettes of battle could be seen. The glint of swords and arrows reflecting the late afternoon sun, the sounds of screams and clashing weapons, barely audible from that distance, yet enough to stir the heart.
Thalion dismounted, gently helping Arwen down. He squinted towards the battle in the distance, then said softly, "They made it out of the goblin caves..."
"And now they're fighting for their lives," Arwen continued, her soft voice tinged with sympathy.
In the distance, they saw a small group of bearded creatures—the Dwarves—fighting desperately against a horde of Orcs led by a large, monstrous, pale-skinned creature—Azog.
Thalion stood calmly, but his hand gripped Ryujin Jakka tightly.
"I knew this would happen," he whispered. "They must pass this test themselves. But if they fall…"
He turned to Arwen, his eyes shining.
"…I will descend with fire to open the way for them."
Arwen nodded, the wind gently blowing her hair. Her eyes never left the valley below.
"Are you really going to do that?"
"If destiny demands it, yes."
They stood together, watching the distant battle—a battle that was part of this world's destiny. But for now, they were merely observers… shadows waiting for their time to descend into the fray.
The sky began to turn golden. In the distance, thousands of wings stretched across the heavens—giant eagles flying, carrying the small bodies of the Dwarves from the valley of battle that had almost become their tomb.
Arwen watched in silence. The light of the setting sun illuminated her face, casting a warm glow upon her serene cheeks. Thalion stood beside her, his cloak gently stirred by the cooling mountain wind. They remained unspoken for quite some time, simply witnessing how fate saved those chosen to continue their journey.
"There are many things we cannot change," Thalion said finally, his voice deep yet soft. "But sometimes... simply being present at the right point, we can be the difference between life and death."
Arwen nodded slowly. "Like those eagles."
"Yes," Thalion replied, "and like fire."
He sighed and turned to Arwen. "Arwen, I don't know how far this journey will take us. But if I must descend into the shadows, I want you to be able to protect yourself."
Arwen's eyes gleamed, not from fear—but from understanding Thalion's burden and intent. "You want to teach me to fight?"
"Not just to fight," he replied, unrolling a cloth by his side, revealing a beautifully forged new sword. "This is 'Sakura.' The first Zanpakuto born not from my old world, but from my will here."
The katana was a purplish-silver metallic color with a soft pink sheen like cherry blossoms. Its hilt was wrapped in pale pink leather, and its small handguard was shaped like an open petal.
"This is for you," Thalion said. "Not for destruction, but for protection."
Arwen reached out, touching the blade slowly as if holding a fragile flower. When her fingers grasped the hilt, a gentle breeze swirled around them—not shaking, but simply encompassing, as if greeting its new owner.
"Beautiful…" Arwen whispered. "But I don't know how to use it."
"You will learn," Thalion replied with a smile. "Not in a single day, not in a single battle. But I will teach you. Not just the technique, but its meaning—when you must draw it, and when you must hold it back."
Arwen looked at him, then placed the sword on her lap as they sat together on the stone, facing the twilight sky.
"In that case," she said with a smile, "let us begin this journey. Not just to witness the destiny of others, but to weave our own."
Thalion gazed at her face, silent for a moment, then looked up at the sky. "I never thought I'd call any place 'home'," he murmured. "But if you walk beside me... perhaps this world could be home."
Arwen did not answer. But her smile was enough to fill the sky that was beginning to fill with stars.
And night slowly descended, sheltering two souls who were beginning to find their way in this chaotic world.
The night wind gently touched the treetops on the mountain slope, carrying the scent of pine and the lingering dust of battle from the valley below. On a flat stone overlooking the wide valley, Arwen and Thalion sat cross-legged in silence. Between them, the beautiful sword named Sakura lay still, as if awaiting its awakening.
Thalion broke the silence, his voice soft yet clear, "Do you still remember when you first received the Storage Rings from me?"
Arwen turned and nodded slowly. "Yes. I had to drip blood onto its surface so the ring could recognize me as its master."
Thalion nodded with satisfaction. "The same applies to a Zanpakutō. This isn't just a weapon—it's a part of your soul. It must recognize you... not with eyes, but with blood and will."
He took out a small knife from beneath his cloak and handed it with both hands to Arwen. "Just a drop. Place it at the base of the blade, then grasp it. Feel it as if you are speaking to it."
Arwen looked at the knife for a moment. There was no hesitation within her, only deep curiosity. With one swift, practiced movement, she slightly grazed her fingertip. A clear red drop of blood fell slowly, touching the base of the Sakura sword.
As her blood touched the metal, Sakura shimmered faintly—a pink color mixed with silvery light rippled slowly like a thin mist over a lake.
Thalion smiled faintly, then said softly, "Now hold it. Place both your hands on the sword and close your eyes. Breathe slowly. Let your soul descend like water through the earth."
Arwen followed. Her fingers clasped the hilt of Sakura, and as she closed her eyes, the wind seemed to pause for a moment.
Thalion's voice deepened, almost like an echo from within the mind. "Imagine a white space. Silent. Only you and a single spark of light in the center. That is where it resides. The soul of this sword. Listen, do not force. Let it speak."
Arwen's eyes remained closed, but her face began to change. Her eyebrows furrowed slightly, then relaxed. Her breathing became deeper and calmer. The hand gripping the sword seemed no longer to be holding metal, but the pulse of a living being.
Thalion watched her in silence. The night wind moved slowly around them, and the air above the stone became warm, as if the world was blessing their unification.
Several minutes passed before Arwen slowly opened her eyes. They shone, but not from tears. The moonlight reflected in her irises, which now appeared deeper—like a calm lake holding the secret of cherry blossoms falling on its surface.
"I saw it," she whispered. "Not clearly... just petals... and a sound... a soft sound like the singing of spring."
Thalion smiled faintly, proud but not overly so. "That is enough for a start. Its name has not been fully revealed, but it has heard you."
Arwen looked at Sakura, which now lay still again, but something had changed. Not its form, but the aura that enveloped the sword—warm, alive, and seemingly now a part of her.
"Thank you, Thalion," Arwen said slowly.
Thalion looked up at the starry sky. "It's not over yet. That was only the first step. You must know its voice, its character, even its sorrows. Because a Zanpakutō is a reflection of a part of your soul that even you may not fully understand."
The night continued, but time seemed to slow for them. On that quiet peak, two figures sat in a silence rich with meaning—an alchemist and a princess of eternity, who slowly began to understand that true power was not about defeating enemies, but about uniting with one's own soul.
Dawn was just beginning to touch the mountain peaks, painting the sky with delicate gradients of orange and pink. Dew still hung on the tips of the leaves, and the world had not truly woken up. Yet amidst that stillness, a gentle but firm aura began to emanate from where Arwen sat cross-legged.
Arwen's eyes were still closed, her face serene. She had meditated throughout the night, her body almost motionless, as if becoming one with nature. Meanwhile, Thalion stood not far away, guarding and observing with full attention.
Suddenly, the wind around them changed direction. Not strong, but gently swirling, circling Arwen like a subtle river current. From the hilt of Sakura that she held, a faint pink light appeared, growing brighter with time.
Then something extraordinary happened.
Chime…
A soft sound like cracking glass, and Sakura's blade began to break into tiny pieces floating in the air. Not breaking, but transforming—into gleaming cherry blossom petals, each sharp as a fine dagger.
Arwen slowly opened her eyes. They now reflected a pink shimmer like mirrors of the morning sky. The petals floated calmly around her body.
"It... it is greeting me," she whispered softly, almost inaudibly.
Thalion stepped forward, holding back a smile of admiration. "That is its initial manifestation. You have overcome an obstacle that even trained swordsmen take years to achieve."
Arwen slowly stood up. The petals remained floating, forming a swirling pattern around her body, like a storm of flowers awaiting command.
"Can I control it?" she asked softly.
"Try. Do not command it like giving instructions, but imagine your intention. This sword does not submit to authority, but to will," Thalion replied calmly.
Arwen looked towards a small tree in the distance, about twenty paces from where they stood. She did not speak. She simply imagined the petals darting towards the tree trunk and slicing it cleanly without touching the surrounding leaves.
And they moved.
As if hearing her heart's desire, the petals flew through the air, forming delicate paths and dancing beautifully before cleanly slicing the tree trunk. A crack sound was heard, and the trunk slowly toppled—its leaves remaining intact, not a single one scratched.