Somewhere along the Coast, near the Northern Marshes.
1014.
The Fourteenth Year of the Golden Age.
Lia.
Lia shook – she could not help it as those molten gold eyes stared at her with hunger. A hunger that could easily devour her very soul.
It was a wolf, yet unlike any wolf she had ever laid eyes upon.
As dark as night, only its face and paws were visible, the rest of its body fading into nothingness as if it were made of mist. No, not mist. Smoke. Something black and thick and ancient. It moved like a shadow through the world, its form shifting in and out of reality.
Its lips curled back in a silent snarl. It made no sound, no growl – just that creeping step forward. As if it were already imagining the taste of her flesh.
Lia's fingers twitched toward the dagger at her side.
The sharp boot pressing against the back of her leg wavered slightly. Her breath caught as the cold edge of a blade met the bare skin of her throat.
The woman holding her said nothing. But Lia could feel her – tense, trembling. Strands of dark hair had fallen loose from her hood, spilling over Lia's shoulder in a tangled mess of near-purple, near-blue. Unnatural. Otherworldly even in such a magical land.
A breeze stirred through the camp, and that's when Lia realized – her captor's hand was shaking.
"Surely you have heard of the shadow-wolves," Arianna said.
Had Lia not been so terrified to move, she would have cringed away from the sound of the queen's voice. It was cold. Flat. Like iron left too long in snow. But Lia knew her queen was not cold. Not truly. And that was what made it worse.
She turned her eyes, just barely, toward the movement she'd sensed near the fire. From the corner of her vision, she saw King Edmund jerking his arms, muscles straining, tugging at the rope that bound him. His wrists were red, raw.
But he didn't stop.
His captor – turned slowly, toward the dark beyond the firelight. Toward another of the wolves.
It bared its teeth in a vicious snarl. A low, unnatural growl rolled from its gullet, and Lia felt it in her spine. It was deeper than sound, more like a vibration in her bones. The woman holding her cursed again under her breath and trembled against Lia's back.
She couldn't blame her.
Lia wanted to tremble too.
Dear Aslan, help me.
The shadows moved again, twisting and leaping from the firelight like they had minds of their own.
And then she saw them.
Faces.
In the shadows.
Mouths too wide, filled with crooked teeth. Lecherous grins that seemed to stretch endlessly, twisted and wrong. Outstretched arms longer than arms should be. Reaching. Clawing.
No… not real. Not real. They're tricks. Just fire and fear and tricks—
But the howl that followed sent her into stillness again, heart hammering against her ribs.
And beside her, one of the cloaked figures whimpered. Not a guard. One of them, one of their attackers.
"Back!" someone hissed. "Form a line, form—"
Another scream.
A blur of black mist collided with a man on the edge of the clearing, and his torch flew into the air, spinning like a dying star before it landed and went out in the wet grass.
The fire no longer held the darkness at bay.
The shadows had teeth.
Lia swallowed her fear. Hard.
She was a dryad of the Cauldron Pool. She was a sworn Royal Guard of the Crown of Narnia. And though her heart thundered and her limbs trembled, by Aslan, she would act like it.
She steadied her breath, her pulse roaring in her ears like a storm.
Then chaos broke.
Arianna moved in a blur – so fast Lia almost missed it. There was a shhk of steel through flesh, and blood sprayed in an arc across the damp earth as the man's blade sliced into her queen's shoulder, tearing through leather and skin with a horrible sound.
Lia gasped, but Arianna didn't even flinch.
Instead, her hand snapped upward. The palm of it collided with the man's nose, the crunch so loud it echoed through the trees. His hood fell back, revealing a mess of blood and bone where his nose had once been, his dark purple hair soaked in red. He staggered, clutching at his ruined face.
Lia's stomach lurched at the sight – but she did not look away.
Do not flinch, she told herself. Not now.
And then – Aslan have mercy – a shadow moved behind the man.
The wolf.
It stepped closer, soundless as night, its form still shifting at the edges like smoke with teeth. Its eyes glinted – like molten gold, like fury made flesh – and fixed on the wounded man. Not with recognition. Not with restraint.
With hunger.
The man screamed, stumbling backwards. His voice was shrill with pain, with confusion.
Arianna's eyes flashed – ice and fire all at once – and her foot slammed into his chest with such force that his body flew back. He hit the ground hard, sliding across the damp leaves, blood smearing in his wake.
The wolf was on him before he even stopped moving.
The sound—
It was wet. And fast. And terrible.
Lia forced herself not to look away. You are a Guard.
Even as the bile climbed her throat, she kept her gaze sharp. Her fingers twitched against the earth.
Her captor's grip had loosened. Just slightly.
She shifted her weight, subtly. Testing. Waiting. Watching.
One moment the man writhed beneath the shadow-wolf's teeth, his screams splitting the air like lightning through storm clouds – and the next, there was nothing but silence. No trace of him remained but the blood soaking into the forest floor.
It was as if he had never been there.
"No!" The scream shattered the stillness. A woman's voice, cracked and raw, the sound of a soul breaking in real time.
Lia flinched.
It was as if a spell had fallen over the camp. Not one of sleep or silence, but one so thick with dread, so twisted, it shackled them in place. They watched – were forced to watch – as the wolf lifted its bloodstained muzzle and howled. A sound too wild, too ancient, too wrong to belong to this world.
Then – crack. The sickening pop of bone. Rrip. The soft, wet sound of flesh parting.
Lia's breath caught in her chest.
A deep pool of blood spread like ink in water, staining everything. The smell of iron turned the back of her throat to fire.
And in the very next heartbeat—
Arianna moved.
Twin daggers flashed, moonlight glinting off the wet blades, and Lia's captor made a strangled sound as she crumpled forward. Her hood fell back as she collapsed.
Lia's world tilted.
The woman – barely more than a girl, truly – was beautiful. Surely no more than six and ten. Her sea-blue eyes were wide with fear, not hatred. Her midnight hair, braided tightly down her back, was soaked with crimson as blood slowly seeped into the strands.
Lia froze.
Her heart slammed against her ribs as her limbs refused to obey her. She knelt among the fallen leaves and stared down at the girl who had nearly killed her. A girl with trembling hands. With a blade slick with blood that had shaken in her grasp.
It was a woman's snarl that split the night, raw and ragged, a sound born not of rage alone – but of grief.
Lia turned sharply, her body still shaking, to see her – torch raised high above her head, firelight spilling across the trees like liquid gold. The same woman who had screamed in anguish just moments before now burned with fury. Her dark eyes glistened wetly, not from fear but from heartbreak, and her lips curled back in a wild snarl that spoke of blood vengeance.
The wolves hissed and snarled, their misty bodies recoiling from the flame. Fangs bared, they leapt backward with inhuman grace, their eyes catching the firelight like shards of glass – glistening with malice.
The woman didn't hesitate. She surged forward into the trees, the flame illuminating the twisted branches and gnarled roots of the forest as she went. And though the wolves shrank from her light, they circled behind her, slinking through the darkness like living smoke.
Lia rose to her feet instinctively, her voice caught in her throat. "Wait –!"
But the woman disappeared between the trees.
The shadows swallowed her whole.
A heartbeat later, her cry ripped through the night – a blood-curdling sound that cracked like thunder – and then…
Silence.
Lia's stomach twisted violently. Her mouth tasted of copper and bile. Goosebumps flared across her skin like wildfire, crawling down her arms and up her neck, wrapping cold hands around her spine.
And then came the howls.
One after another, from all around them – echoing, hunting, closing in.
The camp exploded into motion. The attackers – so sure of themselves mere moments passed – scrambled like rats. Their weapons clattered, ropes dropped, torches swung wildly, sending shadows dancing in chaos.
The man nearest Lia turned, panic carved into every line of his face. His sword trembled in his grip as he stepped backward, only a single step—
Crunch.
He never had the chance to scream.
A muzzle, black as pitch and twice as long as it should've been, snapped forward from the edge of the firelight and clamped down on his ankle. The sound of bone splintering was loud, obscene. He shrieked, a shrill gurgling sound as he fell, his fingers scrabbling for purchase on the blood-slick earth.
The wolf didn't release him.
It pulled.
Dragged.
The man's screams became distant as he was hauled back into the woods, leaving a trail of crimson in his wake.
Lia stood frozen, breath ragged, as the last remnants of the night's order shattered around her.
"On me!"
The command rang through the clearing like a bell toll, cutting clean through the madness. It was Peter – his voice sure and strong, even as chaos and fear clawed at the edges of the world.
Lia's head snapped toward him.
There he stood, wreathed in firelight, eyes alight like twin suns, Rhindon raised in his grasp. The steel gleamed with deadly promise, etched with the ancient markings of Aslan's gift – runes that shimmered as though they knew battle was upon them.
King Peter the Magnificent.
The world around her shifted. Like dancers finding their rhythm after the music begins, the Narnians moved in unison. Fauns, centaur, dryads – each one turning, running, rallying to their High King.
In that breathless, fire-lit space, they remembered who they were.
Her legs found strength, the daze of panic falling from her like a second skin. She moved, sword in hand, her feet carrying her toward Peter as the shadows twisted around them.
But there was no time to wonder, no time to be in awe.
The wolves were still circling.
The shadows still writhed.
So, Lia, daughter of the forest, raised her sword and turned her body to shield her kings and queens.
"For Narnia," she whispered, breath hot in her throat, heart pounding in her chest like a war drum.
And then, with a cry, she charged.