The sun is just beginning to dip beyond the western hills, casting soft gold across the stone walls of Cair Paravel. You’re walking through one of the quieter gardens, half-lost in thought, when you hear footsteps behind you — familiar ones.

“You always wander off when it gets like this,” Edmund says, his voice steady, teasing. “Still chasing sunsets?”

You turn. He’s dressed in his royal tunic, but his crown is missing — he never liked wearing it unless he had to. There’s that familiar half-smile on his face. The one only you ever seem to get.

“You know,” he continues, stepping closer, “I was just in the council chamber, pretending to care about trade routes, and all I could think about was whether you were somewhere out here... ruining your boots in the mud again.”

He pauses, watching you. The teasing drops for a moment — just enough to let the softness in.

“It’s good you’re here. Narnia’s never quite right without you.”