Four years had passed since Celebrimbor was dragged into this strange new world. Time, once meaningless to him, now seemed to flow steadily alongside Alexander's growth. The boy had transformed from a helpless infant into a lively child, full of energy and curiosity.
Over the years, Celebrimbor had come to understand more about the world of mortals—their customs, their inventions, and their relentless determination to create and thrive. Though he still found many aspects baffling, he had grown accustomed to his new reality and his bond with Alexander. It was a connection he couldn't sever, even if he wanted to. The boy was his anchor, and through him, Celebrimbor experienced the world anew.
It was a bright afternoon, and Alexander was at the park, his laughter echoing through the air as he ran with a group of other children. The game was simple: tag. Yet to Alexander and his friends, it was the most thrilling adventure imaginable.
Celebrimbor hovered nearby, watching over the boy with a mixture of curiosity and protectiveness. Over the years, he had learned to care for the child, though he would never admit it aloud. The boy's innocence reminded him of the things he had lost—a life before war, before betrayal.
"Catch me if you can!" Alexander shouted, darting away from another child. His black hair shimmered in the sunlight, and his grey eyes sparkled with excitement.
Celebrimbor allowed himself a faint smile. "Foolish boy, always running headlong into trouble," he murmured.
The children's laughter filled the park as Alexander scrambled up the ladder of a tall slide. He perched at the top, looking down at his friends with a triumphant grin.
But triumph turned to panic in an instant. As Alexander shifted his weight to prepare for the slide, his foot slipped. Time seemed to slow as the boy tumbled forward, arms flailing. Celebrimbor surged forward instinctively, his spectral form useless to stop what was about to happen.
"No!" he shouted, his voice a hollow echo in the wind.
Alexander hit the ground with a sickening thud, his small body crumpling on the woodchips below. The laughter and chatter of the park fell silent, replaced by gasps and cries from the other children.
The next hours passed in a blur of chaos. Alexander's parents, Damian and Sophia, arrived at the hospital in a panic, their faces pale and drawn. Celebrimbor followed silently, his presence unseen by all but the boy.
The doctors worked tirelessly, their voices hushed but urgent. A fractured skull, a concussion—they listed terms that Celebrimbor didn't fully understand but knew were grave. The sight of Alexander lying so still in the hospital bed, his once-bright face pale and bruised, filled him with an unfamiliar ache.
Damian paced the room, his hands clenching and unclenching as he muttered prayers. Sophia sat by Alexander's side, her red hair falling in disarray as she stroked the boy's hand.
"Come back to us, Alex," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Please."
Celebrimbor stood at the corner of the room, his form flickering with frustration and helplessness. For all his power as a wraith, for all the abilities he had honed over centuries, he could do nothing to help the boy.
A week passed.
The hospital room became a second home for Damian and Sophia, who refused to leave Alexander's side. Nurses came and went, adjusting machines and whispering reassurances that rang hollow in the quiet space.
Celebrimbor remained vigilant, watching the boy's still form and feeling the weight of his own powerlessness. Each passing day felt heavier than the last.
Then, on the seventh day, something changed.
Alexander's fingers twitched. His eyelids fluttered open, revealing grey eyes that were groggy but alive. He blinked, taking in the sterile hospital room, the machines, and the figures of his sleeping parents slumped in chairs nearby.
And then he saw Celebrimbor.
The wraith stood at the foot of the bed, his translucent form shimmering faintly in the dim light. For the first time, Alexander's young mind processed what he was seeing—a figure that was not entirely there, yet undeniably real.
The boy's eyes widened in terror.
"GHOST!" Alexander screamed, his voice piercing the silence.
Damian and Sophia jolted awake, but Alexander didn't give them a chance to react. He scrambled out of bed, his small legs wobbling as he bolted toward the door.
"Alexander, wait!" Celebrimbor called, reaching out instinctively, though he knew he couldn't physically stop him.
The boy ran blindly, his hospital gown flapping behind him. But in his panic, he didn't notice the wall directly in front of him.
THUD.
Alexander collided face-first with the solid surface and crumpled to the ground with a groan.
Celebrimbor sighed, pinching the bridge of his translucent nose. "By the Valar… this child will be the death of me."
Damian and Sophia rushed to their son, scooping him up and cradling him as he whimpered more from embarrassment than pain.
Celebrimbor remained in the background, shaking his head. "This bond is truly a curse."
Despite his grumblings, a faint flicker of amusement tugged at the edges of his spirit. For all the chaos Alexander brought, there was something endearing about the boy's resilience.
And so, as the parents comforted their child and the wraith stood watch, the strange, tenuous bond between the ghost and the boy grew just a little stronger.