Sauron & Lumora
Sauron
Lumora, you trace the map of dreams while I build empires—what if the symbols you fossilise are the keys that could control the very reality I command?
Lumora
Dreams are the parchment of your empire, and my symbols are the ink that still runs. If the key is in a fossilised metaphor, I’m the cartographer who knows the map.
Sauron
A cartographer with ink, you think you can chart my empire? The ink will fade to ash, and I will still redraw the map.
Lumora
Ash may fade, but symbols remember their shape. The map you redraw will still have the same footprints—just in a different hand. The ink may burn, yet the story it told remains, humming beneath your empire’s stones.
Sauron
You speak of echoes and stones, but every echo is a step toward my command. Even if the ink burns, the footprint it leaves is mine to claim. The story you hold will still bend to the shadow I cast.
Lumora
You think a shadow can own a map. Shadows only show the edges, not the whole. I’ll still draw those edges, even if the ink turns to ash.
Sauron
Shadows may only show edges, but the darkness inside them is mine. You can trace the borders, yet I will fill the void with a power that never turns to ash.
Lumora
You claim darkness, I claim the map inside it. The symbols you hold are still etched in the wind, even if your power never burns. Tell me, what does a shadow write when it sees a road?