Terebinthia.
2307.
4th Year of the Reign of King Caspian X.
Liliandil.
The morning light filtered through the high windows, casting golden beams across the marble floor.
Needless opulence.
Liliandil sat upon the edge of a cushioned divan, her shoulders weighed down by exhaustion and the ever-present chain.
Across the chamber, Prince Boltan stood before a grand wooden table, its surface strewn with ancient tomes and scrolls. His fingers traced the faded ink of a passage, his expression dark with contemplation.
He turned to her, his gaze never leaving her face. "I have read the stories, star. Stars do not just shine. In the beginning of time that stars fought. They wielded magic that could set the seas ablaze and turn the very sky against their enemies. They stood beside Aslan in the greatest of wars."
She remained silent, her expression impassive, but her hands tightened in her lap.
He had spent the night reading, poring over accounts of battles long past – of wars in which the stars themselves had fought beside Aslan. They had been his warriors against the darkness, against their old enemy.
Liliandil knew what he sought.
Her father had warned her of men like him.
"I want that power," he continued, stepping towards her. "And you, little star, will show it to me."
Liliandil forced herself to meet his eyes. "It is not yours to command."
Boltan smirked, and reached forward to brush his fingers against the golden chain. "Then let us see if that is true." His grip tightened, and with a swift motion, he unclasped the chain from her neck.
It fell away, and the weight she had borne was suddenly gone.
Liliandil stepped backwards, but nothing changed. No surge of power, no radiant light. The silence within her remained.
Boltan's smirk faltered. "Show me," he demanded, his voice edged with frustration. "Call upon your power."
She exhaled shakily, pressing a hand to her chest, searching for something – anything – but there was only emptiness.
It had not simply been the gold chain that was supressing her magic.
She could not reach it.
At all.
A cold dread settled over her.
What if it never returned?
What if it had been stripped away forever?
A hollow ache formed in her chest as the weight of her choices bore down on her. She never should have left her father's island. She never should have volunteered to guide the Dawn Treader to the Beginning of the End of the World. She had thought she was answering a noble calling, but what if she had only doomed herself?
Her hands clenched in her lap as a tremor of fear coursed through her. She had always believed that stars could not fall.
But what if she had been wrong?
Liliandil stared at her hands, which had once been vessels of light, but were simply pale, trembling things in her lap. The connection she had always felt – the hum of distant celestial bodies, the pull of the heavens – was gone. A void remained where her essence had once thrived. She was untethered, severed from everything she had ever known.
Boltan was watching her intently. She could feel the weight of his gaze, analysing, waiting. His smugness had faded, replaced by something more calculating. She did not need magic to sense his thoughts. He had expected resistance, rage, or perhaps an explosion of power. Instead, he had been met with something else entirely – emptiness.
His eyes narrowed as he took in every flicker of her expression. He saw the way her shoulders tensed, the way her fingers curled inward as if grasping for something unseen. He saw the subtle tremor in her lips, the flicker of panic she tried to suppress.
"Fascinating," he murmured, stepping closer. "You are afraid."
She did not answer. She would not give him that satisfaction.
Even without her power, she had her pride.
"You can't call it, can you?" he continued, his voice laced with dark amusement. "The great daughter of the stars, reduced to this." He tilted his head, studying her as though she were an artifact of interest rather than a living being. "Tell me, little star, what does it feel like? To be ordinary? To be powerless?"
Liliandil shut her eyes for a moment, forcing down the lump rising in her throat. There were no words that could capture the depth of what she had lost. It was as though she had been cast into an endless abyss, reaching for light that would never come.
But she would not let him see her shatter.
Instead, she lifted her chin ever so slightly, meeting his gaze with quiet defiance. "You mistake absence for weakness," she said, her voice steadier than she felt. "Even the stars fade before dawn, but they are never truly gone."
Boltan studied her for a long moment before chuckling. "We shall see."
…
Galma.
Caspian.
As the evening stretched on and the maps lay before them, Caspian knew there were many more questions he needed answers to. The situation was more complicated than a simple rescue mission – it was tangled with politics, power struggles, and deep-rooted tensions. The island of Terebinthia was a strange place, and he could sense that Lezlea knew far more about its affairs than she had let on.
She was holding back.
He turned to her, his brow furrowed. "Lezlea, tell me more about what's happening on Terebinthia. Why has Boltan—his son—suddenly risen to power? What is truly happening?"
Lezlea's gaze flickered toward the window, her expression briefly clouded as she seemed to weigh her words. The air in the room grew heavier, as if the past had crept into the present.
She sighed.
"Terebinthia has long been a place of instability," she began. "Boltan's father named himself king during the reign of Miraz – but he is a decrepit aging man. He's been a shadow of himself for years, too weak to truly rule. Growing thicker in the waist as well as in the mind."
Caspian leaned forward, his attention fixed on her. "And you? What is your role in all of this?"
Lezlea's eyes darkened as she continued. "Two years ago, I was presented with a marriage proposal from Boltan. At the time, it seemed like the right thing to do—he was a prince, and our alliance could have brought peace to the islands. But something about him... something in his eyes, the way he spoke... I refused him. I told him no."
Caspian's eyes widened, though he didn't interrupt. He could see the weight of that decision in her posture, the lingering shadow it cast over her.
"Boltan did not take kindly to the rejection," she said softly. "He is a man who has never been told no. He is dangerous, Caspian—not in the way his father is, but in the way a spoiled child is dangerous when he's never been denied anything. His sense of entitlement, his impatience, his need for control... it makes him unpredictable."
"You've given me much to think about," Caspian said, his voice heavy with resolve. It was not simply about rescuing Liliandil and bringing the 'pirates' to justice. "We cannot allow this so called 'Prince' Boltan to succeed."
Caspian felt a deep frustration bubble up as they lady's words settled over him.
Everything about the attack came into sharper focus, but it didn't make the situation any easier to accept. The Terebinthians had attacked them at Boltan's command, not for the riches or resources of Galma, but to conquer and to make them suffer.
A deliberate act of cruelty, meant to demonstrate power and dominance.
He had likely thought that the Dawn Treader was one of Galma's vessels.
"Why did you not call for aid?" Caspian asked. They had known of the threat for so long, yet there had been no plea for help, no message to their king, their Duke. Why had she and Galma chosen to handle things alone?
Lezlea stood silent for a moment, as if pondering how to answer him. Her gaze hardened as her thoughts seemed to crystallize. When she finally spoke, her voice was calm, though laced with a raw honesty that seemed to catch him off guard. "You asked me to speak frankly with you, and so I shall," she said, her brown-grey eyes meeting his with an unwavering gaze. "I did not think you would answer. You are the liege of Galma only in name. You'd never been here before your visit on your voyage. No King had. We are very much left to our own devices, and we are used to that. I had no trust in a King I had never met, nor any Lord before me. My father is your acting Duke, and that is all I've ever known."
Her words stung more than he expected.
She was right, in a way.
Caspian had taken on the mantle of leadership for Narnia with a young heart, eager to do right by his people and the world. Yet, in that far-flung island, he had been nothing but a stranger—a title without substance.
Galma had been abandoned in their time of need, left to fend for themselves without any hope of royal support.
Like Narrowhaven on Doorn.
Like Felimath and Avra.
Like Terebinthia.
Caspian was left momentarily speechless, struggling to find the right response. He could feel the weight of his absence, the years of neglect that had built up to this point.
It was only after a long silence that he found his voice. "I am here now."
Lezlea studied him for a long moment, her gaze softening ever so slightly. Then, as if the ice had been broken, she gave him a small, small smile. "Yes. Yes, you are."
The simplicity of her words hit him harder than he expected. There was no accusation, no bitterness—just an acceptance of the present, of what could be. The smile held a quiet trust in the moment that felt like both a challenge and a promise.
And Caspian, looking into her eyes, realized something.
That moment, that decision mattered. It would make all the difference.
He would not allow Galma, or Liliandil, or the people who had been cast aside to suffer because of past neglect. He would prove himself now, to the people of Galma, to Lezlea, and to himself.
He stood a little taller, his resolve solidifying. "I will not let you face this alone. I am here, Lea. And I will make sure it makes all the difference."
Lezlea's eyes flickered with something—perhaps hope, perhaps a quiet acknowledgment that his words were more than just empty promises. She nodded slowly. "Then we will face Boltan together. And please, call me Lea."
…
Terebinthia.
Boltan.
The scent of salt and rotting wood clung to the damp air as Boltan stepped onto the deserted dock. The moon hung low, its silver light barely piercing the thick mist that curled around the moored ship like ghostly fingers. The privateers – mercenaries, really – waited for him, their leader standing apart, his stance easy yet watchful, like a wolf ready to pounce.
"Prince Boltan," the captain drawled, tipping his hat in a mockery of respect. "Didn't think we'd be meeting in such a place. Almost makes a man feel... secretive."
Boltan did not acknowledge the jab. "You have news for me."
"Aye." The captain folded his arms, the smirk never leaving his weathered face. "The fleet will be here in a month's time, give or take. Wind willing. We'll be ready." His dark eyes gleamed. "Will you?"
Boltan's jaw tightened. He had waited too long, planned too carefully to let doubt fester. But his father – his father still held too much power.
So, he had a month.
To bring the star to heel and overthrow his father.
He needed her magic.
He had glimpsed the power of a star but once. That blinding radiance – a raw, celestial force.
He had know what he was the moment he had seen her.
He would break her – make her his weapon – and then no fleet, no kingdom, not even his own father would stand in his way.
The captain studied him, waiting. Boltan let out a slow breath, pushing away his impatience. "I will send for you when the time is right. Be ready to move the moment I give the order."
The captain's smirk widened. "Oh, we'll be ready. Just make sure you are."
Boltan turned, his cloak sweeping behind him as he strode back toward the shadows. His time would come.
And when it did, the world would burn.