Underland. Upon the shores of the Sunless Sea.
2352.
49th Year of the Reign of King Caspian X.
Eirwyn.
Eirwyn glided along the pale shores of the Sunless Sea, her feet hovering just inches above the powdery sand as her wings fluttered. The fine grains stirred beneath her, drawn upward in fleeting, ghostly swirls before settling once more. The air was thick with the scent of salt and something older—something that did not belong to the living.
It clung to her skin like frost, an ancient stillness that whispered of forgotten things.
She was alone, though never truly.
The dark-clad warriors of the Emerald Queen watched her from a distance, their faceless helms turned in her direction. She did not need to see their eyes to know they stared.
The frost fae needed no escort, no blade at her back. If anything in the underworld thought to threaten her, it would learn the folly of its arrogance.
She let her fingers trail over the jagged edges of a stone outcrop, her thoughts drifting like the dark tide. The world under the surface was not her own, and yet it was filled with the echoes of things she recognized – power, hunger, the careful balancing of loyalty and fear.
And something deeper.
Something watching.
The sea lapped hungrily at the shore, and for a brief moment, she thought she saw something shift beneath its surface, too large, too fluid, too knowing.
Eirwyn did not flinch.
Instead, she exhaled, watching as her breath frosted in the air.
Let it watch.
Let them all watch.
Eirwyn was no stranger to courts – she had stood in the ice-bound halls of the Great Queen Arianna, where the air shimmered with frost and power hummed through the very stones. She had walked among the noble houses of Narnia in the Golden Years before its fall, where politics and pleasantries were a battlefield in their own right.
But the Dark Court – it was something else entirely.
The Emerald Queen's court was not bound by the same laws of power she had known. It was a strange, shifting thing, neither wholly ruled by fear nor by devotion, but by something deeper, something unseen.
The queen's black-armoured warriors moved like shadows, faceless and silent, answering only to their lady. They held no ranks, no names, no visible ambitions. And yet, they obeyed without hesitation.
Then there were the emerald-caped knights bound by a Code that Eirwyn did not yet understand. They were not like the Emerald Queen's castle guards. They spoke to one another, laughed, argued. They had loyalty, but it was not unquestioning. It was earned, reinforced, a thing of discipline rather than blind submission.
And then there was the Dark Knight.
A strange mix of the two.
He was not one of them, not truly. She had seen the way the people of the Dark City looked at him, as something different. A knight, perhaps. A curiosity. He was a man at ease in that dark world, and yet apart from it.
She was beginning to suspect that was true of all who held power in the Dark Court.
The Emerald Witch, Sapphyre, their Dark Knight – all bound together in a web of duty, control, and something unspoken.
And as if summoned by her thoughts, Eirwyn saw the copper-haired woman ambling across the sands towards where a series of small boats had been moored. She had with her a pack, a bow and sword and little else it seemed – she looked to be departing, prepared for swift travel.
Had the sisters quarrelled?
Was Emerylda so certain in her own magic that she would send away her strongest warrior?
Eirwyn waited, knowing that the woman had sensed her presence, for though her outward composure had not changed, her hands had slowed in the uncoiling of the rope she had picked up. Was she preparing her own boat to cross the Sunless Sea? Was her hand closer to her sword than it had been a moment before?
She recalled watching her spar with the Dark Knight, the flash and the movement of her blade almost ethereal. It was a rare thing to witness such skill, as if the metal were just an extension of her own body. Eirwyn's memory was long, and she had met many warriors – both who had sought to learn from her kind, or to kill them – but very few stuck within her mind. She suspected that the Sapphyre Knight would be one of those that did.
What role did she play in the Green Lady's court? What role would she play if her sister assumed power in Narnia?
"If you wish to ask me something, ask," the woman's voice was unwavering. "If not, do not hover."
Eirwyn let her feet touch the ground, making a soft sound for the first time since she'd approached the knight. "Have we chased you out of your own castle?" Eirwyn tilted her head to the side, watching.
The knight turned to her; expression almost unreadable, but as sharp as the blade's she wielded so well. She wore the mask well, but Eirwyn could feel it in a way that others could not – she could feel the magic and the rage burning behind those sapphire eyes. The magic that she fought against with every step, with every breath. "You have done no chasing, frost fae. It was my sister who approached you. And I simply go where I am bid."
"Why did she not send you to us?" Eirwyn knew that it was usually the Witch's Champion who approached potential allies and bid them welcome to attend her sister in their city. But Emerylda had not sent Sapphyre north, instead it had been a shy little naiad with a scroll. Did the Emerald Witch think they would not follow her blue-bird?
Or did the Emerald Witch fear that they would?
For Eirwyn did not doubt that the knight before her could convince people to follow her to the end of the world.
Bright blue eyes rested on silver, near black so far from the light of the magic crystal. Eirwyn could only imagine what she'd look like under the light of Narnia's sun, with those vibrant eyes and vibrant hair. Brilliant, was the first word that came to her mind. "Some are threatened by me. Others are not."
An answer. Almost.
And though it didn't entirely answer her question, it told her a lot.
The Knight wielded her words like she wielded her sword.
Eirwyn smiled.
…
Underland. The Dark City.
Rilian.
Rilian moved fluidly, his blade clashing against Sir Vasas's in a steady rhythm. Their footwork mirrored each other's, each strike countered, each feint met with a sharp riposte. The knights watching from the sidelines murmured in approval for he was matching Vasas blow for blow.
His training with Sapphyre had more than paid off.
Vasas lunged, aiming to knock him off balance, but Rilian sidestepped smoothly, twisting his blade to deflect the knight's momentum. He didn't just evade – he countered, forcing Vasas back a step.
A grin broke across the knight's face. "Not bad."
Rilian pressed the advantage, pushing forward with a series of swift, precise strikes. Vasas blocked, barely. The other knights murmured.
Then, just as quickly, Vasas pivoted, sweeping his shield toward Rilian's side. Instead of dodging, Rilian dropped low, rolling beneath the blow and springing up behind him.
His blade was at Vasas's throat.
Silence fell across the training yard.
Then Vasas let out a laugh, stepping back and knocking Rilian's sword away with the flat of his own. "I'll be damned," he said, shaking his head. "First, I'm bested by the Commander, and now by you. I may as well lay down by sword and renounce the Code."
Rilian smirked, lowering his blade. "Is that a compliment?"
Vasas scoffed, sheathing his weapon. "Next, you'll be scowling at us all like we're wasting your time."
A few of the knights chuckled, but Rilian merely shook his head. "You act as if she doesn't have good reason to."
"That's what makes it worse," Vasas shot back with a grin, his warm brown eyes twinkling merrily. "And don't think we haven't noticed why you push yourself so hard."
Rilian stilled, gripping the hilt of his sword.
Vasas chuckled, nudging him with his elbow. "Good luck getting her to see anything other than her duty and the Code. You'd have more luck wooing the Emerald Queen herself."
Laughter rippled through the knights.
Rilian forced a smirk, but inside, something twisted.
Because Vasas was right.
And that made it unbearable.
Everything Sapphyre did was for others. She was the epitome of a perfect knight – strong, dutiful, unflinching in her loyalty. Every action, every decision, had been shaped by her devotion to her queen, to Underland. She lived for others, not for herself, and that truth had never been clearer than now.
The sharp ache inside him twisted deeper. Rilian had known Sapphyre for years, but he'd never seen her falter or even consider her own desires. Duty was her guide, and in a world full of knights, she stood above them all, the embodiment of selflessness.
Rilian barely heard the knights' laughter as something in the distance caught his eye. Movement at the castle.
His grip tightened on the hilt of his sword as he watched the blue flag descend, its silken fabric folding as it was drawn down from the highest tower.
The Commander was no longer in the city.
A strange emptiness settled in his chest. He had known she was leaving, of course – she always left, bound to her sister's will, her duty stronger than chains. But seeing that flag lowered made it real in a way words never could.
He exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders, and turned back to the knights.
"Again," he said, raising his blade.
While she was gone, he would simply have to train harder.
He had to show her he was strong enough to stand by her side.
…
Unknown.
Ashtan lay on the cold earth, his body sinking into the dirt as he gasped for breath, each inhale shallow and laboured. His hand pressed desperately against the wound in his side, but the blood continued to seep through his fingers, staining the ground beneath him.
His vision blurred, but he could still make out the glittering tapestry of stars above, the night sky a vast ocean of light, each star a distant flame in the darkness.
He tried to steady his breath, tried to hold on, but the pain was too great.
The warmth of his blood was cold, the life within him slipping away with each passing moment. He could hear the faint rustle of leaves in the wind, the quiet murmur of the night—sounds that seemed to belong to another world, a world he was slipping further from.
The stars.
He focused on them, the only things he could still cling to in this final, fleeting moment. They were beautiful, distant, untouchable. In the vastness of the sky, he almost felt small, insignificant, yet strangely comforted. The stars had seen so much, had witnessed countless lives rise and fall. Ashtan wondered if they ever grew tired of it, of the endless cycle of life and death, of battle and peace.
There were no stars in Underland. There had never been. The cavernous world he had been born into was devoid of them. Instead, the glowworms scattered across the walls of the tunnels had always been the closest thing to light – faint, flickering, their soft luminescence a mockery of the brilliance he had heard of in the stories.
As Ashtan's blood pooled beneath him, the weight of his failure pressed down harder than the wound in his side. His breaths came in shallow gasps, each one more difficult than the last. The cold earth beneath him seemed to mirror the hollow, bitter ache spreading through his chest.
Nilia.
Her name was a whisper on his lips, though he was certain the darkness would swallow it whole. He had promised. He had sworn to protect her, to keep her safe from the dangers that lurked in the shadows of their world.
And now, she was gone.
Taken.
He had failed her.
The memory of her face, soft and warm with laughter, flashed before his eyes, and for a fleeting moment, it was as if he could hear her voice again. I know you'll protect me, Ash.
His heart twisted painfully as the image of her, full of life and light, dissolved into the harsh reality of her absence.
She had trusted him.
And what had he done? He had hesitated. He had let them come too close, too swiftly.
He had failed to act when it mattered most.
His hand, slick with blood, curled into a fist as he fought to hold onto his thoughts, but the weight of the guilt was too much. His eyes drifted up to the faint glow of the worms on the cavern ceiling, their pale, indifferent light nothing like the stars he longed to see. There was no comfort in their cold glow.
No guidance.
Nilia.
Her name caught in his throat, choked by the heaviness in his chest. He had never imagined that failure would taste so bitter, that it would feel so final, so suffocating.
The darkness crept in slowly, like a shadow inching its way across the ground, and Ashtan's thoughts grew disjointed. The stars above seemed to shimmer and shift, their brilliance growing brighter, pulling him in. And as the coldness of death began to claim him, he allowed himself one final thought.
Nilia, I'm sorry.
Then, there was nothing but the darkness, and the stars, distant and unchanging, continued their silent watch over a world he would never again touch.