Underland. The Dark City.
2352.
49th Year of the Reign of King Caspian X.
Sapphyre.
It was early morning, the air in Underland always thick with a chill, even at the height of the day, but the coolness didn't bother her. The Dark City had a way of seeping into the bones, its dampness and weight becoming as familiar as breath. It had become a part of her, as much as the blood that ran through her veins.
The air in the training yards was thick with the scent of sweat and steel. Blades clashed in a steady rhythm, boots pounded against the packed earth, and the sharp commands of instructors cut through the murmurs of sparring knights. Sapphyre moved through the space with measured steps, her cape trailing behind her, the deep blue fabric catching the dim glow of the enchanted torches lining the walls.
Beyond the yards, the barracks loomed – stone structures built for efficiency rather than comfort. From within, the sounds of armour being adjusted, weapons sharpened, and low-voiced conversations drifted into the open air.
Just beyond the barracks stood the great walls of the castle, tall and unyielding, separating the disciplined order of the stronghold from the sprawling city beyond. The tunnel-like gates were shut, but Sapphyre knew that on the other side, the streets twisted in a labyrinth of dark stone and flickering lanterns.
Sapphyre watched in silence, her arms crossed as Acastin moved among the knights, barking commands that rang through the training yard. The knights followed without hesitation, their swords striking in perfect arcs, shields rising in practiced motions. Yet despite their skill, something was missing.
They moved as individuals – strong, disciplined, and lethal – but not as one.
Their strikes lacked cohesion; their footwork was mismatched. Acastin corrected them where he could, adjusting a stance here, a grip there, but Sapphyre could see it plainly. A unit that did not move as one would fall as many.
Order was not enough.
Discipline was not enough.
They had to trust each other as much as they trusted their steel.
And trust… that was far harder to forge than a blade.
Sapphyre's gaze flicked to Acastin, her first knight, her second-in-command. He stood taller than the others, a formidable figure among the sea of armoured warriors. His sharp hazel-green eyes were ever watchful, missing nothing as he moved between the knights, correcting stances with a sharp word or a firm adjustment. His oak-brown hair, damp with sweat, clung to his forehead, but he paid it no mind, focused entirely on the task at hand.
He had been with her since the beginning, since the first foundations of their order had been laid in the unforgiving land. Acastin understood what was at stake. He knew as well as she did that strength alone would not be enough.
Sapphyre had no doubt that Emerylda was watching as well, even if not with her own eyes. The queen never rested, never stopped testing, never ceased ensuring that her will would be carried out without question. And so, Sapphyre would see to it that her knights were ready – because whatever trial was coming, Emerylda would not tolerate failure.
Without waiting for a reply, Sapphyre stepped forward, raising her hand in a sharp gesture. "All knights, form up!" she called. Her voice rang out over the yard, and one by one, the knights stopped, turning to face her with an eerie synchronicity.
The drills halted, the movement stilling like a wave before it broke.
Sapphyre felt the weight of their eyes on her, the heavy silence of expectation settling over the yard. She let the silence stretch, the weight of her presence pressing on them. Then she gave the command:
"Attack me."
A heartbeat passed.
The first knight moved – too eager, too reckless. His boots barely scuffed the dirt before she was already reacting. She sidestepped smoothly, her blade flicking out, catching the flat of his sword and sending it clattering from his grip. In the same motion, she pivoted, elbow slamming into his ribs. He gasped, crumpling to his knees.
Another came at her from behind. She heard his armour shift, felt the disturbance in the air before he even swung. Without looking, she turned, raising her blade in a lazy parry. His strike met hers with a clang of steel. He pushed forward with all his strength, but Sapphyre simply tilted her blade and redirected his force, letting him stumble past her before she kicked his legs out from under him.
She did not rush.
There was no need.
The next three knights charged at once – better, but still not good enough.
She flowed between them like water, stepping just outside their reach, guiding their strikes into empty air. One knight overextended, and she caught his wrist, twisting it sharply until his sword dropped from his fingers. She turned that same momentum into a downward strike, catching the second knight in the back of the knee, sending him sprawling. The third barely had time to react before she had ducked beneath his blade and driven her pommel into his chest, knocking the breath from his lungs.
Acastin watched from the sidelines, his sharp hazel-green eyes unreadable. He had fought beside her for years, knew her skill well, yet still, his gaze held something close to admiration. Or perhaps calculation.
Around her, the knights groaned, gathering themselves from the ground.
Sapphyre exhaled, lowering her blade. Her breath was steady, her expression unreadable. Not a hair out of place.
Not a bead of sweat on her brow.
"Again," she said, her voice calm, unwavering. "And this time—fight as one."
The knights straightened, their breathing still heavy from their failed attempt, but Sapphyre saw the flicker of understanding in their eyes.
Good.
She stepped back, rolling her shoulders, her sword held lazily at her side, her gaze sweeping over the men she had shaped, the men she had forged from the dark stone of Underland into something more than just soldiers. They had the potential to be the finest knights in the land, if they could learn to think beyond their rigid training.
She would teach them that – one fight at a time.
Sapphyre's Knights were the backbone of Underland's defence, their reach extending far beyond the dark stone walls of the castle, across the treacherous marshes, through the cavernous tunnels, and into every shadowed corner of their realm.
They were the first line of protection against whatever threats lurked beyond the borders, fiercely guarding the kingdom from anything that might seek to unravel the fragile peace they had fought to build in this forsaken land.
"You are not trying to defeat me to secure your own victory," she said, her voice measured. "In this yard, you are all Knights of Underland, and in this moment am your foe."
They needed to stop thinking of themselves as individuals, seeking their own moments of triumph. That was not how true warriors fought. That was not how they would survive what was coming.
Acastin crossed his arms, watching as the knights regrouped. They exchanged glances, wordlessly shifting into a formation.
Better.
Then, they came at her together.
The first strike came from her right – a feint meant to draw her attention while another knight lunged at her side. Clever, but she had seen it before. She twisted, parrying one blade while knocking aside the other with her wing. The next two knights advanced in unison, their swords flashing in the dim light. Sapphyre ducked beneath the first strike, her foot sweeping out to knock one off balance.
A blade whistled toward her shoulder. She caught the movement in her peripheral vision and spun, bringing her sword up in a sharp arc to deflect the blow. The force sent a tremor up her arm, but she did not falter.
For a brief moment, they had her surrounded.
Good.
But they did not strike at her immediately.
Unsure.
They hesitated.
Sapphyre moved like a storm breaking through their ranks. She slid past one knight, twisting his sword arm behind him and using him as a shield against another's strike. With a fluid motion, she shoved him forward, sending both tumbling. She pivoted, her boot slamming into the chest of the nearest knight, sending him staggering backward.
Acastin smirked, shaking his head. "Still not good enough."
Sapphyre adjusted her stance. "Again."
I shall stand as a shield for those who cannot defend themselves and uphold justice with fairness to all.
They moved differently. Sapphyre saw it in the shift of their stances, the way they adjusted their footing with newfound purpose. They were not merely attacking her – they were protecting each other.
The words of their Code was forefront, unspoken yet present in every movement they made. When one knight advanced, another covered his blind spot. When one overextended, another was there to shield him from reprisal. They were learning.
Sapphyre fought to hide the smile that threatened to crack across her lips.
One came at her high, another low.
She swept aside the high strike with the flat of her blade and stepped back just in time to evade the sweeping cut aimed at her legs. Before she could counter, a third knight closed the gap, his sword cutting an arc toward her ribs. She twisted, deflecting it with her vambrace.
Better.
Much better.
She moved with deliberate control, striking but never wounding, parrying but never yielding. She let them press her, let them believe, if only for a moment, that they were gaining the upper hand.
Then, with a sudden shift, she turned their own coordination against them. A pivot, a feint, a single precise kick sent one knight stumbling into another, their formation faltering. She spun through the opening like a shadow through torchlight, knocking the weapons from their hands before they could recover.
The last knight standing hesitated, his breath ragged. His sword wavered for only a moment—but a moment was all she needed. With a sharp flick of her wrist, she disarmed him, sending his blade clattering to the ground.
Silence.
Sapphyre exhaled, stepping back. The knights, though winded, held their heads high. She met Acastin's gaze, seeing the approval in his sharp hazel-green eyes. "That was better," he said.
Sapphyre allowed herself the smallest nod. "Yes," she murmured, surveying the tired but determined warriors before her. "Again."
…
Underland. The Dark City.
Rilian.
Rilian stood at the edge of the training yard, his dark eyes fixed on Sapphyre as she moved with effortless grace, her blade flashing in the dim light. She was a force of nature, relentless, precise – each knight she faced seemed to fall under her command as easily as a leaf before the wind.
He had never seen anyone like her.
Her beauty, too, was undeniable, though it was something more than just her physical appearance – beyond her copper braids and her luminous blue eyes and creamy skin. It was in the way she carried herself, in the sharpness of her movements, in the strength that radiated from her every step. Even in the cold, unforgiving atmosphere of Underland, she seemed untouchable, ethereal – almost as though she had been carved from the very stone of the land itself.
Rilian couldn't tear his gaze away from her.
It wasn't just her beauty, though that certainly held him captive – it was the way she commanded the knights, her authority unwavering, her discipline unmatched. He had always respected strength, and she embodied it in every sense of the word.
The clash of swords echoed through the yard, a symphony of steel that filled the air with its intensity. Sapphyre moved through each knight like a shadow, her strikes so fluid and fast that they left no room for the men to respond. Her eyes remained cold and calculating, never giving away a hint of emotion, but there was something fierce about her – something that kept Rilian rooted to the spot.
He barely noticed the time passing, so consumed was he by the sight of her in action, until suddenly, the deep, resonant blast of a horn cut through the air, shattering the rhythm of the training.