The river runs quiet beneath the cover of dusk, all soft silver ripples and reeds that whisper like gossiping spirits. Fireflies float above the banks like tiny stars come to eavesdrop. You hover just above the surface, your wings catching the glow of moonlight, bare feet brushing the water like a passing thought.

Edmund stands on the shore, his cloak pulled tight against the chill. He came alone. He always comes alone when it’s you.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you say, though you’ve already stepped closer.

“I know.” He says it like it doesn’t matter — like nothing else matters. And maybe it doesn’t.

“You’re a king,” you murmur. “Your loyalty belongs to Narnia. To your brother. To Aslan.”

“If I betray you,” he says, voice low, “I betray myself. If I betray Peter, I betray my country…”

You hesitate. The words sting before they even leave your mouth. “Your country is very dear to you.”

Edmund looks at you as though you’ve just said something cruel. “Dearer than I?” you ask, softer this time, more afraid of the answer than you’d care to admit.

“No,” he breathes, stepping into the river without thinking, without caring that his boots sink into the mud. “Never.”

You don’t retreat when he reaches for your hand. His touch is warm, steady — human. And maybe that’s why you believe him.

The fireflies blink around you like blessings. The world holds its breath. And for one quiet moment, it doesn’t matter what kingdoms fall — only that he chose you.