Somewhere beyond the shores of Terebinthia.
2307.
Ten and one nights til the full moon.
4th Year of the Reign of King Caspian X.
Drinian.
Drinian sat at the helm, his grip on the oars firm and steady as the boat rocked gently in the water. The wind was mild, the weather mercifully calm as the darkness hid them; their path illuminated by the moonlight. But his mind churned, restless and sharp, aware of just how little control they had over their situation.
Terebinthia was now a dark smudge on the horizon, fading fast. His gaze lingered over the water, eyes searching for any sign of pursuit. There was no immediate threat, not that he could see, but that did not mean they were safe.
He'd had to act quickly, improvising, doing what he could with the limited resources they had. He hadn't expected to be stranded in such a way, without maps, without tools, and without a plan. His usual strategies – those that had seen him through countless missions and skirmishes – were useless. They didn't have the luxury of time or preparation.
"How far do you think we are from Galma?" Liliandil's voice broke through his thoughts, quiet but steady, like the rhythm of the boat's movement.
He glanced at her, noting the strain in her features, though she tried to hide it. "I can't say for certain," he replied, trying to mask the uncertainty in his voice. "Not without the proper tools to navigate. But if the weather holds, we might make it to the nearest shore within a day or two."
Liliandil gave a slow nod, her expression unreadable in the dim light. He couldn't help but notice how composed she seemed, even after everything she had been through.
Her gaze was fixed ahead, her posture more upright than it had been on the Dawn Treader. There was a quiet, steady confidence in the way she carried herself, a stark contrast to the uncertainty that had plagued her when she had reminded him of a newborn foal. When she had delighted in everything she had been shown.
Her eyes, once filled with a soft vulnerability, shone with a fire that made him pause. It was as though something deep inside her had awakened. She had always been strong – he'd seen that in her from the start – but there was a new layer to her strength.
A rawness.
A surety.
Still, the toll of everything she had endured was clear. Her skin, once radiant, had grown paler, the faint trace of sun-kissed warmth absent. She had lost weight – her shapely frame was leaner, the sharpness of her bones more apparent beneath the thin fabric of her clothes. And the dark circles beneath her eyes spoke of sleepless nights.
Drinian had seen the same transformation in many sailors in the years he'd spent fighting for survival, but it was different with her. Liliandil wasn't hardened by a lifetime of battle or years of training. She was hardened by something deeper. He couldn't pinpoint what it was that made her so different now, but the change was undeniable.
For a moment, his gaze lingered on her, trying to understand. To make sense of the new woman who sat before him – the woman who was still familiar, but not quite the same. It wasn't just the outward transformation, but the quiet power that radiated from her.
She seemed…untouchable, in a way.
More so than when she had quite literally fallen from the sky, glowing.
It made him wonder: how would his king react to the woman before him?
The boat creaked as he shifted his weight, his thoughts returning to the immediate danger. They couldn't afford to be caught out here. If they were, they wouldn't last long. The sea could turn treacherous without warning. And without any of his usual equipment—no compass, no charts, no map of the area—they were adrift, reliant on little more than luck.
His eyes scanned the horizon again, scanning for any sign of movement. His instincts, honed from years of experience, told him they weren't alone. But whether they were being pursued or if it was merely the paranoia of someone who had narrowly escaped death, he couldn't say.
Drinian's brow furrowed as he stared at the open sea, his fingers brushing the edges of the sail, a sense of unease creeping through him. The steady rhythm of the boat against the water was almost soothing, but the uncertainty of their situation gnawed at him.
"I'll be honest, my lady," he said, his voice low and steady, breaking the silence between them. "I don't know how we're going to make it to Galma."
Liliandil glanced at him, her eyes sharp despite the exhaustion that still lingered in her features.
"No maps. No charts." Drinian continued, his tone carrying the weight of the frustration he had been holding in. "I've no way to navigate these waters. And even if we could, it would be foolish to try for the Seven Isles in a boat like this."
The boat was small, barely enough to carry them both and a few supplies, and the sea stretched out before them, vast and unpredictable. The faint light from the stars above only highlighted the isolation they faced.
"I'm not sure we can make it safely." He turned to her then, his expression full of resolve, though there was doubt flickering in his eyes. The thought of the unknown ahead filled him with a growing sense of urgency.
Liliandil let out a soft, unexpected laugh – a sound that felt strange and almost foreign, the first he'd heard from her since that night on the docks of Terebinthia, he had seen her stealing through the shadows by chance. She lifted her sleeves, turning her palms toward the sky, the faint light of her freckles gleaming in the moonlight.
Drinian blinked in confusion, about to ask what she was doing, but before he could speak, she quietly said, "Captain, I'm a guiding star."
His confusion deepened as he watched her, her skin faintly glowing beneath the moonlight.
"A guiding star?" he repeated, his voice low, trying to grasp her meaning.
Liliandil's gaze flickered to the horizon before returning to him, and her lips curved into a faint, almost rueful smile. She lowered her arms, but the glow of her freckles lingered for a moment, like starlight that refused to fade.
Drinian stared at her palms, the freckles scattered across her skin, faintly glowing under the quarter-moon's soft light. It took him a moment, but as he traced the delicate patterns, something clicked. Those freckles, shimmering like distant stars, were not random. They mirrored the constellations above – arranged with a purpose.
She had guided them to the Beginning of the End of the World.
Her skin was a map.
The realization swept over him, a ripple of awe catching in his chest.
"You—" His voice faltered for a moment as he processed what it meant. "You're a star. Of course. You can navigate us."
She nodded, her eyes meeting his with a quiet certainty, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. The glow of her freckles flickered softly, like stars blinking to life.