[300 powerstones Bonus Chapter]
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On the grey stone cliff, a thrush tapped at the secret door. The last ray of sunlight on Durin's Day would fall upon the keyhole.
This was the hidden detail etched on that map in the original story.
Because he already knew what was going to happen, Kaen didn't follow King Elrond and the others to the base of the waterfall to uncover the mystery.
He used "lack of interest" as an excuse and separated from the group.
Then, Kaen took off his armor, changed into a long black robe, and left the palace alone, strolling through Rivendell under the moonlight.
Moonlight bathed the quiet cobblestone paths, serene and peaceful. The summer breeze stirred his long hair, and the air was thick with the scent of raw, unfiltered nature.
Even at night, music lingered in the valley, harp strings dancing in the wind, weaving through the silence like silver threads.
Kaen felt refreshed, as if all the burdens on his soul had been gently lifted.
On a whim, he followed a sound—one melody that stood out from the rest—and began walking toward the forest's edge.
Along the way, he saw many elves peacefully sleeping on the grass, in the woods, beneath the moonlight…
It wasn't that they had no homes to return to—elves simply preferred this kind of communion with nature during the summer.
At last, Kaen reached the riverbank and saw a lone figure, unlike any he'd seen before.
A golden-haired elf, dressed in flowing white robes, sat alone on a stone bridge, gently plucking the strings of a harp.
Light radiated from his entire being, a glow even brighter than the moonlight itself.
His music was mournful, yet carried undertones of defiance and resolute sorrow—
A lament for the fallen, a tribute to those who had died heroically in battle.
As the melody played, it stirred the elements themselves, conjuring visions in the air like living memories:
—Before towering walls, a million orcs gathered. Bronze-and-fire-forged monstrosities roared. In the skies above, dragons spewed fire. On the earth below, Balrogs howled. Countless elves charged forward, falling one after another on the battlefield until all that remained was ruin…
"Young one, I haven't seen you in Rivendell before. May I ask where you're from?"
The voice was gentle and warm, like polished jade. It pulled Kaen back from the trance he'd fallen into.
He hadn't realized until now that the corners of his eyes were wet. The emotions within the music had gripped him too tightly to notice.
He looked at the elf, already having a strong guess at his identity.
Kaen bowed slightly and replied, "I am Kaen Eowenríel, student of Lord Elrond and King of the Kingdom of Eowenría."
"I've heard Elrond mention your name before," the elf replied with a brief pause. Then he said: "I am Glorfindel."
Kaen's pupils shrank.
Glorfindel. In the First Age, he had been the head of the House of the Golden Flower—one of the twelve houses of Gondolin.
During the Fall of Gondolin, Glorfindel fought alone on a cliff to cover the retreat of the elven citizens.
In that battle, he slew countless orcs and engaged in single combat with a Balrog.
This mighty elven lord, uninjured, had driven the Balrog back step by step until he finally forced it to the cliff's edge.
But in the final moment, when he struck the killing blow, the Balrog caught his hair and dragged him down with it—both of them plunging into the abyss.
After his death, Glorfindel's spirit returned to the Halls of Mandos in Aman.
Because the Creator, Eru Ilúvatar, had decreed that as long as an elf had not fallen to darkness or committed an unforgivable crime, and had lived a life of valor, the Valar bore the responsibility to restore them to life.
Thus—kind-hearted, self-sacrificing, and uninvolved in the Kinslaying—Glorfindel was given a new body by the Valar.
In the original legend, it was written: after being reborn, Glorfindel's spirit surpassed even his former glory, strong enough to rival minor divine beings.
One must understand: no matter how powerful elves are, their existence is still a step below the Ainur.
And yet Glorfindel, reborn, stood shoulder to shoulder with the gods.
In the Second Age, he was sent back to Middle-earth by the Valar as their emissary, alongside Gandalf.
Since then, he had remained in Rivendell, withdrawn from the world, silently watching over it all.
Seeing the shock on Kaen's face, Glorfindel asked with curiosity, "It seems you know who I am?"
"Of course. Your heroic deeds are still spoken of among the elves to this day. I never imagined I'd meet you here in person."
Kaen was visibly moved.
This was the Glorfindel—one of the most formidable Noldor warriors of the First Age. A man who once led his entire house to stand defiant against Morgoth himself.
"Heh, just old memories…"
Clearly, Glorfindel didn't want to dwell on the past—those days were steeped in too much pain.
He looked at Kaen and said, "I see the power of the elements in you. Elrond was right—you can sense them like the ancient men of old. These days, only a few among the Dúnedain still possess that gift."
"I only gained this ability by chance," Kaen replied honestly. "It's thanks to my teacher that I can control it at all."
Glorfindel patted the stone bridge beside him.
"Come, I haven't spoken with a man in a long time. Since you know my story, I'd like to know yours. If you're willing to share, we've got a whole night ahead of us."
"It would be my honor."
Kaen didn't hesitate. He sat beside Glorfindel, under the stars and moonlight, bathed in the sacred glow that radiated from the ancient elf.
Then, he began to speak.
He told his story—from the Anduin River Valley all the way to the founding of the Kingdom of Eowenría.
And by the end of his tale, Kaen said:
"I've always been fond of the stories of the First Age—the Noldor fighting against the darkness.
They were songs of freedom, epics of defiance… fighting not for power, but for the meaning of life itself—for will and soul."
"The capital I'm building—Elarothiel—it's a lot like the old Gondolin. Hidden in the heart of the forest, nestled within a deep valley, surrounded by sheer cliffs a hundred meters high…"
As Kaen described it, Glorfindel's eyes shimmered with nostalgia.
Perhaps it was because someone was finally listening—
When Kaen finished, Glorfindel also began to speak, recounting the memories of that once-great elven city.
Unknowingly, a bond of friendship began to form between them.
As dawn approached, Kaen stood and said:
"When Elarothiel is finished, you must come see it. It'll be a beautiful place. Consider this an invitation from me."
"I very much look forward to that day."
Glorfindel smiled sincerely.
In Kaen, he saw a reflection of his younger self—so full of spirit and promise, even after living for over ten thousand years.
He couldn't help but ask a question that had been lingering on his mind:
"Kaen… what do you think of the elves? Or rather, what do you think of this world?"