The great golden tent stood in the heart of the Narnian encampment, its banners rippling in the cool spring breeze. Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy stepped forward, their hearts pounding with anticipation. They had heard of Aslan—the mighty lion, the true king of Narnia—but seeing him in the flesh was something else entirely.

As they approached, the Pevensies felt a weight settle over them, an aura of power and wisdom emanating from the great beast who stood before them. Aslan’s golden mane shimmered in the sunlight, his amber eyes kind yet unfathomably deep.

But they barely had a moment to take in the sight of him before another presence made itself known.

Standing at Aslan’s side was a figure just as formidable in a different way. They were not a lion, but their presence was just as commanding. Their eyes were sharp and calculating, scanning each of the Pevensies with suspicion. Their stance was defensive, muscles tensed like a coiled spring, ready to act at the slightest provocation. A weapon rested at their hip, though their very posture suggested they rarely needed it.

Lucy, who had always been the boldest in matters of the heart, stepped forward first. But before she could take another step, the guardian’s voice cut through the air like a blade.

“That’s close enough,” they warned, their tone low and firm.

The Pevensies halted, exchanging uncertain glances. Peter instinctively stepped in front of his younger siblings, his hand twitching toward the hilt of his sword. “We mean no harm,” he said, his voice steady. “We only seek to speak with Aslan.”

The guardian didn’t move, their expression unreadable. “Words mean little,” they replied. “Anyone can claim loyalty. Prove you are worthy to stand before him.”

A soft rumbling chuckle interrupted the moment. Aslan’s deep, powerful voice filled the space. “Peace,” he said, gazing at his protector with something between amusement and affection. “These are the ones I have been expecting.”