Underland. The Dark City.
2352.
49th Year of the Reign of King Caspian X.
Sapphyre.
The low bellow of the horn echoed through the cavern, reverberating off the stone walls of the city. The watchtower's warning was clear – something approached from the Eastern Gate.
Sapphyre did not hesitate.
She turned on her heel, her boots striking the ground in sharp, purposeful strides as she moved. The knights parted instinctively, clearing a path for her. Rilian fell in step beside her without a word, his expression set in grim determination.
The Eastern Gate loomed ahead, where the city met the dark and twisted forest that stretched deep into the cavern. Unlike the structured stone and steel of Underland, the forest was wild, a chaotic tangle of gnarled roots and towering fungi that pulsed faintly with eerie bioluminescence. It was a place of shadows, where creatures lurked unseen and the very air felt thick with old, slumbering magic.
The guards at the gate stood tense, hands gripping their weapons tightly as they stared beyond the portcullis. The doors had not been breached, but something was out there—waiting.
The Heart cast a pale, unwavering glow across the darkened landscape; its light had always been a barrier, the one thing the creatures of the deep shadows dared not cross.
Sapphyre ascended the steps to the battlements, her keen blue eyes sweeping the gloom beyond the walls. The flickering torchlight did little to penetrate the darkness. She inhaled deeply, the scent of damp earth and something else—something unfamiliar—filling her lungs.
She narrowed her gaze, watching as another shadow stirred amidst the undergrowth. Then came the whisper of movement, the crunch of brittle foliage underfoot. Sapphyre knew something was wrong the moment one of the shadows stepped into the light of the Heart.
It was not hesitation that marked the creature's movement, nor the recoil of pain she had expected. Instead, the shadow-wolf moved with eerie deliberation, its long, inky form stretching unnaturally into the cold light. Its glowing eyes, twin orbs of burning amber, locked onto hers, unblinking.
Sapphyre's fingers tightened around the hilt of her sword. The shadows had always feared the light. The light had always burned them.
But the one before her did not burn.
A ripple of unease slithered down her spine.
She could hear Rilian's breath hitch beside her, a soft, near-silent sound that only someone attuned to him would have noticed.
He had seen it too.
More wolves slithered from the forest, sleek and silent, their movements like ink spilling over stone. Some skirted the edge of the light as they always had, lurking where the glow began to thin. But others… others followed the first.
Sapphyre inhaled deeply, steadying herself.
Something had changed.
Something had emboldened them.
Her gaze flicked beyond the wolves, past the shifting mass of darkness that twisted through the trees. There, deeper in the forest, something else moved – something that did not step forward. Something that lingered just beyond sight.
A low growl rumbled from the wolf in the light. It was the only warning she had before it lunged.
Sapphyre was already moving.
Her sword met the creature mid-leap, steel flashing, cutting through fur and shadow alike. The wolf yelped, its body crumpling as dark ichor splattered against the stone. But there was no time to pause. Another lunged from the side, and she pivoted sharply, blade slicing upward in a clean, brutal arc.
Rilian was beside her, his own sword carving through the darkness, their movements perfectly in sync. The battle was fast, vicious, but beneath the adrenaline thrumming through her veins, that unease remained.
The wolves were not retreating.
Sapphyre moved without thought, her body a honed weapon, her sword an extension of her will. Rilian was at her side, and though she had not planned for it, she found herself falling into step with him, their movements aligning.
She struck low, sweeping her blade through the legs of a lunging shadow-wolf, while Rilian's sword arced high, cutting through another's throat. The creatures dissolved into inky wisps before they even hit the ground.
For a moment, they fought back-to-back, their breaths steady, their rhythm unbroken. She felt the heat of him, the solidness of his presence.
It was instinctive, the way she moved in tandem with him. The way she trusted him to guard her back as she guarded his. It was not something she wished to dwell upon, especially not in that moment.
Another wolf lunged, its amber eyes burning, and she pivoted sharply, cutting through its flank. She didn't have to look to know that Rilian had already struck down the one that had tried to reach her blind spot.
And still, the wolves did not retreat.
A low snarl to her left.
Another shadow slipping through the cracks of the light.
Sapphyre's grip tightened around her sword.
Her sword was an extension of herself, an unerring instrument of her will. She did not think; she did not hesitate. She merely moved, her body flowing through the familiar, disciplined dance of combat.
She twisted, her blade slicing through the shadowy form of a lunging wolf, the darkness parting before her like water. The creature let out a soundless cry before dissolving into nothing. Even before it was gone, she was already turning, already anticipating the next attack.
Her body knew what to do before her mind could command it. Muscle and memory guided her, honed by years of training, by countless battles waged in the depths of Underland.
A snarl behind her. She ducked low, her feet pivoting smoothly on the dark-stone ground as she swung her blade in a perfect arc. The silver edge caught the creature mid-leap, cutting through its throat before it could sink its fangs into her.
She straightened fluidly, her breath steady, her pulse even.
Another wolf lunged—this one from her blind spot. But she did not flinch. Did not break stride.
Because Rilian was already there.
His sword cut through the beast a mere breath before it could reach her, its form collapsing into shadow.
And just like that, they were moving together again, an unspoken understanding between them.
She did not question it. Did not question the way he matched her pace, the way he shifted seamlessly to fill the gaps in her defence.
She had trained warriors for years, had drilled them in the art of battle, in the importance of trust and precision. And yet, this was not something that could be taught. It was instinct, born of countless years moving together. The two of them moved in perfect synchrony, blades flashing, bodies weaving between one another in a deadly rhythm. It was effortless.
And for the first time in a long time, Sapphyre felt something close to exhilaration.
Her sword was an extension of herself, an unerring instrument of her will. She did not think; she did not hesitate. She merely moved, her body flowing through the familiar, disciplined dance of combat.
She twisted, her blade slicing through the shadowy form of a lunging wolf, the darkness parting before her like water. The creature let out a soundless cry before dissolving into nothing. Even before it was gone, she was already turning, already anticipating the next attack.
Her body knew what to do before her mind could command it. Muscle and memory guided her, honed by years of training, by countless battles waged in the depths of Underland.
A thick, curling mist stole across the battlefield, slithering along the ground like a living thing. It was a deep, unnatural green, shimmering faintly in the dim light of the Heart.
The wolves faltered.
Their snarls turned to whimpers, their glowing amber eyes darting wildly as they shrank away from the mist. One by one, they turned, yelping as they bolted back into the darkness of the forest, vanishing as swiftly as they had come.
The eerie quiet that followed was almost more unsettling than the battle itself.
Sapphyre exhaled, lowering her blade but not releasing it entirely. She knew that magic. She knew its touch, its scent, the way it moved like creeping ivy, both beautiful and suffocating.
Her sister's power.
She scanned the battlefield. The knights of Underland were breathing heavily, some leaning on their weapons, others exchanging wary glances. But they were unharmed. Victorious.
Sapphyre rolled her shoulders and stepped forward, her voice cutting through the silence.
"Secure the perimeter," she ordered, her tone brisk, giving them purpose before they could linger too long in unease. "Check the fallen, ensure none of the wolves remain."
The knights snapped into action, moving swiftly to obey.
Rilian stood beside her, his sword still in hand. His deep indigo eyes flicked toward her, then to the mist that still clung to the ground, dissipating slowly.
The mist curled around their feet, fading into the night as the eerie silence stretched. And then, as if the very air had shifted, she was there.
Emerylda. Flanked by two of the black-armoured queens-guard, their armour pristine and unmarred.
She did not walk as others did – she glided, as though the world itself bent to her will, unwilling to burden her with the weight of mortal steps. The torches caught the shimmer of her gown, and it rippled like liquid emeralds, each movement a cascade of green fire. The silken fabric clung to her form before flowing in graceful folds down the steps, pooling like the richest of tapestries at her feet.
Her beauty was otherworldly, unsettling in its perfection.
Pale as moonlight, her skin gleamed with an almost translucent quality, untouched by the warmth of the sun. Her deep auburn hair, braided tightly to her head, shimmered with hints of burnished copper where the light struck. And then there were her eyes – so green they nearly glowed, the colour of untouched jade, of spring leaves kissed by starlight.
Sapphyre stood straighter as Emerylda came to her side, her presence shifting the weight of the moment entirely. They stood together, shoulder to shoulder, silent sentinels in the wake of battle.
Emerylda's gaze lingered – just a breath too long – on Rilian.
Sapphyre did not turn her head, but she noticed. The slight narrowing of those green eyes, the flicker of consideration.
What was she seeing when she looked at Rilian?
"The shadow-wolves were drawn to the Heart," Emerylda mused at last, her voice smooth as flowing water. It was a voice that wove itself into minds, commanding attention without ever needing to be raised. "They feed on magic, Sapphyre. They have always feasted on the dryads, on the nature sprites… but now, I think, they hunger for something greater."
"You think it was orchestrated?"
Emerylda simply gave a lazy smile. "Did my Dark Knight do well?"
Not an answer.
Her sister looked to Rilian once more.
He stood among the knights, his chest rising and falling in steady breaths, his sword still in hand but angled toward the ground. There was something raw about him in that moment – more rugged than usual, his bearing tempered by the fight.
His skin was flushed from battle, a faint sheen of sweat catching the torchlight, making him seem almost gilded in the dim glow. The indigo of his eyes burned with intensity, bright and sharp as cut sapphires, still alive with the rush of combat. His dark hair was tousled, strands falling loose around his face, an unkempt contrast to the carefully-groomed man he often was. There was a quiet confidence in his stance, a certainty in his movements, but there was also something restless in the way his fingers flexed around the hilt of his sword.
He was watching her.
Not the other knights, not the retreating shadows of the wolves – her.
And she hated that it made her feel anything at all.