Underland. The Dark City.
2352.
49th Year of the Reign of King Caspian X.
Sapphyre.
Sapphyre knelt before her sister, her forearm pressed firmly across her chest, her back as straight and unyielding as a sword. She did not flinch, nor did she let the familiar, oppressive shadows of the throne room touch her composure.
Her focus was entirely on her sister.
The Emerald Queen.
The throne room was a testament to the grandeur and forgotten might of their home world, a perfect copy of another throne room that no longer existed. The walls were constructed from dark stone, blackened as though pulled from the very fiery pits of Bism itself. The stone seemed alive, veins of deep crimson and gold running through it, glimmering faintly like the last remnants of some ancient, terrible magic.
The room itself stretched high above, the ceiling supported by towering columns that rose from the floor like immense trees, their surfaces carved with intricate patterns – swirling symbols of forgotten gods and creatures, many of which Sapphyre could not name.
The throne's back was high, almost touching the vaulted ceiling, and was adorned with twisting vines of emeralds and diamonds that seemed to pulse with their own eerie light, illuminating the dark corners of the room. Above the throne, an archway of stone loomed, its curves sharp and precise, as though it were a mouth ready to devour all who dared approach.
The throne was the very apex of the Underland—an unreachable summit, an eternal marker of dominance and power.
Emerylda had made it so.
The floor beneath Sapphyre's knees was a mosaic of dark stone tiles, each piece etched with complex patterns and geometric shapes. The colours in the tiles shifted subtly in the dim light of the torches that lined the walls, their flames flickering in the cold air, casting long shadows that seemed to stretch across the room like fingers reaching for the unseen. The stone beneath her was as cold and unyielding as the air around her—a reminder that the throne she served was not one for softness, but for strength and permanence.
As it should be.
The Emerald Queen sat unmoving, her gaze fixed upon Sapphyre, piercing and unblinking. There was no warmth in her eyes, only the cold, unshakable presence of one who commanded not just the room, but the very forces that shaped Underland itself.
Sapphyre's heart thudded in her chest, but she did not allow herself to falter. Her sister was the heart of their kingdom, and Sapphyre was its hand – loyal, steadfast, and unyielding in her service.
The Queen's voice broke the silence, sharp and clear, resonating through the chamber like the echo of a bell in a deep cave. "Report, Commander," she said, her words carrying the weight of expectation.
Sapphyre rose slowly, maintaining the stillness of her posture. Her eyes, pale as the moon, never left the Queen's face. "I have secured more from the marshes, and the task of cultivating it is nearly complete," she said, her voice steady and unflinching.
Sapphyre's heart tightened as she observed the slight furrow between her sister's dark brows, the almost imperceptible downturn of her lips – plum-painted to perfection. Emerylda was not entirely pleased.
Her sister, the Emerald Queen, sat before her as though the very world bowed to her presence – and indeed, their world did. Her dark auburn locks were braided intricately around her head, the strands glinting with faint highlights of red and gold, like fire caught in the shadow of the night. A delicate circlet of silver rested upon her brow, its beauty understated, yet striking – another reminder that Emerylda needed no crown, no ostentation, to command the respect and fear of all who beheld her. The weight of her power was not in the symbols around her, but in the ethereal air she exuded, an energy that clung to her like a second skin.
Her sister did not need the imposing throne of dark stone upon which she sat, nor the luxurious gown that pooled down the dais like an emerald waterfall, cascading over the stone steps. The gown shimmered with subtle threads of silver and onyx, tracing the curves of her body with perfect elegance, as though the fabric were woven from the night itself. But none of these outward things were what made her untouchable, what made her ethereal, what made her a force beyond mortal understanding.
It was simply her.
Every inch of her was regal, each movement graceful, each glance deliberate.
Kohl-lined eyes flicked briefly behind her, the black of the eyeliner all the more striking in the darkness that surrounded them. The sharp contrast made the Queen's gaze all the more piercing, as though her eyes could see through the very fabric of reality, cutting through the shadows with effortless precision. The movement was subtle, but Sapphyre caught it—the faintest shift, a small sign that Emerylda's attention was not entirely focused on her.
Sapphyre stood tall before her, the silence between them stretching, her mind focused on her sister's presence. The weight of the throne room, of the throne itself, never failed to remind her of what she had come from. And what she was bound to.
"What else?" Emerylda's tone was sharp, scathing.
But Sapphyre did not flinch.
She looked to the man by her sister's side – sitting rod-straight upon the smaller throne. He'd not moved when she'd entered, he'd barely registered her presence, his indigo eyes focused upon her sister's face as if she were the sun. He cut a striking figure in his black armour and cloak; his black helm held loosely beneath an arm, a circlet of silver holding back his dark hair.
He was a perfect foil for her sister's green and auburn.
And he did not recognise her.
He did not smile at her return.
She did not answer her sister's silent query, not immediately, instead she let her eyes flicker to the silent knight. She did not know how much he would understand, she did not know what might awaken him to his senses.
Emerylda smiled, the slow, slinking smile of a satisfied cat. "You may speak freely, Sapphyre. I have only just woven the enchantment that holds his mind."
Sapphyre nodded; he would barely register her words, but he would not understand what they meant. "A Narnian knight, he was close to one of the entrances."
"And you took care of it?"
Sapphyre nodded. Hazel eyes flashed in her minds' eye, his gentle fingers, his kind eyes. She pushed the memory down, deep down, keeping her expression one of indifference. "His body lays in the marshes, his armour buried."
His body would not be found.
No one would know that the small rock cairn she'd made was a grave marker.
No one but her.
The dark knight's face twitched slightly, a mere fraction, but Sapphyre watched as something flickered through his eyes. Something she couldn't quite place, but it should not have been anything. Had she truly only just enchanted him? Was he resisting it already? But them that something in his gaze disappeared, as if it had never been there.
Emerylda's gaze remained fixed upon Sapphyre as she spoke, the slight furrow between her brows deepening with each word. "Your knights," she said softly, "are impressive. Strong, disciplined. My queensguard could learn a thing or two from them."
Sapphyre kept her posture rigid, her hands clasped in front of her as she stood before her sister, waiting for the next command. The light from the torches flickered in the cool air, casting their long, wavering shadows against the dark stone of the throne room.
She had learned long ago how to remain still, how to keep her thoughts hidden, even everything inside her wanted t scream.
Emerylda's eyes, black as night and lined with kohl, shifted subtly as she considered her next words. "Do you think they're ready to be tested?" Her lips parted slightly, a faint smile ghosting across them, as if the question was a casual one.
But Sapphyre knew better.
Every word from her sister was measured, every glance calculated.
It was no simple inquiry.
Sapphyre's stomach tightened, and she hesitated before answering, the weight of Emerylda's expectations pressing down on her. She had trained the men and women – the knights – and she had watched their progress with a careful eye. Yet, despite their impressive discipline and skill, something nagged at her, a quiet suspicion that told her they were not yet ready for whatever trials that Emerylda might be envisioning.
When they had first arrived in Underland, the world so dark and unforgiving, Sapphyre had known that order, discipline, and strength would be their salvation.
She had seen what happened when power ran unfettered – chaos, betrayal, corruption, and the slow unravelling of everything they had sought to build.
And so, she had established the Knights of Underland, a force unlike any other, bound by a strict Code. A Code that was not just about combat but about a way of life, a way of thinking, and a way of surviving in a world where light was scarce, and darkness ruled every corner.
The Code of Knights.
And her sister's queensguard… They had not yet encountered the true horrors of the subterranean world, the monsters and forces that lurked in its deepest caves, the very essence of darkness that would threaten their strength and resolve.
"They are not," Sapphyre said finally, her voice low but firm. "Neither the knights, nor the queensguard."
Emerylda's expression didn't shift, but there was a small, almost imperceptible shift in the air. The slightest change that told Sapphyre her sister was considering this response far more deeply than she let on. Emerylda's eyes were like the endless night, deep, fathomless, and calculating, and though her lips remained slightly curved, there was a coldness in her gaze that Sapphyre couldn't ignore.
"Explain," Emerylda prompted, her tone a little more clipped now. It was an invitation, but also a command – a reminder of who held the power in this room.
Sapphyre drew a steady breath. "Your guards… they are efficient, yes. But they lack the adaptability that my knights possess. Their discipline is rigid, and while that may suit our needs, they are not as versatile when it comes to real combat. They will follow orders without question, but they will hesitate when it comes to thinking beyond those orders." She glanced down briefly, feeling the weight of Emerylda's gaze on her. "The queens-guard need to be capable of more than mere obedience. But they need time, more training before they can truly be tested."
The truth was a weapon, but it could also be a blade that cut too deeply. Sapphyre had learned to be careful with her words, for she had learnt long ago the power that words could hold.
That was a lesson hard-earned, one that Sapphyre carried like a hidden dagger. Words could shape reality just as surely as magic could – twist a mind, bend a will, sow doubt, or inspire unshakable loyalty.
She had seen rulers undone by a single uttered truth, just as she had seen kingdoms built upon carefully woven lies.
Emerylda was watching her, keen-eyed, waiting as her fingers tapped the armrest of the throne thoughtfully. "Time," she repeated, as if tasting the word. "You think they are too untested, too unpredictable to be tested now?"
Sapphyre nodded, her voice steady. "They are not ready to face what lies beyond the city walls. Not yet."
The Queen remained silent for a moment longer, the cool air of the throne room almost suffocating in its stillness. Sapphyre could feel the tension building, the unspoken challenge hanging in the air. The flickering light of the torches barely cut through the thick darkness of the room, leaving the corners deep in shadow. Emerylda's eyes narrowed slightly as though weighing her sister's words against the need for swift action.
Finally, Emerylda spoke again, her voice barely a whisper but cutting through the silence with a finality that made Sapphyre's heart tighten. "Very well, Sapphyre. I trust your judgment."
The words hung in the air like a spell, the quiet approval ringing in Sapphyre's ears. But it was not the approval she had hoped for. It was a decision borne of necessity, not confidence. Emerylda was willing to wait for the knights, but Sapphyre could feel the weight of her sister's unspoken expectations lingering. She had made her choice, but that did not mean her judgment would not be scrutinized at every turn.
Emerylda's lips parted, but it wasn't the sharp command that Sapphyre had anticipated. Instead, it was softer – almost like a sigh, though it held more weight than any breath could. "You have done well," the Queen said, her voice low and smooth, flowing over Sapphyre like a shadow. "You look weary from your travels. Rest now, sister."
Sapphyre gave her another swift bow, but said nothing as she turned from her sister, her deep blue cloak swirling behind her. Muffled speech was cut off as the door closed; the knight whispered words of ardour to her sister, as he fell into the enchantment, as it overcame him completely and wiped away anything that was him.
She paused for a moment, behind those closed doors.
Her sister did not need her, and the knight did not know her.
She inhaled shakily, stilling her thundering heart.
She knew the plan.
She knew the plan needed to work.
She would get passed it.
There was no room for emotions.
She pressed a hand to her chest.
It was a magic she did not understand – that enchantment of her sisters; it was a magic she had no wish to understand. She had seen hundreds, if not thousands, brought to their knees by that power. And that power was one she did not want.
To see someone's eyes go blank, wiped of personality; that was a power that was more dangerous than a killing blow.
Her fists clenched and she carefully unstrung her bow as she walked, the earthmen and knights snapping to attention as she passed. Whatever comfort it gave her; her bow was not the weapon she could use within the City; for bows and arrows were not meant for narrow streets and cramped corridors. Her bow would not even be welcomed in the dark underground fighting pits.
The torches lining the halls flickered faintly as she walked through the castle, casting long, wavering shadows that seemed to whisper and dance just out of sight. It was a strange sort of night in the Dark City – an eternal dusk that fell in the absence of the great crystal, their "sun," which was recharging in its distant chamber. The crystal was not a sun in the true sense of the word; it was an immense, shimmering mass of energy that fed the lands of Underland, illuminating their world with an unnatural, cold light. But when it rested, as it did now, the world was plunged into a deep, oppressive darkness that made the shadows feel thick enough to choke on.
Sapphyre shuddered.
The absence of light felt wrong, like something was missing from the very air. It wasn't just the lack of illumination that unsettled her – it was the weight of the quiet, the eerie calm that fell over the castle.
The dark halls stretched on endlessly, and the oppressive silence settled into every corner, into the cracks of the stone, as though the castle itself were holding its breath.
When the earthmen had first built the dark castle, Sapphyre had chosen her quarters in the Eastern Wing. It was far from the heart of the castle, where Emerylda's throne room and the Heart of the Chamber was, and closer to the land's edge, where the stone cliffs dropped away into the dark and the cold mists of the Sunless Sea. She had chosen it not for its proximity to the sea which often but her in mind of their lost world, but for its isolation.
And, in Underland, where the weight of the darkness pressed down on every living thing, the solitude was a small relief.
Her rooms were simple – stone floors, a low bed draped with dark linens, and a handful of torches in sconces on the walls. The cold seeped in through the thick stone walls, but Sapphyre had grown accustomed to it over the years. There was no need for warmth, not where the air itself seemed to hum with a strange energy, both familiar and unsettling.
The chamber faced the eastern cliffs, where the dark waters of the Sunless Sea crashed against the jagged rocks below. The sound of the waves was constant, soothing in its own way, yet it never quite reached her.
The ocean was far too cold and deep for her to ever truly feel connected to it.
As she made her way down the dark corridors, her thoughts remained fixed on the tension she had felt earlier in the Queen's presence. It was strange, really – Sapphyre had long since come to terms with the unspoken expectations that came with her role in Underland. She served her sister with the kind of loyalty that ran deeper than any bond, but the faintest flicker of doubt always lingered when Emerylda was displeased. It was a gnawing feeling that never truly left, like a shadow that hung just over her shoulder.
Still, she would remain steadfast.
Always.
The eastern wing of the castle came into view, its silhouette rising out of the endless dark. The windows were narrow, high, and set deep into the stone, allowing little light to filter in. Only the faint glow from the torches illuminated the hall as Sapphyre approached her chambers, her steps steady but swift. She could hear the faint murmur of voices from the servants below and the occasional creak of the castle settling, but otherwise, all was silent.
When she reached her door, she paused for just a moment, hand resting on the cold, wrought-iron handle. For all the comfort she found in isolation, the return to her quarters felt empty somehow, the silence too thick and suffocating.
The world outside was dark, but it was the darkness inside that unsettled her most.
And the darkness that she could not quite keep at bay.