Atlantis. The Heartland.
2790.
214th Year of the Reign of Emperor Beryl and Empress Opallyne.
Sapphyre.
The amphitheatre was filled with light, the soft golden rays of the sun casting long shadows across the stone, as if the very earth had bowed in reverence to the moment. The air was thick with anticipation, the gathered crowd silent, their eyes fixed on her.
Sapphyre knelt at the centre of the amphitheatre, her heart beating in time with the pulse of the crowd.
It felt as if the entire kingdom had come to bear witness to the moment – her knighting.
Her knees were pressed to the cool stone beneath her, and her hands rested lightly on the hilt of the sword before her, the blade shining in the sunlight.
The golden shield lay before her, its surface gleaming brightly. Sapphyre stared at her own face, the determination in her eyes mirrored in the polished metal.
Emerylda had braided her hair that morning, the strands woven together with the care of a sister, each loop a reflection of the bond between them. Her hair, now neatly twisted and bound, shimmered like the waves of the ocean.
She could hear the hushed whispers of the crowd as they watched, waiting for the moment of the ceremony to unfold. The nobles, the court, the commonfolk – they were all there, from every corner of Atlantis.
The Grand Master of the Knights Order stood before her, his eyes hidden beneath the shadow of his hood. His voice, when it came, rang out with the weight of tradition, the weight of the entire kingdom.
"Sapphyre, daughter of Atlantis, by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you a Knight of the Heart. Rise and take your place among the honoured." His words were like a bell ringing in her soul, deep and resonant.
She lifted her head slowly, and the crowd's silence intensified, hanging in the air like a tangible force. Her breath caught as she looked up at the shining shield, her reflection staring back at her from the golden surface. She saw herself – a young woman, but there was a warrior there too, a knight forged in the fires of duty and honour.
Sapphyre rose from her knees, her movements graceful, but purposeful. Her heart pounded fiercely in her chest, the weight of the moment heavy on her shoulders. But she did not flinch. She would never flinch.
She had sworn her oath not to the court, not to her parents, but to Atlantis itself.
"For Shield and for Stone!" Sapphyre's voice rang out, clear and strong, carrying over the vast amphitheatre. The words felt like a thunderclap, resounding not just through the air, but deep within her own soul. Her shield, raised high for the first time, caught the light and shimmered like a beacon, the weight of it grounding her in the moment, anchoring her to the very essence of her purpose.
A deafening roar of applause followed her words, the sound so powerful it seemed to shake the very stones beneath her feet. It was as if the entire kingdom had exhaled in unison, releasing years of anticipation and pride, celebrating not just the youngest knight in history, but the future of Atlantis itself.
"For Shield and Stone. For Shield and Stone." The chant echoed through the amphitheatre, the words on the lips of thousands upon thousands. Tankards would not be empty that night, nor would any bed be cold, and celebrations would last long after the two moons went to sleep, and the sun showed its merry face once more.
And Sapphyre smiled as she raised her shield, exuberance bubbling through her very heart.
The last six years of her life had led her to that moment. To the moment where her Path would truly start.
She turned to those who welcomed her.
Standing proud in their Atlantis-blue cloaks, silver-gold armour polished to a shine.
Their gazes were clear, their smiles echoing her own. They were the standard of chivalry, the ones who rode to battle when the bravery of others was a whisper of the past. They stood for what was right, for what was good. They defended the weak and looked past no wrongs. They were the ones who tool the tongues of tyranny and rammed them back down their throats.
The Knights of the Heart.
Now her comrades in arms.
She'd worked tirelessly towards that moment. She had chosen it. She had earned it. The honour, the duty, the title—they were hers, and hers alone. The path she had walked to this moment was hers, carved by her decisions, her actions, and her heart.
The shield was heavy – but so was the role she embraced.
"For Shield and for Stone," the knights said, as one.
Sapphyre smiled.
Wild and free.
High above them, the Heart of Atlantis shone, its brilliance casting a radiant glow over the amphitheatre. Positioned atop the grand palace, the Heart gleamed like a third sun in the sky, its light pulsing seemingly in sync with the rhythm of the crowd's roar.
Its presence was both a blessing and a weight, an eternal symbol of power, of sacrifice, and of the kingdom's ancient heritage.
As the people cheered, the Heart's glow intensified, bathing the entire city in its ethereal light. To Sapphyre, it felt as if the very essence of Atlantis was watching her, bearing witness to that moment – the turning point in her life.
And as Sapphyre raised her shield for the second time, the light of the Heart seemed to flicker – just for a moment – as if acknowledging her, as if recognizing that she, too, was part of its eternal glow. One of its Blessed.
She looked up at it, a flicker of something deep in her chest, a connection, unspoken and ancient. The Heart of Atlantis had shaped her world, but she would shape its future.
"For Shield and for Stone," she whispered softly to herself. The crowd continued to cheer, but in that moment, it was just Sapphyre and the Heart, bound together by fate, by blood, and by choice. And as the Heart shone down upon them all, Sapphyre knew that the moment was just the beginning of something much greater.
…
Underland. The Dark City.
2352.
49th Year of the Reign of King Caspian X.
Rois.
The body was lighter than he expected.
Rois watched as the two queensguard lifted the dryad's limp form, her once-flushed skin now drained of all warmth, her limbs brittle as though carved from deadwood. Her hair, which had carried the faint scent of Lantern Waste's wild blooms, was now faded, dry strands falling loose as they moved her.
An interesting symptom.
Prolonged consumption of nightrose had severed her from her roots – her life-source.
A dryad without a tree was little more than a husk, her essence withered beyond recovery. He had theorized the flower's effects would be powerful, but this?
It was something altogether new.
The queensguard did not even flinch at his request.
Silent and obedient, they carried the dryad's withered form down the hidden passage, their faces devoid of emotion, their movements mechanical. They did not question. They did not hesitate.
They simply discarded the body.
The chamber door swung open, and the air shifted.
Rois lifted his gaze from the parchment-strewn table, already knowing who had come before he saw her. The scent of something faintly floral yet venomous curled into the room, delicate yet cloying, a whisper of power wrapped in silk.
Emerylda.
His queen moved with effortless grace, flanked by two black-armoured guards whose visors concealed all but the faint gleam of their eyes. They were silent as wraiths, looming behind her like shadows given form.
She stopped just short of his workbench, gloved fingers trailing absently across the edge of a silver-edged vial. "Rois," she greeted, her voice smooth as still water.
He inclined his head slightly, but his mind was already moving past pleasantries. "More distilled nightrose for the brewery?"
A faint smile curved her plum-painted lips. "Perceptive, as always."
Rois exhaled slowly, pressing his fingertips together. "My supply runs low," he admitted. "Your Knight Commander managed to collect only a pouch-full on her last venture."
For the first time, Emerylda's expression darkened, a flicker of something cold passing through her too-green eyes. "That is unfortunate," she murmured.
Rois resisted the urge to smirk. Her displeasure was always a quiet thing, deceptively soft, but no less dangerous.
"I need more," the queen continued, her tone measured. "And soon."
Ah. So, she had plans.
Bigger ones, it seemed.
And Rois knew better than to incur the wrath of the Emerald Queen.
Though she smiled, though her voice remained smooth as river-glass, there was something coiled beneath the surface, something venomous. The air itself seemed to hum with her presence, a whisper of power curling through the dimly lit chamber.
"I will need more than a handful of petals, my lady," he said carefully, choosing his words like a man stepping across a frozen lake.
Emerylda's gaze did not waver.
Rois did not wait for her displeasure to show. He had served her long enough to know when danger lurked beneath her stillness. He inclined his head, his voice smooth as he added, "Perhaps another visit to the surface is in order. If the Knight Commander cannot bring back enough, then a larger effort must be made. A proper expedition. More hands, better tools."
The queen tapped a single gloved finger against the table, considering. "A wise suggestion," she murmured at last. "See to it that it happens."
Rois bowed his head. "As you command, my queen."
The Emerald Queen turned, her dark-clad guards moving in unison as she swept from the chamber. Only when the door closed behind her did Rois allow himself to breathe.
A visit to the surface.
A dangerous endeavour, but necessary. The nightrose had to be replenished. The experiments had to continue.
He knew what that meant.
If he wanted results – if he wanted the nightrose – he would have to go himself.
It had been years since he had last walked beneath an open sky, since he had felt true sunlight on his skin. The thought sent a strange shiver through him, a mix of anticipation and unease. Surely none would recognize him now. Surely the years had erased whatever traces of him still lingered in the minds of those above.
Still… best not to take chances.
Cair Paravel and its white-stone towers would be well avoided. The Narnians had long memories, and though kings and queens came and went, their rules and punishments for those who broke them did not fade so easily.
He had no intention of testing their mercy.
No, he would slip through the wild places, the forgotten paths where only whispers dared tread. He would take what he needed and disappear before the wind could carry word of his presence.
Rois tapped a finger against the table, his mind already shifting beyond the simple task of harvesting more of the elusive flower. If he was to risk exposing himself, then the journey had to be worth it.
A rare smile curved his lips, sharp and fleeting.
The Queen's will was not to be denied.
…
Somewhere before the Western Mountains.
Sapphyre.
Sapphyre watched Ardisia until she vanished into the fog, the witch's form swallowed by the dense mist of the marshes. The air felt thick, charged with the secrets that lingered in the shadows of that forgotten place. Ardisia, so bright and eager, was drawn to the call of the Western Mountains, but it wasn't a call Sapphyre herself could feel.
The other witches had gone, each one following the invisible thread that tugged at them, but Sapphyre felt nothing. No magic stirred in the air for her, no invisible pulse calling her into the unknown. Whatever had summoned Ardisia and the others – whatever power that awaited them on the other side of the mountains – it was not a call meant for her.
She had considered following them, walking the same path as Ardisia. The lure of the mystery, to find out what lay in the unknown. But something within her resisted. She had learned long ago that not all paths were meant for her to walk, and that one, though powerful, wasn't hers to answer. There was no thread, no whisper of magic that beckoned her forward.
The air was still for her, empty of the draw that seemed to grip the witches one by one.
Instead, she felt a cold silence in her chest, a quiet that mirrored the stillness of the marsh. She wasn't needed where they were going. And perhaps, for the first time in a long while, Sapphyre found comfort in that fact.
She took a step back, glancing toward the mountains that loomed far off in the distance. The air there hummed with power, but it was a power she could not touch, a power not meant for her.
She breathed deeply, the cool air of the marshes filling her lungs. There were many forces in the world – forces beyond her understanding – but not all of them were hers to face. Not at that time.
Sapphyre turned away from the path that led westward, the sound of her boots crunching softly on the earth as she walked in the opposite direction. She had a different journey to make, one where the power that lay within her was enough. The witches had their call, and she had hers.
And the two would not intertwine.
Her sister would wish to know about it before they made any further plans and so she'd turned away and drifted with the wind. Leaving the mountains at her back and many questions unanswered in her mind.
It was a decision for another day.
That was a decision for Emerylda.
With a soft exhale, she allowed her form to shift, the familiar surge of magic washing over her as her wings retracted, her body returning to its natural state. No longer a bird, she stood there, feet solid on the ground, feeling the warmth of the sunlight filter through the canopy above.
For a moment, she simply stood, allowing herself to be, her senses heightened by the air, the grass beneath her feet, the soft rustling of the leaves in the breeze. She closed her eyes, letting the warmth of the sun kiss her skin, a stark contrast to the cool, shadowed depths of Underland that awaited her return.
The sensation of the light a rare indulgence in a life of shadows and stone. It made her feel grounded, tethered to something other than the endless expanse of darkness she often found herself drifting through. She stretched out her arms slightly, basking in the sunlight like a creature who had not felt the touch of warmth in far too long.
Sapphyre basked in the afternoon sunlight, her cloak spread upon the rock that she scrambled atop of, enjoying the last of the days' warm rays. The last sunfall she would see for a while once she returned to Underland.
It would not be long before she saw Rilian once more, to spar with him, to laugh with him.
Sapphyre blinked against the sudden heat that rushed through her veins, as if the sunlight itself had turned into something much warmer, much more intimate. Her chest tightened, her breath catching in her throat as the image of Rilian's indigo eyes swirled in her mind, sharp and vivid, like a flame flickering to life. She had done so well at keeping her mind occupied, from keeping the fruitless thoughts of him from intruding. And it was as if floodgates had opened – image after image flowed through her. His laughter, his smile, his grin when he thought he was to best her.
Rilian. Rilian. Rilian.
She groaned, pressed her head to her hands.
She shouldn't have paused in her journey.
Selfish.
Foolish.
He was beyond her reach.
He was to be Emerylda's.
She should not think of him as she did.
She knew that.
He was Emerylda's. She could have no place in his heart.
And yet, despite the knowledge, the ache inside her wouldn't dissipate.