A/N:
Chapter 7 is live! This one's a bit quieter...

We're still on schedule—Wednesday,Friday, and Sunday updates—so stick around, and bring your theories.
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All rights to the world and characters of Narnia belong to C.S. Lewis and his estate.

Chapter 7 – Relics of the Past

Edmund's POV

The corridors of Cair Paravel were alive with movement, the castle still humming with the aftermath of attack. The sound of hurried footsteps, distant voices, and clinking armor filled the air as warriors, healers, and messengers moved through the halls with purpose.

For a place so familiar, it felt oddly... foreign.

We walked in silence, following King Erasmus as he led us deeper into the castle. Peter walked at his side, listening intently, while Susan and Lucy trailed just behind them.

I kept pace beside Diácano, who had been tasked with guiding us through the newly rebuilt Cair Paravel—though "new" felt like the wrong word.

It had been rebuilt, yes, but not replaced.

The architecture remained unmistakably Narnian—elegant yet strong, carved from white stone and woven with golden banners. The air smelled of aged wood, wax, and the sea beyond the open windows.

It should have felt like home.

But the walls did not know us.

At the entrance of the Old Treasure Chamber, Diácano took his post at the top of the stairs, his sharp gaze scanning the hall behind us.

Erasmus led us through a pair of large oak doors, revealing a spiraling staircase that led underground. The air grew cooler as we descended, the flickering glow of torches casting long shadows against the stone walls.

At the bottom, we stepped into a vast chamber lined with ancient chests, tapestries, and relics. Statues of former kings and queens stood along the walls, their stone faces immortalized in careful detail.

Susan slowed as we passed one.

Caspian.

Her hand lifted slightly—a breath away from touching the carved marble of his face. But before she could, her gaze shifted to the opposite side of the room.

To Aslan's statue.

Her fingers curled back, her expression unreadable as she turned away.

At the center of the chamber, four intricately carved wooden vaults stood untouched.

Ours.

Lucy inhaled softly beside me.

Peter stepped forward first, running a hand along the edge of his vault. The last time we had stood before them, we had been kings and queens in our own time—never knowing we would leave it all behind.

Erasmus gestured toward them. "They have remained untouched since the time of High King Rilian."

A beat of silence.

Then, Peter exhaled and lifted the lid.

Inside, polished as if waiting for him, was his sword, his golden shield, and his crown. He lifted the sword first, running his fingers down the aged leather hilt.

His shoulders relaxed slightly.

"It feels... the same," he murmured.

One by one, we opened our vaults.

Lucy ran her hands over her silver crown, then picked up her dagger, testing its weight before securing it at her waist. Finally, she reached for her small glass bottle—her cordial.

She turned it over in her hands, her grip tightening slightly before tucking it away.

Susan's vault held her golden crown, her bow and arrows, and—of course—her horn. She hesitated before picking it up, running a thumb over its surface.

Peter noticed. "It brought us here before."

Susan's expression remained unreadable. She said nothing.

And then, I reached into my own vault.

I retrieved my sword first, then the cool metal of my silver crown. And then—

My fingers curled around something small and familiar.

A lantern.

I hesitated only a moment before tucking it away at my side.

But of course, Peter saw.

"Ed," he said, his voice already laced with amusement. "Tell me you did not just pull out a lantern."

I didn't look up. "It's practical."

"For what?" he asked, exasperated. "Mood lighting?"

I sighed through my nose, adjusting the strap on my sword belt. "For seeing in the dark, Peter. Something you might appreciate next time you walk into a tree."

Peter scoffed. "That happened once."

Lucy, struggling not to laugh, murmured, "It was a rather large tree."

Peter turned to her in betrayal. Susan, meanwhile, simply rubbed her temple.

Erasmus cleared his throat, clearly holding back a smirk.

"Now that you're all reacquainted with your belongings," he said smoothly, "shall we?"

Peter muttered something under his breath as we turned to leave. I ignored him, adjusting my grip on the lantern.

It wasn't grand like a sword or a shield, but that didn't make it useless.

And if the past few days had taught me anything—it was better to be prepared.

By the time we stepped into the main corridors again, night had fully settled.

Torches flickered along the stone walls, casting long shadows as we walked. Though the halls were still bustling—knights removing their armor, servants carrying trays of supplies, healers moving between rooms—the weight of the hour was beginning to show.

The scent of warm candle wax and salted air filled the space, and the faint sound of waves crashing against the cliffs rumbled beyond the open windows.

We were led to the Royal Wing, a hallway lined with tall wooden doors, each engraved with golden crests.

"These will be your chambers," Erasmus said, stopping before a set of doors.

Lucy and Susan were placed across from Peter and me.

"You'll find fresh clothes and a bath waiting," Erasmus continued. "Rest. Tomorrow, we will speak."

Peter nodded. "Thank you."

As soon as my chamber door clicked shut, a sigh escaped me.

For the first time since stepping through that door in Finchley, I was alone.

I dropped my sword near the foot of my bed, peeling off my bloodstained tunic.

The bath had already been drawn, steam rising from the water, the scent of herbs faint in the air.

The moment I lowered myself into it, the tension in my body unraveled.

For the first time, I let myself feel the exhaustion.

I closed my eyes, letting the warmth sink into my skin.

A thought nagged at the back of my mind.

We weren't supposed to be here.

And yet, here we were.

Peter had been the first to voice it—the possibility that this wasn't meant for us, that Erasmus had blown Susan's horn a year ago, and we had not come.

So why now?

I sank lower into the bath, pressing my hands against my face.

I didn't have an answer.

And that unsettled me more than anything else.