Underland. In the tunnels that lead to Narnia.

2352.

49th Year of the Reign of King Caspian X.

Sapphyre.

In her bird-form, Sapphyre sped through the darkness of the tunnels, the sound of her wings cutting through the air like a whisper of the night. The stone walls of the underground labyrinth blurred around her as she navigated the winding passages with instinctive precision, never pausing to question, to doubt. There was no time for hesitation.

Rilian.

The dryads.

The squire.

Wishful thoughts won't find them. But you can.

The frost fae's words had unleashed something within her—something that had been lying dormant, buried beneath layers of duty and control.

Her wings beat faster, urging her forward as she raced through the tunnels, her sharp gaze cutting through the gloom.

Sapphyre's heart raced.

Her senses sharpened, attuned to the rhythm of the land, the subtle vibrations that could not be seen but could be felt. She had always been a creature of action, never one to waste time. But now, she was racing against something far more dangerous than time. She was racing against the unravelling of everything she had sworn to protect.

Shadows reached out to her as she flew through the tunnels, tendrils of darkness coiling like serpents, seeking to impede her progress. They were creatures of the deep, born from the forgotten corners of the land, where light could never touch.

They moved with unnatural speed, their forms indistinct, like whispers of nightmares made flesh.

Her wings beat faster, slicing through the air.

Her sword, she clutched tightly in her talons.

The shadows were relentless. They slithered along the walls, stretching unnaturally long, their forms flickering like half-formed phantoms. She could hear their whispers, faint, hissing voices that seemed to come from everywhere at once.

Light ahead.

She beat her wings faster.

Faster.

She burst into the sunlight, the oppressive darkness of the tunnels falling away behind her like a cloak ripped from her shoulders. The creatures and shadows that had pursued her recoiled, unable to follow into the light. She felt their presence slip away, like a distant memory fading into nothingness, their whispers vanishing into the depths.

In that split second of freedom, she shifted form, her wings folding tightly against her back as she dropped to the ground.

She landed in a controlled crouch, her boots sinking slightly into the soft ground beneath her.

Her sheathed sword landed beside her the next moment.

Her eyes scanned the landscape, her vision still sharp from her bird-form, the world stretched out before her in vivid detail. She was seeing with the heightened senses of the sky, the ability to track the smallest of movements, the faintest of signs. Every rustle of a leaf, every shift of shadow, was a clue—something that could lead her to the dryads, or Rilian.

She was desperate for any sign, any trace that might point her toward them.

And then, she saw it.

A faint gleam caught her attention, something out of place. Half-hidden beneath the overgrowth of a bush, a splatter of blood marred the ground, stark and bright against the muted tones of the landscape.

Her heart sank.

Sapphyre approached cautiously as her hand reached for the hilt of her sword, drawing it with a smooth, practiced motion. The blade gleamed in the sunlight.

Her eyes remained fixed on the bush, where the blood had pooled, her every step measured and quiet. Tension coiled in her chest, her muscles tensed.

The bush parted before her.

A young man.

His emerald green tunic, the tunic of Underland's squires, darkened by the dark red blood. His pale face was twisted in pain, his eyes wide and vacant.

Ashtan.

Her breath caught in her throat.

The missing squire.

Dead.

With a final glance at Ashtan's lifeless form, Sapphyre stood, her heart heavy. There was no sign of the young dryad who had accompanied him, no trace of the others – no Rilian. The blood was a chilling confirmation of what she feared.

It was no accident.

Her mind raced, her senses on high alert, but as she scanned the area one last time, something caught her eye.

A ribbon. Tied to a nearby bush, fluttering lightly in the breeze, it was unmistakable. The colour was one she knew well – her personal flag.

A message.

Sapphyre's gaze shifted, her breath catching as she noticed something else – wagon marks, faint but unmistakable, imprinted in the dirt nearby. The wheels had left deep, uneven grooves, pulling a heavy load.

Rilian had left her a trail.

She felt the tight knot in her chest loosen, just a fraction.

A path.

Her resolve hardened. She could feel the pull of the land, the call of her own instincts, urging her forward. Sapphyre glanced back at Ashtan's body one last time, her expression hardening.

She would bury him properly when she returned.