The Homecoming of Lothiel

The Blessed Bell rang—

and even the trees leaned forward,

roots straining in the dark soil,

their silence heavy

with knowing.

Elenion rose.

Elbereth’s call

pulled at his chest

like gravity.

“Do not worry,” he whispered,

but already the wind had shifted,

already the river bent its course.

The Bell rang again.

Its sound pressed through the gardens,

a weight no flower could bear.

Eru’s voice, vast as mountains:

“Lothiel, you will carry love

into the world—

you will be light

against the dark.”

She bowed,

though the air itself seemed to falter,

every star holding its flame

on the edge of descent.

Her life was brief—

a bloom bent toward the sun,

then broken.

The Bell tolled once more,

and she was gathered home.

Years passed.

Elenion, white-haired,

heard the sound again—

not around him,

but within him,

pulling,

tilting him forward.

At the gate she waited.

Hand in hand,

they turned beneath the Tree of Light—

steps already falling

into forever.