Chapter 6: The Shaping of the Earth
The days following Maia's failed temptation unfolded in a deliberate cadence.
I moved not in fear, but to assert my presence and claim the world's wildness on my own terms. Each powerful step carved valleys into existence, while each sweep of my mountainous tail felled forests that would, in time, emerge richer and more vibrant than before.
This was no mindless destruction; it was sculpting, a shaping of the land. Unbeknownst to me, I had become a force of creation.
I traversed a range of jagged hills and paused briefly to rest. The heat radiating from my body melted the bedrock, transforming it into rivers of magma. When I rose again, the cooled flow became a stunning labyrinth of canyons and cliffs—beautiful yet treacherous.
A land poised for future beasts to roam. A fortress that no darkness could easily claim. Further south, I lingered in a vast plain where the grass bowed to the winds. I crouched low, allowing my immense mass to press into the earth. Days later, when I stood again, I had created a basin so deep that it would one day cradle a great lake, its waters mirroring the stars in perfect stillness.
Unintentionally, I was sowing wonders across the face of Ardawonders that would endure for thousands of years beyond my time.
The Valar were watching.
They observed.
Slowly, their fear began to yield to cautious hope. Yet, not all eyes regarded my creations with admiration.
Far in the North, where the light of the Trees barely penetrated, Melkor brooded. My refusal had wounded him deeply. My independence was an affront he could not tolerate. If he could not seduce me into his service, he would break me or destroy me outright.
Thus, he forged a creature born of darkness and fury.
Not a Maia, but a twisted mockery of the life Yavanna cherished. A being of stone and fire, brute strength devoid of will or conscience. A weapon.
Its name, inscribed in the dark tongue of Melkor's forges, would one day be forgotten. It was no Balrog yet, but a precursor—a first draft of terror.
And it was coming.
A Thunder in the Earth
I sensed its approach before I even caught sight of it.
The tremors beneath my feet were unsettling—jagged, violent, imbued with malice. Where my movements stirred life, this entity's advance made the earth convulse as if wracked by pain.
I stood atop a high ridge, the bones of a young mountain solid beneath my feet, and turned my immense head eastward.
There, from a gash ripped in the world, emerged the beast. Vast by mortal standards, towering above the trees, its body was cloaked in shattered stone, its core glowing with a sickly red light. Flames billowed from the fissures in its hide. Its eyes were hollow pits, devoid of reason or soul. It unleashed a roar that shook the very mountains, darkening the skies as if they recoiled from the sound.
A deep rumble erupted from my chest, a sound more potent and ancient than words.
This creature had one purpose: to bring me down.
Not with cunning.
Not with poison.
But with sheer, unadulterated brute force. It charged, heedless of the destruction it wrought. The ground trembled under its weight as it bore down upon me, each footstep cracking the earth.
I waited, massive and still until it came close enough that the heat of its breath withered the grass at my feet.
Then I moved.
I was slow by the standards of battle, but at this moment, slow was enough. I shifted my massive bulk, letting the beast crash headlong into my side. It struck with all the force of an avalanche and found itself rebounding, stunned, against the living wall of my armor.
The land itself buckled.
Cliffs collapsed.
Dust rose in great choking clouds.
Before it could recover, I brought down one titanic forelimb with a sound like a falling continent.
The blow struck the beast squarely, driving it into the ground with such force that a ring of shattered stone erupted outward from the impact.
The creature howled, writhing, but it was not easily slain.
It clawed its way upright, molten blood leaking from rents in its hide. It lunged again, this time aiming higher, jaws seeking the soft glow of the furnace that beat within my chest.
I reared back a motion that shook mountains and slammed the ground with both feet.
The resulting shockwave flattened the young forest for miles around.
The beast staggered, legs buckling.
And then, with a slow, terrible inevitability, I brought my weight down upon it. The creature shrieked once, a thin, piercing wail.
Then it was gone reduced to rubble and fire beneath the immensity of my fall. The ground smoked and steamed for days afterwards.
I stood over the ruins of the fallen beast, steam rising around me in thick, coiling tendrils. Melkor's weapon had failed, but I knew this was only the beginning.
The Dark Vala would not stop with crude brute force. He would learn from this failure. He would forge better weapons, more subtle poisons. He would send his real servants the Balrogs, the dragons to challenge the light of the world.
I gazed northward, across the darkening lands, and a low rumble rolled from deep within me. I was not a creature of war.
I had no desire to turn the world into a battlefield. But if Melkor sought to darken Arda, he would find one mountain he could not bend, one fire he could not claim.
I turned southward again, my footsteps slow and ponderous.
There was much of the world yet to see.
Much to shape.
And I would leave a legacy of stone and fire so enduring that even when Melkor was banished, when Sauron rose and fell when the world itself grew old, the earth would remember: Once, a mountain walked here, and a flame too great for shadow burned bright upon the face of Arda.