( 𝗖𝗨𝗥𝗥𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗟𝗬 𝗨𝗡𝗗𝗘𝗥 𝗘𝗗𝗜𝗧𝗜𝗡𝗚 )
𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇
⸻ Cordelia Winterbourne's ordinary life with her mother was shattered by the onset of war, prompting Cordelia's mother to make a gut-wrenching decision by sending her daughter away for...
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The Narnians erupted into cheers as the two Kings of Narnia emerged from Aslan's How, their faces marked with focused determination and solemn resolve.
Across the field, the Telmarines echoed the fervor, their voices rising in unified shouts. Miraz took his place for the duel with Peter, flanked by the three Lords and Seraphina. Her gaze remained fixed on the two kings, her expression an unsettling, emotionless mask.
Her locks of white hair were tightly gathered into an upward ponytail, while the armor she wore hugged her body flawlessly, accentuating her figure with precision.
Edmund and the girl locked eyes, once filled with affection and adoration, now met each other devoid of the spark they once held. Their gaze, once brimming with love and fondness, now appeared distant and lacking the connection that once bound them together.
As Peter observed his best friend, he noticed that outwardly, she appeared unchanged, but an altered aura emanated from her presence.
"If it should appear to be going poorly..." Miraz's whisper, coupled with the indication of the crossbow in Glozelle's hand, drew an unsettling feeling in Sera's chest. Despite the inexplicable sensation, she brushed it off.
Miraz stood, meeting Peter across the duel space as the prince drew his sword in his left hand, the other gripping a silver shield embossed with a lion. Behind Peter, the Narnians erupted in cheers, their voices swelling the air with unwavering support and anticipation.
"I hope your hopes aren't too dashed when I emerge victorious," Miraz quipped before securing his golden helmet.
Both kings advanced toward the center, the palpable tension and anticipation hanging thick in the air.
"There is still time to surrender," Miraz proposed as the two circles converged in the middle.
"Well, feel free," the blond Pevensie retorted, his stance unwavering.
"How many more must die for the throne?" Miraz questioned.
"Just one," Peter replied sternly as he lowered his helmet.
In a sudden surge, the two kings converged at the center, their swords colliding fiercely, resonating with the clash of metal against metal.
The Narnians watched in tense silence as steel met steel, each clash between the two monarchs echoing their unwavering resolve. The sun dipped slowly toward the horizon, bathing the battleground in a golden glow that highlighted the weight of the duel.
Peter's swordsmanship was swift and precise, his movements a testament to his years of training and the duty that lay heavy on his shoulders. Meanwhile, Miraz matched him blow for blow, displaying a skill that spoke of his prowess and determination.
The duel seemed to suspend time, the ringing of their swords filling the air with a tense rhythm. Every movement was a careful blend of strength and strategy, each strike a test of skill and will.
The spectators held their breath, hearts beating in unison with the clash of steel. This battle carried the weight of Narnia’s future, its outcome of this duel held the promise of a new era for Narnia, and the fate of the kingdom hung in the balance.
As the duel continued, the tension grew palpable. Each stroke of their swords seemed to define the destiny of the realm, the conflict intensifying with every passing moment. The clash was not just physical; it was a battle of ideals and determination, a testament to the courage of those who fought for their beliefs.
The scene unfolded as a vivid testament to courage, immortalizing in Narnia’s history the fierce struggle between two kings. Their swords intertwined in a relentless dance, each clash carrying the weight of the kingdom’s fate.
Edmund's heart raced as he stole occasional glances at the girl across the field.
'She looks beautiful,' he thought, momentarily captivated by her presence. But he quickly shook off the distraction, knowing the gravity of the situation at hand.
Across from him, the girl seemed lost in a whirlwind of emotions. Her gaze held a strange mixture of recognition and unfamiliarity as she looked back at the brunette Pevensie. It was as if she sensed a connection but couldn't grasp its entirety.
For Cordelia—or Seraphina, as she had become—the sight of Edmund sparked a faint, unsettling recognition. A subtle tug at the edges of her memories stirred, an inexplicable longing she couldn’t fully place. Her gaze was conflicted, caught between the echoes of the past and the unfamiliar reality she now embodied.
As their eyes met fleetingly amidst the tension and spectacle of the duel, it was clear that despite the confusion, an unspoken connection lingered between the two, an enigmatic bond that transcended the present circumstance.
As the clash of swords resounded in the air, the cacophony of steel on steel shattered the thoughts of Seraphina's conflicted thoughts and inexplicable emotions.
The resounding echoes of battle served as a stark reminder of the urgency of the present moment, drawing her attention back to the duel before her.
The reverberating clash of metal slicing through the silence sliced through her emotional turmoil, demanding her focus on the intense struggle unfolding between the two kings. Any lingering thoughts or fleeting sentiments were drowned out by the raw intensity of the duel, grounding her attention firmly in the perilous moment before her.
Amid the chaos, Miraz skillfully struck, sending Peter’s helmet tumbling from his head with a precise swing of his shield. Without hesitation, he lunged, aiming a swift and deadly strike toward the throat of the brave blond Pevensie.
However, with a lightning-quick reflex, Peter leaned back just in time to evade the deadly strike, his head narrowly escaping Miraz’s assault. Demonstrating both skill and courage, he dropped into a kneeling stance and executed a precise slash to Miraz’s thigh, shifting the momentum of the heated duel.
Yet, the tides of battle turned swiftly once more, as Peter suddenly found himself pressed to the ground, his arms pinned under the unyielding force of Miraz’s onslaught, the danger of the moment pressing down with brutal intensity.
With a precise and merciless move, Miraz pressed down on the point where Peter’s shield straps connected, eliciting a sharp cry of pain from the young king as his left arm was forcefully dislocated.
Seraphina’s fingers twitched instinctively at the harrowing sight, a fleeting impulse to intervene stirring within her. The sensation clashed with the cold, unyielding persona she now embodied, and with deliberate control, she suppressed the urge, redirecting her focus to the unfolding chaos before her.
The intense duel between Miraz and Peter persisted until the sound of a horse disrupted their focus. Caspian emerged, with Susan on his back.
Peter, grappling with the pain of his dislocated arm, called for a momentary pause in the duel. Miraz initially resisted the idea but eventually relented, allowing a brief respite in the fierce confrontation.
