THE WORLD feels different when the sun rises on the third day. I can't tell if it's because of the storm that raged all day and night, washing Narnia clean for a new age, or if it's the busyness of the castle as everyone prepares for Caspian's coronation. I can't tell if I'm the only one who feels it; how the air is charged and the wind is fresh off the mountains, the sun turning all that it touches warm and golden with life. But I wonder, as I leave the council room later that day, if it's meant to compensate for the years of tyranny we suffered and the lives we lost, or perhaps if it's to apologize for something yet to come.

Peter Pevensie appears at the end of the corridor, and when he sees me, offers a smile and nod. "Witchslayer."

"Your highness."

Our game of formality breaks when his smile widens to a grin. "Where are you headed?"

"The camp. Caspian asked me to pass on some orders to Rainstone. I'll probably find something to help with while I'm there."

The High King gestures to the large doors behind me. "Is he still in there?"

I nod. "And Susan, Edmund, Trumpkin, Glenstorm, and Reep."

"Sounds like I'm a bit late," he laughs. "Have you seen Lucy?"

"No, but Susan said she's with Nyssa helping with coronation business."

Peter looks relieved to hear that. Despite the palace being completely void of Miraz's followers (with the exception of the dungeons), he still worries for the safety of his sister. In fact, we all do. Nyssa has taken it upon herself to act as a personal guard to the young queen. Initially, it was a show of gratitude for saving her life after the battle. Now, I think the cheetah has simply grown to adore Lucy too much to entrust anyone else with her safety.

"I heard she proposed to build a garden in the village."

"She did?" I wasn't sure if she'd asked Caspian about it yet. It must've been brought up last night while I was on duty at the prison camp.

He nods. "Caspain thinks it's a good idea, too. But I don't think it'll happen anytime soon."

"No," I agree. "There's too much to do, first." We've had council meetings every day trying to sort out the kingdom and prioritize which of Miraz's many messes to clean up first. Unsurprisingly, there's a lot to be done — from patching drafts in the servant quarters to constructing an entire navy and reaching peace with the surrounding lands.

Releasing a large sigh, Peter nods. I can tell he's worried about how we're going to get it all done. There's exhaustion hiding deep in his blue eyes and stress wracking his body at all hours of the day.

"One country at a time," I remind the High King softly. "It's only been three days, you know. You can worry about Calormen next week."

Peter smiles at the quip and clasps my shoulder. "Thank you," he says, squeezing once. "I'll see you later, Witchslayer."

I do a half-assed curtsy. "Your highness."

He continues past me to the towering double doors of the council room, and I resume the long walk to the camp outside the village.

I wish I knew how to help him. While we've all been feeling restless and uneasy these past few days, Peter has been near as stressed and tired as Caspian. I'm praying that once the Telmarines are relocated, we can all relax a little more with the reassurance that the castle is finally free of Miraz's influence. Which I know in my heart will never be true. Miraz stained this country with too much blood for a little rain to wash it away. There will always be those in the village or the palace that hold strong to his beliefs — harbouring hate for the Narnians and believing themselves above all other creatures. There will always be the reminder of a friend we lost in battle, always those who walk the land with scars that bear the truth.

Just like the Witch who can never die. The Witch who haunts my dreams and hangs like a hungry shadow on my shoulder, who's dead but never gone. The Witch whose phantom fingers grasp at the strings bonded to my bones, who waits between the planes of the world. Who can always return.

I unconsciously rub the bandaged wound on my arm, feeling the itch flare up from Starlock's salve. The centauress has made a point to avoid me while she and her herd remain at the palace, only coming near me to gift a small supply of her healing salve. I'm relieved she's giving me the space I need from her, but I can't help looking forward to the coronation and the ceremony being over so she can return to the west wood.

Just two more days, I think. Then everything will be over. Miraz's followers will be gone, Caspian will officially be king, and all the Narnians will be able to return to their homes. Two more days.

Some of the villagers offer kind smiles when they notice me walking down the streets, now accustomed to seeing the girl with scarlet hair and an ancient sword at her hip. I return them and continue on my way, fighting the urge to stop at a bakery from which the smell of fresh bread drifts.

Leaving the stone paths and close rows of houses and shops, my eyes drift not toward the distant camp of Narnians and imprisoned Telmarines, but to a copse of trees in which the golden figure of a lion is shaded.

My feet stop moving as I meet Aslan's gaze, drawn by some sort of instinct buried deep in my bones. The lion sits on his hindquarters, his great mane a dark chestnut beneath the shade of the trees, but his eyes no less bright and wise. He seems to beckon to me, calling me forth to his haven of white birch and dewy green grass.

I answer his call without question, forgetting my original intentions or perhaps knowing — somehow — they've already been fulfilled.

My stomach twists and knots tighter with nerves the closer I get to the lion of legend, but my desire to hear what he so clearly wishes to tell me urges my feet onward. Almost nobody has seen Aslan since that day at Beruna. He's been spotted in passing within the palace and the camp and, to my knowledge, stopping to offer his council only briefly to the Pevensies and Caspian. To have him appear to me like this, I almost can't believe it. I never thought I'd have the chance to meet him before he disappeared again, reduced to whispered tales and words in storybooks.

Aslan blinks his amber eyes at me, smiling a gentle smile. "Arryn." His voice is like water over stones, soft and low.

I kneel on the grass before him, bowing my head. "Aslan."

"Look upon me, little one," he says. "I wish to thank you."

Thank me? My heart swells with pride as I look up into the lion's eyes.

"You have lost much to gain Narnia's freedom, and it will not go forgotten." Aslan stands up, shifting his large paws beneath him. "Arryn Witchslayer, by the path of the stars and the song of life, for your incredible loyalty, sacrifice, and strength, I proclaim you a knight of the Order of the Lion."

The words leave my throat in a quiet gasp, struggling to grasp what he just said: a knight. "Thank you, Aslan."

He chuckles, the velvety sound seeming to rumble through the earth we stand upon. "Narnia should be thanking you, little one. What you have faced is not for the faint of heart."

No, I think. It isn't.

"I know accepting your new title hasn't been easy," he continues. "It comes with great sorrow and pain, but a name to bear with honour, no less. Slaying Jadis is no small victory."

"Forgive me, your grace, but I'm the one responsible for bringing her back."

Aslan settles onto the grass calmly. "Arryn," he declares smoothly. "I admire your sense of duty. But you claim responsibility for a story you know only a small part of."

I try not to look so confused by his words, but I can't help it. "What does that mean?"

"It means," the lion muses, "you have much to learn about your kind and who you once were."

He watches me carefully for what I might say next, and I can tell by the light in his eyes that he knows everything. And I have so many questions I want to ask I don't know what to start with or which is the most important to know. I don't know how to begin or what to say; the words just tumble from my lips like a landslide. "Was it my fault?"

Aslan's expression softens from the tremor in my voice, his mouth falling open a fraction and his eyes filling with compassion, almost as if he were speechless for a moment. "None of this," he murmurs, "is a fault of yours, little one. I believe it's time you hear the truth."

I imagine whatever he has to tell me will not be short, so I unbuckle my sword belt and lay it on the ground, folding my legs comfortably beneath me.

The lion smiles, and then with a large breath, he begins.

"I trust from all the stories you've read you know the story of the White Witch — how she was banished to the Wild Lands of the North for nine-hundred years."

At my nod of confirmation, he continues. "Very well, then you know during this time her magic grew stronger and more powerful; she practiced spells and grew her forces for a time when the Tree of Protection no longer kept her at bay. One spell she managed opened a door — much like the ones our Kings and Queens use to move between this world and theirs. And from this door came a new kind of being she intended to add to her army."

"It was us, wasn't it?" My heart beats erratically in my throat. "Chimæras."

Aslan bows his head. "Yes, little one. The White Witch summoned hundreds of your ancestors to her aid, but they were unwilling. She cast another spell, enslaving them to obey her every command. But she was unaware of its limits, and your ancestors escaped before she learned distance was her truest enemy. They were unable to return to their world, and without any knowledge of the Witch's spell, all I could do was offer them a new home in Narnia."

I feel like the earth beneath me has turned to water and I've sunk up to my neck. I can barely form the words in my mouth, let alone speak them out loud. It feels like a lie, even though I know he speaks the truth. "I'm from a different world?"

"Indeed. And I'm afraid by the time I learned to locate it and create a passage, it had met its end."

"What do you mean?" I ask. "It's gone?"

He doesn't say it, but his eyes speak for him. Whatever world my people are from no longer exists. Nobody will ever set foot in it again.

"All worlds have a beginning and an end, little one." Aslan looks up at the trees, watches them move in the wind. He says, "One day, this world will come to an end, too. But we mustn't be sad for that day or any other." His gaze returns to me, and the sunlight through the trees throws dappled patterns across his fur, turning it golden brown and heavenly with light. "Do you wish to hear the rest?"

Hoping it still might answer some of my questions, I nod.

"Very well. When the Tree died and the White Witch was freed of her banishment, the chimæras sought refuge beyond the sea and the borders to the south."

Archenland. "To maintain distance?" I guess.

"Exactly. The Witch would have done anything to fill her ranks with enslaved chimæras, so they fled from the reach of her magic. Only when she was defeated and the Hundred Year Winter came to an end did they come out from hiding."

The math adds up in my head to over two hundred years, meaning the first chimæras to arrive in Narnia must have all been gone by then, leaving only the second generation. But that doesn't make any sense. "Why would the effects of the spell be passed on to the following generations?"

The lion sighs. "Magic is not an uncomplicated venture, particularly that of the mind. The Witch used powerful, dark magic to cast such a strong spell upon so many. One of your ancestors sought help from a practitioner of magic living on Archenland's southern border, hoping to remove the spell. It was a rare night on which the stars and moon aligned perfectly in the sky for a magical pool of water to provide a glimpse of the future. It showed her a terrible fate she would face one day."

Something about the mention of the pool and the night sky sits funny in my mind, like I've heard it before but can't place when or where or how. Like I've seen it but the image is distorted and murky under a case of glass or ice. A pool of water.

Aslan must see the recognition light up in my eyes, and he continues. "They learned that night that the same chimæra who stood before him would one day resurrect the White Witch. He had no solution for removing the spell and saving her from that fate, but he knew of one that might help and who might be capable of casting it. He proposed a spell that would forge a connection between two minds — like a bridge over a stream — and sent her in search of a dryad by the name of Pomona."

Pomona. I know that name. It strikes a chord in me like the resounding ring of a bell. Hearing his telling feels as if I'm reliving a dream.

"Your ancestor travelled far to find Pomona at Cair Paravel, asking for her help in casting the spell the hermit spoke of. It was the certainty of the White Witch's return that convinced her to cast it. Magic of the mind is a troubling thing, as I said. Such a binding spell is not cast with a light heart."

My heart is far from light as I listen. In fact, it feels like a boulder crushing my stomach and cracking my ribs. I know the spell he's talking about, and not like I know everything else he's said thus far — like a vision through water — but like I know the scars on my body. Because the spell still exists today, as real as anything and drawn tight between me and Edmund Pevensie. I can almost fill in the rest of it without much thought.

"The spell was cast between the chimæra and one who was known to endure the Witch's influence."

"Edmund," I whisper.

Aslan blinks sadly. "It was a long night of discussion until it was agreed upon for the sake of Narnia's prosperity. Such a complicated spell reaped complicated results; neither of them remembered that night but for the caster, Pomona, who took it upon herself to keep it so."

Finally, the pieces are falling into place. "She put the chip in his cup," I mutter. "So he'd think the cuts came from his teacup and not a ritual for a spell."

I remember my father telling me my birthmarks were scars in a past life. I remember Edmund fitting our hands together two days ago, noting how perfectly the marks aligned. I remember seeing the bloody dagger in a dream after the raid. And I can almost imagine the two of us in a room in Cair Paravel, cutting two lines across our thumbs and interlocking hands for our blood to mix and the spell to bridge two minds across time and space. I can feel it.

"She was me."

Aslan nods. "Chimæras reincarnate very rarely, if at all. The mark on your hand was used as a warning system for the chimæras. They knew whoever bore that mark was the one fated to resurrect the White Witch, and they wouldn't risk falling under her control."

I take a moment to let everything he's said find its place in my mind. It's nothing at all what I expected to hear, but at the same time, I already knew it. The part of me that lived it all those years ago would always know it.

The fact that I knew Edmund and he knew me thirteen centuries ago feels like the answer to the most burning question of all — the one that's been plaguing me since the start of all this: Why we felt so terrifyingly familiar to each other. And all along, I was right. The part of me that's been so sure and unafraid did know him. The rest of me was just waiting to.

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author's note

it's 1:08 am and i just finished writing this lmao i'd post it right now but i need to read over it in the morning with a fresh perspective to make sure everything makes sense and all that jazz so yeah

i'm so sorry i couldn't get it out earlier but this is my first day off work in eight days so i haven't had much of a chance to sit down and write more than 200 words. hopefully, it made sense to y'all and cleared up any questions you've had since the start of the dreams and the introduction of the connection between edmund and arryn! it's my first time writing such an important chapter with so much information to reveal, so please let me know how i did and how i might improve for next time lol

also i was super stressed writing aslan's character but i think it turned out alright?

anyways, hopefully y'all are a little shook with the history of the chimæras and how everything ties into jadis and arryn's link with edmund! i tried my best to describe it all through aslan's explanation, but i didn't want him to get too into detail and make his dialogue completely unrealistic! if there are still any questions, let me know and I'll do my best to answer!