Before the gates of Angband, three volcanoes towered like blackened spires, each rising thousands of meters into the choking sky. Ash and poison drifted endlessly through the air. Beneath them, in caverns burrowed deep into the earth, countless orcs labored without rest.
At the very heart of those depths stood a palace carved from shadow.
Its gates were colossal, and before them lay a monstrous wolf, vast enough to blot out the torchlight. Carcharoth. Morgoth himself had chosen the beast as a pup, feeding it dark power and a devouring hunger until it became an unblinking sentinel, capable of piercing any disguise and tearing apart anything that dared approach.
Within the palace, the source of all corruption rose abruptly from his throne.
Morgoth's eyes burned as he turned toward the distant west.
"That light…" he snarled. "Has Valinor finally moved against me?"
Moments earlier, he had felt it. A surge of radiance from the direction of the Dead Valley, power unmistakably on the level of a Maia. For an instant, he had believed Varda herself had descended upon Middle-earth.
If she had, Manwë would not be far behind.
And if the Valar marched again, he would not withstand them. Not now. Much of his strength was sunk deep into the land itself, spreading corruption. Even with the Silmarils in his grasp, the combined might of the Valar would crush him.
But as he focused, doubt crept in.
"No… this is not Varda."
The power was great, but not absolute. And the timing was wrong. The Valar would not intervene yet. The Noldor had defied them, spilled kindred blood, and abandoned Valinor. The Valar would not rush to save them now.
This had always been a race.
If Morgoth could wipe out elves, men, and dwarves before the Valar acted, Middle-earth would become an extension of himself. A realm bound to his essence. At that point, even the Valar, even Ilúvatar, would be forced to hesitate.
That was why he had launched his wars so hastily.
"Summon Sauron," Morgoth commanded, his will cutting across leagues of land.
Not long after, a dark figure arrived, wings dissolving as he landed before the palace gates. The vampire form faded, revealing a tall, armored Maia who knelt at once.
"My lord," Sauron said, bowing low. "You summoned me."
"Your wounds?" Morgoth asked, his gaze cold and sharp.
"Mostly healed," Sauron replied. "I failed you. I was driven back by elves and humans."
The memory burned. Especially the human mage. The humiliation still festered.
"One day," Sauron swore silently, "I will tear his head from his shoulders and feed it to my wolves."
Morgoth studied him, then spoke calmly. "That defeat was not entirely yours. Few would expect such power from men."
Sauron stiffened, surprised by the lack of rebuke.
"Next time, I will not fail," he vowed. "And this loss has given me an idea. One that could greatly increase my strength."
"Go on," Morgoth said, intrigued.
Among his servants, Sauron and the Lord of Balrogs stood above the rest. Where the Balrog embodied raw destruction, Sauron was a scholar of power, having learned under many Valar before falling.
"I intend to forge a ring," Sauron explained. "A vessel for my knowledge and will. By binding my power into it and drawing from it in turn, I can amplify my strength beyond its current limits."
Morgoth smiled.
"A sound idea. But incomplete." He raised one hand. From beyond the palace, a slab of rare enchanted metal tore free from the earth and flew into his grasp. Black fire poured from his mouth, engulfing it, while runes flooded its surface in impossible density.
The metal twisted, shrank, and hardened.
At last, a ring remained. Etched with alien symbols. Heavy with malice.
Morgoth pressed a fragment of his own power into it.
"There," he said. "This ring bears my strength as well. Wear it, and your power will be tripled."
Sauron accepted it with trembling reverence.
"Thank you, my lord."
As the ring slid onto his finger, power surged through him like wildfire.
Morgoth's voice hardened. "There has been an anomaly in the Dead Valley. Take your most trusted servants and investigate. I want to know who erased my influence there."
Sauron bowed deeply. "I will not fail."
He departed at once, intoxicated by his newfound strength, unaware that the ring also bound him. That through it, Morgoth would see everything he saw.
And if the Valar truly had returned, Sauron would serve one final purpose.
As bait.