The Fellowship Of The Ring Art Novels & Stories

No turning back now. I moved to the large oak table in the center of the room. The wooden box, simple yet ornate, was already there—Caden must’ve brought it. It was made of dark, polished mahogany, etched with ancient pack symbols. Inside, nestled on a bed of velvet, were three silver rings, each precisely crafted, cold and gleaming in the dim light. They were etched with the delicate curve of a crescent moon and the intricate, interwoven lines of our bloodline’s crest.

My heart skips. Aragon raises his hand, and the two park benches in the middle of the garden slowly dissolve into shining dust. The dust circles round us, forming a wide ring. When the circle closes, it stops—hanging mid-air. “This is the Ring of Return,” Aragon explains. “It binds the past to the present.” I inhale. Zella does too, and it feels like we share lungs. “Before we begin,” Aragon continues, “there must be truth.” He gestures at Zella. “Speak.”

Rohan asked. I fixed him with a searching look. “Rohan, tell me again. What exactly did those travelling Sorcerers look like? I want every detail you can remember.” Before Rohan could open his mouth, Dorian stepped forward and interrupted. “No need to waste time on physical descriptions.” Reaching into his trouser pocket, Dorian pulled out a small object. He placed it on Caspian’s desk with a soft clink. An ancient silver ring engraved with strange symbols on its surface.