The sun never rises, not in the lands of shadow where all that has fallen from the Valar's favor lie in flame. We are broken, torn, wasted... we are lost...

From the heart of the shadows a form stirs, face hidden by the clinging mist. He moves slowly, recognizing the faces. The torn armor and broken arms of war, his once feared crest still burned into their very making. "And so at last, all are home." He bends, raising one form from the ground, the steel crown falls from the proud head to the floor.

In the silence there is laughter, in the dark there is light, one merely needs to know where to look...

Ji Indur rose, around him lay his brethren, torn, twisted. Would they rise, could they? In this blackness his once feared vision was dim. There was nothing around them... for ever it seemed that all existence had been snuffed into nothing. No sign of life, even Mordor had been alive, this... this was just... "Nothing..."

Khamul gazed over their surroundings, a hiss in his breath. "There is nothing... we were slain, fallen within Mordors own walls... for what..." his eyes dimmed and shut, "What were we fighting for... I knew once... I knew..." Another form stirred, then another, slowly the eight drew together. Eyes once so bright with inner fire, now lifeless, empty.

"For nothing... all for nothing..."

"We failed... failed both of them and now..."

"Lost... to dim to see..."

"Lost...lost....lost..."

"...Now it is done." A bitter laugh choked the easterlings throat, had we not promised to fall together Murazor? And we have done so, twice.

This is the one you spoke of. The lord of Mordor knelt before the figure above him, even in nothing, his lord had managed to forge some semblance of time and space. Once more twisting the Valar's work to his own liking. "It is, my king. The other will soon be here."

How do you know? They are but tools, where does this confidence in them spring from? Sauron bowed his head.

"I have faith in them my lord, if you will permit it, they will come." The Dark Lord turned, a smile looking more like a grimace crossing his mouth.

...Then let them come.