In LOTR with Harry Potter system-Chapter 448: Swimming Against the Flow of Time

Inside the River of Time, Sylas felt an indescribable joy.

Having assumed an Ainu-like spiritual form, his treatment within the river was utterly different from before. The laws of time, once distant and aloof, no longer towered above him like an unapproachable firmament. Instead, they drew close, acknowledging him, even welcoming him.

Every Ainu is born with an inherent theme of authority within the Music of Ilúvatar.

The Valar govern vast domains such as air, water, substance, growth, dreams, and fate.

The Maiar, though lesser, still embody distinct aspects of creation.

Sylas, however, was not a true Ainu.

Though he had reshaped himself into an Ainu-like spiritual state through the Supreme Art of Transformation, he possessed no innate authority of creation. His essence was, in a sense, empty.

Yet when he entered the River of Time in this form, something extraordinary happened.

The River of Time, vast and ownerless, seemed to recognize him as a vessel. With no prior master and no fixed will imposed upon it, the laws of time surged toward Sylas naturally, pouring into him like ink onto a blank canvas.

Not authority granted by Ilúvatar. Not dominion imposed by birth.

But resonance.

As the river flowed endlessly, Sylas's spiritual form was continuously tempered and nourished by the laws of time. His presence grew denser, broader, and more stable, until at last he gained the strength to move against the current itself.

He walked upstream.

Scenes from the history of Arda unfolded before him.

He saw himself a thousand years earlier, standing beside Gandalf, Elrond, Galadriel, and Glorfindel, besieging Sauron in that desperate age. Observing it from within the River of Time felt like watching a living chronicle, far more vivid than memory.

If he wished, he could step into that moment.

With his current power, he could crush Sauron with ease.

But Sylas did nothing.

He did not intervene.

He understood that the victory was inevitable, and more importantly, that reckless interference with the past risked temporal entanglement. Even if he himself could not be erased by time, a paradox could still bind him within an endless loop.

So he moved on.

Soon, he arrived at the Third Age, year 2940, the moment of his own descent into Arda.

He saw himself appear upon the hills near Hobbiton, arriving in a form that defied understanding, discovered by a kind-hearted hobbit and brought into a humble dwelling.

Sylas gazed upon the familiar figure for a long while.

A quiet sigh dissolved into the river.

Earlier, he had already visited the resting places of Bilbo and Frodo in the West. He had even asked Gandalf whether their souls still lingered in the Halls of Mandos.

But Gandalf had answered solemnly.

Bilbo and Frodo were Hobbits, of the Secondborn.

Their fate was the Gift of Men.

Their spirits had passed briefly through the Halls of Mandos,

and then departed beyond the world, to a place even the Valar could not see.

Unlike the Elves, who await rebirth within Mandos, the fate of Men leads beyond the Circles of the World.

Their farewell was final.

Sylas looked once more upon Bilbo's image in the river, as though engraving it into the depths of his being, then turned away and continued upstream.

As he traveled onward, he witnessed the slow fragmentation of Arnor, the fading of ancient kingdoms, and the final alliance of Elves and Men standing against the Shadow.

Gil-galad and Elendil fought Sauron with all their might, standing as the final pillars of resistance against the Dark Lord. In the end, both fell in that terrible struggle. Yet Sauron's victory was incomplete.

It was Elendil's son, Isildur, who seized the moment. With a desperate stroke, he cut the One Ring from Sauron's hand, severing the finger that bore it. That single act became one of the most decisive images in the history of Arda.

From within the River of Time, Sylas witnessed it all.

He continued his journey backward, passing from the Third Age into the Second, watching the rise of Númenor, the forging of the Rings of Power, and the creation of the Three Rings of the Elves, wrought in secrecy by Celebrimbor. He saw ambition, wisdom, and pride intertwine, laying the foundations for ages of sorrow.

Still moving upstream, Sylas entered the First Age.

What awaited him there was nothing less than the end of the world.

The War of Wrath unfolded before his eyes.

The hosts of the Valar clashed with the armies of Morgoth, and the very fabric of Arda was torn apart. Mountains were raised to bar the enemy's advance, only to be shattered moments later. The earth split open, molten fire bursting forth, while oceans surged and continents drowned beneath towering waves.

The sky itself seemed to burn.

This devastation far surpassed anything Sauron had ever unleashed. Even from within the River of Time, Sylas felt his spirit tremble.

Then he saw Morgoth.

Crowned in iron, vast as a mountain range, the first Dark Lord radiated a pressure so overwhelming that Sylas felt like an insect before a god. Though already diminished from his prime, Morgoth remained a being of terrifying might.

Against him stood Tulkas, the Vala of war and strength.

Their battle was not one of subtlety or sorcery, but of raw, overwhelming force. Each blow shattered the land beneath them. Mountains were pulverized, rivers of fire erupted, and the laws of nature themselves wavered under the violence of their clash. Countless living beings and matter were obliterated, reduced to nothing but pure energy.

Even the River of Time was shaken.

Temporal storms formed where their power collided, creating violent vortices and dangerous undercurrents. Sylas was forced to steady himself with utmost caution. If he were swept into one of those temporal currents, he might not perish, but he could be trapped forever, lost beyond all eras.

Then came the turning point.

Eärendil, sailing the flying ship Vingilot and bearing the Silmaril upon his brow, led the Great Eagles into battle. With them came Thorondor, lord of the Eagles, and together they faced Morgoth's final and greatest weapon.

Ancalagon the Black, the mightiest dragon Arda had ever known.

The battle in the heavens was cataclysmic. At last, Ancalagon was struck down, his immense body crashing upon Thangorodrim, breaking the triple peaks and crushing Morgoth's stronghold of Angband beneath him. With that fall, the tide of war was decided.

Seizing the moment, Tulkas closed in.

With the chain Angainor, forged by Aulë himself, he bound Morgoth, ending the reign of terror that had spanned the ages. The Dark Enemy was defeated, his armies annihilated, and the world forever changed.

Sylas stood within the River of Time, silently witnessing the entirety of it.

This was the first time he had truly seen combat of the highest order.

Compared to beings like Tulkas and Morgoth, his own strength felt insignificant. The confidence he had gained from moving freely within time was extinguished in an instant. The gap between them was not one of degree, but of existence itself.

The violent echoes of their battle disrupted the flow of time ahead, preventing Sylas from traveling further upstream. He was forced to stop.

Yet he had already gone far enough.

From the Fourth Age back to the First, across uncountable years, this journey alone was a feat beyond measure. Sylas chose not to force his way further. Instead, he remained within the River of Time, absorbing its power and contemplating what he had witnessed.

Especially Tulkas.

The Vala's style of battle, rooted in courage, instinct, and overwhelming physical dominance, left a deep impression on Sylas. As he observed, he felt his own understanding of combat, will, and power subtly improve.

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