Somewhere near the Owlwood.
2352.
49th Year of the Reign of King Caspian X.
Rilian.
It wasn't her face he missed.
It was her wit, her presence – the effortless way she filled a space, her dry humour that cut through even the darkest of moments. Others had admired her for her striking features, but he would not have cared if she looked like the earthmen who toiled beside him. As long as she had those eyes – sharp, knowing, and altogether impossible to ignore – he would have been content.
And her smile, he amended. As rare as it was, he would have traded anything to see it again.
As if summoned by his very thoughts, she had appeared.
Draped in leather armour and her dark blue cloak, her copper hair braided but rebelliously undone in places, she stepped into the clearing. He hadn't even noticed at first, too consumed by pain and the crushing weight of his circumstances. But then, like a shadow shifting at the edge of his vision, she was there – Sapphyre.
A breath of air, a whisper of steel.
Hope.
The night air was cool and crisp as they moved, the forest alive with distant sounds, the rhythmic crunch of their steps swallowed by the vast darkness. With the freed slaves and the rescued dryads following in weary silence, they pressed forward, the sun slipping behind the horizon until the world was nothing but silhouettes and silvered edges.
By the time they made camp, unable to make it to the tunnel that led to Underland by nightfall, exhaustion clung to Rilian like a second skin. His body ached with every motion, but his mind remained restless, unwilling to succumb to sleep.
They worked in quiet efficiency, the fire coming to life beneath careful hands, its glow casting wavering shadows against the trees. Above them, stars began to pierce through the canopy – bright, distant, watching.
Yet even in the hush of the night, something pulled at him, insistent and undeniable.
Something he could no longer ignore.
He couldn't help but watch her.
Sapphyre sat by the fire, her back straight, her gaze fixed on the flames, lost somewhere beyond them. The flickering light softened her face, casting away the tension that so often etched itself into her features. In that moment, she was unguarded – quiet, still.
Something stirred in him.
Rilian didn't think.
He just moved.
No grand gesture, no hesitation – just the simple, undeniable pull toward her.
"Sapphyre," he murmured. Her eyes flickered toward him, her expression unreadable, but she didn't pull away. And that was all he needed.
He pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her. It was an embrace born of both desperation and relief. His smile threatened to split his face in half as he embraced her, holding her to his chest. She smelled of sweat, with dirt smeared across her face, travel-weary and travel-worn. Of everything on her person perhaps it was only her weapon that she'd cleaned.
But he did not care.
He could not care when she was finally within his reach. So warm and right, and she fit within his arms as if she belonged there. And then he was suddenly aware that she had stilled within his embrace, he coughed, stepping back as if he were inspecting her for injuries, his hands still upon her shoulders. Hoping she would not notice the heat that flared across his cheeks. But he did not want to let her go.
Not yet.
Because once Sapphyre was back within her sister's reach, she would be out of his.
The thought struck like a blade to the gut.
"I take it you missed me, little bird?" He said with a grin. "You couldn't keep away from me."
"Why ever would I miss you," she snorted, adjusting her cape slightly, trying very much to look unaffected. He grinned even more, slinging his arm across her shoulders. He would take the victory where he could.
There was something slightly off, though he could not quite place it.
He would not press her.
"Meet anyone interesting upon your travels? If you can tell me, that is." If it did not fall under Emerylda-and-Sapphyre secrets. "No, no. Don't tell me."
"I didn't miss you at all, Ril."
He absolutely could not wipe the grin from his face, even if the dryads across from them thought him deranged.
Sapphyre pulled back slightly, her gaze steady and unwavering, but the faintest trace of concern flickered behind her eyes.
"You were foolish for going after them yourself," she murmured, her voice sharp. "If I had arrived back in Underland but a day later, the trail would have gone cold."
Rilian's laugh was soft, but it was there, the sound laced with the same stubborn defiance that had driven him to act recklessly in the first place. His chest heaved slightly as the movement pulled at his injuries, and he winced, but he couldn't help the smile that tugged at the corners of his lips.
"No," he said, his voice raspy, "you would have found us, little bird."
…
Somewhere near the Owlwood.
Sapphyre.
Sapphyre moved through the freed slaves and dryads with quiet efficiency, her sharp gaze scanning each face, each weary body as they climbed into the stolen wagon. They clung to her, to Rilian – unwilling to let go of the ones who had fought for their freedom.
The night air was crisp, the fire casting restless shadows across the clearing as she worked. She moved without hesitation, checking for injuries, for signs of distress. A hand on a shoulder, a murmured reassurance – small gestures, but enough to steady them.
She crouched beside an older man, his wrists raw from shackles, his hands trembling as he accepted a waterskin. Further down, a young girl leaned against the wagon's frame, her skin marred by deep scratches, but her eyes still bright with life.
Sapphyre checked their hands, their feet, their eyes – ensuring none had been left with wounds that could fester. Most bore exhaustion like a second skin, their bodies bruised but intact. None were as battered as Rilian.
It seemed he was the only one who had borne the brunt of their captors' violence.
The dryads huddled together in a corner of the wagon, their slender forms curled into one another, a makeshift nest of blankets and cloth. Exhaustion softened their faces, their breaths slow and steady. They were alive – a small mercy in the wake of all they had endured.
Sapphyre let her gaze rest on them for a moment, the flickering firelight catching in their bark-like skin, before she turned away. There were still others to tend to, still work to be done.
But as she made her final rounds, unease prickled at her spine.
The dryad who had left the tunnels with Ashtan was not with them.
With one last glance at the wagon, Sapphyre turned away, her steps quiet against the packed earth. The fire was burning low now, its embers pulsing like a dying heartbeat, casting long, wavering shadows across the campsite.
Rilian sat a short distance away, his back to the fire. His posture was loose, almost at ease, but his expression was distant—lost in thought.
As she approached, the warmth of the fading flames brushed against her skin, a fleeting reprieve from the creeping chill of the night. The air smelled of smoke and damp earth, of steel and sweat—a reminder of all they had endured.
She stopped at the camp's edge, her mind still tangled with unanswered questions, lingering worries. But then—
Something shifted.
A soft glow, faint yet unmistakable, flickered in the darkness.
It wasn't from the dying embers of the fire, nor from any light she had seen before.
It was something else.
Turning her gaze back toward Rilian, her breath caught.
His form was bathed in a faint radiance, a glow that seemed to emanate from deep within him. The stars above were mirrored in his skin, as though his very being was aligned with the night sky itself. His body, resting by the fire's edge, pulsed with a quiet, ethereal light that made him seem otherworldly, as if the very power of the cosmos was flowing through him.
The glow was not overwhelming but gentle, like the soft flicker of a distant star in a midnight sky. It radiated from him in waves, ebbing and flowing like a tide that pulled at the very fabric of the night. Sapphyre's eyes widened as she realized what this was – he was healing, but not just in any ordinary way.
The glow was the power of a star, a cosmic force that ran through him as naturally as breath.
The soft radiance illuminated the ground around him, casting shadows that danced like wisps of light. Sapphyre could see his wounds healing, the bruises fading, the cuts slowly knitting themselves together as though the very fabric of the universe was mending him. It was almost too much to comprehend – the raw, untamed energy flowing through him, stitching him together with the power of the stars themselves.
The power that had been dormant in his blood.
As the glow around Rilian began to fade, Sapphyre noticed the confusion in his eyes, the way his brow furrowed and his gaze flickered helplessly between the stars above and his own hands, as if trying to make sense of something beyond his comprehension. His chest rose and fell with a shaky breath, and it was clear that whatever had happened to him, whatever power had awakened within him, was something he had no explanation for.
Sapphyre didn't need to say anything.
Without a second thought, she moved toward him, her instincts driving her closer, as if to bridge the gap between the unfamiliar power he had just unleashed and the safety he still craved.
She approached him, her movements calm, and reached out to place a hand gently on his arm. It wasn't forceful or demanding; it was simply an offering of steadiness. Her fingers lightly brushed against his skin, grounding him, her warmth a contrast to the chill of the night air.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of the wind in the trees and the crackling of the fire behind them. And then, finally, Rilian spoke, his voice quieter than usual, but there was a certain relief in it now.
"I don't know what just happened," he confessed, his gaze still distant, his hand unconsciously rubbing at his temple. "I didn't know I could do that."
Rilian turned his gaze toward her, meeting her eyes for the first time since the glow had faded. Her fingers brushed over his smooth skin of his face where the wound had been, now healed in the glow of the stars. She could feel the warmth of him beneath her touch, the faint pulse of life running through him, steady and strong.
The sensation sent a shiver through her, something deep inside of her responding to the quiet strength in him.
In the waning firelight, in the slow, silver glow of the moon, he was beautiful.
Sapphyre wasn't sure she had ever truly looked at him before – not like this. Not without duty between them, not without the weight of their stations pressing down like an iron brand. But here, in the hush of night, with the fire casting flickering gold across his sharp features and the moonlight pooling in his silvered hair, she saw him.
Not the prince.
Not the prisoner of Underland.
Just Rilian.
Rilian's eyes flickered to hers, their gazes locking.
His breath hitched.
Her own was caught somewhere between them.
For a moment, time seemed to stop.
His lips parted slightly, as if he were fighting the same force that was pulling them together. He leaned in just a fraction, and for a heartbeat, everything else faded away. There was only the space between them, charged and electric. She could see the tension in his jaw, the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed, the way his hand twitched where it still pressed against the ground. As if he were holding himself still, as if he were waiting for her to make the next move.
Her heart hammered in her chest, a part of her wanting to lean in further, to let the moment unfold. But she couldn't.
He was Emerylda's.
She shouldn't.
She had spent years training herself to be untouchable, unreadable, immovable. And yet, now, with the embers casting soft shadows against the sharp lines of his face, with the memory of his body glowing beneath the stars still burned into her mind, she could not bring herself to pull away.
Her thumb traced lightly over the curve of his jaw, the briefest touch, but it unravelled something between them. His eyes darkened, his breath coming faster, and she felt it—the tension shifting, sharpening, thickening like the air before a storm.
"Sapphyre," he murmured, her name barely more than a breath. The way he said it – low, reverent – sent something sharp and electric down her spine.
She had to stop it.
She had to pull away.
She didn't.
Rilian leaned in, just a fraction, just enough for her to feel the heat of him, the warmth radiating from his skin. If she moved even a breath closer, their lips would touch.
Then, just as the tension between them reached its peak, a distant sound – a rustling from the direction of the wagon – pulled her back to reality. Her head snapped toward the noise, her instincts immediately on alert, her heart slamming against her ribs.
Rilian, too, pulled away, his expression shifting quickly from the softness of the moment to one of alertness. He seemed to sense it too, the sudden intrusion of reality, the reminder that they weren't alone.
Sapphyre stood still for a moment, the heat between them still lingering in the air, before she forced herself to take a step back, her breath unsteady.
"I'll take first watch, you need to sleep," she said, her voice strained.
The stars still shone overhead, as if nothing had changed.
Sapphyre gave him one last glance before she turned toward the wagons.
It was a mistake.
But she wasn't sure which part she meant – the almost-kiss or the fact that she had pulled away.
Fuck.
…
The Far West. Beyond the Lantern Waste.
Ardisia.
Ardisia took a deep breath as she stood at the edge of the vast, crumbling city. The air was thick with the scent of spices, burning incense, and the faintest trace of something ancient – a timeless echo that lingered in the bones of the city. The sky above was a soft, pale orange, casting an eerie glow over the strange settlement.
She had made it.
Beyond the edge of any map, the place was unlike anything she had ever seen. Brightly coloured tents had been pitched in the shadow of decaying stone columns and cracked, weather-worn statues.
Figures in flowing robes and elaborate jewellery moved through the streets, their eyes glinting with secret knowledge.
Ardisia's fingers brushed the ancient stonework as she passed, feeling a shiver run down her spine.
She had made it. And as her eyes swept across the bustling tents, the winding alleys, and the flickering torches casting shadows on the ancient ruins, one truth became clear – they were all witches.
It wasn't just the architecture that gave the city its eerie, otherworldly feel, nor the whispers of forgotten spells that danced on the wind. No, it was the people. Every figure she saw, whether cloaked in vibrant robes or adorned with intricate, enchanted jewellery, seemed to shimmer with a subtle, yet unmistakable aura of power.
Their eyes were sharp, knowing, filled with the same fire that had called her there.
They were all witches – each one a seeker of the same call, drawn to this forgotten place by an invisible pull, as if fate itself had lured them to the city's desolate beauty.
Ardisia's fingers brushed the smooth, cool stone of a ruined pillar as she walked, the pulse of magic under her skin thrumming louder with each step.
The call had reached her moons ago, whispering in her dreams, tugging at her thoughts during quiet moments. She hadn't understood it at first, hadn't known where it would lead, but standing among the tents and the gathered covens, she realized they had all answered the same summons.
It was where she belonged.