Romestamo stopped as he reached the peak of the hill. He could feel something, a sense of dread and expectation. Something was about to happen.

There it was. He heard it. A loud rumble, as if the very Doors of Night were shaking. A strong wind blew from the west, buffering and clawing at his sea-blue robes. The ground quaked beneath the wizard's feet, almost toppling him backward. As it was, he managed to save himself by propping himself up on his staff, but it was a close thing. One slip, and his ancient bones would crack as he fell down the hillside.

The sensation stirred something in his memory, something he should not have forgotten. He remember a time, long ago, in the Undying Lands. When all the Valar, in the height of their splendour, sat in council in Valinor, amidst the Elves and Maiar of that fair country. Mandos had spoken:

[i]"When the world is old and the Powers grow weary, then Morgoth, seeing that the guard sleepeth, shall come back through the Door of the Night out of the Timeless Void..."[/i]

He started. Surely, it couldn't be... the Fourth Age had barely begun. Yet his intuition was trustworthy, and who was he to doubt Eru's word? Even as he pondered, he knew for certain. The First Dark Lord, Morgoth, master of Sauron himself, was returning...