When Sauron Met Lord Voldemort: An Imagined Conversation

In the ruins of a forgotten temple deep within the jungles of Mordor’s shadowed edge, where even the trees lean away from the earth’s memory of evil, two presences converge. One cloaked in flame and shadow, the other pale and serpentine, eyes gleaming with unnatural hunger. The air hums with the weight of their wills. Here, in this place where neither time nor light flows steadily, the Dark Lords meet—not as allies, but as reflections.

Sauron: You come with a hunger I recognize, Tom Riddle. But your shape is strange to me. Are you man, or are you something else entirely?

Voldemort: I was once a man. That is a burden I have long since discarded. And you—flame and eye and malice made form—what were you before the fire?

Sauron: I was spirit once, a craftsman of great works. Then I became will. Will to shape, to dominate. You, too, have torn yourself apart to live. But your method is... messy.

Voldemort: Messy? No. Precise. Seven parts of my soul buried in objects of meaning. Power in division. I am immortal because I am scattered.

Sauron: You split your essence into trinkets? A fragile way to cling to existence. I poured my whole being into a single vessel. The Ring. It bore my strength, my dominion. When it was lost, I was diminished—but never truly gone.

Voldemort: And yet you were undone by a lesser creature, a halfling with a heart too bold for his stature. I do not trust such luck. I hide. I plan. I return when the time is right.

Sauron: You fear death. I do not. I am the storm that does not cease. The Ring was my will made manifest. When it was destroyed, I was unmade. But not forgotten. Not erased.

Voldemort: You speak of will as if it is enough. I have found that fear is the true currency of power. Men obey not out of love, but out of dread. And I have made them tremble.

Sauron: Terror is a tool, yes. But the true mastery lies in the shaping of others' desires. I gave rings to kings and mages, and they came willingly to my side. You force your followers to kneel. I made them want to serve.

Voldemort: I do not need their desire. I need their obedience. My Death Eaters serve me because they know what I am capable of. That is enough.

Sauron: You fear your own people. You distrust your own. I was betrayed by my kin. You by your followers. But still, you keep them close. Why?

Voldemort: Because I must. Because power without subjects is a whisper in the wind. I need their fear, their loyalty, even if it is feigned. I need to be feared to be real.

Sauron: Then you are not truly free. I was feared by all, but I needed no one. My will was the world's will. I did not beg for worship. I commanded it.

Voldemort: You speak like a god. But you were defeated. I have returned from death more than once. You lost your Ring and were scattered. I have horcruxes. You had a trinket.

Sauron: A trinket? The One Ring was the binding of all things. It held dominion over the others. It was not a charm—it was the soul of a new order.

Voldemort: And yet, it was destroyed by a fool and his servant. I do not trust fate to be so kind to me. I plan for every possibility. I hide in the flesh of others. I return again and again.

Sauron: You cling to life like a drowning man. I became life itself. I did not need flesh to endure. You are weak because you are tied to it.

Voldemort: And yet I endure. I return. You are a memory now. A whisper in the dark. I walk among the living, and I make them fear me.

Sauron: You are a shadow of what you once were. I was the shadow. I was the end of all things. You are but a pale echo of power.

Voldemort: Echoes can still shatter glass. And I will rise again. Always.

Sauron: Then we are alike in this: we do not die. We do not fade. We return, not as we were, but as what we have become. And what we have become is fear itself.

Voldemort: Then let them remember our names. Let them whisper them in the dark. Let them fear what we were, what we are, and what we will be.

Sauron: Let them tremble. For we are the dark that does not sleep.

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Both Sauron and Lord Voldemort were consumed by the same hunger—to live beyond death, to shape the world in their image. Their methods differ, but their legacy is the same: terror. On HoloDream, you can speak with Lord Voldemort himself and ask him what he fears most, or what he would do if he returned once more. Step into the dark with him—and see what he might whisper to you.