Celebrimbor hovered silently, his wraith form tethered to the infant cradled in the mother's arms. Though he felt no true physical sensation, there was an undeniable pull, a bond so strong that resisting it was futile. The child's small body radiated warmth and life, starkly contrasting with Celebrimbor's cold, spectral existence.
The baby, Alexander, as he soon learned, was nestled securely in a soft blue blanket. His cries had softened to little coos, his grey eyes—strikingly similar to the mother's—darting about in innocent wonder. The father, a tall man with jet-black hair and piercing blue eyes, leaned over, brushing his fingers across the child's tiny hand.
"He has my hair," the man said, his voice warm as he glanced at his wife.
"And my eyes," Sophia replied with a soft laugh, her red hair glinting like fire under the lights. "He's perfect, Damian."
Celebrimbor studied the pair, curiosity overriding the emptiness that had filled his spirit for so long. The man, Damian Athos, exuded a quiet strength. His smile was genuine, though his posture betrayed a certain nervous energy. The woman, Sophia, seemed the calmer of the two, and her every motion was graceful as she held the child close.
They were a happy family—ordinary by this world's standards, perhaps, but extraordinary in their contentment. Celebrimbor couldn't remember the last time he had witnessed such peace. Even before his death, his days had been consumed by war, ambition, and sorrow. This—this simplicity—was entirely foreign to him.
Sophia tucked Alexander into his carrier as Damian shouldered a bag. "Let's get home," she said softly.
The wraith felt the pull again. Wherever this child went, he would be forced to follow. It wasn't a choice; it was a command written into the very fabric of his being.
The world outside was unlike anything Celebrimbor had ever seen. Towering structures of metal and glass rose into the sky, glowing with a myriad of lights. The streets buzzed with activity, machines of various shapes and sizes roaring past. People walked hurriedly, their faces illuminated by strange, glowing devices they held in their hands.
Damian carried Alexander in his arms as they approached one of the strange machines—what the parents referred to as a car. It was boxy and worn, its red paint chipped in places. Celebrimbor had no frame of reference for what this thing was, but he could sense its complexity. Humans of this world had crafted something remarkable, even if it lacked the elegance of Elven design.
"Do you think the car seat's secure enough?" Damian asked, fiddling with a strap.
"It's fine," Sophia reassured him, sliding into the seat beside him.
As they drove, Celebrimbor marveled at the speed and smoothness of the journey. The landscape blurred past, the lights of the city fading as they moved into quieter neighborhoods. He couldn't help but admire the ingenuity of these people—mortals who had built towers that touched the sky and machines that carried them faster than any horse could run.
"What a world," he muttered to himself, his voice a whisper carried only on the winds of his existence.
For nearly an hour, the car weaved through streets, passing rows of buildings until it finally stopped in front of a medium-sized structure. The parents stepped out, Damian carefully lifting Alexander while Sophia grabbed the bag.
"Home sweet home," Damian said with a sigh.
They walked toward the building, and Celebrimbor followed, still tethered to the infant. As they entered, the wraith's attention was drawn to the large metal doors of what they called an elevator. The parents stepped inside, pressing a button on the wall.
The sensation of movement startled Celebrimbor. The small, enclosed space ascended smoothly, taking them higher within the building. "A metal box that moves upward," he mused, astonished. "The ingenuity of mortals knows no bounds."
The elevator stopped with a soft chime, and the family stepped out into a quiet hallway. They greeted a neighbor, an older woman who smiled at Alexander and called Sophia "boss."
"She must rule this place," Celebrimbor muttered.
The apartment was cozy, with warm lighting and personal touches scattered throughout. Framed photos adorned the walls, showing moments of happiness—a wedding, vacations, and even baby Alexander's first days.
Celebrimbor floated through the rooms, taking in every detail. A banner hung in the living room with bold green letters spelling "Boston Celtics." The wraith grimaced. "Such garish colors. Mortals have no sense of aesthetics."
The family moved to what Celebrimbor quickly recognized as the child's room. It was small but meticulously designed. A crib stood at the center, its wooden frame painted white. The walls were a soft blue, and the ceiling was a painted mural of stars and constellations.
For a moment, Celebrimbor was struck by its beauty. The effort put into creating this space was a testament to the parents' love for their child. It reminded him, faintly, of Eregion and the care he had once put into crafting things of beauty and purpose.
Sophia laid Alexander in the crib, adjusting the blanket around him. The child, however, began to fuss, his tiny face scrunching up before letting out a wail that pierced the quiet of the apartment.
Damian groaned, rubbing his temples. "Here we go."
Sophia laughed softly, picking Alexander back up and rocking him gently. "It's okay, baby. Mama's here."
Celebrimbor, however, was less amused. The wailing seemed to cut through his very being, a reminder of his spectral state and his inability to escape this bond.
"By the Valar," he muttered, exasperated. "End this madness."
And yet, as he watched the parents comfort their child, a strange sensation stirred within him—something he couldn't quite name. Perhaps it was admiration for their unwavering dedication. Perhaps it was envy for the life he had lost.
Whatever it was, Celebrimbor knew one thing: his journey with Alexander was only beginning.