Underland. The Dark City.
2352.
49th Year of the Reign of King Caspian X.
Sapphyre.
The warmth of the hearth crackled in the grand black stone fireplace, but it did little to banish the ever-present chill that clung to the air, a coldness woven into the very bones of the Dark City. The room was vast, lined with towering pillars of the same smooth, dark stone, their stark presence only softened by the rich emerald and silver tapestries that adorned the walls. The great crystal light above cast its eerie glow, pale and cold, illuminating intricate embroidery – depictions of twisting serpents, entwined vines, and great battles long since lost to time.
Plush chaise lounges, deep emerald and decadently soft, were scattered throughout, their presence an attempt to bring luxury to a chamber built from shadow. Upon one of them, Emerylda was draped with effortless elegance, her long limbs stretched out, the dark silk of her gown pooling around her like liquid night.
She was at ease, as if the very walls of the city bent to her presence rather than the other way around.
Sapphyre stood near the hearth, though she felt no warmth from it. She had never needed it, never sought comfort in fire or light. Her place had always been at her sister's side, in the spaces where cold logic and unwavering loyalty held more weight than mere warmth.
She did not sit.
Emerylda's gaze flicked to her, unreadable, the flickering firelight casting sharp shadows across her features.
"Why did you not tell me?" Sapphyre's voice was quiet, but even she could detect the edge to it that she tried to hide – something frayed, something strained. And she hated herself for it.
Weakness.
Emerylda did not answer immediately. She merely studied her sister, the flickering firelight reflecting in the sharp angles of her face. Then, with that slow, deliberate grace that was uniquely hers, she rose from the emerald chaise.
Her silk robes whispered against the cold stone floor as she crossed the space between them, her presence carrying the weight of something unspoken. When she reached Sapphyre, she lifted a hand, fingers brushing against her cheek with the same careful touch she always reserved for her.
"Sapph," she murmured, tilting her head ever so slightly. "You already have so much that you do. I did not need to involve you in this as well."
"Why?"
"What do you mean why?"
Sapphyre clenched her jaw. She had not meant for the word to slip out – it was not like her to let exhaustion unravel her control – but she was so tired.
She wanted to demand more from her sister, to push past the half-answers and gentle evasions. But instead, she exhaled slowly, forcing the tension from her shoulders.
She needed to rest.
She was no use to Emerylda if she was not at her best.
So, she swallowed the words still lingering on her tongue and said instead, "It is not my place to question you, Your Majesty."
A flicker of something passed through Emerylda's gaze.
For a moment, just a moment, her sister softened.
Her fingers, usually cool and deliberate, lingered against Sapphyre's cheek, the pad of her thumb brushing lightly over her skin, as if she were memorizing something long forgotten. It was not the touch of a queen, nor a ruler – it was the touch of a sister.
It was a rare thing, but it tugged at the strings of Sapphyre's heart – an echo of who her sister had once been, before the weight of survival had reshaped them both. Before their home was lost, before they had fled into the dark and remade themselves into something else.
Before they had learned that survival demanded sacrifice.
Emerylda had once been open, full of easy laughter and light. Carefree.
Sapphyre had been reckless, bold, believing that the world would always bend in their favour.
But that had been a lifetime ago.
Underland had demanded more of them.
It had taken that warmth and that recklessness and burned them away, leaving only what was necessary – what was needed to lead, to endure.
They had both changed.
And yet, standing there in the cold chamber, in the flickering glow of the fire that gave no warmth, Sapphyre glimpsed the woman her sister had once been.
A touch softer. A breath of familiarity in a place where they had been forced to become strangers, even to themselves.
Then, like mist upon a frozen lake, it was gone.
Emerylda stepped back, retreating into the role she had carved for herself – the queen, the ruler, the one who did not bend.
"We will speak of this another time," she said, her voice once more smooth, unreadable.
And Sapphyre, weary beyond words, only nodded.
Sapphyre left her sister's parlour in silence, the weight of their conversation settling over her like a shroud. The emerald and silver of Emerylda's chambers faded behind her as she walked through the cold halls of the Dark Castle, her boots echoing against the stone.
Her own chambers were stark in comparison – bare walls of black stone, the only adornment a single silver tapestry that stretched from ceiling to floor, her deep cerulean bedding.
She unclasped her cloak first, letting the heavy fabric slip from her shoulders, pooling at her feet. The deep blue shimmer of it caught the dim light – an artifact of their past, woven with threads that shifted like starlight.
Next came the leather armour, piece by piece, until it was nothing but a memory against her skin. It had been made in their home world, crafted to move with her no matter the form she took. There was no such fabric in Narnia or Underland – nothing that would shift with her when her body changed.
Another reminder of what had been lost.
She stood there for a long moment, in nothing but the thin tunic beneath, her fingers brushing absently over the old scars along her arms. The candlelight flickered, casting restless shadows across the chamber walls—walls that were not hers, not truly.
They had built a kingdom.
Sapphyre had fought to defend it, to ensure its foundations were rooted in something stronger than the shifting sands of memory. She had shed blood in its name.
And yet, despite everything, despite the power they had carved out in the dark, she had never stopped feeling like a stranger in a world that was not her own.
She exhaled softly, forcing the thoughts away. It was a useless thing, this longing. The past was dead, and she had no use for ghosts.
She needed to meditate – to clear her thoughts before they consumed her.
Crossing the chamber, she lowered herself onto the woven mat near the brazier, its embers still smouldering. The scent of burnt cedar lingered in the air, sharp yet grounding. Sapphyre closed her eyes and exhaled slowly, drawing in the warmth, the steady rhythm of her own breathing, willing herself to silence the noise in her mind.
She had been trained for it – trained to master not just the blade but the chaos within. Yet tonight, her thoughts resisted.
Memories of another life clawed at the edges of her focus. The sound of crashing waves, the taste of salt on her lips, the glimmer of a golden city that no longer existed. The name was a ghost on her tongue, forbidden even in solitude.
Her fingers twitched against her knee, aching to grasp something tangible.
But there was nothing. No sand beneath her feet, no ocean breeze against her skin. Only that room, that moment, that fragile illusion of control.
Sapphyre inhaled deeply and let the memories drift like mist, untethered and weightless.
A knock upon the door startled her from her thoughts.
She exhaled slowly, gathering herself. "Enter."
Sapphyre remained seated, her fingers still poised against her knee, though her body tensed in the slightest way. She had felt him before he knocked, an almost imperceptible shift in the air, the quiet footfalls just outside her chamber. And yet, when the door creaked open and Rilian stepped inside, she found herself unprepared.
His usual easy confidence dimmed the moment their eyes met. His smile faltered—not in hesitation, but in something else. Something she couldn't name.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The flickering brazier cast long shadows between them, the dim light catching the silver at his temple, the curve of his jaw.
Sapphyre had spent years reading people, anticipating their movements before they made them. But Rilian... Rilian always surprised her. A man who wore his charm like armour, who walked through the world with the air of someone who had conquered both light and dark—and yet, there he stood, looking at her as if she were the one mystery he could not unravel.
Perhaps it was the weariness she had not bothered to mask, the weight of too many burdens pressing against her shoulders in that moment. Perhaps it was the lingering cold of her sister's words, or the ghosts of a home she could never return to.
Or perhaps it was something deeper, something more unguarded than she had meant to reveal.
He said nothing at first, only studied her.
She exhaled quietly, tilting her head. "Did you come for a reason, or did you simply wish to stare at me all evening?"
A breath of amusement ghosted across his lips, but it was fleeting. His gaze flickered to the mat where she sat, to the embers still glowing behind her. "I came to see if you were all right."
Strange, that he wished to comfort her.
Rilian hesitated only a moment longer before he stepped fully into the room and closed the door behind him.
Sapphyre held his gaze, then sighed, rubbing a hand over her face. "I am fine, Rilian."
It was not a lie, not exactly. But it was not the truth, either.
Rilian watched her for another beat before nodding, as if accepting the answer. But there was something else in his eyes, something thoughtful.
He did not believe her.
But he did not push.
Instead, he settled onto the edge of a chair, as if silently deciding he would stay for a while.
And strangely, she did not mind.
Sapphyre rose to her feet, the thin fabric of her tunic whispering against her skin. She knew then that meditation would not come tonight. Not with him standing there. Not with the weight of her thoughts pressing so heavily against her.
Crossing the room in slow, measured steps, she went to the window, placing her hands lightly against the cool stone frame. Beyond the archway of her chamber, the vast cavern stretched endlessly into darkness. An unfathomable abyss. Only the distant glow of the worms clinging to the rock face offered any semblance of light, their luminescent blue-green shimmer pulsing faintly, like stars in a night sky long forgotten.
The Heart slumbered.
She wrapped her arms loosely around herself, as if the motion alone could stave off the cold that had nothing to do with the air. She listened to the distant roar of the sea, the ebb and pull of tides that had no sun nor moon to guide them.
She felt Rilian's gaze before she turned. He had not moved from where he sat, but his attention was fixed on her, unwavering.
"You seem troubled," he said at last.
Sapphyre did not turn from the window. The cavern's darkness was easier to face than the concern in his eyes, than the weight of his words.
You live in a cage and do not see the bars.
Rilian lived in captivity, though he did not know it – wrapped in the silken coils of her sister's enchantment, trapped in the half-life between waking and dreaming. His mind was not his own, yet he did not rage against his chains.
He did not even see them.
That night, he wore no black armour, bore no sword at his hip. His eyes, free of that fog, were keen and searching. And still, the weight of another's will rested upon his shoulders, shaping his thoughts, twisting his purpose.
Yet he sought to comfort her.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The wind howled through the cliffs, carrying the scent of brine and something deeper, something ancient that lurked beneath the waves.
Sapphyre looked back at him, tilting her head slightly. "Why are you here, Rilian?"
His lips quirked at the edges, but there was no true amusement in the expression. "Perhaps I simply wished to see you."
She studied him, searching for the jest in his words – but there was none. That strange something tugged at her heart, too swiftly for her to quell it.
She forced herself to school her expression, to still the stirrings of emotion before they could take root. Emotions were treacherous things – unpredictable, dangerous. She had spent too long hardening herself against them.
She had seen what happened when one was led astray by them.
She had seen what happened when she was led astray.
Her fingers curled at her sides, nails pressing against her palms. She would not make the same mistake again.
The waves crashed again, filling the silence between them.
Sapphyre studied him, her gaze lingering on the man before her. Her sister called him her Dark Knight, but the name did not suit.
His hair was dark, and his eyes were the deep indigo of twilight skies, but his smile was like sunshine breaking through storm clouds. It was warmth where there should have been none, light where the darkness of Underland should have swallowed him whole.
She did not know how he had held onto that light. Not after all the years that had passed, not after all he had endured.
Rilian tilted his head slightly, as if reading the thoughts she did not voice. "You look as though you're solving a riddle," he said, amusement threading his voice.
Sapphyre let out a soft breath, shaking her head. "Perhaps I am."
A flicker of curiosity danced across his face. Instead, he leaned back slightly, watching her with the ease of someone who had already decided he would wait as long as it took for an answer. A show of uncharacteristic patience.
"Perhaps you simply enjoy looking at my face," Rilian mused, his lips curving into a slow, knowing smile. "I cannot blame you, little bird." He ran a hand over his neat beard, tilting his head slightly as if to offer her a better view, his deep indigo eyes glinting with mischief.
Sapphyre rolled her eyes but felt the tension in her shoulders loosen, the weight pressing on her chest lifting ever so slightly. She had not even noticed how tightly wound she had been – until he had made her forget, if only for a moment.
A flicker of light in the suffocating dark, a warmth that lingered despite the cold stones of the Emerald Queen's domain.
She turned away from him, exhaling softly, unwilling to acknowledge how easily he could make her feel… lighter.
"Do not flatter yourself, Dark Knight," she said, hiding the small smile. "It does not suit you."
His laughter was quiet, but rich, like the warmth of a distant fire. "Oh, but I must. Who else will?"
…
Underland. The Dark City.
Emerylda.
The halls of the west wing were quieter than the rest of the castle. The ever-present murmur of Underland's life faded to something softer, a hushed reverence that settled deep into the stone. The torches burned lower, their light flickering lazily, casting long shadows that stretched like living things.
Emerylda did not fear the darkness.
She thrived in it.
Where others found it oppressive, she found it comforting – endless, unshaped, waiting for hands like hers to meld it into something greater. It was not suffocating.
It was hers.
She stepped into the Chamber of the Heart, tension easing from her shoulders slightly.
Unlike the rest of the castle, built from dark stone as old as Underland itself, the chamber she entered was different. Lined with smooth white stone, it gleamed faintly even in the dim light, as if it had absorbed centuries of magic. The air was thick with energy, a low hum pressing against her skin, winding through her veins, a soundless vibration that thrummed through her bones.
At the centre of the chamber, the Heart rested.
Its presence was immense, its many faceted surfaces catching what little light existed, gleaming like a slumbering beast. In its sleeping state, it was not the brilliant crystal that illuminated their world, but something deeper. Its true colour was a rich, fathomless sapphire, dark and true as the waters of the Eastern Sea.
Emerylda placed a hand against the cool surface.
Beneath her palm, she could feel it's slow, steady pulse.
Magic, ancient and untamed, waiting.
Yet, the tension in her limbs did not ease entirely.
Even dormant, she could feel its energy pressing against her skin. And though she had spent her years in Narnia using its power, she had never been foolish enough to believe she owned it. The Heart was no servant. It had a will of its own.
She had sought the Heart seeking a peace to her tumultuous minds, but the weight on her shoulders remained. She was tense, restless. The Frost Fae had arrived. Sapphyre was questioning her. And he – her Dark Knight – the son of the stars, was still slipping through her grasp, still looking at her own sister with clear eyes and easy smiles.
Emerylda exhaled again, slower.
She would not let the unease control her. She had spent too long forging her kingdom. She could not afford doubt.
She inhaled deeply.
It did not matter.
The Heart was their sun, the only source of light in the vast darkness of Underland. It bathed the city in its cold, luminous glow, gleaming from its high place within the castle spires. Without it, their world would be nothing but shadow and silence.
But once, in another world, it had been more.
It had not simply been their light – it had been the source of all magic.
Emerylda had never forgotten that truth, even though it was small enough to cradle between two hands, brilliant enough to drown out the stars. But size had never mattered; its power had remained absolute.
She would never dare touch it.
She valued her life.
She had seen what happened to those foolish enough to lay hands upon the sacred jewel. She remembered the screams, the way flesh had simply ceased to exist as if unmade by its presence. Men had been stripped to nothing but bone in an instant, their remains left as stark warnings to others.
Only those 'Blessed of the Heart' – the priestesses of their lost world – could wield its power without being destroyed. And they were gone.
Gone, with their home.
Emerylda let her fingers hover just above the cool, gleaming surface, feeling the pulse of its energy beneath her palm. It had changed, just as they had. Just as she had. It was no longer the jewel of the priestesses.
She lowered her hand, stepping back. The Heart was still asleep, its power restrained, its light dimmed to a whisper of what it once was.
But soon, it would awaken.
And when it did, she would decide what its power would be used for. Not the priestesses of a dead world.
The dark still belonged to her.
And when the time came, she would shape them both as she always had – into something unyielding.
Into something unstoppable.