Hurin Turin

by
Evyn
 2.

EXT. GONDOLIN - EVENING

The sun dips below the horizon, casting long shadows across
the pristine city of Gondolin. A warm, golden light bathes
the meticulously crafted buildings. HÚRIN, a tall, powerfully
built warrior with strong features and a weathered face, sits
on a low stone wall, his wife MORWEN, beautiful but with a
hint of weariness in her eyes, beside him. Their two young
children, TÚRIN, a spirited boy, and NIËNOR, a delicate girl
with bright eyes, play nearby, their laughter echoing softly.

HÚRIN
The peace is rare, isn't it, Morwen?

MORWEN
Too rare. Enjoy it while we can.

(a soft smile, but her eyes hold a shadow of

concern)

Túrin playfully wrestles with Niënor, their laughter mingling

with the gentle sounds of the city. Morwen watches them, a
bittersweet expression on her face.

HÚRIN
They are strong, our children. Túrin,
especially. He has the heart of a lion.

MORWEN
And Niënor, the gentle heart of a dove. May
they always find peace in their lives.

A hawk circles overhead, its cry sharp and piercing, cutting

through the idyllic scene. A subtle shift in the wind carries
a faint, almost imperceptible scent of ash and smoke.

HÚRIN
The air feels… different tonight.

MORWEN
Perhaps it's just the wind.

(her voice trembles slightly)

Húrin places a protective hand on Morwen's shoulder. He looks

out at the setting sun, a deep unease settling in his heart.
The children's laughter seems distant, muffled by an unseen
dread. The warm glow of the sunset is now tinged with a
chilling orange hue.

HÚRIN
I don't like this feeling.

FADE TO BLACK.

EXT. PLAINS OF UNNUMBERED TEARS - NIGHT

 3.

A raging inferno of battle. Thousands clash beneath a sky

choked with smoke and ash. The air vibrates with the clang of
steel, the screams of the dying, and the roar of monstrous
creatures. Arrows rain down like deadly hail. The ground is a
mire of blood and mud. HÚRIN, his face grim, fights with
ferocious determination. He wields a greatsword, its blade
glowing faintly with magical energy.

HÚRIN
For Gondolin!

He cleaves a goblin in two with a single, powerful blow.

Around him, soldiers of Gondolin fight bravely, but they are
outnumbered, outmatched.

SOLDIER 1
They're too many!

A Balrog, a towering demon of fire and shadow, smashes

through the Gondolin ranks, its fiery whip cracking.

SOLDIER 2

(screaming)
Look out!

Húrin leaps forward, intercepting the Balrog's whip with his

sword. The force of the blow sends him reeling. He falls to
one knee but rises again, his face set in grim resolve.

HÚRIN
Hold the line!

He fights with the desperate fury of a cornered animal, his

sword a blur of motion. He slays several orcs and goblins,
but more keep coming, an endless tide of evil. The battle
rages on, a brutal dance of death.

SOLDIER 3
We're falling back!

Gondolin soldiers begin to retreat, overwhelmed by the sheer

force of the enemy. Húrin fights his way back-to-back with a
comrade.

HÚRIN
We will not yield!

A monstrous warg, ridden by a black-armored Orc-captain,

charges towards him, its jaws snapping. Húrin dodges the
beast, killing the Orc-captain with a thrust of his sword
before narrowly avoiding being trampled.

HÚRIN

(gasping)
Morwen… Túrin… Niënor…
 4.

He wipes blood from his face, his eyes burning with a fierce
determination. The battle continues, the night lit by fire
and steel. The hope of Gondolin dwindles.

HÚRIN
We fight until our last breath!

He charges into the fray once more, a lone warrior against

the tide of darkness.

CONTINUOUS

EXT. BATTLEFIELD - NIGHT

The battlefield is a scene of utter devastation. Broken

weapons litter the ground amidst the bodies of the slain. The
air hangs heavy with the stench of blood and smoke. HÚRIN,
covered in wounds, stands alone, his greatsword broken, his
armor battered. He is surrounded by a circle of Orcish
warriors, their faces contorted in cruel triumph. He is
clearly exhausted, but his eyes burn with defiance.

HÚRIN
You will not break me!

An Orcish captain laughs, a harsh, guttural sound. He

gestures, and the Orcs tighten their circle around Húrin.

ORC CAPTAIN
Your defiance amuses me, Elf. But it will not
save you.

A shadow falls over the battlefield. MORGOTH, the Dark Lord,

appears, his form towering and terrible, cloaked in darkness,
his eyes burning like infernal flames. The Orcs bow down in
abject fear and worship. The wind stills, and a chilling
silence descends upon the battlefield. Húrin, despite his
exhaustion and injuries, stands his ground. He looks up at
Morgoth, his gaze unwavering.

MORGOTH

(a voice that echoes like thunder)

Húrin Thalion.

MORGOTH
Your courage is admirable, but utterly futile.

Morgoth raises a hand, and a wave of dark energy washes over

Húrin, leaving him weak and paralyzed. The power is almost
tangible, a suffocating darkness that crushes the spirit.

MORGOTH
Your defiance is a mere flickering candle
against the endless night of my power. Your
doom, and the doom of your cursed lineage, is
sealed.
 5.

HÚRIN

(weakly, but defiance still in his voice)

Curse me if you will… but my spirit will never
break.

Morgoth lets out a chilling laugh that sends shivers down the
spines of the Orcs. He gestures towards the Orcs and they
drag Húrin away, his body limp, but his spirit still defiant.

MORGOTH
Your spirit will be broken. Your blood will
stain the ages.

FADE TO BLACK.

INT. MORGOTH'S FORTRESS - NIGHT

A vast, cavernous chamber. Rough-hewn stone walls drip with

moisture. Húrin, bound and bleeding, is dragged before
MORGOTH, who sits upon a throne of obsidian. Torches cast
flickering shadows, illuminating the cruel satisfaction on
Morgoth's face. The air crackles with dark energy.

MORGOTH
Your defiance amused me, Elf. But even the
mightiest oak eventually succumbs to the
storm.

Morgoth raises a skeletal hand, his touch seemingly chilling

the very air. A black tendril of energy snakes from his
fingers, wrapping around Húrin.

HÚRIN
Do your worst, Dark Lord. My spirit will not
bend.

The black tendril tightens, searing Húrin with an unbearable

pain. His screams are swallowed by the cavern's vastness. His
body contorts, his skin turning ashen. Images flash across
his mind visions of his family, his home, all consumed by
shadow and despair.

MORGOTH
Your spirit? It will be crushed beneath the
weight of my curse! Your lineage... will be
forever stained with sorrow! Your children,
your grandchildren, shall know only pain and
ruin!

The black tendril pulses, radiating outward, leaving a trail

of crackling darkness. Húrin's face is a mask of agony, his
eyes reflecting the infernal glow. The curse spreads through
him, a creeping shadow that consumes him utterly. His
features sharpen with a grotesque sharpness, and his eyes
lose their life.
 6.

HÚRIN

(a strangled gasp)
No…

Morgoth lets out a low, guttural laugh, a sound that echoes

through the chamber. The black tendril retracts, leaving
Húrin a broken shell of his former self. The images in his
mind intensify - a gruesome tapestry of unending suffering,
the faces of his loved ones twisted in torment. He is a
vessel of despair, a testament to Morgoth's unimaginable
power.

MORGOTH
The curse is set. Your doom, and the doom of
your bloodline, are sealed.

FADE TO BLACK.

EXT. GONDOLIN MOUNTAINS - NIGHT

The once-magnificent city of Gondolin lies in ruins, engulfed

in flames and shadow. A blizzard howls, whipping snow into a
frenzy. MORWEN, her face etched with exhaustion and grief,
clutches her two children, TÚRIN and LAURELIN, close. They
are wrapped in ragged cloaks, barely visible against the
snow-covered slopes.

MORWEN
Hurry, children. We must keep moving.

Túrin, his young face grim, stumbles, his small legs

struggling against the deep snow. Laurelin, younger still,
whimpers, her breath puffing out in white clouds.

TÚRIN
Mother, I'm tired.

MORWEN
I know, my son. But we cannot rest. They are
still hunting us.

She glances back, her eyes scanning the desolate landscape,

her hand instinctively reaching for a broken sword hilt at
her side. The wind carries the sounds of distant shouting –
the cries of Orcs pursuing them.

LAURELIN

(crying)
I'm scared, Mother.

MORWEN
Shhh... It's alright, my darling. We'll be
safe soon. We will find shelter.
 7.

She pulls them closer, her voice barely audible above the
wind. She presses on, navigating the treacherous,
snow-covered paths, her resolve unwavering despite the
despair gnawing at her heart. The children cling to her,
their small bodies shivering with cold and fear.

TÚRIN
Where are we going, Mother?

MORWEN
To a place where they cannot reach us. To a
place where we can begin again.

A flash of lightning illuminates their faces – etched with

determination and an unwavering hope, however fragile. They
continue their desperate ascent, their silhouettes stark
against the raging storm, tiny figures battling against the
overwhelming darkness.

MORWEN
We will survive this. We will.

The wind howls a mournful lament, a symphony of loss and the

desperate fight for survival. The snow continues to fall,
blanketing Gondolin's ruins in a shroud of white.

FADE OUT.

INT. BRETIL FOREST - DAY

Sunlight filters weakly through the dense canopy of the

Brethil forest. The ground is soft with moss and decaying
leaves. MORWEN, TÚRIN, and LAURELIN huddle together beneath
the overhang of a massive oak tree. They are exhausted but
seem relatively safe, though still wary. Their clothing is
tattered but clean, suggesting someone has cared for them.

LAURELIN
Mother, is it safe here?

MORWEN
Safer than Gondolin, my love. For now.

She strokes Laurelin's hair. Túrin sits apart, staring into

the distance, his expression hardened beyond his years.

TÚRIN
I still hear them, Mother.

MORWEN
softly
It's just the wind, Túrin. Let it go.

A WOMAN, her face weathered but kind, emerges from the

shadows of the trees. She carries a basket of food.

WOMAN
 8.

You are safe now. We found your tracks.

MORWEN
We are grateful for your kindness. We are
Morwen, and these are my children, Túrin and
Laurelin.

She bows her head slightly.

WOMAN
Welcome to Brethil. We have heard whispers of
the fall of Gondolin. Come, eat. You need your
strength.

She offers the basket. It contains bread, berries, and a

small piece of roasted meat. Morwen accepts it with a
grateful smile.

TÚRIN
suspicious
Who are you?

WOMAN
I am Eluned. We are but simple folk of the
woods, but we will share what we have.

Eluned gestures towards a nearby cave partly hidden behind

the thick foliage, indicating shelter.

MORWEN
Thank you, Eluned. We are truly grateful.

She takes a piece of bread, breaking it in half and offering

it to her children. A glimmer of hope flickers in her eyes.
For now, they have found a temporary haven. The sounds of the
forest – the rustle of leaves, the calls of birds – seem less
threatening, more a promise of quiet and respite.

FADE OUT.

EXT. BRETHIL FOREST - DUSK

The sun dips below the horizon, casting long shadows across
the forest floor. Túrin, now a young man with a lean,
muscular build, practices swordsmanship. His movements are
fluid, powerful, yet infused with a restless energy. He spars
with a wooden practice sword against a thick oak tree, his
strikes fierce and precise.

TÚRIN
Grrr!

He brings the wooden sword down with a powerful blow, the

sound echoing through the trees. He kicks at the base of the
tree, his frustration evident.

TÚRIN
 9.

Not enough!

He throws the wooden sword to the ground, the sound a sharp

contrast to the rustling leaves. He runs a hand through his
dark, unruly hair, his face etched with a brooding intensity.

TÚRIN

(to himself)
Never enough. Never enough to escape it.

He sits heavily against the tree trunk, his breath coming in

ragged gasps. His eyes are fixed on the setting sun, a
mixture of defiance and despair in their depths.

TÚRIN

(whispering)
Gondolin…

TÚRIN
They'll pay. They all will.

He clenches his fists, his knuckles white. A tear tracks down

his cheek, unnoticed amidst the gathering dusk.

TÚRIN

(a low growl)
I will survive. I will endure. And then… then
I will have my vengeance.

He rises, picks up his wooden sword, and continues his

relentless training, his movements now more controlled, more
deliberate, yet the anger still burns within him, fueling his
every strike.

FADE TO BLACK.

INT. HUT - NIGHT

A small, sparsely furnished hut. A fire crackles merrily in

the hearth, casting flickering shadows on the rough-hewn
walls. NIËNOR, a young woman of exquisite beauty with long,
flowing auburn hair and eyes of a startling, clear blue, sits
by a spinning wheel, her fingers deftly manipulating the
wool. Her movements are graceful, almost ethereal. The air is
filled with the soft whirring of the wheel.

NIËNOR
The nights are getting longer now.

She pauses, a faint smile playing on her lips. She winds the
thread around a spindle.

NIËNOR
Mother says winter will be harsh this year.
 10.

She hums a soft, lilting tune as she works, her expression

serene despite the harsh reality of their circumstances. She
glances towards a simple, patched-up bed in the corner where
a child sleeps soundly.

NIËNOR
But even in the darkest winter, there is
always the promise of spring.

She carefully folds the finished piece of wool, placing it

gently beside a small pile of similar creations. Her
movements are slow and deliberate, filled with quiet
strength.

NIËNOR
We will endure. We always do.

She rises, carrying the folded wool, and places it near a

basket by the fire. Her steps are light and quiet, her
presence radiating a sense of calm in the small space. She
looks towards the doorway where shadows dance.

NIËNOR
Túrin…

She hesitates, a shadow of worry crossing her features. She

speaks softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

NIËNOR

(softly)
I hope he finds peace soon.

She returns to the spinning wheel, resuming her work, her

gentle spirit a beacon of hope in the darkening hut. The
whirring of the wheel becomes a comforting rhythm against the
silence of the night.

NIËNOR
He needs it more than anyone.

She gently touches the wool, her gaze distant, yet filled
with a deep, unwavering love.

FADE OUT.

EXT. FOREST PATH - NIGHT

A moonless night. Thick shadows cling to the ancient trees.

The path is barely visible. TÚRIN, a young man with a
brooding intensity and a haunted look in his eyes, strides
purposefully through the undergrowth. He carries a sword at
his hip and his cloak billows in a sudden gust of wind. He is
clearly agitated.

TÚRIN
They will pay.
 11.

He stops abruptly, his hand instinctively going to his sword

hilt. He hears a rustle in the bushes.

TÚRIN
Who's there?

A figure emerges from the shadows. It is GLAURUNG, a

seemingly ordinary man, though something about his eyes holds
an unnatural glimmer. He speaks with a smooth, honeyed tone
that belies a sinister undercurrent.

GLAURUNG
Such anger, such fire… It burns brightly,
young one. A magnificent thing to behold.

TÚRIN
Who are you? What do you want?

GLAURUNG

(smoothly)
I am but a traveler, much like yourself,
caught in the embrace of this dark night.
Lost, perhaps. And you, young warrior, seem to
be similarly burdened.

Glaurung subtly gestures towards Túrin's sword. Túrin’s grip

tightens.

TÚRIN
I have no time for games.

GLAURUNG

(chuckling softly)
Games? Oh, no, my friend. This is far more
serious. A matter of vengeance, I sense. Tell
me, what fuels this magnificent rage of yours?

Túrin hesitates, the smooth words of Glaurung strangely

alluring despite his suspicion. He speaks reluctantly,
revealing a part of his painful past. Glaurung listens
intently, his expression unreadable.

TÚRIN
They stole everything from me. My family, my
home… everything.

GLAURUNG

(sympathetically)
A terrible loss. But revenge… it is a bitter
wine, my friend. It will leave you more empty
than fulfilled.

Glaurung produces a small, intricately carved dagger. He

offers it to Túrin.
 12.

GLAURUNG
A gift, to aid you on your path. Use it
wisely.

Túrin, blinded by rage, accepts the dagger without a second

thought. As he takes it, a subtle shift in Glaurung's eyes
reveals his true nature; a cruel glint of malice.

CUT TO BLACK.

INT. MORWEN'S HUT - NIGHT

A small, dimly lit hut. The fire crackles merrily, casting

dancing shadows on the rough-hewn walls. MORWEN, a woman
etched with sorrow but possessing an inner strength, sits
mending a torn tunic. Her face is lined with worry, but her
eyes hold a fierce, unwavering love. Two children, Nienor and
Niënor, huddle close to the fire, their faces pale and drawn.

NIENOR
Mother, will Father return?

MORWEN
He will, my child. He will.

She places a comforting hand on Nienor's head, her touch

gentle yet firm.

NIËNOR
But it's been so long. I miss him.

MORWEN
I know, my darling. I miss him too. But he is
a strong warrior, and he will find his way
back to us.

Morwen’s gaze falls to the torn tunic. She sighs, a sound

heavy with unspoken pain.

MORWEN
We must be strong. For each other. We must
keep the hope alive, keep the fire burning.

She looks at her children, her eyes softening with an

immeasurable love. A tear traces a path down her weathered
cheek.

NIENOR
It’s hard, Mother. Everything is so dark.

MORWEN
Yes, my love, it is. But even in the darkest
night, the smallest star can shine. And our
love, our family, that is our star, our light.
It will guide us through the darkness.
 13.

She pulls her children closer, enveloping them in a warm

embrace. The firelight dances on their faces, illuminating
the resilience in their eyes, a resilience born of their
mother’s unwavering love.

MORWEN
We will face whatever comes, together. Always
together.

She kisses their foreheads, a silent vow of protection and

love echoing in the quiet of the hut.

FADE OUT.

EXT. FOREST OF BRETIL - NIGHT

A vast, ancient forest. The moon is hidden behind a thick

veil of clouds, plunging the woods into near-total darkness.
Only the occasional flicker of fireflies illuminates the
gnarled trees. The air hangs heavy with an unnatural
stillness.

MORWEN
The wind… it feels different tonight.

Morwen clutches her children tighter as they walk along a

narrow, barely-visible path. She stops, listening intently.

NIENOR
What is it, Mother?

MORWEN
I don't know, child. But… I feel… watched.

A low growl, barely audible, echoes from the depths of the

forest. The children cling to their mother, their eyes wide
with fear.

NIËNOR

(whispering)
What was that?

MORWEN
Hush. Just the wind.

But even as she speaks, Morwen’s hand instinctively goes to

the worn hilt of her dagger. The air grows colder, a chilling
breath that seems to seep into their very bones.

MORWEN
We need to hurry.

She quickens her pace, her children stumbling to keep up. A

shadow, vast and black, momentarily obscures the moon. It’s
gone as quickly as it appeared, but the feeling of dread
intensifies.
 14.

NIENOR

(trembling)
Mother… I… I see something.

Nienor points towards the forest's edge. In the distance, a

pair of eyes, burning with an infernal light, pierce the
darkness. They are immense, reptilian, and filled with a
malevolent intelligence.

MORWEN

(a gasp of horror)
Glaurung…

The eyes vanish, leaving behind only the oppressive weight of

the forest, a silence heavier than any sound. A chilling wind
whispers through the trees.

FADE TO BLACK.

EXT. FORSAKEN MOUNTAIN PATH - DAWN

A narrow, winding path cuts through a desolate, rocky

landscape. The sky is a bruised purple and grey, the first
light of dawn struggling to pierce the gloom. TÚRIN, a young
man with haunted eyes and a weariness etched into his
features, walks alone, his shoulders slumped with despair. He
carries a worn sword at his hip and a small pack on his back.

TÚRIN
Leave me… all of you. I deserve nothing but
this… this emptiness.

He kicks a loose stone down the path, watching it tumble into

the chasm below. He stops, his gaze fixed on the distant,
misty peaks. A single tear traces a path through the grime on
his cheek.

TÚRIN
My hand… stained with the blood of those I
loved. My heart… cold and broken. I am nothing
but a curse.

He runs a hand through his tangled hair, his expression one

of profound self-loathing. He clenches his fist, his knuckles
white.

TÚRIN
I will find solace only in solitude. In the
barrenness that matches the emptiness within
me.

He continues his journey, his steps heavy and slow. The path
is treacherous, strewn with loose rocks and overgrown with
thorny bushes. He ignores the pain, the discomfort, his only
concern the need to escape, to distance himself from the
 15.

memories that haunt him.

TÚRIN
Let the mountains be my witness… to my
failure… to my shame… to my solitude.

He reaches a particularly steep part of the path, the wind

whipping around him, a desolate symphony to his misery. He
grips his sword, his knuckles bone-white.

TÚRIN
Perhaps… death will offer release. A blessed
end to this cursed existence.

He looks down at the chasm, a dizzying drop that promises

oblivion. He hesitates, a flicker of something other than
despair crossing his face for a fleeting moment—a desperate
hope for escape, maybe even atonement.

TÚRIN
No. Not yet.

He turns his back on the abyss and continues his ascent,

disappearing into the mist-shrouded peaks.

FADE OUT.

EXT. MOUNTAIN CAVE MOUTH - DAY

High in the mountains, a narrow cave mouth offers meager

shelter from the wind. Túrin, his clothes torn and mud-caked,
collapses against the rough rock, exhausted. He clutches his
sword, his breath ragged.

TÚRIN
Damn this cursed path…

A rustling in the bushes nearby makes him jump. He grips his

sword tighter, eyes darting around.

BELEG

(calmly)
No need for alarm.

BELEG, an elf warrior with piercing grey eyes and a sharp,

elven face, emerges from the bushes. He's clad in dark,
practical leather armour, a longbow slung across his back. He
approaches Túrin cautiously.

TÚRIN
Who are you?

BELEG
My name is Beleg. And you?

TÚRIN
 16.

Túrin Turambar.

Túrin says the name with a bitterness that betrays his past.

BELEG
I've heard whispers of your name. A troubled
past, they say.

TÚRIN

(gruffly)
Whispers are all you'll get. Leave me to my
solitude.

Beleg doesn't move. He studies Túrin intently, his eyes sharp

and observant.

BELEG
Solitude is a harsh mistress. Sometimes, even
a troubled soul needs companionship.

TÚRIN
I need nothing.

BELEG
Perhaps not. But perhaps you could use… an
ally.

Beleg offers a hand, a gesture both of help and respect.

TÚRIN

(hesitates)
An ally…

Túrin stares at Beleg’s outstretched hand, his eyes

flickering with doubt, then a hint of something akin to hope.
He slowly takes Beleg’s hand, a surprising strength in his
grip.

CONTINUED

INT. MOUNTAIN CAVE - NIGHT

A small fire crackles in the center of the cave, casting

flickering shadows on the rough stone walls. Túrin and Beleg
sit opposite each other, sharing a meager meal of dried meat
and berries. Beleg expertly sharpens his knife, his movements
precise and practiced. Túrin watches him, a strange calm
settling over his features.

TÚRIN
I haven't felt this… peaceful in years.

BELEG
Peace is a rare commodity in these times,
Túrin. But it can be found, even in the
 17.

darkest of places.

Beleg glances at Túrin, a knowing smile playing on his lips.

TÚRIN
You speak as if you know my darkness
intimately.

BELEG
I’ve seen the shadows in many men’s eyes,
Túrin. But I also see the embers of something
stronger… the will to fight back against the
darkness.

Túrin stares into the fire, lost in thought. He picks up a

piece of the dried meat, but his hand is unsteady.

TÚRIN
I've been consumed by rage… by revenge. It's
all I've known.

BELEG
Rage is a powerful weapon, but it can also be
a cage. It can blind you to the truth.

Beleg sheaths his knife, his gaze steady on Túrin.

BELEG
There are other ways to fight, Túrin. Ways
that don’t consume you.

TÚRIN
What other ways?

BELEG
By protecting the innocent. By standing
against tyranny. By fighting for what is
right.

A glimmer of determination appears in Túrin’s eyes. He meets

Beleg's gaze, his expression resolute.

TÚRIN
I… I can do that.

He clenches his fist, a newfound strength in his grip.

BELEG
Then let us begin.

FADE OUT.

EXT. FOREST PATH - DUSK

Túrin and Beleg walk along a forest path. The sun dips below
the horizon, casting long, ominous shadows. A chilling wind
whispers through the trees.
 18.

TÚRIN
This path… it feels… wrong.

He stops, his hand instinctively reaching for his sword.

BELEG
It's just the setting sun, Túrin. The shadows
play tricks on the eyes.

Beleg puts a reassuring hand on Túrin's shoulder. Túrin

flinches, pulling away.

TÚRIN
No. It's more than that. I feel… watched.

He looks around nervously, his eyes darting from tree to

tree.

BELEG

(concerned)
Túrin, calm yourself. There's nothing here.

A low growl echoes through the trees. The wind picks up,
rustling the leaves with unnatural ferocity.

TÚRIN
Do you hear that?

BELEG
It's just the wind.

A large, dark shape shifts amongst the trees in the distance,

momentarily visible before disappearing back into the
shadows. Túrin sees it, his eyes widening in fear.

TÚRIN
No… it’s not the wind.

He grips his sword tighter, his knuckles white. His breathing

is ragged.

BELEG
What is it, Túrin? What do you see?

TÚRIN
A shadow… a great shadow… It’s… it’s watching
us.

He begins to tremble, a cold sweat breaking out on his

forehead. The shadow seems to grow larger, darker, closer. A
sense of dread permeates the air.

BELEG
Túrin…
 19.

Beleg tries to reach out, but Túrin recoils, his eyes fixated
on the encroaching darkness.

TÚRIN
Glaurung… it's Glaurung's shadow.

He stumbles backward, fear etched on his face. The shadow

consumes the forest, swallowing the light and leaving only a
chilling darkness.

FADE TO BLACK.

INT. ROUGH-HEWN HUT - NIGHT

A flickering fire casts dancing shadows on the rough-hewn

walls of the hut. TÚRIN sits hunched over, sharpening his
sword with manic intensity. BELEG watches him, concern etched
on his face. The air is thick with unspoken tension.

BELEG
Túrin, you've been sharpening that blade for
hours. You’ll wear it down to nothing.

Túrin doesn't respond, continuing his frantic sharpening. He

seems oblivious to Beleg's presence.

BELEG
Are you alright?

TÚRIN
I'm fine.

(harshly)

He abruptly stops sharpening, the movement jarring.

BELEG
You've barely slept. You hardly eat. The
shadow… it's affecting you more than you let
on.

Beleg approaches cautiously, extending a hand towards Túrin.

Túrin recoils, his eyes narrowed.

TÚRIN
Don't touch me.

(snapping)

BELEG
Túrin, I'm worried about you. We're all
worried.

Beleg sits down, a respectful distance away. His gaze is

steady, concerned.

TÚRIN
 20.

Worried? You think you understand what I'm

going through?

BELEG
I may not fully understand, but I know the
shadow's hold is tightening. You need to let
us help you.

TÚRIN
Help? You can't help me. No one can.

He rises abruptly, his eyes blazing with a mixture of anger

and fear. He runs a hand through his dishevelled hair.

TÚRIN
I feel… I feel something watching. Even now.
And I don’t trust anyone.

He sheathes his sword, the movement sharp and decisive. His

gaze is cold and untrusting, sweeping over Beleg.

FADE OUT.

EXT. FOREST PATH - DAWN

Mist hangs heavy in the ancient forest. Túrin walks alone,

his pace brisk, almost frantic. The path is barely visible,
winding through gnarled trees and dense undergrowth. He
carries only his sword.

TÚRIN
They don't understand. None of them.

He stops abruptly, his eyes scanning the trees, a tremor in

his hand.

TÚRIN
The feeling… it's stronger now.

He grips his sword tighter, his knuckles white. A low growl

echoes from the deeper woods.

TÚRIN
Show yourself!

Silence. Only the rustling of leaves. Then, a flash of

movement - a glimpse of something large and dark disappearing
among the trees.

TÚRIN
Damn you.

He resumes his walk, his steps quicker now, driven by a

desperate urgency. He pushes through thorny bushes, ignoring
the scratches on his arms.

TÚRIN
 21.

I won't let it win. I won't break.

He reaches a clearing. In the center stands a solitary,

ancient oak, its branches reaching towards the sky like
skeletal fingers. He notices something beneath the tree – a
small, intricately carved wooden box.

TÚRIN
What…?

He cautiously approaches the box. He opens it. Inside,

nestled on a bed of faded velvet, lies a single, withered
seed.

TÚRIN

(whispering)
A seed of what?

A sudden gust of wind whips through the clearing, scattering

leaves around him. The air feels charged with a foreboding
energy. He clutches the seed tightly in his hand, its
fragility mirroring the precariousness of his situation.

TÚRIN
This… this is a sign.

His face is etched with a profound sense of dread, his eyes

reflecting a mixture of fear and grim determination. The seed
feels heavy in his palm; a burden that hints at the tragic
destiny he cannot escape.

FADE TO BLACK.

EXT. THE HIGH PLAINS - DUSK

The sun dips below the horizon, casting long shadows across
the vast, windswept plains. A storm gathers in the west, the
sky a bruised purple and ominous grey. HORDOR, a grizzled
warrior with a weathered face, watches the approaching
tempest with grim determination. His family, his wife MORWEN
and his children, stand huddled together, their faces etched
with fear. Near them, a small fire flickers weakly, battling
the increasingly strong wind.

HORDOR
The storm… it mirrors what's coming.

Morwen clutches her children closer, her eyes filled with

anxiety.

MORWEN
Glaurung… he'll be here soon.

A young boy, Nienor, shivers, his eyes wide with terror.

NIENOR
 22.

Father, what will we do?

HORDOR
We fight. We fight for our lives, for our
home.

He hefts his axe, its polished surface reflecting the stormy

sky. The wind howls louder, whipping dust and debris across
the plains. Lightning flashes, briefly illuminating the
family's terrified faces.

MORWEN
But he's… he's too powerful. A dragon of the
First Age.

HORDOR
We have no choice. We stand together, or we
fall alone.

He looks at his family, his gaze resolute, despite the fear

in his heart. The wind intensifies, the first drops of rain
begin to fall, turning the dust to mud.

NIENOR

(trembling)
I'm scared, Father.

HORDOR
I know, son. But courage isn't the absence of
fear, it's facing it.

A deafening roar echoes from the approaching storm, shaking

the ground. In the distance, a monstrous shadow appears,
silhouetted against the lightning-streaked sky. Glaurung. The
fear in Morwen's eyes is palpable.

MORWEN
He's here.

Hordor grips his axe tighter, his eyes locked on the

approaching dragon. His family huddle closer, a small island
of defiance against the overwhelming power of the storm and
the dragon.

INTO THE STORM.

INT. FORSAKEN FORTRESS - NIGHT

A crumbling stone fortress, once proud, now ravaged by time

and war. Torches cast flickering shadows on the rough-hewn
walls. TÚRIN, a young man with fierce eyes and a scarred
face, stands amidst a pile of weapons, his sword, GURTHANG,
gleaming faintly. He is powerfully built, his movements fluid
and deadly. He cleans his sword meticulously, his expression
grim but resolute.
 23.

TÚRIN
Another one bites the dust.

He tosses a blood-stained rag aside. A group of battered

soldiers, their faces bruised and weary, look at him with a
mixture of fear and awe.

SOLDIER 1
You fought like a demon, Túrin.

SOLDIER 2
Glaurung himself couldn't have done better.

TÚRIN
He's a coward hiding in the shadows. I will
find him. I will kill him.

He grips Gurthang tighter, his knuckles white.

SOLDIER 3
But the curse… it follows you, doesn't it?

TÚRIN

(coldly)
The curse is a lie. A weakness.

He sheathes his sword, the movement precise and deadly.

TÚRIN
Bring me more of these… toys.

He turns away, his back to the soldiers, his shoulders

slumping slightly. His victory feels hollow, the cheers of
the men a distant echo in the vast, echoing hall.

TÚRIN

(to himself)
This… this is not enough.

He walks towards a shadowed corner of the fortress, the

weight of his unspoken despair heavier than any sword.

TÚRIN

(a whisper)
Glaurung… I'm coming for you.

He clenches his fist, the unspoken promise hanging heavy in

the air. The torches flicker, casting his silhouette against
the wall, a lonely figure consumed by his own inner demons.

FADE TO BLACK.

INT. CAVE - DAY

 24.

A damp, dimly lit cave. Water drips from the stalactites

above. The air is thick with the smell of damp earth and
something else… something metallic. TÚRIN, his face grimmer
than ever, stands before a stone altar. On the altar rests
GURTHANG, the black blade gleaming eerily in the scant light.
Runes, ancient and powerful, are etched into its surface.

TÚRIN
So, this is it.

He reaches out a hesitant hand, then withdraws it. He circles

the altar, examining the sword from every angle. He runs a
finger along the runes, his touch feather-light.

TÚRIN
A curse… they say.

He scoffs, a harsh, bitter sound.

TÚRIN
Curses are for the weak. For the afraid.

He grips the hilt of Gurthang. The cold steel bites into his
flesh.

TÚRIN
I am neither.

He draws the sword. The blade sings, a low, resonant hum that
vibrates through the cave. The air crackles with an almost
palpable energy. His eyes widen slightly, a flicker of
something akin to awe crossing his face, quickly replaced by
grim determination.

TÚRIN
Glaurung… you will not survive this.

He raises the sword high above his head, the blade catching
the light, briefly illuminating the runes with a sinister
glow. The cave seems to hold its breath.

TÚRIN
This… this is power.

He sheathes the sword, the movement now fluid and practiced,

the deadly precision suggesting a lifetime spent wielding
such weapons. He looks at his reflection in the polished
blade, a reflection shadowed by both resolve and an ominous
premonition.

TÚRIN
But at what cost?

He leaves the cave, Gurthang strapped securely to his side,

the ominous hum of the blade a constant companion. The weight
of his destiny is palpable; his shadow stretches long and
menacing in the fading light.
 25.

FADE OUT.

INT. FORSAKEN TOWER - NIGHT

A crumbling tower, wind howling through shattered windows.

Nienor, Túrin's sister, sits huddled by a meager fire, her
face pale and drawn. She clutches a worn tapestry. Túrin
enters, his shadow stretching long and menacing across the
rough-hewn stone floor. He’s visibly weary, Gurthang strapped
to his hip.

NIENOR
Túrin… you’re back.

She rises, her eyes filled with a mixture of hope and fear.

TÚRIN
I found something… powerful.

He gestures vaguely towards Gurthang. Nienor looks at the

sword, a flicker of unease in her eyes.

NIENOR
What is it?

TÚRIN
A weapon. A weapon that can end this.

He speaks with grim determination, his voice low and rough.

NIENOR
End what, Túrin?

TÚRIN
Glaurung. And the curse. All of it.

He moves closer to the fire, the flickering light dancing

across his face, revealing a deep-seated pain.

NIENOR
But at what cost?

Nienor's voice trembles. Túrin turns sharply, his eyes

narrowed, hurt and suspicion battling for dominance in his
gaze.

TÚRIN

(harshly)
What do you mean?

NIENOR
I… I overheard. In the village. They say this
sword… it brings nothing but death and sorrow.

Tears well up in her eyes. She looks at him with an anguish

that cuts him deeper than any blade.
 26.

TÚRIN

(whispering)
They… they lie.

He moves closer to her, reaching out a hand, then abruptly

retracts it.

NIENOR
I don't want you to go, Túrin. Please.

She throws her arms around him, burying her face in his
chest. He stiffens, then gently pushes her away. His
expression is unreadable – a mask of pain and betrayal.

TÚRIN
This is my fate. And yours is… separate from
mine.

He turns and walks away, leaving Nienor alone in the desolate

tower, her cries swallowed by the relentless wind.

FADE TO BLACK.

EXT. WILDERNESS PATH - DAWN

Mist hangs heavy in the air. A narrow, winding path cuts

through a dense, ancient forest. NIËNOR, Túrin's sister,
travels alone, her cloak pulled tight against the chill. A
small pack rests on her back. She moves with determined
purpose, her gaze fixed ahead.

NIËNOR
Túrin… where are you?

She pushes aside a low-hanging branch, her face etched with

worry and determination. A raven caws overhead.

NIËNOR
I will find you.

She continues her trek, the path becoming steeper and more
treacherous. She carefully navigates a rocky outcrop, her
movements precise and agile.

NIËNOR
I won't let them take you.

She stops, listening intently. The sounds of the forest – the

rustling leaves, the distant call of a bird – seem amplified
in the stillness.

NIËNOR
I have to find you before… before it's too
late.
 27.

She notices a faint trail of disturbed earth, leading deeper

into the woods. Hope flickers in her eyes.

NIËNOR
This… this is it. This is his path.

She follows the trail, her pace quickening with renewed

urgency. The forest grows darker, the trees taller and more
menacing.

NIËNOR
I won't give up.

She pushes through thick undergrowth, her hands scratched and

bleeding, but she shows no sign of faltering. A glint of
sunlight catches something in the distance.

NIËNOR
Is that…?

She breaks through the final thicket and sees a clearing. A

campfire burns low, smoke curling into the morning air. A
figure sits hunched over near the fire. It’s Túrin, his head
bowed. He appears exhausted, possibly injured.

NIËNOR

(whispering)
Túrin…

She approaches slowly, cautiously.

CONTINUED

EXT. FOREST CLEARING - DAY

Sunlight filters weakly through the dense canopy. Niënor

approaches Túrin cautiously. He sits hunched over the dying
embers of a fire, his back to her. A heavy silence hangs in
the air, broken only by the crackle of the fire.

NIËNOR

(softly)
Túrin?

Túrin doesn't respond. He seems lost in thought, his

shoulders slumped. A dark shadow seems to stretch from behind
a nearby tree, almost imperceptible.

NIËNOR
It's me, Niënor.

She takes a step closer. Túrin slowly turns, his eyes

shadowed and unfocused. He appears disoriented.

TÚRIN
 28.

Who… who are you?

His voice is raspy, almost unrecognizable. Niënor recoils

slightly, concern etching her features.

NIËNOR
Túrin, it's me! Your sister.

He stares at her, his expression vacant. A low growl, almost

subsonic, seems to emanate from the darkness behind the tree.

TÚRIN
Leave me… go away.

He speaks with unusual harshness, a stark contrast to his

usual demeanor. The shadow deepens, the air growing colder.

NIËNOR
Túrin, what's wrong? You're… different.

She reaches out a hand towards him, hesitantly. The growl

intensifies. A faint scent of sulfur hangs in the air.

TÚRIN
I said, leave me!

He rises abruptly, his eyes flashing with an unnatural light.

He seems larger, stronger, almost inhuman.

NIËNOR
Túrin, please…

He lunges, his movements fast and brutal. Niënor barely

manages to evade his grasp. The shadow behind the tree seems
to writhe and pulse.

TÚRIN
Get away from me!

He advances again, his eyes fixed on her with a cold, almost

predatory intensity. The very air crackles with an unseen
energy. Niënor stumbles backward, fear gripping her heart.

CONTINUED

EXT. DARK FOREST - NIGHT

The forest is a labyrinth of shadows. Twisted branches claw

at the moonless sky. Niënor, her face etched with fear and
desperation, watches as Túrin stumbles away, his form
swallowed by the oppressive darkness. The air crackles with a
strange, unnatural energy.

NIËNOR
Túrin!
 29.

She calls out, her voice barely a whisper, lost in the vast
emptiness of the forest. She hesitates, her heart pounding,
before cautiously following him. The ground is uneven,
treacherous underfoot.

NIËNOR
Please, Túrin, answer me!

She pushes through thorny bushes, her clothes snagging. She

hears a muffled sound – a guttural snarl. The scent of sulfur
is stronger now, acrid and suffocating.

NIËNOR

(whispering)
What is happening to him?

She glimpses a clearing ahead, illuminated by a flickering,

unnatural light. Túrin stands there, his back to her, his
silhouette monstrous against the eerie glow. He holds a
broken branch, its splintered end dripping with blood.

The air shimmers with malevolent energy. She sees something

else then - dark, shadowy figures moving within the
periphery. They are not human.

NIËNOR

(fearfully)
Túrin…

He turns slowly, his eyes burning with a terrifying, inner

light. His face is contorted, marred by a darkness that seems
to consume him.

TÚRIN

(a guttural whisper)
Leave me… all of you… leave me alone…

He swings the broken branch, a wild, desperate arc that

cleaves the air. He is no longer the Túrin she remembers. His
movements are jerky, inhumanly strong. He seems possessed, a
vessel for something dark and ancient. The shadowy figures
move closer to him, seemingly beckoning.

NIËNOR

(despairingly)
This isn't you, Túrin! This isn't you!

She watches, helpless, as he sinks further into the abyss,

the shadows consuming him, their touch corrupting and
devastating. The air thickens, the unnatural glow
intensifying.

TÚRIN
 30.

(screaming)
I AM NOTHING!

He collapses to his knees, the broken branch falling from his

grasp. The shadowy figures surround him, their forms merging
and swirling into a vortex of darkness. The unnatural light
intensifies to a blinding flash.

FADE TO BLACK.

INT. CRUMBLING RUIN - DAWN

Dust motes dance in the weak light filtering through gaps in

the stone walls. The ruin is half-collapsed, overgrown with
weeds and vines. NIËNOR, her clothes torn and stained, sits
huddled against a crumbling pillar. TÚRIN, his face gaunt and
bearing the marks of recent struggle, enters cautiously. He
looks older, harder, the light in his eyes dimmed.

NIËNOR
Túrin?

She rises slowly, her movements stiff with exhaustion and

fear. She stares at him, her eyes wide with a mixture of
relief and apprehension.

TÚRIN

(quietly)
Niënor.

He approaches her slowly, his hand outstretched, then

hesitates, retracting it. He avoids her gaze.

NIËNOR
You… you're alive.

A faint smile plays on her lips, quickly fading as she

notices the darkness that clings to him.

TÚRIN
Barely.

He runs a hand through his matted hair, his expression etched

with weariness and self-loathing.

NIËNOR
What happened in the forest? What was that…
light?

She reaches out to touch his arm, but stops, sensing a

barrier between them.

TÚRIN

(bitterly)
 31.

Something… something evil. It tried to claim

me.

NIËNOR
And?

TÚRIN
It almost succeeded.

He looks away, his shoulders slumping. He runs a hand across

his face, his touch lingering on a deep scar near his temple.

NIËNOR
Túrin, you need to rest. We need to leave this
place.

She moves closer, placing a hand on his arm. He flinches, but

doesn't pull away.

TÚRIN

(voice barely a whisper)

I don't deserve rest, Niënor. I don't deserve
anything.

He looks at her, a flicker of the old Túrin shining through

the darkness in his eyes – a look of deep sorrow and regret.

FADE OUT.

INT. CRUMBLING RUIN - DAY

Sunlight streams into the ruin, illuminating dust motes

dancing in the air. Niënor tends to Túrin's wounds, her
movements gentle but practiced. He lies against a pile of
rubble, his breathing ragged but shallow. A small fire
crackles nearby, casting flickering shadows on their faces.

NIËNOR
The fever seems to be breaking.

She gently touches his forehead. He groans, but does not

stir.

NIËNOR
The herbs… they’re working.

She looks at him with a renewed hope, a faint smile gracing

her lips.

NIËNOR
Perhaps… perhaps we can escape this curse
after all.

She leans closer, her gaze fixed on his face. A tear escapes
her eye, and runs down her cheek.
 32.

NIËNOR
We can leave this place. We can find a new
beginning.

Túrin stirs, his eyes fluttering open. He looks at her, a

flicker of recognition in his eyes.

TÚRIN

(weakly)
Niënor…

He reaches out a trembling hand, touching hers.

NIËNOR
You're awake. You’re going to be alright.

She squeezes his hand, her eyes filled with unshed tears.

TÚRIN
The darkness… it's receding…

His grip tightens on her hand, then weakens. His eyes close
again. His breathing becomes shallow, laboured.

NIËNOR
Túrin? Túrin, speak to me!

She shakes him gently, her hope rapidly dwindling. His hand
goes limp, his breathing stops. The fire crackles, the
silence punctuated only by the wind.

NIËNOR

(despairingly)
No… no, no…

She collapses beside him, clutching his hand, her tears

falling freely onto his still face. The light in her eyes
dims, reflecting the darkness that now consumes her.

FADE TO BLACK.

EXT. FOREST PATH - NIGHT

A full moon casts long, eerie shadows across a dense forest

path. Wind howls through the trees. Niënor, her face pale and
grief-stricken, carries Túrin's lifeless body, wrapped in a
roughspun cloak. She stumbles, her movements slow and heavy
with sorrow.

NIËNOR
No…

She collapses to her knees, letting Túrin’s body rest gently

on the ground. Tears stream down her face. She clutches his
hand.
 33.

NIËNOR
Why?

A guttural growl echoes from the darkness of the woods. Eyes,

glowing red, appear from the shadows.

NIËNOR

(whispering)
No…

More glowing eyes appear, circling her. The air crackles with
a malevolent energy. The shadows take shape, revealing
monstrous figures—hulking, wolf-like creatures with
razor-sharp claws and teeth.

NIËNOR
Leave me be!

One of the creatures lunges, its claws extended. Niënor

screams, shielding Túrin’s body.

NIËNOR
Get away from him!

She fights back with desperate strength, kicking and

punching, but she is no match for the creatures' brute force.
They surround her, their growls intensifying. One sniffs
Túrin's body, its red eyes glowing menacingly.

NIËNOR
You will not… you will not have him!

She pushes herself to her feet and tries to drag Túrin's

body, her determination defying her grief. But the creatures
block her path, forcing her to back away.

NIËNOR

(crying out)
Please… leave us…!

The creatures close in, their snapping jaws and claws inches
from her. The darkness closes in, swallowing Niënor and
Túrin's body in its grasp.

FADE TO BLACK.

INT. DARK CAVE - NIGHT

Niënor, her clothes torn and muddy, cradles Túrin’s lifeless

body. The cave is damp and cold, lit only by the faint glow
of phosphorescent fungi clinging to the walls. Water drips
constantly from the ceiling, echoing in the oppressive
silence. Túrin’s face is pale, his eyes closed.

NIËNOR
 34.

My love…

She traces the line of his jaw, her fingers trembling. She
leans down and kisses his forehead. Tears fall silently onto
his skin.

NIËNOR
This… this wasn't supposed to happen.

She clutches a small, intricately carved wooden box. It’s

slightly cracked, stained with mud and blood.

NIËNOR
The curse… Morgoth’s curse… it follows him
even in death.

She opens the box revealing a single, tarnished silver coin.

A dark, almost oily stain spreads across its surface. Niënor
recoils slightly.

NIËNOR
It… it’s spreading.

The stain begins to creep across her fingers, burning like

ice. She gasps, dropping the box and clutching her hand.

NIËNOR

(a choked sob)
This… this isn’t fair.

She looks down at Túrin, her grief turning to a desperate,

raging anger.

NIËNOR
It should have been me. It should have always
been me.

Her gaze sweeps across the cave, settling on the darkness

beyond. The weight of the curse, both literal and
metaphorical, seems to crush her.

NIËNOR
But it wasn't. He carried this burden, this
curse… alone.

She begins to softly weep, her shoulders shaking. The silver

coin lies forgotten on the damp cave floor, its dark stain
slowly growing.

NIËNOR
And now… even death cannot save him.

She pulls Túrin’s body closer, cradling him as if to protect

him from the lingering darkness, even in death.

FADE OUT.
 35.

EXT. FOREST EDGE - DAWN

The remains of a fire smolder, casting long, dancing shadows

across the dew-kissed grass. A single raven sits perched on a
skeletal branch, watching Niënor. Her face is streaked with
dirt and tears, her clothes ragged. She holds a small,
bloodstained knife.

NIËNOR
He's gone.

She runs a finger across the blade, a faint tremor in her

hand.

NIËNOR
Truly gone.

She looks up at the rising sun, her eyes filled with a

desolate emptiness. The light seems to mock her grief.

NIËNOR
And I… I couldn't save him.

She rises, her movements slow and deliberate. She walks to a

nearby tree, its bark scarred and ancient.

NIËNOR
Not this time.

She carves a crude symbol into the tree trunk – a single,

broken wing.

NIËNOR
His curse… it claimed him.

She drops the knife, the sound echoing unnaturally loud in

the stillness of the dawn. She clutches her chest, a sharp
intake of breath escaping her lips.

NIËNOR
It claimed us both.

She sinks to her knees, the weight of her loss crushing her.
The raven takes flight, its cry a mournful counterpoint to
her silent despair. The silver coin from the cave lies
forgotten near the base of the tree, its dark stain now
larger, darker – almost alive.

NIËNOR

(whispering)
Forgive me… Túrin.

Her sobs are quiet, swallowed by the vastness of the forest.

NIËNOR
Forgive me.
 36.

She remains there, a small, broken figure amidst the

awakening world, her grief a palpable presence in the morning
light.

FADE OUT.

INT. FORSAKEN CAVE - DAY

Dust motes dance in the single shaft of sunlight piercing the

gloom of the cave. TÚRIN 30s, gaunt, his clothes torn and
stained, sits hunched in the corner, his back against the
cold, damp stone. A discarded wineskin lies beside him,
empty. The air hangs heavy with the scent of mildew and
despair.

TÚRIN
Cursed.

He kicks at a loose stone, sending it skittering across the

cave floor. His movements are sluggish, his eyes hollow.

TÚRIN
All cursed.

He runs a hand through his matted hair, his touch hesitant,

as if afraid to disturb the silence that has settled upon him
like a shroud.

TÚRIN
Niënor…

He whispers the name, a choked sob escaping his lips. He

clutches a worn leather pouch, the only item he salvaged from
their escape. He opens it revealing only a few scraps of
food. His eyes cloud with tears.

TÚRIN
My fault.

He slams his fist against the cave wall, the sound echoing in
the oppressive silence. He rises, pacing restlessly, his
silhouette stretched and distorted by the single light beam.

TÚRIN
Always my fault.

He stops abruptly, his gaze fixed on the shadows that dance

and writhe in the darkness, taking on monstrous forms in his
grief-stricken mind. He sees her face in the darkness. He
reaches out a trembling hand.

TÚRIN

(a broken whisper)
Come back…
 37.

He collapses to his knees, his shoulders shaking with silent

sobs. The leather pouch falls from his grasp, its meager
contents scattering on the cold, damp ground. He makes no
attempt to retrieve them.

TÚRIN
Let the darkness… consume me.

He curls into a fetal position, his body wracked with grief

and despair. The single shaft of sunlight seems to mock his
misery, highlighting the dust swirling in the otherwise
motionless air.

TÚRIN
Let it… end.

FADE TO BLACK.

EXT. FOREST EDGE - DUSK

A dense, ancient forest presses in on all sides. The air is

thick with the smell of damp earth and decaying leaves. The
last rays of the setting sun cast long, ominous shadows.
Túrin, his face grim and etched with fatigue, cautiously
moves through the undergrowth, a hunting knife clutched in
his hand. He glances over his shoulder repeatedly.

TÚRIN
We need to move faster.

He gestures to the others Morwen, his mother, her face drawn

and pale, struggles to keep pace, her hand resting on the arm
of Nienor, her daughter, who looks back anxiously.

MORWEN
I can't… I can't go on.

Nienor places a comforting hand on her mother’s shoulder.

Túrin stops, his gaze sweeping the darkening woods.

TÚRIN
There’s a clearing ahead. We can rest there,
for a while.

He notices a twig snap in the distance, his hand

instinctively going to his knife. His eyes narrow.

NIENOR
Did you hear that?

She whispers, her eyes wide with fear. Morwen clutches at her
daughter's arm, trembling.

TÚRIN

(glowering)
Stay close.
 38.

He signals for them to stay hidden behind a large oak tree.

He slowly and quietly circles the tree, knife held high,
surveying his surroundings. The sounds of breaking branches
and rustling leaves grow closer.

TÚRIN

(a low growl)
They're hunting us.

He sees three figures emerge from the shadows, their faces

obscured by dark cloaks. Their movements are swift and
silent, and they carry weapons.

MORWEN

(whispering, terrified)
What do we do?

Túrin grips his knife, his eyes blazing with fierce

determination. The shadows lengthen, engulfing them in an
ominous darkness as the figures close in.

TÚRIN

(determined)
We fight.

INTO THE DARKNESS.

INT. CLEARING - NIGHT

A small, moonlit clearing in the forest. A fire crackles

weakly, casting flickering shadows on the faces of Túrin,
Morwen, and Niënor. Niënor sits apart from the others, her
face buried in her hands. Her shoulders shake silently.

NIËNOR
It's all my fault.

She whispers, her voice choked with tears. She looks up, her
eyes red and swollen.

NIËNOR
If I hadn't… if I hadn't been so…

She trails off, unable to articulate her guilt. Morwen

reaches out a hand, but hesitates.

MORWEN
Niënor, my child…

Túrin remains silent, his gaze fixed on the flames. He

clenches his jaw, his expression unreadable.

NIËNOR
 39.

It's the curse, isn't it? It follows us,

clings to us like the shadows in this wretched
wood.

She stands abruptly, her movements sharp and jerky. She paces
restlessly around the fire.

NIËNOR
Everything he touches turns to ash. Everything
he loves is destroyed. And I… I am no
exception.

She runs a hand through her hair, her eyes wide with despair.

NIËNOR
How much longer can we endure this? How much
more can we lose before there is nothing left?

She collapses to her knees, burying her face in her hands

again. Sobbing wracks her body.

NIËNOR
There is no escape. There is no hope.

Morwen moves towards her, kneeling beside her, and

tentatively places a comforting arm around her daughter's
shoulders. Túrin watches them both, his face etched with a
profound weariness that transcends mere physical exhaustion.
The fire crackles, casting long, dancing shadows.

TÚRIN
There is always hope.

His voice is barely a whisper, yet it holds a steely

undercurrent of defiance.

FADE TO BLACK.

INT. FORSAKEN TOWER - NIGHT

A crumbling stone tower, lit only by a flickering torch.

Túrin stands, back to the viewer, gazing out a shattered
window at a storm-wracked landscape. His shoulders slump. He
holds a dented, bloodstained sword.

TÚRIN
It is done.

He turns, revealing a deep cut on his cheek. He touches it

gently.

TÚRIN
Finally, peace.

A figure emerges from the shadows, clad in dark, hooded

robes. It is Morwen, her face pale and drawn, but her eyes
glittering with a chilling intensity.
 40.

MORWEN

(coldly)
Peace? You fool.

She steps closer, her shadow falling across him like a

shroud.

MORWEN
You believed me, didn't you? That I sought to
comfort you, to mend your shattered spirit.

Morwen raises a hand, revealing a wickedly curved dagger

hidden within her sleeve.

MORWEN
Such naivete… so endearing.

TÚRIN

(shocked)
Mother?

He stares at her, disbelief warring with dawning horror.

MORWEN
Your faith in me... it was your undoing.

She lunges forward, her dagger flashing in the torchlight.

Túrin barely parries the blow, his sword clanging against the
blade.

TÚRIN
Why…?

MORWEN
You bring only ruin. I spared you once. This
time... this time, I'm delivering you to your
destiny.

She disarms him, sending his sword clattering to the floor.

She presses the dagger to his throat.

MORWEN
The curse… it is true. But it need not cling
to me any longer.

TÚRIN

(whispering)
No… not you, too.

Morwen's eyes are devoid of emotion. She closes her eyes, and
with a swift, merciless movement, plunges the dagger into
Túrin's heart.

FADE TO BLACK.
 41.

INT. FORSAKEN TOWER - NIGHT CONTINUED

Túrin's body slumps to the floor, his eyes wide and unseeing.
Morwen stands over him, the dagger still dripping blood. Her
face, however, is not triumphant, but etched with profound
sorrow.

MORWEN
Forgive me, my son.

She kneels, gently closing Túrin's eyes. A single tear tracks

a path through the grime on her cheek.

MORWEN
The curse… it binds us all. But I will not let
it claim you completely.

She retrieves a small, intricately carved wooden amulet from

around her neck. It glows faintly in the torchlight.

MORWEN
This… this was your father's. It held back the
worst of the darkness for him. May it do the
same for you, even in death.

She places the amulet on Túrin's chest, its faint light

illuminating his still face.

MORWEN
Your suffering… it ends now.

She rises, her movements slow and deliberate. She looks

around the desolate tower, a mixture of grief and grim
determination in her eyes.

MORWEN
But the fight… it continues.

She walks towards the window, the wind whipping her dark
robes around her. She looks out at the storm-lashed
landscape, a stark, unforgiving mirror of her own soul.

MORWEN
For you, my son. For all of us.

She raises her arms, a silent prayer to the unforgiving sky.

Then, with a sudden, resolute movement, she throws herself
from the window, disappearing into the storm.

FADE OUT.

EXT. BATTLEFIELD - DAWN

A vast, desolate battlefield stretches before us, littered

with the remnants of a brutal conflict. The sky is a bruised
purple and orange, the rising sun casting long, somber
shadows. In the distance, the towering fortress of Angband
 42.

looms, black and menacing.

TÚRIN

(determined)
This ends today.

Túrin, clad in battered armor, stands defiantly amidst the

carnage. His sword, scarred and chipped, is held aloft,
reflecting the growing light. He looks weary, but his eyes
burn with an unwavering resolve.

TÚRIN
Years of darkness, years of loss… it all ends
here.

He glances at the fallen, his expression a mixture of grief

and steely determination. A cold wind whips through the
battlefield, carrying the scent of blood and death.

TÚRIN
For Morwen. For all who have fallen.

He clenches his fist, his knuckles white. The sound of

approaching footsteps echoes across the barren landscape.

TÚRIN
Let them come.

From the shadows of Angband, a monstrous army emerges, an

unstoppable tide of orcs and dark creatures. Their war cries
echo across the battlefield, a chilling prelude to the final
confrontation.

TÚRIN

(a low growl)
I am ready.

He raises his sword again, a lone figure standing against an

overwhelming force. His silhouette is stark against the
rising sun, a symbol of defiance in the face of ultimate
destruction.

TÚRIN
This is my stand. This is my end.

He advances towards the oncoming army, a single warrior

against the darkness. The clash of steel and the cries of
battle are just beyond the horizon, the epic struggle about
to begin.

TÚRIN
Let the battle commence!

He charges forward, a whirlwind of steel and fury.

 43.

CUT TO BLACK.

EXT. PATH TO ANG BAND - DAY

A narrow, treacherous path winds its way up a jagged,

obsidian mountainside. The air is thin and cold, the ground
treacherous underfoot. Dark, twisted trees claw at the sky,
their branches bare and skeletal. Túrin, his armor battered
and stained, trudges relentlessly forward. He moves with a
grim determination, his face etched with weariness and
sorrow. His sword, Blood-stained, hangs heavy at his side.

TÚRIN
Almost there.

He pauses, catching his breath, his gaze fixed on the looming

fortress of Angband. The fortress is a monolithic structure
of black stone, a symbol of evil and despair. A single raven
circles overhead, its caw echoing in the desolate landscape.

TÚRIN
This path...it leads to ruin.

He grips his sword tighter, his knuckles white. He knows what

awaits him at the summit – a brutal confrontation, a death
certain as the rising sun. But a strange sense of peace
settles over him. It is the peace of a man accepting his
fate. The weight of his past actions, the ghosts of his loved
ones, are no longer burdens, but shadows he walks with now.
The wind howls around him, a mournful symphony to his march
towards destruction.

TÚRIN
And yet… I embrace it.

He resumes his climb, his pace unwavering. Each step is

deliberate, each breath a conscious act. He is walking
towards his end, but also to a kind of redemption, a final,
bloody atonement for his sins. The wind whips his cloak
around him, and the scene cuts sharply to a distant shot
where the path to the stronghold is a mere black line against
the brutal, pale landscape.

TÚRIN
Morwen… I come.

He looks up toward the imposing shadow of Angband, his

expression unreadable. A dark, almost satisfied smile plays
on his lips.

TÚRIN
This is where my story ends.

He continues his ascent, his silhouette a stark figure

against the bleak sky, a lonely warrior walking toward his
inevitable doom.
 44.

FADE OUT.

INT. ANG BAND THRONE ROOM - NIGHT

The vast throne room is carved from obsidian, its walls slick
with moisture. Torches cast flickering shadows, revealing
grotesque carvings of skulls and writhing serpents. At the
far end, upon a throne of black bone, sits GLAURUNG, a
colossal dragon. His scales shimmer with an oily iridescence,
and his eyes burn with malevolent intelligence. Túrin stands
before him, sword drawn, his face grim but resolute. The air
crackles with barely contained magic.

GLAURUNG
So, the Hound of Húrin dares to come before
me?

Glaurung rises, his immense bulk shaking the very foundations

of the throne room. Dust and debris rain down from the
ceiling.

TÚRIN
I have come for vengeance.

GLAURUNG
Vengeance? A pitiful notion. I have given you
pain, yes, but have you not brought it upon
yourself? You are a tool, a broken blade in
the hand of fate.

Glaurung unleashes a wave of fire, scorching the floor around

Túrin, who barely avoids it by rolling aside. His armor
clangs as he springs to his feet.

TÚRIN
I may be broken, but I am not beaten.

Túrin charges, his sword a blur of motion. He leaps, aiming a

desperate strike at Glaurung's underbelly.

GLAURUNG
chuckles, a deep, resonant sound
Foolish mortal.

Glaurung swat's Túrin aside with a massive claw, sending him

flying across the room. He crashes heavily against a wall,
coughing up blood.

TÚRIN

(gasping)
I will not…yield.

Glaurung advances, his shadow engulfing Túrin. He opens his

maw, revealing rows of razor-sharp teeth.

GLAURUNG
 45.

Your defiance is amusing. But it ends here.

Glaurung prepares to unleash a torrent of fire, the room

filling with intense heat.

TÚRIN

(determined)
Then let us end it together.

Túrin, despite his injuries, rises to meet his doom, his

sword held high.

CUT TO BLACK.

INT. ANG BAND THRONE ROOM - CONTINUOUS

Glaurung's eyes fix on Túrin. A shimmering, emerald light

emanates from them, spreading like a contagion across the
obsidian floor.

GLAURUNG
Your spirit, Hound of Húrin, is strong. But
even the fiercest wolf can be tamed.

The emerald light intensifies, weaving hypnotic patterns.

Túrin's body stiffens; his eyes lose their focus, clouding
over.

TÚRIN

(weakly)
What…what is this?

Glaurung lets out a low, guttural chuckle. The carvings on

the walls seem to writhe, their shadows twisting into
grotesque, mocking faces.

GLAURUNG
The Dragon's Curse. It binds the will,
consumes the mind. You will see things...
remember things... that would shatter a lesser
soul.

Túrin’s memories flood back, not his own, but fragmented

visions of violence and betrayal, of a twisted, horrific
fate. He collapses to his knees, his body wracked with
shuddering sobs.

TÚRIN

(agonized)
No… it can't be…

His sword clatters to the floor. His face contorts with a

mixture of horror and despair. The emerald light pulses,
intensifying the visions, distorting reality around him.
 46.

GLAURUNG
Embrace the truth, Túrin. Embrace the darkness
that dwells within you, and within us all.

Túrin’s face is a mask of agony, tears streaming down his

cheeks. His screams are swallowed by the cavernous throne
room.

TÚRIN
Help me…

Glaurung rises, his shadow engulfing Túrin completely. The

emerald light envelops him entirely, leaving only the
flickering torchlight and Glaurung's malevolent gaze.

GLAURUNG
Your suffering has only just begun.

FADE TO BLACK.

INT. ANGBAND THRONE ROOM - NIGHT

The emerald light fades, leaving Túrin slumped against the

obsidian throne, his breath ragged. Glaurung watches him, a
cruel smile playing on his lips.

GLAURUNG
You have seen the truth, Túrin Turambar. The
truth of your betrayal, of your failure.

Túrin slowly raises his head, his eyes filled with a chilling
emptiness.

TÚRIN
My mother… Morwen… they are dead because of
me.

He clenches his fists, his voice rising in anger.

TÚRIN
And you… you are the reason.

GLAURUNG
I merely showed you the reflection of your own
failings.

Glaurung rises, his immense form casting a long shadow over

Túrin. He offers Túrin a jeweled dagger.

GLAURUNG
Seek vengeance. Destroy those who have wronged
you. Embrace your power, your darkness.

Túrin stares at the dagger, his gaze unwavering. A cold

resolve hardens his features.

TÚRIN
 47.

I will.

He takes the dagger, its cold metal a stark contrast to the

burning rage in his eyes. He rises slowly, his movements
deliberate.

TÚRIN
I will avenge them all.

He looks at Glaurung, his face twisting into a grim smile. A

terrifying resolve takes hold of him.

TÚRIN
And then... I will destroy you.

Glaurung laughs, a sound that echoes through the cavernous

chamber. He makes no attempt to stop Túrin as he strides
towards the exit, his newfound purpose burning within him.
The dagger gleams in his hand, a promise of violence and
despair.

FADE OUT.

EXT. FOREST CLEARING - DAWN

Mist hangs heavy in the air. The sounds of battle – clashing

steel, pained grunts – cut through the morning quiet. Túrin,
clad in dark armor, fights with brutal efficiency. His
opponent, equally skilled, is his brother, Niënor, though
Túrin doesn't recognize him.

TÚRIN
You will pay for your treachery!

Niënor parries a blow, his face etched with pain and

confusion. He fights defensively, unwilling to harm his
brother.

NIËNOR
Brother... it's me! Niënor!

Túrin laughs, a harsh, chilling sound.

TÚRIN
Lies! You're one of Glaurung's pawns.

He lunges, his sword flashing. Niënor blocks, but the force

of the blow sends him stumbling. Túrin presses his attack
relentlessly.

NIËNOR
Please, brother, listen to me!

Túrin ignores him, striking again and again. Niënor manages

to deflect most of the blows, his defense growing
increasingly desperate.
 48.

NIËNOR
I swear, it's me! Remember our childhood? The
dragon… he’s lied to you!

Túrin pauses, a flicker of doubt crossing his face. For a

fleeting moment, a memory surfaces – a shared laugh, a
childhood game – but it is instantly banished by the cold
grip of Glaurung's deception.

TÚRIN

(coldly)
Silence, traitor!

He attacks again, even more ferociously than before. Niënor

stumbles back, his strength failing. He falls to one knee.

NIËNOR
I… I love you, brother.

Tears stream down Niënor’s face as Túrin raises his sword for
the killing blow. The sunlight catches the steel, reflecting
in Túrin’s merciless eyes. Niënor closes his eyes, accepting
his fate.

FADE TO BLACK.

INT. CAVE - DAY

A single shaft of sunlight pierces the gloom of a vast

cavern. Niënor lies wounded, but alive, his body cradled in
Túrin's arms. Túrin's face is etched with grief and
disbelief.

TÚRIN

(whispering)
Niënor…

He gently wipes blood from Niënor's face. Niënor coughs, a

rattling sound.

NIËNOR

(weakly)
The… the dragon… he lied…

Túrin stares at him, his eyes widening.

TÚRIN
Lied? About what?

NIËNOR
About everything. He… he showed me visions…
twisted memories… made me believe… I was…
someone else.
 49.

Niënor struggles to breathe, clutching at Túrin’s arm.

NIËNOR
He made me believe I was Glaurung's champion…
that I could… betray you.

Tears well in Túrin's eyes. He leans down, his voice barely

audible.

TÚRIN
But… the visions… the way you fought…

NIËNOR
He controlled me… twisted my will. I… I fought
against it… but it was so strong… I was… lost.

Niënor coughs violently, clutching his side.

NIËNOR
I… I only wanted… to protect you… always.

A single tear escapes Túrin's eye and rolls down his cheek.
He holds Niënor close, his body shaking with sorrow and
regret.

TÚRIN
Oh, Niënor… my brother…

Niënor's grip loosens. His eyes close. Túrin's head falls to

Niënor's shoulder, his sobs muffled by the cavern’s silence.
The sunlight seems to dim, the scene bathed in a profound
sadness.

FADE OUT.

INT. CAVE - DUSK

The single shaft of sunlight has retreated, leaving the

cavern in deepening twilight. Niënor lies still in Túrin’s
arms, his breathing shallow. Túrin cradles him, his face a
mask of anguish. His armor is stained with blood and dust.

TÚRIN

(whispering)
Niënor…

He gently strokes Niënor’s hair. Niënor’s eyes flutter open,

but they lack their usual light. They are filled with a
profound emptiness.

NIËNOR

(weakly)
It’s… over.

TÚRIN
 50.

No, it’s not. We’ll get through this. We’ll

find a way.

Niënor manages a weak smile, a heartbreaking expression of

utter defeat.

NIËNOR
No… I… I failed you.

TÚRIN
You didn’t fail anyone. You were… manipulated.

NIËNOR
No, Túrin. I believed his lies. I… I betrayed
you. I almost killed you.

A single tear escapes Niënor’s eye, tracing a path down his

dusty cheek.

NIËNOR
The dragon… his words… they poisoned my mind.
I saw… I saw things… horrible things… that
weren't even real.

TÚRIN
I know. I know, brother. It’s not your fault.

Niënor closes his eyes, his breath hitching.

NIËNOR

(barely audible)
But the pain… the guilt… it’s unbearable.

He clutches at Túrin’s hand, his grip weak.

NIËNOR
To think… to think that I… I could have… hurt
you… after everything…

His grip loosens completely. His eyes remain closed, his

chest barely rising and falling.

TÚRIN

(despairingly)
Niënor…

Túrin holds Niënor close, his own tears falling silently. The
darkness of the cave seems to swallow them whole, leaving
only the sounds of Túrin's muffled sobs.

FADE TO BLACK.

INT. FORSAKEN TOWER - NIGHT

 51.

The tower is crumbling, moonlight filtering through gaps in

the stone walls. Túrin sits alone, hunched over, his face
buried in his hands. His armor is discarded, his clothes torn
and stained. Empty wine flasks litter the floor around him.
The air is thick with the smell of mildew and despair.

TÚRIN

(to himself)
Glaurung…

He clenches his fists, his knuckles white.

TÚRIN
His lies… they twisted everything.

He rises, pacing the small, dilapidated room, his movements

jerky and uncontrolled.

TÚRIN
Morgoth’s whispers… they poisoned my mind…
blinded me.

He stops, staring at a cracked reflection in a shard of

mirror lying on the floor. His eyes are bloodshot, his face
gaunt and drawn.

TÚRIN
I killed… I killed my own brother.

His voice breaks. He falls to his knees, the sound echoing in

the vast emptiness of the tower.

TÚRIN
Niënor… My own blood… I destroyed him.

He begins to sob, a racking, uncontrollable grief that shakes

his whole body. The sorrow is not just for Niënor’s death,
but for the destruction of everything he held dear,
everything he had fought for.

TÚRIN
And for what? For vengeance? For a phantom
glory?

He beats his fist against the stone floor, the sound lost in
the vastness of the ruined tower. His face is contorted with
self-loathing.

TÚRIN
The curse… it wasn’t the dragon alone. It was
me. My pride… my rage… my blind fury…

He stares into the darkness, his eyes reflecting the

moonlight, mirroring the emptiness within his soul.

TÚRIN
 52.

I am the true monster. I am the destroyer of

my own life, the ruin of all I loved.

He sits back on his heels, his body wracked with sobs, the
weight of his realization crushing him.

TÚRIN
All because of me.

FADE OUT.

EXT. DRAGON'S CAVE - DAY

A desolate, rocky landscape. The entrance to a massive cave,

smoke billowing from within. The air crackles with dark
energy. Túrin, battered but defiant, stands before the cave
mouth, his sword, Gurthang, dripping with dragon's blood. His
armor is shredded, his face bruised and bleeding, yet his
eyes burn with a fierce, desperate resolve.

TÚRIN
This ends now.

He advances cautiously into the cave, his sword held high.

The air grows hotter, the smell of sulfur thick. The sounds
of Glaurung's pained roars echo from the depths.

Inside, Glaurung lies wounded, his scales scorched and

broken. He is immense, a terrifying sight even in defeat. His
eyes, glowing embers of malevolence, fix on Túrin.

GLAURUNG
You dare… to defy me? The end is at hand for
all!

Glaurung unleashes a torrent of fire, but Túrin, with a

superhuman leap, dodges the flames. He rushes towards the
dragon, his sword singing.

A brutal, desperate fight ensues. Túrin’s movements are fluid

and deadly, born of years of grim experience. He parries and
thrusts, Gurthang cutting through the dragon’s tough hide.

Glaurung bellows in pain and fury, his claws tearing at

Túrin’s armor. But Túrin presses his advantage, dodging the
dragon's snapping jaws, his every blow precise and powerful.
He fights not just with strength but with righteous anger, a
fury fueled by years of betrayal and loss.

TÚRIN
Your lies are finished. Your reign of terror
ends today!

With a final, earth-shattering blow, Túrin plunges Gurthang

deep into Glaurung’s heart. The dragon lets out a deafening
shriek, its body convulsing before falling still.
 53.

Silence falls, broken only by the drip, drip, drip of blood.

Túrin stands over the fallen dragon, his breathing ragged,
his body trembling with exhaustion and the aftermath of
battle. He stares down at his foe, a grim satisfaction etched
on his face.

TÚRIN
It is done.

He sheathes his sword. A faint smile touches his lips, a

flicker of peace amidst the overwhelming despair that still
clings to him. The victory feels hollow, a pyrrhic triumph.

FADE OUT.

INT. DRAGON'S CAVE - NIGHT

The air hangs heavy with the stench of death and sulfur.
Glaurung’s immense corpse lies sprawled across the cavern
floor, its scales shimmering faintly in the dying embers of
its own fire. Túrin stands over it, Gurthang sheathed at his
hip. His face is grim, etched with exhaustion and a deep,
unsettling weariness.

TÚRIN

He slowly draws Gurthang. The sword hums faintly, a low,

ominous thrum.

TÚRIN
It's over.

He runs a calloused thumb along the blood-stained blade. A

sudden, sharp pain shoots up his arm. He cries out, a
strangled gasp.

TÚRIN

(wincing)
What…?

Dark, thorny vines begin to crawl up his arm from the point
where the sword touched his skin. They writhe and twist, a
grotesque parody of life.

TÚRIN

(in agony)
No…

He tries to pull the vines away, but they grip him with
surprising strength, their thorns digging deeper. His face
contorts in pain, his body beginning to tremble violently.

TÚRIN
The curse…
 54.

The vines spread rapidly, covering his arm in a suffocating

embrace. The humming of Gurthang intensifies, a mournful
dirge accompanying Túrin's suffering.

TÚRIN
It was always… this way.

He collapses to his knees, the weight of the curse, and the

weight of his past, crushing him. The vines spread across his
chest, tightening their grip. His breathing becomes ragged,
shallow.

TÚRIN
Gurthang…

His eyes, once burning with defiance, now hold a profound

sorrow, a resignation to his inescapable fate. The vines
completely consume him, leaving only the cursed sword, lying
amidst the darkness.

TÚRIN
Forgive me… Morwen…

His body stills. Silence descends upon the cave, broken only
by the low, persistent hum of Gurthang, a testament to a life
consumed by tragedy and the unending power of fate.

FADE TO BLACK.

INT. HUTHIR'S HUT - DAWN

A small, sparsely furnished hut. A fire sputters weakly in

the hearth, casting long, dancing shadows. NIENOR, Túrin's
sister, sits hunched over, her face buried in her hands. Her
clothes are torn and stained with dirt. Nearby, MORWEN,
Túrin's mother, sits rigid on a stool, her eyes hollow and
unseeing. Her face is lined with grief and etched with a
profound weariness. The air is thick with unspoken sorrow.

NIENOR

(whispering)
He's gone.

MORWEN
I know.

Morwen's voice is barely a breath, devoid of emotion. She

stares into the dying embers as if searching for answers.

NIENOR
All of them. All gone.

Nienor’s shoulders shake with silent sobs. She clutches a

worn, tattered piece of cloth - a fragment of Túrin's cloak.

MORWEN
 55.

The curse… it claimed him in the end.

Morwen reaches out a trembling hand and touches Nienor’s arm.

Her touch is cold and lifeless.

NIENOR
It stole him from me, Mother. It stole
everything.

She looks up, her eyes red and swollen. Her gaze is filled
with a mixture of grief and a haunting emptiness.

MORWEN

(softly)
We are alone now, my child. Just the two of
us.

She looks at Nienor, a flicker of something akin to resolve

appearing in her eyes, fleeting as a dying ember.

NIENOR
What will we do?

MORWEN
We will survive. We must.

Morwen stands, her movements stiff and deliberate. She walks

to the door, her back straight, but her shoulders slumping
under the weight of her grief. She opens the door to reveal a
pale, grey dawn. The landscape outside is bleak and desolate,
mirroring the desolation within.

MORWEN
For him. For Túrin.

She steps out into the light, leaving Nienor alone in the dim
light of the hut. Nienor slowly rises, her gaze fixed on the
tattered cloth in her hands. The hope that had momentarily
flickered seems to extinguish within her.

NIENOR

(a whispered prayer)
Forgive us…

FADE OUT.

EXT. THE FORSAKEN PLAINS - DAY

A vast, desolate landscape stretches to the horizon. The sky

is a bleak grey. TÚRIN, his armor battered and stained,
stands alone atop a windswept hill. His sword, broken, lies
discarded at his feet. He looks older, wearier than before,
etched with the marks of countless battles and an even
greater weight of sorrow.
 56.

TÚRIN
This is it, then.

He looks out across the plains, his gaze distant and

unfocused. A lone raven circles overhead, its shadow falling
across his ravaged face.

TÚRIN
The end of the road. The culmination of a life
spent forging my own path, a path paved with
blood and regret.

He kicks a loose stone, sending it tumbling down the hill.

The sound echoes eerily in the silence.

TÚRIN
They warned me. Morgoth’s shadow clung to me,
a parasite feeding on my arrogance, my pride.
I thought I could defy fate, that I could
carve my own destiny free of its cruel hand.

He rises slowly, his movements stiff and painful. He runs a

hand through his tangled hair.

TÚRIN
Foolish. I was so foolish.

He draws a deep breath, the wind whipping through his torn

cloak. A grim smile touches his lips, a flicker of defiance
amidst the despair.

TÚRIN
But I bear it. I bear the weight of my
choices. I bear the consequence of my actions.
I do not seek forgiveness, nor do I expect it.

He raises his head, his gaze finally settling on the distant,

grey horizon, accepting the inevitable.

TÚRIN
Let it come, then. Let the darkness claim me.
I will face it with the same defiance I met
all my enemies.

He stands there, silhouetted against the unforgiving sky, a

solitary figure defined by his bitter acceptance.

TÚRIN
This is my end. And it is just.

FADE TO BLACK.

INT. NIËNOR'S CHAMBER - NIGHT

A small, sparsely furnished room. A single candle flickers,

casting long, dancing shadows on the stone walls. NIËNOR,
beautiful but gaunt, sits on a low stool, her face etched
 57.

with despair. She clutches a worn, leather-bound book to her

chest.

NIËNOR

(whispering)
It is finished.

She slowly opens the book, her fingers tracing the faded
script. Tears stream down her face, unnoticed.

NIËNOR
All hope is gone.

She closes the book with a soft thud, her movements heavy
with grief. She looks around the room, as if searching for
something, or perhaps someone.

NIËNOR
Túrin… my brother… my love…

Her voice cracks, barely a whisper. She rises, her body

trembling. She walks to a small, wooden chest and opens it.
Inside, a slender dagger rests on a bed of faded velvet.

NIËNOR

(brokenly)
There is no escape.

She picks up the dagger, her hand shaking violently. She

brings it to her heart, her gaze distant and filled with a
tragic acceptance.

NIËNOR
Only silence.

She closes her eyes, a single tear escaping and tracing a

path down her cheek. A moment of stillness, then a sharp
gasp. The dagger falls to the floor with a soft clatter.

The candle flickers, threatening to extinguish. The shadows

in the room seem to deepen, swallowing her form into the
encroaching darkness.

NIËNOR

(a final, soft sigh)

Peace… at last.

The candle sputters and dies, leaving the room in complete

darkness.

FADE TO BLACK.

EXT. FORSAKEN RUINS - DAWN

 58.

The skeletal remains of a once-grand fortress stand

silhouetted against the pale light of dawn. Broken stones and
crumbling walls litter the ground. A chilling wind whips
through the desolate landscape. TÚRIN, his armor stained and
torn, sits slumped against a shattered pillar. His face is
drawn and gaunt, his eyes hollow.

TÚRIN

(whispering)
Finished.

He clutches a broken sword, its hilt stained with dried

blood. He stares at his hands, his gaze distant and unseeing.

TÚRIN
Cursed.

He runs a trembling hand through his dishevelled hair, his

movements slow and deliberate, almost ritualistic.

TÚRIN
All I touch… turns to ash.

He rises slowly, his body aching with weariness, both

physical and spiritual. He looks out across the ravaged land,
a desolate mirror of his own soul.

TÚRIN

(a low growl)
Niënor… Morgoth…

He clenches his fist, the broken sword falling to the ground

with a clang. His grief is palpable; a silent scream held
captive within his weary soul.

TÚRIN
Forgive me.

He closes his eyes, tears tracing paths down his

dirt-streaked cheeks. He pulls a smaller, more finely crafted
dagger from his belt. It gleams faintly in the weak light of
dawn.

TÚRIN

(almost inaudible)
This ends it.

He brings the dagger to his heart, his hand unwavering. He

remains still for a long moment, the only sound the mournful
cry of a distant hawk.

He collapses, his body slumping against the ruined pillar.

The dagger lies on the ground, still gleaming.
 59.

The wind howls, a lament for the fallen hero. The dawn breaks
fully, casting a cold, unforgiving light upon the scene of
Túrin's final despair.

FADE OUT.

EXT. FORSAKEN KINGDOM - DAY

A vast, desolate plain stretches as far as the eye can see.

Charred trees stand like skeletal fingers against a bruised,
grey sky. Buildings, once magnificent, are reduced to rubble
and ash. A thick pall of smoke hangs heavy in the air. The
silence is broken only by the occasional groan of collapsing
stone and the mournful cry of a lone bird. In the distance,
the jagged peaks of the mountains are shrouded in a perpetual
twilight.

AERION
All is lost.

Aerion, an aged warrior, his armor battered and stained,

stumbles through the debris field. His face is etched with
grief and exhaustion. He clutches a worn leather-bound book
to his chest, its pages tattered.

AERION
All for naught.

He pauses, staring at a collapsed statue, its face

obliterated, its once-proud form now a grotesque mockery of
its former glory.

AERION
The prophecy… it was true. But at what cost?

He kneels, his shoulders shaking. He opens the book,

revealing a single, blood-stained page.

AERION

(whispering)
Their sacrifice...was it in vain?

He runs a trembling hand over the inscription, his voice

choked with emotion.

AERION
The kingdom… it's dust.

He looks up, his eyes scanning the ravaged landscape, a

single tear tracing a path through the grime on his cheek.

AERION
But hope… hope remains.

He closes the book, clutching it tightly, a flicker of

determination in his weary eyes.
 60.

AERION
We will rebuild. We must.

He rises, his gaze firm, his spirit, though battered, not yet
broken. He begins to walk, a solitary figure against the
bleak horizon, a symbol of resilience in the face of utter
devastation.

The sun, a pale disk in the smoke-filled sky, casts long,

mournful shadows across the ruined land.

FADE OUT.

INT. AERION'S TENT - NIGHT

A small, flickering oil lamp casts long shadows across the

interior of a simple tent. AERION, his face etched with
weariness but his eyes alight with a fragile hope, sits
hunched over the worn leather-bound book. He traces the
blood-stained inscription with a calloused finger.

AERION
The final words…

He whispers, his voice barely audible above the wind howling

outside.

AERION
“And when the last drop falls, the curse shall
break.”

He closes the book, a slight tremor in his hands. He looks

around the tent, his gaze settling on a small, wilting flower
in a cracked clay pot.

AERION
A single bloom… in this wasteland.

He gently touches a petal, his eyes widening slightly as a

faint, almost imperceptible glow emanates from the flower.

AERION

(a whisper of awe)
The land… it’s healing.

He rises, walking to the tent flap and peering out into the
night. The ravaged landscape is still bleak, but there's a
subtle change. A faint, ethereal light seems to emanate from
the distant mountains, barely visible through the smoke.

AERION
The mountains… they glow.

He returns to the book, turning the pages slowly. He stops at

a passage filled with ancient runes, his eyes scanning the
text intently.
 61.

AERION
A new beginning…

He rereads the passage, a smile slowly spreading across his

weathered face. The glow from the flower intensifies, casting
a warm light on his face.

AERION
Perhaps… perhaps the prophecy was not entirely
bleak.

He looks up towards the sky, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

The wind outside dies down, replaced by an almost
imperceptible hum.

AERION
The end of the curse… or a new beginning?

He closes the book, a sense of peace settling over him. He

sits back down, watching the small flower glow, a tiny beacon
of hope in the ruins of a kingdom.

FADE OUT.

EXT. RAVAGED BATTLEFIELD - DAWN

The battlefield is a desolate expanse of broken stone and

charred earth. The rising sun casts long, skeletal shadows
from the wreckage of a once-proud city. Scattered amongst the
debris are the bodies of soldiers, both human and monstrous,
their forms twisted and still.

LYRA

Lyra, a young woman with dirt-stained armour and

tear-streaked face, kneels beside a fallen soldier, gently
closing his eyes. Her hand trembles.
Brother…

She clutches a faded blue ribbon, the only thing left of the
soldier's belongings.

LYRA
We won… but at what cost?

She rises slowly, her movements stiff with grief. She surveys
the carnage, her gaze lingering on each fallen comrade.

LIAM

(somberly)

Liam, a grizzled veteran, approaches her, his expression

grim. He offers a hand.
The curse is broken, Lyra. But the scars…

LYRA
 62.

They will never truly heal.

She looks towards the distant, faintly glowing mountains, a

glimmer of hope in her eyes.

LIAM
There’s work to be done. Rebuilding…
remembering.

LYRA
How can we forget?

She looks down at the ribbon, her hand tightening around it.

LIAM
By honoring those we lost. By building a
future worthy of their sacrifice.

He places a hand on her shoulder, a gesture of comfort. A

low, mournful wind whistles through the ruined city.

LYRA

(whispering)
A future…

LIAM
Yes, Lyra. A future.

He looks towards the mountains. The faint glow seems to

intensify.

LIAM
A new beginning.

They stand together, silhouetted against the dawn, two

figures against the backdrop of destruction, but with a
flicker of hope in their hearts.

FADE OUT.

EXT. RAVAGED CITY STREETS - DAY

Weeks have passed since the battle. The air still hangs heavy
with the smell of smoke and decay. Amidst the rubble, small
groups of survivors begin the arduous task of clearing
debris. The faint glow from the distant mountains is now a
constant, ethereal light.

LYRA

Lyra, her face thinner, her armor patched, carefully moves a

large stone slab with a makeshift lever. Her movements are
slow, deliberate.

LIAM
 63.

(concerned)
Lyra, be careful. You’re pushing yourself too
hard.

Liam, his face etched with worry, approaches her, offering a

hand.

LYRA
I need to do something, Liam. Just… something.

She wipes sweat from her brow, her eyes never leaving the
task at hand. She struggles with the stone, her breath
catching in her throat.

LIAM
We all do. But there's no shame in rest. We
need to heal, both body and soul.

He helps her lever the stone, their actions synchronized in a

moment of shared grief and determination.

LYRA
Healing… feels impossible.

She looks around at the devastation, the emptiness. A single

wildflower pushes through the cracks in the pavement.

LIAM
It will take time. But look.

He gently points to the flower. A small smile plays on his

lips.

LYRA
Life finds a way.

She touches the flower delicately, her expression softening.

A tear traces a path down her cheek.

LIAM
Just like we will.

He places his arm around her, offering silent comfort. The

faint glow from the mountains seems brighter now, casting a
gentle, hopeful light on their faces.

LYRA
We’ll rebuild. For them.

She looks towards the distant mountains, a renewed

determination in her eyes. The task before them is immense,
but they are together, beginning the long journey of healing
and rebuilding.

FADE OUT.

EXT. RAVAGED COUNTRYSIDE - DAWN

 64.

The sun rises, casting long shadows across a landscape

scarred by war. Twisted trees claw at the sky, their branches
bare. The ground is cracked and barren, yet small shoots of
green tentatively push through the earth. In the distance,
the ethereal glow from the mountains is stronger, almost
pulsating.

LYRA

Lyra and Liam walk slowly, their footsteps crunching on the

broken earth. Lyra carries a small sapling, its leaves
delicate and vibrant.

LIAM

(softly)
It's…different.

LYRA
Yes.

She looks out at the landscape, her gaze distant and

thoughtful. A faint smile touches her lips.

LIAM
The curse… it's fading. But the scars remain.

LYRA
The land remembers. We will too.

She stops and carefully plants the sapling. Liam helps her
pack the earth around it.

LIAM
A symbol of hope. In this desolate place.

LYRA
Hope is a stubborn thing, Liam. It survives
even the harshest winters.

She touches the sapling gently, her eyes filled with a

mixture of sadness and determination.

LIAM
We have a long way to go. Rebuilding… it won’t
be easy.

LYRA
No. But we will do it, together.

They stand in silence for a moment, watching the sapling,

then each other. The light from the mountains bathes them in
a warm, hopeful glow.

LIAM
We’ll plant more.
 65.

LYRA

(with quiet strength)

We will.

They begin walking again, towards the faint light of the

mountains, their figures silhouetted against the sunrise. The
landscape, though scarred, shows tentative signs of renewal.

FADE OUT.

EXT. BATTLEFIELD - DAY

A vast, desolate expanse. Charred earth stretches to the

horizon, broken only by the skeletal remains of trees and the
occasional, scattered piece of shattered armor. The air hangs
heavy with the stench of death and decay. Hundreds of
corpses, both human and monstrous, lie strewn across the
field, a grim testament to the recent battle. Vultures circle
lazily overhead.

LYRA

Lyra stands amidst the carnage, her face grim, her usually
bright eyes clouded with sorrow. She clutches a worn
leather-bound book to her chest.

LIAM

(whispering)
So many…

Liam kneels beside a fallen soldier, gently closing the man's

eyes. His own eyes are red-rimmed.

LYRA
The cost… was too high.

She runs a hand through her wind-tossed hair, her expression

weary.

LIAM
Glaurung… he is truly gone?

LYRA
His heart is still. The curse… it's weakening.
But the victory feels hollow.

She points towards a massive crater in the earth, smoking

faintly, where Glaurung had fallen.

LIAM
The earth itself mourns.

He gestures towards a distant mountain, its peak shrouded in

an unnatural, lingering darkness.
 66.

LYRA
Even the mountains remember the darkness he
brought.

She opens the book, her fingers tracing the worn leather.
Tears well up in her eyes.

LIAM
What now?

LYRA
We rebuild. We heal. We remember those we've
lost.

She closes the book, her expression hardening with

determination.

LIAM
It will take time.

LYRA
Time we will find. The sapling… it was a
start. We will plant many more.

She looks towards the horizon, a faint glimmer of hope in her

eyes, despite the overwhelming devastation.

LIAM
We will.

They stand in silence for a long moment, the only sound the
mournful cry of a distant bird. The sun beats down on the
desolate landscape.

FADE OUT.

INT. LYRA'S TENT - NIGHT

A small, sparsely furnished tent. A single oil lamp casts

flickering shadows on the rough-hewn walls. Lyra sits on a
low stool, her head bowed, cradling a small, intricately
carved wooden figure. Liam sits beside her, his gaze fixed on
the dying embers of a small fire. The air is thick with
unspoken grief.

LYRA

(softly)
Túrin…

A single tear traces a path down her cheek.

LIAM

(whispering)
He fought bravely.
 67.

LYRA
Bravely, yes. But to what end? All that
suffering… for nothing.

She gently strokes the wooden figure, a miniature

representation of Túrin.

LIAM
Niënor… she loved him so.

Liam runs a hand through his hair, his face etched with
sorrow.

LYRA
Their love… a beacon in the darkness. But even
beacons can be extinguished.

She looks up at Liam, her eyes filled with a profound

sadness.

LIAM
We failed them. We could not save them.

LYRA
We did what we could. But fate… it is a cruel
mistress.

She places the wooden figure on the ground, a soft thud

echoing in the quiet tent.

LIAM
The curse… it lingers still. Even in their
passing.

LYRA
Their deaths… a sacrifice. A heavy price paid
to break the cycle.

She rises and walks to the fire, stirring the embers with a
small stick.

LIAM
But at what cost? How much more can we bear?

LYRA

(steadily)
We bear it together. We honor their memory by
living.

She looks out into the darkness beyond the tent, a flicker of
resolve in her eyes.

LIAM
Their memories… they will live on. In our
hearts.
 68.

He reaches for her hand, their fingers intertwining. A shared

silence hangs between them, a silence filled with grief, but
also with a quiet strength.

FADE TO BLACK.

EXT. FORSAKEN PLAINS - DAWN

A desolate landscape stretches as far as the eye can see. The

sky is a bruised purple and orange. HÚRIN, gaunt and weary,
stands alone amidst the wreckage of a battlefield. His armor
is tattered, his body scarred. He clutches a broken sword.

HÚRIN

(whispering)
Niënor… Túrin…

He falls to his knees, his head bowed. Tears stream down his
weathered face.

HÚRIN
My children… my fault…

He slams his fist on the ground, a guttural cry escaping his

lips.

HÚRIN
Morgoth! His curse… it consumed them all.

He rises slowly, his gaze sweeping across the desolate

plains. He sees a lone, withered tree, its branches reaching
towards the sky like desperate arms.

HÚRIN

(to himself)
There is nothing left… nothing but ashes and
regret.

He walks towards the tree, his steps heavy with grief. He

reaches out and touches the rough bark.

HÚRIN
Can a father's heart ever truly mend after
such a loss?

He sits beneath the tree, the rising sun casting long shadows
around him. He closes his eyes, a silent prayer forming on
his lips.

HÚRIN

(softly)
I failed you, my precious ones. But I will not
let your sacrifice be in vain.
 69.

He opens his eyes, a newfound resolve hardening his gaze. A

faint glimmer of hope appears in the depths of his despair.

HÚRIN
I will find redemption. I will fight for a
future where such suffering will never again
touch another family.

He rises, his back still bent but his spirit unbroken. He

sheathes the broken sword. He begins to walk, towards the
horizon, leaving the devastation behind.

HÚRIN
For Túrin. For Niënor. For all who have
suffered under Morgoth's shadow.

He walks on, a lone figure against the vast and unforgiving

landscape, a symbol of resilience and the enduring power of
hope.

FADE OUT.

INT. HIDDEN CAVE - DAY

A small, dimly lit cave. A fire crackles in the hearth,

casting flickering shadows on the rough stone walls. Several
figures huddle around it HÚRIN, aged but resolute; LÚTHIEN,
ethereal and graceful; and DIORM, young and weary. A simple
wooden cross leans against the cave wall.

DIORM
The battles are over, but the pain remains. So
many lost… Túrin… Niënor… even my own brother.

Húrin nods, his gaze fixed on the fire. He runs a hand over
his scarred face.

HÚRIN
Their suffering was great. But their sacrifice
will not be in vain.

LÚTHIEN
Their memory will live on. They fought with
courage, with strength, with love for one
another and their people.

Lúthien places a hand on Diorm's shoulder. Diorm looks up at

her.

DIORM
But what of Morwen? Her strength, her
unwavering belief... was it all for nothing?

Húrin looks at the wooden cross, his eyes filling with tears.

HÚRIN
 70.

(voice thick with emotion)

No. Morwen's love was not for nothing. It was
a beacon in the darkest night. It was the
strength that sustained us all.

LÚTHIEN
Her spirit lives on in you, Húrin. In all of
us who knew her. Her unwavering faith, her
fierce love… It is a legacy that will endure.

Húrin rises, walking towards the cross. He touches it gently.

HÚRIN
She endured so much, yet her spirit never
broke. Her love was a shield against the
despair. Her memory will be our strength.

DIORM
She showed us what true courage means, a
mother's sacrifice, a love that knows no
bounds.

Diorm looks at the fire, his eyes reflecting the flickering

flames.

LÚTHIEN
We will honor her memory by building a world
where such sorrow will never again befall
another family.

They stand together in silence, united in their grief and

their shared determination to honor Morwen's legacy. The fire
crackles, a quiet testament to the enduring power of love and
hope.

FADE OUT.

EXT. FOREST EDGE - DUSK

Beleg, clad in worn leather armor, sits beneath a gnarled oak

tree. His bow lies discarded beside him. The setting sun
casts long shadows across the forest floor. He stares at a
single, fallen leaf, his expression etched with grief.

BELEG
Túrin…

He runs a hand through his long, dark hair, his fingers

tracing the familiar grooves in the wood of his bow. A single
tear rolls down his cheek.

BELEG
My friend… my brother in arms…

He picks up a small, chipped piece of obsidian from the

ground, turning it over in his calloused hands. It's a shard
from Túrin's broken sword.
 71.

BELEG
We faced down dragons together, fought beside
each other against overwhelming odds. We
shared laughter, shared hardship. We shared…
loyalty. An unshakeable bond forged in fire
and blood.

He closes his eyes, a silent sob escaping his lips. The wind
rustles through the leaves, a mournful sigh.

BELEG
And yet… I failed you. I failed to protect
you. I was not there…

He clutches the obsidian shard tighter, his knuckles white.

His shoulders shake with silent sobs.

BELEG
The cursed blade… the shadow of fate… it stole
you from me. And all I can do is sit here…
beneath this ancient tree… and remember.

He gazes out into the darkening forest, his gaze lost in the
distance. He sees not the trees and the fading light but a
vivid memory of Túrin's laughing face, the thrill of battle,
the warmth of their friendship.

BELEG
Your strength, your pride… your unwavering
spirit… I will carry those with me, always.
And your memory will be a burning light,
guiding me through the darkest nights.

He rises, his movements slow and deliberate. He picks up his

bow, his hand lingering on the wood before he slings it
across his shoulder. He looks one last time at the spot where
he sat.

BELEG
I will not forget.

He walks away, disappearing into the shadows of the forest.

The wind whispers through the trees, carrying with it a
silent farewell.

FADE TO BLACK.

INT. ABANDONED TEMPLE - NIGHT

The temple is in ruins, moonlight filtering through gaps in

the collapsed roof. A meager fire crackles in the center of
the chamber, casting dancing shadows on the faces of three
figures huddled together Beleg, his face still etched with
grief, sits opposite Nimrodel, her ethereal beauty softened
by sorrow. Near them, Aredhel, her armor slightly askew,
watches them both with a troubled expression. The air is
thick with unspoken emotions.
 72.

NIMRODEL
The loss… it weighs heavy on all of us.

Nimrodel reaches out, her hand gently touching Beleg's arm.

He flinches slightly, but doesn't pull away.

BELEG
He was more than a comrade. He was a brother.

AREDHEL

(softly)
I know. I... I shared battles with him too.

Aredhel shifts uncomfortably, her gaze fixed on the

flickering flames. She avoids eye contact with Beleg.

BELEG
We all did.

Beleg looks at Nimrodel, a flicker of something akin to hope

in his eyes.

BELEG
Perhaps… perhaps in this shared grief, we can
find some measure of solace.

NIMRODEL
The path ahead is uncertain, Beleg. We are
scarred, changed by the darkness we have
faced.

She places a hand on her own chest over her armor.

AREDHEL
But not broken. Not yet.

Aredhel looks at them both, her expression hardening with a

newfound resolve. She rises to her feet.

AREDHEL
We are survivors. And we will face whatever
comes next, together.

Beleg nods slowly, a deep breath escaping his lips. He picks

up a small, smooth stone from the ground, the same obsidian
that once adorned Túrin’s sword.

BELEG
For Túrin. For our fallen friend. For a future
where such loss doesn't happen again.

He throws the stone into the fire. The flames flare, briefly
illuminating the three weary faces, united in their shared
sorrow and tentative hope.

FADE OUT.
 73.

EXT. FORSAKEN PLAINS - DAWN

The sun rises, casting a pale, cold light on the desolate

landscape. Aredhel, Beleg, and Nimrodel walk slowly, their
footsteps echoing in the stillness. Aredhel's armor shows
signs of wear and tear; Beleg’s face is gaunt, his eyes
shadowed with exhaustion; Nimrodel's usually radiant beauty
is marred by a weariness that goes beyond physical fatigue.
They move with a heavy burden, both physical and emotional.

BELEG
The curse… it lingers.

Beleg runs a hand over his arm, a faint shimmer of unnatural

energy still visible beneath his skin.

NIMRODEL
I feel it too. A coldness… a deep, persistent
ache.

She clutches her chest, her hand trembling slightly.

AREDHEL
It weakens us, yes. But it hasn’t broken us.
Not yet.

Aredhel stops, her back to the rising sun, her silhouette

stark against the pale light. She looks at her companions,
her voice low and resolute.

AREDHEL
We survived the Shadowlands. We escaped the
clutches of Morgoth. This… this is just
another trial.

BELEG
But at what cost? Túrin… he’s gone. And the
price of our survival… it feels… unclean.

Beleg looks at the ground, his gaze fixed on the barren

earth.

NIMRODEL

(somberly)
The land itself seems… poisoned. The air, the
very earth… tainted by Morgoth’s touch.

Nimrodel looks around, her eyes scanning the desolate

landscape. A shudder runs through her.

AREDHEL
We must find a way to cleanse this land, to
heal the wounds inflicted upon it. We owe it
to Túrin, to all those we lost. To ourselves.
 74.

She draws her sword, the polished steel gleaming faintly in

the weak sunlight. It's a symbol of hope amidst the despair.

BELEG

(determined)
We will. We have to.

Beleg nods, a grim determination hardening his features. He

looks towards the horizon, a new sense of purpose in his
weary eyes.

NIMRODEL

(quietly)
For a brighter tomorrow.

The three figures begin walking again, their steps still

heavy, but now with a shared resolve, a renewed purpose. They
walk towards the horizon, into the uncertain future.

CONTINUED

EXT. ANCIENT FOREST - DAY

Sunlight filters weakly through the dense canopy of an

ancient forest. The trees are gnarled and twisted, their
leaves a sickly yellow-green. Aredhel, Beleg, and Nimrodel
walk a narrow path, their movements slow and deliberate. The
air hangs heavy with the scent of damp earth and decay.

AREDHEL
This forest… it feels different. More…
haunted.

She touches a gnarled tree trunk, her fingers tracing the

deep grooves in the bark.

BELEG
The curse… it’s woven into the very fabric of
this land. It festers here.

Beleg pulls his cloak tighter, shielding himself from a

sudden chill that has nothing to do with the temperature.

NIMRODEL
I sense a presence. Something ancient… and
malevolent.

Nimrodel stops, her eyes scanning the shadows between the

trees. Her hand rests on the hilt of her dagger.

AREDHEL
We cannot let fear consume us. We seek peace,
not confrontation. We need to find the
Whispering Falls.
 75.

Aredhel gestures towards a break in the trees, where a faint

mist can be seen clinging to the ground.

BELEG
The legends speak of its healing properties. A
place where even the deepest wounds can begin
to mend.

Beleg looks at Aredhel, a flicker of hope in his tired eyes.

He has always doubted legends, but now, in this despair, even
he clings to a shred of hope.

NIMRODEL

(softly)
Túrin… he would want us to find peace.

A tear tracks a path down Nimrodel’s cheek. She wipes it

away, her gaze resolute.

AREDHEL
He would. And so shall we. We will find peace,
not just for ourselves, but for the land, for
all that has been lost.

Aredhel places a hand on Beleg’s shoulder, then Nimrodel’s,

offering a silent promise of strength and support. They
continue their journey, their steps now lighter, guided by
the faint hope that shines through the shadowed forest.

FADE OUT

EXT. WHISPERING FALLS - DUSK

The Whispering Falls cascade down moss-covered rocks, the

water a shimmering silver in the fading light. Aredhel,
Beleg, and Nimrodel stand at the edge, their faces etched
with weariness and sorrow. The air here is cleaner, lighter
than in the cursed forest.

AREDHEL
It’s… peaceful here.

She closes her eyes, breathing deeply, the mist from the
falls cool against her skin.

BELEG
Peace after such… devastation.

Beleg looks down at his hands, calloused and scarred from

years of battle.

NIMRODEL
The land is wounded, but not broken. We can
help it heal.
 76.

Nimrodel gazes at the falls, her expression a mixture of

grief and quiet determination.

AREDHEL
But what of us? How do we move forward, after
losing so much?

She looks at Beleg and Nimrodel, her voice heavy with

unspoken grief.

BELEG

(softly)
One step at a time. We rebuild. We remember.
We honor those we’ve lost by living.

He places a hand on Aredhel’s shoulder, his touch gentle.

NIMRODEL

(with quiet strength)

We carry their memory with us. It is a weight,
but also a strength. It reminds us of why we
fight, why we hope.

Nimrodel looks up at the sky, where the first stars are

beginning to appear.

AREDHEL
The future is uncertain, dark even. But we
have each other. And that is something to hold
onto.

Aredhel smiles faintly, a glimmer of hope in her eyes. She

looks at the falls, then at her companions, a shared
understanding passing between them.

BELEG
We face the dawn together.

NIMRODEL
Together.

They stand together, silhouetted against the cascading water

and the emerging stars. The sound of the falls is a constant,
soothing rhythm in the quiet of the evening.

FADE TO BLACK

EXT. WHISPERING FALLS - NIGHT

Aredhel, Beleg, and Nimrodel stand beside a small clearing

near the falls. A simple stone cairn, newly built, sits at
the center, adorned with wildflowers. The moon casts long
shadows, painting the scene in silvery light.

AREDHEL
 77.

Túrin… Niënor…

Aredhel gently places a hand on a smooth, grey stone, her

eyes filled with unshed tears.

BELEG
Their sacrifice… it will not be forgotten.

Beleg kneels, carefully arranging some more wildflowers

around the base of the cairn. His movements are slow,
deliberate.

NIMRODEL
Their story… a tragedy, yes, but also a
testament to the strength of the human spirit.
Their love, despite the darkness, burned
brightly.

Nimrodel braids a strand of her long, dark hair into the

wildflowers, a small, delicate tribute.

AREDHEL

(whispering)
May their souls find peace at last.

Aredhel lays a small, intricately carved wooden bird at the

foot of the cairn. It is a symbol of hope and freedom.

BELEG
They fought bravely, against insurmountable
odds. Their courage, their resilience, should
inspire us all.

Beleg stands, his gaze sweeping over the falls, the night
sky, and the small memorial. A sense of quiet resolve settles
upon his face.

NIMRODEL
We will honor their memory, not only with this
cairn, but by carrying their spirit within our
hearts.

Nimrodel places her hand on Aredhel's shoulder, offering

silent comfort.

AREDHEL
We will never forget them. Never.

She looks at the cairn, then at her companions. A silent

understanding passes between them, a shared grief, but also a
shared determination.

The three of them stand together in silence for a long

moment, the only sound the gentle rush of the Whispering
Falls, a constant reminder of life's enduring flow, even in
the face of loss.
 78.

FADE OUT

INT. ARADHEL'S TENT - DAWN

The inside of Aredhel's tent is dimly lit by the first rays

of dawn creeping through the canvas. A small fire crackles in
the hearth, casting flickering shadows on the faces of
Aredhel, Beleg, and Nimrodel. They sit around a rough-hewn
table, cups of steaming tea before them. A map of the kingdom
lies spread out, partially obscured by scattered papers.

AREDHEL
The cost… it was far greater than we imagined.

She stirs her tea, her gaze distant.

BELEG
But their sacrifice was not in vain. It
revealed the true extent of the darkness, its
reach, its insidious nature.

Beleg traces a finger along a river on the map.

NIMRODEL
We were blinded by our own hopes, by our faith
in a swift victory. We underestimated the
enemy's cunning.

Nimrodel picks up a piece of parchment, examining it

thoughtfully. It depicts a cryptic symbol.

AREDHEL
We must learn from this. We must not repeat
the mistakes that led to such devastating
losses. Our strength lies not only in our
swords but in our wisdom, our understanding.

BELEG
Our alliances… we must forge stronger bonds,
not just with other kingdoms but with the
people themselves. Their trust is our greatest
weapon.

He looks at Aredhel, his expression serious.

NIMRODEL
And forgiveness… the ability to forgive, even
in the face of unspeakable cruelty. It is a
strength we must all cultivate.

She sets down the parchment, her eyes meeting those of her
companions.

AREDHEL
The path ahead is fraught with peril, but we
are not alone. We have each other, our shared
sorrow, our shared resolve.
 79.

BELEG
We will honor their memory by building a
better world, a world free from the shadows
that claimed them.

NIMRODEL
A world where love prevails over hate, where
hope triumphs over despair.

The three of them sit in silence for a moment, the fire

crackling softly, the dawn light growing stronger. A quiet
determination settles over them, a newfound wisdom born from
profound loss.

FADE OUT

INT. ARADHEL'S TENT - DAY

Sunlight streams into Aredhel's tent, illuminating dust motes

dancing in the air. Aredhel sits alone, a worn leather-bound
book open in her lap. Beleg and Nimrodel enter, their faces
etched with a quiet weariness.

BELEG
Aredhel...

He hesitates, his gaze lingering on the book.

NIMRODEL
We have been reflecting on… everything.

Nimrodel sits beside Aredhel, her hand resting gently on her

friend's arm.

AREDHEL
The weight of it all… it’s still heavy.

Aredhel closes the book, her eyes filling with unshed tears.

BELEG

(softly)
Forgiveness... it's not about forgetting. It's
about releasing the burden.

NIMRODEL

(gently)
The pain will always be a part of us, but it
doesn't have to define us.

Aredhel looks at them, her expression a mixture of sorrow and

dawning understanding.

AREDHEL
I... I still struggle with the choices I made.
The lives lost… they were all under my
 80.

command.

BELEG
The enemy exploited our weaknesses. We all
bear a share of the responsibility, but none
of us acted with malice.

NIMRODEL
To forgive ourselves is the first step. Then
we can forgive others, even those who caused
us such pain.

Aredhel takes a deep breath, a newfound resolve hardening her

gaze.

AREDHEL
The darkness sought to extinguish the light.
But it only made the light brighter. We will
not let their sacrifice be in vain.

She looks out at the bright sunshine.

AREDHEL
We will build a better future. We will honor
their memory by building a world worthy of
their sacrifice.

A sense of peace settles over them. The three friends look at

each other, a shared understanding passing between them.

FADE OUT

EXT. RAVAGED COUNTRYSIDE - DAWN

The sun rises over a landscape scarred by war. Charred trees

stand like skeletal fingers against the pale sky. Aredhel,
Beleg, and Nimrodel stand together, gazing at the
devastation. A gentle breeze stirs through the ruins.

AREDHEL
It's… hard to believe this is all that
remains.

She touches a broken branch, her face etched with sadness.

BELEG
But it is not the end.

Beleg looks at the rising sun, a flicker of hope in his eyes.

NIMRODEL
We must rebuild. Not just our homes, but our
lives, our hearts.

Nimrodel places a comforting hand on Aredhel's shoulder.

AREDHEL
 81.

The task seems insurmountable. So much loss…

so much pain.

BELEG
We will not do it alone. Many were spared,
many who grieve as we do. Together, we can
find strength in our shared sorrow.

Beleg gestures towards a small group of survivors cautiously

approaching in the distance.

NIMRODEL

(softly)
We will build something better from these
ashes. Something stronger.

She smiles faintly, a glimmer of hope amidst the devastation.

AREDHEL
It will be a long road. A difficult one. But
we owe it to those we have lost to try.

Aredhel looks at the approaching survivors, a new

determination hardening her gaze. A sense of shared purpose
settles between the three friends.

BELEG
Let us begin.

Beleg nods, his gaze fixed on the horizon, a quiet strength

in his eyes. Aredhel and Nimrodel nod in agreement.

AREDHEL
Yes. Let us begin.

They turn towards the survivors, walking towards them with

newfound purpose, a sense of hope against the backdrop of
destruction.

FADE OUT

INT. RUINED TOWER - DAY

Dust motes dance in the shafts of sunlight piercing the

shattered stone walls of a once-grand tower. AREDHEL, BELEG,
and NIMRODEL sit amidst the rubble, their faces etched with
weariness. Aredhel holds a tarnished silver locket, its
surface scratched and worn.

AREDHEL
This… this was Niënor's.

She traces a finger across the locket's surface, her eyes

distant.

BELEG
 82.

Her spirit lives on, Aredhel. In you, in all

of us who strive to build a better world from
the ashes of the past.

Beleg places a hand on her shoulder, his gaze filled with

empathy.

NIMRODEL
Túrin's curse... it cast a long shadow. But it
doesn't define us. We are not bound by the
mistakes of our ancestors.

Nimrodel looks out at the ravaged landscape beyond the

tower's broken walls.

AREDHEL
But it weighs on us. The weight of their
suffering… their sacrifices… It feels almost
unbearable.

She clutches the locket tightly, her knuckles white.

BELEG
It is a weight we carry together. Their story
is a warning, yes, but also a testament to the
enduring strength of the human spirit. To the
power of hope even in the face of despair.

Beleg rises, his eyes filled with a quiet resolve.

NIMRODEL
We will not let their pain be in vain. We will
honor their memory by building a future worthy
of their sacrifices. A future free from the
shadow of Túrin's curse.

Nimrodel stands, offering Aredhel a hand. Aredhel looks at

the locket one last time, then takes Nimrodel's hand.

AREDHEL
Yes. We will build a better world. For them.
For us. For the future.

Aredhel rises, her gaze firm. She places the locket carefully
in her bag.

BELEG
Let's go. The survivors need our guidance. Our
strength.

The three friends stand together, silhouetted against the

broken windows of the tower. The weight of history remains,
but so does their unwavering determination.

FADE OUT

EXT. RAVAGED COUNTRYSIDE - SUNSET

 83.

The sun dips below the horizon, casting long shadows across a
landscape scarred by war. Aredhel, Beleg, and Nimrodel walk
slowly, heading towards a small, flickering campfire in the
distance. The air is heavy with the scent of woodsmoke and
the lingering smell of destruction.

AREDHEL

(softly)
It feels… strange to walk away from that
place. From their ghosts.

She looks back at the ruined tower, a silhouette against the

fiery sunset.

BELEG
Their spirits are not confined to stone. They
travel with us, in our hearts.

Beleg puts a comforting hand on Aredhel’s shoulder.

NIMRODEL
We carry their legacy, their strength. It is a
heavy burden, but it is also a guiding light.

Nimrodel gestures towards the campfire, a small beacon of

warmth and hope in the gathering darkness.

AREDHEL

(a small smile)
A light. Yes. A small light, but a light
nonetheless.

Aredhel smiles faintly, a flicker of hope in her eyes. They

continue walking, their footsteps slow and deliberate.

BELEG
The survivors there… they need more than just
shelter. They need to believe again.

NIMRODEL
We will help them rebuild. Help them find
their own light.

They reach the campfire, where a small group of survivors

huddle together, their faces etched with exhaustion but also
with a hesitant hope.

AREDHEL
We will help you find strength in unity. We
will help you rebuild your lives.

Aredhel's voice, though still tinged with sorrow, carries a

new note of determination, a promise of a future.

BELEG
 84.

The darkness may linger, but the dawn will

come. We will face it together.

Beleg looks at the survivors, offering a reassuring gaze.

NIMRODEL
We will honor the memory of the fallen by
building a world worthy of their sacrifice. A
world where hope triumphs over despair.

Nimrodel’s words are a gentle balm, a promise of healing. The

survivors exchange hopeful glances, a shared sense of
community forming under the watchful eyes of their three
protectors.

FADE OUT

INT. ABANDONED FARMHOUSE - NIGHT

The farmhouse is dilapidated, but a small fire crackles in

the hearth, casting flickering shadows on the faces of
AREDHEL, BELEG, and NIMRODEL, and a small group of survivors
huddled together. Rough blankets are strewn across the floor.
The air is thick with the smell of woodsmoke and damp earth.

ELDER MARA

(weary, but hopeful)

We… we didn't think anyone would come.

Mara, an elderly woman with kind eyes and silver hair,

clutches a worn shawl.

AREDHEL
We promised to help. We will rebuild together.

YOUNG LIAM

(timidly)
But… what if it happens again?

Liam, a young boy, looks down at his hands, his voice barely
a whisper.

BELEG
Fear is a natural response to loss. But it
cannot control us. We fight back together. We
heal together.

Beleg places a hand on Liam's shoulder, offering gentle

reassurance.

NIMRODEL
Our strength is in our unity. In remembering
those we lost, and honoring their sacrifice by
building a better future.
 85.

Nimrodel’s eyes sweep across the faces of the survivors. She

speaks with quiet confidence and unwavering determination.

ELDER MARA
You… you speak of hope.

AREDHEL
Hope is not naivete. It is a courageous belief
in the possibility of a better tomorrow. Even
in the darkest night.

Aredhel smiles gently, her gaze meeting Mara’s.

YOUNG LIAM
I… I think I can help.

Liam looks up, a hint of resolve in his eyes. He takes a deep

breath.

BELEG
We will need strong hands, brave hearts, and
minds ready to create something new.

Beleg nods, his gaze sweeping over the group. A shared sense
of purpose begins to fill the room.

NIMRODEL
Let us begin to mend what was broken. Let us
build a future worthy of those we’ve lost.

Nimrodel’s words resonate with strength and conviction,

lighting a new fire in the hearts of the survivors.

FADE OUT

EXT. REBUILT VILLAGE - DAWN

The sun rises over a nascent village. The buildings are still
rough-hewn, but sturdy. Smoke curls from chimneys, a sign of
life and warmth. Aredhel, Beleg, Nimrodel, and Elder Mara
stand together, overlooking the scene. Young Liam is amongst
a group of children, helping to clear debris.

AREDHEL
It's a beginning.

BELEG
A fragile one, but a beginning nonetheless.

Beleg looks at the children playing, a hint of a smile

playing on his lips.

NIMRODEL
We have much work ahead. But we have each
other.
 86.

Nimrodel gestures to the villagers, who are working together,

rebuilding their lives.

ELDER MARA

(softly)
I never thought I'd see this day. A new dawn.

Mara’s eyes are filled with unshed tears, a mixture of grief

and gratitude.

AREDHEL
The sun rises even after the longest night,
Mara. Remember that.

YOUNG LIAM

(calling out)
Look! I moved a whole stone!

Liam beams with pride, holding up a small, grey stone. The

other children cheer.

BELEG
That’s our Liam. Stronger than he knows.

Beleg smiles warmly at the boy.

NIMRODEL
We will face challenges. The scars of the past
will remain. But we will not let them define
us.

Nimrodel’s gaze is firm, her voice filled with quiet

strength.

AREDHEL
We build not just houses, but hope. We forge
not only stone, but a future.

Aredhel looks out at the rising sun, a sense of determination

in her eyes.

ELDER MARA
A future… worth fighting for.

Mara joins the others, looking towards the new village. A

shared sense of hope fills the air.

FADE OUT

INT. ELDER MARA'S HUT - NIGHT

A crackling fire casts dancing shadows on the rough-hewn

walls of the hut. Aredhel sits opposite Elder Mara, a worn
leather-bound book open between them. The book is filled with
faded script and intricate illustrations.
 87.

AREDHEL
The tales of Túrin... they are etched into the
very stones of this land.

Mara nods slowly, her gaze fixed on the flames.

ELDER MARA
A tragedy, yes. But a tragedy that shaped us.
His story serves as a warning, Aredhel, a
reminder of the darkness that lurks, even in
the hearts of the brave.

Aredhel traces a finger across a faded illustration depicting

a battle scene.

AREDHEL
But it also speaks of resilience. Of a spirit
unbroken, even in the face of insurmountable
odds. Túrin's curse was a heavy burden, yet
his strength… his love for his sister… that
echoes through time.

Mara turns a page, revealing an illustration of a woman

weeping over a fallen warrior.

ELDER MARA
His curse was not simply his own to bear. It
touched all those he held dear. Nienor,
Morwen...their suffering…it was a testament to
the cruelty of fate.

AREDHEL
Yet, from the ashes of their suffering,
something new arose. This village…this
rebuilding…it is a testament to their
sacrifice.

Aredhel closes the book, her expression thoughtful.

ELDER MARA
The legacy of Húrin is a double-edged sword. A
warning of the dangers of pride and vengeance,
but also a beacon of hope, reminding us that
even in the deepest darkness, the embers of
courage can ignite a flame.

AREDHEL
We must ensure that the lessons learned are
not forgotten. That future generations
understand the weight of their actions, and
the importance of choosing hope over despair.

Aredhel rises, her gaze steady and determined.

ELDER MARA
The sun rises anew each day, Aredhel. Even
after the darkest night. Let us carry that
 88.

hope within our hearts.

Mara looks at Aredhel, a flicker of a smile gracing her lips.

FADE OUT

EXT. VILLAGE GREEN - DAWN

The sun crests over the horizon, casting a golden glow on a

bustling village. Children chase each other, their laughter
echoing through the newly rebuilt homes. Aredhel stands on a
small rise, overlooking the scene. She holds a small,
intricately carved wooden toy – a miniature sword – in her
hand.

AREDHEL
The sun rises again.

She looks at the toy, a wistful smile on her face.

AREDHEL
And with it, a new beginning.

A young boy, ELION, about eight years old, runs up to her,

breathless.

ELION
Aredhel! Look! I made a shield!

He proudly displays a crudely fashioned shield made from wood

and leather.

AREDHEL

(smiling)
It's magnificent, Elion. A true warrior's
shield.

She gently touches the shield, her eyes filled with a mix of
pride and remembrance.

ELION
Will you teach me to fight like Túrin?

Aredhel hesitates, her smile fading slightly. She carefully

places the wooden sword in Elion's hand.

AREDHEL
Túrin's strength was great, but his path was
one of sorrow. We learn from the past, Elion,
but we forge our own future.

She kneels, meeting his gaze.

AREDHEL
We will learn to defend our home, yes. But
also to build it, to grow it, to cherish it.
 89.

That is the true strength.

She points towards the village, vibrant with life.

AREDHEL
This village… it is a testament to resilience.
It's a testament to hope. It's your legacy to
protect now.

ELION

(nodding seriously)
I understand.

He raises the wooden sword, a determined glint in his eyes.

ELION
I will protect our village!

Other children gather around, their faces reflecting Elion’s

newfound determination.

Aredhel watches them, a sense of peace settling over her. The

cycle continues, but this time, with a flicker of hope
burning brighter than ever before.

FADE OUT

EXT. VILLAGE - DAY FIVE YEARS LATER

The village, once scarred by war, is now thriving. Children

play amidst newly built houses, laughter filling the air.
Fields of golden wheat stretch towards a clear blue sky.
Aredhel, her face etched with the wisdom of years, sits
beneath an ancient oak tree. She is no longer the warrior
queen, but a wise elder, her gaze serene.

AREDHEL
Time… it heals all wounds, doesn’t it?

She gently strokes the bark of the oak tree, a faint smile
playing on her lips.

AREDHEL
Even the deepest scars fade, leaving only
faint reminders of battles fought and won.

Elion, now a young teenager, approaches, carrying a

well-crafted wooden shield, far superior to the one he'd made
as a child.

ELION
Aredhel?

He stands before her, his bearing confident, his eyes

reflecting the peace of his surroundings.
 90.

AREDHEL
Elion. Your shield is magnificent.

She examines the shield, noticing the intricate carvings and

the polished wood. It's a symbol of his growth and his
village's resilience.

ELION
I learned much. More than just fighting.

He looks out at the thriving village, his expression solemn

yet hopeful.

ELION
I learned about building, protecting, and
cherishing… just like you taught me.

AREDHEL
And that is the true victory, my boy.

She places a hand on his shoulder. A warm sunbeam dapples

through the leaves, illuminating them both.

AREDHEL
The war is over. The future… it is bright.

ELION
Yes. Bright indeed.

He smiles, a genuine, heart-felt smile that reflects the

peace and prosperity that has enveloped their world.

Aredhel watches him, a sense of profound peace washing over

her. The cycle of life, of loss and renewal, continues its
eternal rhythm.

FADE OUT

INT. AREDHEL'S HUT - NIGHT

A single oil lamp casts flickering shadows on the rough-hewn

walls of Aredhel's hut. Aredhel sits on a low stool, her
hands clasped tightly in her lap. Elion sits opposite her, a
quiet solemnity in his posture. A worn tapestry depicting
scenes from past battles hangs behind them.

AREDHEL

(softly)
Five years. Five years since the fighting
ended.

ELION
Five years since so many… were lost.

Elion’s gaze drifts to the tapestry, his eyes lingering on a

section depicting a fierce battle.
 91.

AREDHEL
They live on, in our memories.

ELION
But the memories… they hurt.

He runs a hand through his hair, his brow furrowed in

contemplation.

AREDHEL
Grief is a heavy cloak, Elion. But it does not
diminish the strength of the spirit. It shapes
us, reminds us of what is precious.

ELION
I miss them. My father… my friends… I still
see their faces in my dreams.

AREDHEL

(comfortingly)
And their dreams live on through you, through
the village. Through the future we built from
the ashes.

Aredhel reaches out and gently touches Elion's hand.

ELION
Sometimes, Aredhel, I feel the weight of what
we lost more heavily than the joy of what we
saved.

AREDHEL
That is the nature of loss, my child. It is a
shadow that follows, but it cannot eclipse the
sun. The sun of life still shines, albeit a
little dimmer sometimes.

She looks at the lamp, its flickering flame mirroring the ebb
and flow of her emotions.

AREDHEL
We must carry their memory, not as a burden,
but as a beacon, guiding us to a future where
such loss will never be repeated.

ELION
I will do my best to honor them.

Elion rises and places his hand on the tapestry, a newfound

resolve in his eyes.

AREDHEL
And I will be here, always, to help you bear
the weight, to help you find the light.
 92.

Aredhel smiles, a sad yet hopeful smile. The lamplight

flickers, casting long shadows across the room.

FADE TO BLACK

EXT. VILLAGE GREEN - DAWN

Mist hangs low over the village green. The sun, a pale disc,
rises above the distant mountains. Elion stands alone, gazing
at the freshly turned earth of a newly dug grave.
Wildflowers, vibrant despite the chill, dot the landscape. A
quiet dignity settles over him. He touches a small, smooth
stone, placed at the head of the grave.

ELION
Rest now, Father.

He kneels, his head bowed. The wind whispers through the tall
grass.

ELION
Your fight is over.

He closes his eyes, a tear tracing a path down his cheek. He

remains kneeling for a long moment, absorbing the peace of
the dawning day.

ELION
Your sacrifice will not be in vain.

He rises, his shoulders straighter, his face resolute. He

looks towards the village, waking to the sounds of birdsong
and the distant chatter of people.

ELION
I will carry your memory, and the memory of
all those lost, as a guiding light.

He picks up a handful of the wildflowers, placing them gently

on the grave.

ELION
And I will build a future worthy of their
sacrifice.

He turns and walks towards the village, his gait firm and
purposeful. The sun, now higher in the sky, bathes him in its
warm light.

ELION
A future of peace.

A single bird takes flight, soaring over the village, a

symbol of hope and renewal.

ELION
A future free from the shadow of war.
 93.

He disappears into the village, leaving the grave bathed in

the soft light of the new day.

FADE OUT

INT. VILLAGE HALL - DAY

Sunlight streams through the stained-glass windows of the

Village Hall, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. A
makeshift altar stands at the far end, adorned with
wildflowers and flickering candles. ELION sits opposite LYRA,
the village elder, her face etched with the weight of years
and sorrow. A palpable tension hangs between them.

LYRA
The losses… they were immense, Elion.

Lyra’s voice is soft, but carries a deep sadness.

ELION
I know.

Elion looks down at his hands, his knuckles white.

LYRA
Many blame you. The war… your actions…

Lyra hesitates, her gaze meeting Elion’s.

ELION

(quietly)
I understand.

LYRA
But understanding doesn't erase the pain. The
scars run deep.

Lyra reaches out, her hand resting on Elion’s. He flinches,

then relaxes, a slight tremor in his own hand.

ELION

(sincerely)
I bear the weight of my actions. I know I
failed many. I’ll spend the rest of my days
trying to make amends.

LYRA
Amends are not always easy to make, Elion. But
the path to healing is paved with forgiveness.
For yourself, and for those you've hurt.

Lyra looks towards the altar, her gaze reflective.

ELION
 94.

And for those who fell, fighting alongside me.

I will honour their sacrifice.

Elion looks into Lyra's eyes, a newfound resolve in his gaze.

LYRA

(a small smile)
Then perhaps, some healing can begin.

She squeezes his hand gently before releasing it. A silence

hangs in the air, charged with a newfound peace.

ELION
I will rebuild our home, Lyra. A better future
for all.

He rises, his gaze firm and purposeful. The sunlight seems

brighter now, the dust motes glowing with newfound hope.

FADE OUT

EXT. VILLAGE - DAY

Weeks later. The village, though still bearing scars, shows

signs of recovery. Homes are being rebuilt, laughter echoes
in the streets, and a sense of community has returned,
stronger than before. Elion, his face weathered but resolute,
oversees a group of villagers rebuilding a home. Lyra watches
him from a distance, a gentle smile playing on her lips.

ELION
A little higher, there! We need that beam
strong.

He directs the villagers with calm authority. A young boy,

ARAM, about ten years old, approaches cautiously.

ARAM
Mr. Elion?

Elion kneels to his level, his expression softening.

ELION
Yes, Aram?

ARAM

(hesitantly)
My father… he would have helped build this
house too.

Elion places a hand on the boy's shoulder, his eyes full of

empathy.

ELION
 95.

I know, son. Your father was a good man. He'd

be proud of you for being here, helping.

ARAM
Thank you, sir.

Aram smiles weakly, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. Elion

rises, watching the villagers continue their work with
renewed purpose. Lyra joins him.

LYRA
They’re good people, Elion. Resilient.

ELION
And they deserve a home, Lyra. A better one
than before.

He looks out across the village, a sense of peace washing

over him. Lyra places a hand on his arm.

LYRA
You’ve done well, Elion. You've brought them
back from the brink.

ELION
Not alone. It was their strength and
forgiveness that made this possible.

They share a moment of quiet understanding, the setting sun

casting a warm golden light on their faces. The sounds of
hammers and laughter blend into a symphony of rebuilding
lives.

FADE OUT

INT. ELION'S HUT - NIGHT

A simple hut, sparsely furnished. A fire crackles in the

hearth, casting flickering shadows on the walls. Elion sits
on a stool, staring into the flames. Lyra enters, carrying a
bowl of stew.

LYRA
Supper.

She sets the bowl down gently. Elion doesn't move.

LYRA
Elion?

He turns, his eyes haunted.

ELION
The faces… I still see them.

LYRA
The fallen?
 96.

ELION
Yes. And those who suffered. Their pain… it
lingers.

He picks at a loose thread on his tunic.

LYRA
It's a part of you now, Elion. But it doesn't
have to define you.

ELION
But how can I forget? How can I move forward
when the past weighs so heavily?

Lyra sits beside him, taking his hand.

LYRA
By remembering, yes. By honoring their
memories, but also by building something new
from the ashes. Something better.

ELION
You're right. They wouldn’t want us to live in
the shadow of the past.

He looks at the fire, a flicker of resolve in his eyes.

ELION
Their sacrifice… it won't be in vain.

LYRA
It won't be.

She smiles, a warmth spreading through her eyes. He takes a

spoonful of stew, a small but significant act of moving
forward.

ELION
The village… it's healing. And so am I.

He looks at Lyra, a genuine smile gracing his lips this time,

a smile free from the burden of the past.

FADE OUT

EXT. VILLAGE SQUARE - DAWN

The village square is slowly coming to life. The air is

crisp, the sun just beginning to paint the sky with hues of
orange and pink. Rebuilding is underway; people work
diligently, clearing debris and laying new foundations. Among
them, Elion and Lyra, side-by-side, help to rebuild the
village elder's home. Elion's movements are purposeful, his
face showing determination rather than grief.

LYRA
It's coming together, isn't it?
 97.

She smiles at Elion, handing him a piece of lumber.

ELION
It is. With every stone laid, every beam
raised, the memories of the darkness fade a
little more.

He expertly fits the lumber into place.

LYRA
The strength of this village… it’s incredible.
We’ve faced unimaginable loss, yet we rise.

A young child approaches, shyly offering Elion a freshly

baked loaf of bread.

CHILD
For you, Elion.

Elion kneels, accepting the bread with a grateful smile.

ELION

(warmly)
Thank you, my dear. This is more precious than
any gold.

He looks around at the people working, their faces etched

with both sorrow and hope.

ELION
We may carry scars, but our spirit remains
unbroken. The hearts of the fallen live on in
our resolve.

Lyra places a hand on his shoulder, a silent expression of

shared strength.

LYRA
We will rebuild, not just our homes, but our
lives, stronger than before.

Elion nods, his gaze firm and resolute. The sun rises higher,
casting a warm glow on their determined faces. The sound of
hammers and chisels fills the air – a symphony of resilience.

ELION
Yes. We will.

FADE OUT

INT. ELDER'S REBUILT HOME - NIGHT

The Elder's home, though still bearing marks of recent

destruction, is now partially rebuilt. A single oil lamp
casts flickering shadows on the walls. Elion sits by a
makeshift table, his face etched with weariness but his eyes
 98.

reflecting a quiet strength. Lyra enters, carrying a steaming

bowl.

LYRA
Some broth. You haven't eaten all day.

She places the bowl gently before him.

ELION
Thank you, Lyra.

He picks up the spoon, but hesitates.

LYRA
The village is coming back to life, Elion.
Slowly, but surely.

She sits beside him, her hand resting on his.

ELION
I know. I see it. But the… the loss… it feels
so heavy still.

He looks down at the broth, his voice thick with emotion.

LYRA
It will always be with us. But it doesn't have
to define us. Look at the people, Elion. Their
spirit… it’s unbroken.

ELION
Sometimes, I feel like it’s all a fragile
illusion. One wrong step, and it all comes
crashing down again.

LYRA

(softly)
It won't. We have each other. We have hope.
And that, Elion, is stronger than any
darkness.

She squeezes his hand. He meets her gaze, a flicker of

something akin to peace crossing his features.

ELION
Hope… yes. It’s a faint ember, but it’s there.

He takes a sip of the broth. A small, grateful smile touches

his lips.

LYRA
And embers can grow into flames, Elion. With
faith and perseverance, they can.

She leans against him, their shoulders touching. The

lamplight illuminates their faces, highlighting the
 99.

resilience in their eyes.

ELION
You are right, Lyra. We will rebuild. We will
heal.

FADE OUT

EXT. VILLAGE OUTSKIRTS - DAWN

The sun rises over a landscape slowly recovering from

devastation. Rebuilt homes stand alongside charred ruins.
Children laugh as they chase birds amongst the budding
wildflowers that push through the cracked earth. ELION and
LYRA stand overlooking the village, hand in hand.

ELION
Look at them.

He gestures towards the children, a gentle smile playing on

his lips.

LYRA
Life finds a way, doesn’t it?

She squeezes his hand, her eyes reflecting the morning light.

ELION
Even after such darkness, even after so much
loss… there's still beauty. Such resilience.

He points to a small sapling pushing through the rubble of a

destroyed house.

LYRA
It’s a symbol, Elion. Of hope. Of rebirth.

A soft breeze rustles through the newly planted trees,

carrying the scent of fresh earth and blooming flowers.

ELION
The cycle continues. Death and rebirth. It's a
constant dance, isn't it?

LYRA
A dance that brings both sorrow and joy. A
reminder that even in the deepest grief, life
perseveres.

She rests her head against his shoulder, feeling the warmth
of the rising sun on her face.

ELION
We lost so much. But we also gained so much. A
deeper understanding of what truly matters. Of
the strength we possess, together.
 100.

LYRA
Together. Always.

They stand in silence for a moment, watching the village

awaken. A sense of peace settles over them, a quiet
acceptance of the past and an embrace of the future.

ELION
Let's go home.

He gently kisses her forehead before turning, hand still

intertwined with hers. They start walking back towards the
village, their figures silhouetted against the rising sun.

FADE OUT

INT. VILLAGE LIBRARY - DAY

Dust motes dance in the sunbeams slicing through the tall,

arched windows of the village library. Books line the
shelves, some ancient and worn, others newly bound. ELION
sits at a large oak table, meticulously writing in a thick
leather-bound journal. LYRA sits opposite him, watching him
with a gentle smile.

LYRA
It's almost finished.

Elion nods, his brow furrowed in concentration. He dips his

quill into the inkwell.

ELION
Almost. The final chapter. The legacy of the
cursed lineage… a cautionary tale, but also… a
testament to resilience.

He pauses, looks up at Lyra, his gaze far away.

ELION
We’ve rebuilt, haven’t we? From the ashes.

LYRA
Yes. And we've learned. The mistakes of the
past… they won’t be repeated.

She picks up a worn book from the table, its cover depicting
a stylized serpent entwined with a flowering vine.

LYRA
The old stories...they were warnings, not
curses. We chose to interpret them
differently.

ELION
Our children will read this. They will learn
from our struggles, our sacrifices.
 101.

He carefully closes the journal, a slight tremor in his hand.

ELION
The cycle continues. But it's a cycle we can
influence. A cycle we can guide. We can break
the chains of the past.

LYRA
We have forged a new path. A path of
understanding, of acceptance, of hope.

She reaches across the table and takes his hand, her touch
warm and reassuring.

ELION
Our children will know peace. They will build
a future free from the shadow of the past.

He leans back in his chair, a weary but contented smile

gracing his lips. The sunlight illuminates the dust motes,
creating a shimmering halo around them.

LYRA
A lasting legacy, indeed.

She gently squeezes his hand, their eyes meeting across the
table. A promise hangs in the air, a vow of protection and
enduring love.

FADE OUT

EXT. VILLAGE OUTSKIRTS - SUNSET

A breathtaking sunset paints the sky in hues of orange,

purple, and gold. Elion and Lyra stand hand-in-hand,
overlooking the peaceful village nestled in the valley below.
A gentle breeze rustles through the tall grass surrounding
them.

ELION
It's over.

He looks at Lyra, a profound sense of peace in his eyes.

LYRA
Yes.

She smiles, a tear tracing a path down her cheek.

ELION
We faced darkness, Lyra. Unfathomable
darkness.

LYRA
And we emerged.

She squeezes his hand tighter.

 102.

ELION
Together.

LYRA
Our love… it was our anchor. Our strength.

She leans her head against his shoulder.

ELION
It sustained us when everything else crumbled.

LYRA
It healed the wounds that time couldn't.

They stand in silence for a moment, watching the sun dip

below the horizon.

ELION
The future is uncertain, but…

LYRA

(softly)
We have each other.

Elion gently kisses her forehead.

ELION
And that's all that truly matters.

LYRA
Our love… it's a testament. A beacon in the
darkness. A promise of enduring hope.

They embrace, the silhouette of their figures framed against

the fiery sunset. The wind whispers around them, carrying the
weight of their shared journey and the promise of a new
beginning.

FADE TO BLACK

INT. ELDER'S CABIN - NIGHT

A warm fire crackles in the hearth, casting dancing shadows

on the stone walls. Elion and Lyra sit opposite ELDER THALOS,
a wizened man with eyes that hold the weight of centuries. A
worn leather-bound book rests open on a small table between
them.

ELDER THALOS
The past is not merely a collection of events,
but a tapestry woven with threads of triumph
and tragedy.

He gestures to the book.

ELDER THALOS
 103.

These chronicles detail the fall of kingdoms,

the rise of heroes, and the enduring strength
of the human spirit.

LYRA
We have seen darkness firsthand, Elder Thalos.
Felt its icy grip.

ELDER THALOS
And emerged stronger, yes. But strength is
forged not only in victory, but in the
crucible of loss.

ELION
We lost so much.

He looks down at his hands, his expression somber.

ELDER THALOS
The pain remains, a scar upon the soul. But
from that pain, wisdom blooms. It guides you,
shapes you, makes you… wiser.

LYRA
But how do we prevent such darkness from
returning?

ELDER THALOS
By remembering. By sharing the lessons
learned. By ensuring that the echoes of the
past serve as a warning, not a repetition.

He closes the book, his gaze meeting theirs.

ELDER THALOS
Your love, your resilience... it is a beacon,
a testament to hope. It is a story that must
be told, lest others stumble in the same
shadows.

ELION
We will carry this burden, Elder Thalos. We
will share our story.

LYRA
And ensure that future generations learn from
our trials, not repeat them.

Elion and Lyra exchange a look filled with shared

determination. The firelight flickers, illuminating their
faces.

FADE OUT

EXT. THE FORMER BATTLEFIELD - DAWN

 104.

The sun rises, casting a pale light over a landscape scarred

by war. Charred trees stand like skeletal fingers against the
sky. The air still carries the faint scent of smoke and
decay. But amidst the devastation, wildflowers push through
the cracked earth, a vibrant splash of color against the
somber grey. Elion and Lyra stand, gazing at the scene. Lyra
lays a hand on a small, smooth stone, partially buried in the
earth.

LYRA
It's… different.

ELION
Yes.

He runs a hand through his hair, his expression a mixture of

weariness and quiet hope.

LYRA
The land… it’s healing.

ELION
Slowly.

He picks up a piece of broken metal, a relic from the battle,

and throws it gently aside.

ELION
Like us.

Lyra nods, a faint smile playing on her lips. She looks out
at the horizon, where a few birds circle lazily in the
morning light.

LYRA
There's still much work to be done.
Rebuilding, healing...

ELION
But we will do it, together.

He takes her hand, their fingers intertwining. Their gaze

meets; a silent promise passes between them. The landscape,
though scarred, holds a quiet beauty, a promise of renewal.

LYRA
The stories will be told, Elion. The lessons
learned.

ELION
And the hope… the hope will endure.

They stand for a moment longer, hand in hand, silhouetted

against the rising sun. The wildflowers sway gently in the
breeze, a silent testament to life's resilience.

LYRA
 105.

Let's start rebuilding.

She turns and starts walking towards the distant village,

Elion following close behind. Their footsteps leave faint
imprints in the softened earth.

FADE OUT

INT. VILLAGE TOWN HALL - DAY

Sunlight streams through the newly repaired windows of the

town hall. The room is sparsely furnished but clean, with
several villagers gathered. They are a mix of ages and
appearances, all bearing the marks of the recent war, but
their faces hold a quiet determination. A large map of the
surrounding land lies spread on a table, marked with plans
for rebuilding.

LYRA
The first step is securing the water supply.
Elara and her team have already begun clearing
the well.

Elara, a woman with strong hands and a kind smile, nods in

agreement.

ELARA
It's slow work, but the water is clean. We'll
have it running by sunset.

MARVIN

(grinning)
My carpentry skills are rusty, but I'm ready
to help with the houses.

Marvin, an older man with calloused hands, gestures towards

the map.

OLD MAN HEMLOCK

(weakly)
I… I can help with the storytelling. Keep the
hope alive, you see.

Old Man Hemlock, frail but with bright eyes, speaks quietly.

LYRA
Your stories are vital, Hemlock. They are the
heart of our community.

ELION
We’ll need to organize teams for farming, too.
The land is damaged, but fertile.

Elion addresses the group, his voice carrying a steady

strength. He looks at Lyra, his gaze soft and reassuring.
 106.

A YOUNG WOMAN
I can help with the children. Keep them safe,
occupied.

A YOUNG MAN
My father was a blacksmith. I can help rebuild
the forge.

LYRA
Each of you has a role to play. This isn't
just about rebuilding homes; it's about
rebuilding lives, together.

Lyra smiles, her eyes shining with hope and gratitude. She
walks to the map, pointing to a section designated for a new
community garden.

LYRA
Let's start with the garden. A symbol of our
rebirth, our shared strength.

The villagers murmur their agreement, a wave of quiet energy

filling the room. A sense of purpose unites them, a tangible
strength born from their shared experience and mutual
support.

FADE OUT

EXT. VILLAGE OUTSKIRTS - SUNSET

The sun dips below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of
orange and purple. Lyra sits alone by a newly planted sapling
in the community garden. The gentle breeze rustles through
the leaves. She traces the rough bark with her fingers.

LYRA
It's over.

She closes her eyes, a single tear tracing a path down her
cheek. A hand gently rests on her shoulder.

ELION
It is.

Elion sits beside her, maintaining a respectful distance. He

doesn't speak for a moment, allowing her to process her
emotions.

LYRA
I still see their faces. The ones we lost.

ELION
And their memory will guide us. Their
sacrifice will not be in vain.

Lyra nods, her gaze fixed on the setting sun.

 107.

LYRA
I don't know if I'll ever truly forget.

ELION
You don't have to forget. Remembering is a
part of healing. But let their memory fuel
your hope, your strength. Let it remind you of
why we fight, why we rebuild.

He gently takes her hand. His touch is reassuring, conveying

a depth of unspoken understanding and shared grief.

LYRA
There's so much to do.

ELION
Yes. And we will do it together.

He squeezes her hand, a silent promise of support and

companionship. They sit in companionable silence, watching
the last rays of sunlight fade. The gentle sounds of nature
begin to replace the memories of war.

LYRA

(softly)
Perhaps… perhaps peace is possible after all.

A faint smile plays on her lips. The wind whispers through

the leaves, carrying the promise of a new beginning.

FADE TO BLACK

INT. VILLAGE TOWN HALL - NIGHT

The large hall is sparsely furnished, but warm candlelight

illuminates the faces of the villagers gathered. They are
weary, but their expressions hold a newfound determination.
Lyra stands at a makeshift podium, a simple wooden crate.
Elion stands beside her, a hand resting reassuringly on her
shoulder.

LYRA
We have endured. We have mourned. We have
suffered losses that cut to the very core of
our being.

She pauses, her voice catching slightly, but her eyes remain
resolute.

LYRA
But look around you. Look at the faces of
hope, of resilience, of unwavering strength.
We are not broken. We are unbroken.

A murmur of agreement ripples through the assembled

villagers. A few wipe away tears.
 108.

LYRA
The scars of war will remain, etched upon our
hearts and our land. But from these scars,
something new will bloom. A stronger
community, a more resilient spirit. A
testament to the indomitable nature of the
human heart.

She gestures to Elion, who steps forward.

ELION
We will rebuild our homes, our fields, our
lives. We will honor those we lost by building
a future worthy of their sacrifice.

He looks at Lyra, a shared smile passing between them.

ELION
We will not let their memory be extinguished.
We will carry their flame, and it will light
our way through the darkness.

A young boy in the crowd raises his hand.

YOUNG BOY
What will we do now?

LYRA
We will begin. We will plant seeds of hope, of
courage, of peace. We will work together,
shoulder to shoulder. And we will rebuild a
future where laughter echoes louder than the
memory of war.

Lyra's voice fills with emotion, a mix of sadness and hope.

LYRA
The path ahead will not be easy. But together,
we will walk it. Together, we will endure.

A wave of applause and murmurs of support washes over the

hall. The villagers rise to their feet, their faces
illuminated by the candlelight, a collective spirit of hope
burning brightly within them. The camera slowly pans across
their faces, capturing the raw emotion and shared
determination.

FADE OUT

EXT. VILLAGE OUTSKIRTS - DAWN

The sun rises, casting a golden light over the slowly

rebuilding village. Fields, scarred but not broken, stretch
towards the horizon. Lyra and Elion walk hand-in-hand, their
backs to the camera, towards a newly planted field of
wildflowers.
 109.

LYRA
Do you remember the stories our elders told,
Elion? The ones about the resilience of the
earth?

ELION
How it heals, even from the deepest wounds?

They stop, looking out at the sunrise.

LYRA
We are much like the earth, aren't we? Scars
remain, but life finds a way to bloom again.

ELION
Our wounds teach us. They shape us. They make
us stronger, more compassionate.

Elion turns, gently taking Lyra's face in his hands.

ELION
And our love, Lyra...it is the seed that helps
everything grow.

He kisses her, a tender, loving kiss filled with shared

history and the promise of a brighter future.

LYRA

(softly)
Always.

They stand for a moment, bathed in the golden light.

Children's laughter carries on the morning breeze from the
village below.

LYRA
Look, Elion. The children are playing. Life
continues.

ELION
And we will be here, beside them, every step
of the way.

They begin to walk again, their figures silhouetted against

the rising sun, a symbol of hope and renewal. The camera
focuses on a single wildflower pushing its way through the
freshly tilled earth.

FADE OUT