𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝘩𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑛𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑎, 𝖾𝖽𝗆𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝗉.

XIII. eye of the storm

Lark's POV:

I squinted my eyes, using my hands to shield my eyes from the light.

Wait...Could I move?

When my eyes adjusted, I looked around. There he was.

Aslan.

We were sitting just behind the stone table, staring at the sunrise.

It was beautiful, but I couldn't focus on it.

All I cared about was that we were alive. And--if I was alive--then he might still be too.

I jumped to my feet staring in disbelief.

"What--we're--we died--you're ALIVE?" I screamed, hugging Aslan around the neck. Everything felt normal, no pain. Aslan chuckled.

"Yes, child. We are."

I turned back to the sunset. " É bellisimo." I didn't mean to speak Italian, but the moment had cleared my brain of rational thought.

"Yes, it is beautiful. Now, Lark, we have work to do. But, first--a lesson." Aslan growled softly, and I looked towards him.

"A lesson--a lesson on what?"

"Your power. Do you remember---the numb sensation as you were dying, your bracelet growing warm, and the countless times of pure focus?"

I nodded, still unsure. "Those are because of me. I created you, so naturally, some of my essences are harbored inside you. You have gained abilities beyond what I could've imagined. Yet--some have not been discovered. This is a reason you were knighted, Lionheart. You are my dear, a lioness in essence. Here, I will teach you."

Aslan instructed me to close my eyes and imagine the half of me that was Narnian and the half of me, lioness. I felt something stirring inside of me, and when I opened my mouth to speak, it wasn't words that came out.

It was a roar.

...

Edmund's POV

I sat up groggily in bed, waking to a sound of the tent flaps rustling. I looked up to find that Peter was already awake, staring at something in front of us. I turned my gaze and saw what he was staring at.

A dryad.

Dryads, at least the ones I had known so far, were very cheerful creatures. That being said, this one was completely the opposite.

She was crying. "I bear grave news."

A pit formed in my stomach. What was wrong?

"What is it?" Peter asked nervously.

"Aslan and Lark, the great Lion and his right hand---are dead."

I blinked. Once. Twice. Then it registered.

"No," I said, my voice sounding far away. "No, no, you're lying." My voice cracked.

"I am afraid it is true. They are gone." With that, the dryad vanished.

Peter turned to me, to say something, but I didn't hear him. I was furiously wiping at my eyes, trying to keep the tears from falling.

They are gone.

They are gone.

They are gone.

I didn't even get to tell her. Tell her how much...how much...

I broke.

Falling back on my pillow with surprising force, I cried. Tears streaming down my face, barely breathing, I turned to the other bed. Peter was crying too. We cried in silence for all the things we had lost, for the people we would never see again.