...them.
The eerie howls grew louder, their echoes bouncing through the trees like the heralds of an oncoming storm. The shadows in the woods stirred, moving with an unnatural, deliberate intent. John could feel the cold grip of fear tightening in his chest, but he forced himself to stand firm. The others were already prepared, their weapons gleaming in the faint light of the fire, and John knew that there was no turning back now.
Gandalf stepped forward, raising his staff, his voice calm but commanding. "Hold your ground. Whatever comes through the trees, we must face it together."
John's pulse raced as he looked down at the compass in his hand. The once-dormant object had started to pulse again, faintly glowing with an inner light. He could feel the power within it, waiting, but he still had no idea how to harness it.
From the shadows, a figure emerged—tall, cloaked in darkness, its eyes burning like twin embers in the night. It was not alone. More figures followed, slipping between the trees, their twisted forms barely visible but unmistakably menacing. The Watchers had found them.
The lead figure stepped forward, raising a hand as it spoke in a voice that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. **"Surrender the Heart, and we will spare you. Resist, and you will know suffering beyond measure."**
Gandalf slammed his staff into the ground, the force of the impact sending a shockwave through the clearing. "We will not yield to darkness. Be gone, or face the light of Middle-earth."
The creature let out a low, guttural laugh, its eyes gleaming with malice. **"Then you have chosen your fate."**
In an instant, the shadowy figures surged forward, their movements unnaturally swift. Aragorn was the first to meet them, his sword flashing in the firelight as he struck down the first assailant. Legolas' arrows flew through the air with deadly precision, each one finding its mark. Gimli's axe cleaved through the attackers with brutal efficiency, and yet more kept coming.
John felt a surge of panic as one of the Watchers rushed toward him, its outstretched hand reaching for the compass. He stumbled back, raising the compass instinctively, and to his shock, a burst of blinding light erupted from it, sending the creature flying backward with a howl of pain.
The compass had responded to him. The power was there, waiting for him to command it.
"Focus, John!" Gandalf called out, his staff glowing with brilliant light as he fended off two Watchers. "You must control it, or it will control you!"
John gritted his teeth, holding the compass tightly. He closed his eyes, trying to drown out the chaos around him, and focused on the energy he felt within the Heart. Slowly, he willed it to respond, to protect, to defend.
The compass pulsed, and another wave of light burst forth, enveloping John and pushing back the shadows around him. The Watchers recoiled, hissing in pain as they were forced away from him.
But it wasn't enough.
More shadows emerged from the forest, the air growing colder as the darkness thickened around them. Despite their best efforts, the companions were being pushed back. Aragorn and Gimli fought valiantly, but even they were beginning to tire.
John knew that if he didn't do something soon, they wouldn't make it out of this alive.
Desperation fueled his actions. He gripped the compass with both hands, willing it to unleash its full power. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, with a sudden, violent force, the compass flared to life, its light brighter and more intense than before. The ground trembled, and the shadows let out an agonized wail as they were engulfed by the light.
The Watchers were thrown back, their forms disintegrating into nothingness as the light consumed them. The air grew still, and the forest fell into a heavy silence once more.
John collapsed to his knees, gasping for breath. The compass in his hand dimmed once more, its power seemingly drained for the moment. Around him, the others slowly lowered their weapons, the tension still lingering in the air.
Gandalf approached, placing a hand on John's shoulder. "Well done," the wizard said quietly. "But this was only the beginning. The darkness will return, stronger and more relentless than before."
John nodded, too exhausted to speak. He knew Gandalf was right. The shadows had been driven back, but they had not been defeated. The battle for the Heart of Eldorath had only just begun, and the road ahead was fraught with dangers far greater than anything they had yet faced.
As they regrouped and prepared to move once again, John glanced down at the compass in his hand. The weight of it had never felt heavier, and yet, for the first time, he felt a glimmer of hope.
He wasn't alone in this fight. With the help of Gandalf, Aragorn, and the others, perhaps—just perhaps—he could master the Heart's power and stand against the encroaching darkness.
But deep down, he knew that the true test was still to come. The Watchers had been but the first wave, and whatever lay beyond them would be far more formidable.
As they began to regroup and prepare to leave the clearing, John could feel a strange sensation pulsing from the compass, but this time it wasn't the familiar warmth of power. It was something darker, more ominous. His grip tightened around the artifact, and for a moment, everything around him felt distorted—like the world itself was bending.
Suddenly, the compass grew cold in his hands. The once bright light that had just saved them flickered and vanished entirely. John looked down in confusion. The compass was inert. The energy he had felt, the connection he had been learning to control, was gone.
"Gandalf?" John called out, his voice trembling with unease. "Something's wrong."
The wizard turned to him, his brow furrowing in concern. "What do you mean?"
"The compass… It's not responding. It's like the power's been—"
Before he could finish, the world around them began to shift. The very air seemed to hum with ancient magic as a deep, guttural laugh echoed through the trees. John's vision blurred, and his legs gave out beneath him as he crumpled to the ground. He could feel something pulling at him, like an invisible force was tearing him away from his surroundings, drawing him somewhere far away.
Gandalf rushed to his side, but before he could reach him, John was consumed by a flash of darkness.
---
When John awoke, he was lying in a field, the sound of distant birds and a soft breeze filling the air. He blinked against the bright sunlight, his body aching with the aftereffects of whatever had just happened. Sitting up slowly, he looked around.
The landscape was familiar, but there was something distinctly different about it. The trees were taller, older. The skies seemed wider, more expansive. It was still Middle-earth, but it felt… ancient. More real than ever before.
"Where am I?" John muttered to himself. His heart raced as he realized the compass was no longer in his hand. Frantically, he searched his pockets, but it was gone.
"John," came Gandalf's voice, steady and calm, though with a new, strange edge to it. John turned, and there stood the wizard, along with Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli. But they seemed different now, too. Sharper. More vivid.
"You have been integrated," Gandalf said softly, his tone heavy with meaning. "The magic of the compass was never meant for this world. It has bound you here, completely. You are no longer a visitor from another realm. You belong to Middle-earth now, in every sense."
John's breath caught in his throat. "What? No… that can't be. The compass—it was supposed to protect me. I was supposed to learn how to use it, how to—"
Gandalf shook his head. "The power of the system was a bridge between worlds. But the moment you unleashed its full strength, the balance was shattered. The Watchers weren't merely shadows—they were guardians, and by vanquishing them, the magic that held you to your world was severed."
Aragorn stepped forward, his face grave but understanding. "You've become one of us now, John. The power you wielded, it's gone."
John's mind raced. The system, the abilities, the hope that he had once felt—it was all slipping away from him. He was no longer the player, no longer the one with the advantage. He was just… human. Stranded in a world far older and more dangerous than he could have ever imagined.
"Is there any way back?" John asked, his voice hollow with the weight of the truth.
Gandalf paused, considering the question, but the answer was already clear in his eyes. "I do not know. The compasses' power is no longer accessible, and its tether to your world has been severed. You are part of Middle-earth now, John. Its fate is your fate."
John felt a cold pit form in his stomach. The glimmer of hope he had once held onto so tightly was gone, replaced with a gnawing uncertainty. He looked at his companions—these legends, these heroes—and realized that his story, whatever it had been, had changed forever.
He was no longer the outsider with extraordinary power. He was just another man, struggling to survive in a land where darkness still loomed large.
The road ahead was not what he had expected. The true battle was only beginning, but now, he would have to face it as one of them—without the power, without the system.
And as the shadows in the distance began to stir once more, John realized that he had no choice but to fight.
Not as the chosen one.
But as John of Middle-earth.