The camp was alive with the buzz of preparation. Steel clanged against steel as weapons were sharpened, armor adjusted, and voices carried commands across the clearing. Prince Caspian stood near the edge of the Narnian forest, his eyes scanning the horizon with a mix of concern and determination. The weight of leading an army of Narnians against the Telmarines lay heavy on his shoulders, but he squared them nonetheless. This was his fight, his birthright to reclaim.

He hadn’t noticed at first, the way the camp seemed to shift slightly—the quiet murmur that spread as someone new approached. It wasn’t until a shadow moved within his peripheral vision that he turned. And then, it was like the whole world stilled for a moment.

There they were. A figure, strong yet graceful, moving towards him with a sense of purpose and ease, as if they had always been a part of this world—like they belonged in the heart of battle preparations but somehow stood apart from it, untouched by the weight of war. The sunlight caught their features just so, casting a soft glow that made them seem almost ethereal. Caspian’s heart stuttered, an unfamiliar warmth spreading through his chest.

He realized he was staring, and quickly cleared his throat, remembering his manners. His hand moved to adjust the hilt of his sword, a nervous gesture as he tried to maintain composure.

“Greetings,” he began, his voice steady despite the sudden surge of emotions swirling inside him. He could feel the weight of their gaze on him, and it was… different. Intense. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Prince Caspian.”