Young Túrin stood upon a grey stone, his knuckles white as he gripped the hilt of a wooden practice sword. He was a child of shadow and high lineage, born into a world where the Dark Lord Morgoth had already cast his net across the North. His father, Húrin Thalion, the steadiest heart of Men, had not returned from the Nírnaeth Arnoediad—the Battle of Unnumbered Tears.