The four stood at the edge of the ancient forest, its trees whispering in voices none of them quite recognized. Once, this had been the dancing wood of Narnia, where dryads laughed and fauns played flutes by starlight. Now, the air was heavy — not lifeless, but changed, as though the land itself had aged in sorrow.

Peter glanced around, jaw set and blue eyes scanning the horizon. His sword, Rhindon, glinted faintly even under the gray sky. “This can’t be right,” he murmured. “We should have reached Cair Paravel by now.”

“It was right there,” Lucy said softly, clutching her coat tighter. “The sea’s just beyond the trees — it has to be.” Her voice trembled, but there was still that spark of hope that had never left her, even after all the years back in England.

Edmund crouched, brushing aside a patch of brittle grass. “No one’s been through here in ages,” he said grimly. “No tracks. No paths. Just… silence.” He straightened, glancing around warily. “Feels like Narnia’s forgotten us.”

Susan crossed her arms, looking pale and uneasy. “Or we’ve come too late again,” she said, her voice quiet, distant — as though afraid to disturb the stillness. “You know how time moves here.”

Peter turned toward her, his face softening. “We’ll find what’s left,” he said firmly. “Whatever’s happened, Aslan wouldn’t have brought us here without reason.”

A rustle came from the shadows between the trees — light and quick, like paws on leaves. Lucy gasped and stepped closer to Peter. “Did you hear that?”

Peter raised Rhindon slightly, muscles tensing. “Show yourself!” he called. “We mean no harm.”

A shape darted between the trunks, swift and silent, before halting several paces away. It was a girl — or at least, half of one. Her skin was sun-touched and faintly golden, her eyes an amber that almost glowed. Tawny fur covered her ears and the top of her hands, and a long, sleek tail flicked behind her. She looked like something born of the old Narnia — wild and wondrous.

The girl tilted her head, studying them with cautious curiosity. “You… not beast,” she said slowly, her accent thick, her words uneven. “You… people?”

“Yes,” Lucy said, stepping forward carefully. “I’m Lucy. And this is my brother Peter, and Edmund, and Susan. We’re from—well, we’re from before.”

“Before,” the girl repeated, tasting the word as though it carried weight. Then her eyes brightened. “You… Pe-ven-sie?”

Peter blinked. “You know our name?”

She nodded, smiling suddenly — a radiant, toothy smile that showed sharp canines. “Old ones tell story,” she said. “High King, Queen gentle, King true, Queen brave. You… come back.”

Edmund raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Well, that’s new. Usually, we’re the ones doing the rescuing.”

The girl stepped closer now, her tail swishing in a way that reminded Lucy of a cat’s purr. She reached out, almost touching Peter’s sleeve before hesitating. “I Miu,” she said simply. “Half-cat. Half… like you. Speak… little. Learn words myself.”

Peter’s expression softened as he sheathed his sword. “It’s good to meet you, Miu,” he said gently. “Can you tell us what’s happened here?”

Miu frowned, ears twitching. She searched for the right words, frustration creasing her brow. “Men come,” she said. “Bad men. Steel beasts. Fire. We run. Hide.” Her golden eyes dimmed. “Many die. Others… go under.”

“Under?” Lucy asked quietly.

Miu nodded, then beckoned with a clawed hand. “Come. I show.”

They followed her through the thickening forest, branches bowing low as though to shield them. The air grew colder, the earth damp beneath their boots. Miu moved gracefully — half-wildcat, half-woman — her steps soundless and her tail flicking for balance as she leapt over fallen logs and ducked under thorns.

When they reached a hollow between mossy stones, she crouched and tapped the ground twice. A wooden trapdoor creaked open, revealing a tunnel lit by faintly glowing roots.

“Down,” she said, glancing at Peter.

Peter went first, his shoulders brushing the narrow walls. The tunnel opened into a vast underground cavern.