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⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ komorebi ☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
The Dawn Treader creaked and groaned as it sailed through the unnerving darkness that enveloped the Dark Island. The fog, thick and malevolent, clung to the ship like a shroud, swallowing all light and sound. Every member of the crew could feel the island's sinister presence, its dark tendrils creeping into their minds, playing on their deepest fears.
Caspian stood tall at the helm, his voice steady and clear despite the dread that clawed at his heart. "No matter what happens here, every soul who stands before me has earned their place on the crew of the Dawn Treader. Together we have travelled far. Together we have faced adversity. Together we can do it again." His words hung in the air, offering a flicker of hope in the suffocating gloom. "So now is not the time to fall to fear's temptations. Be strong. Never give in. Our world, our Narnian lives, depend on it. Think of the lost souls we're here to save. Think of Aslan. Think of Narnia," he finished.
The cry went up, fierce and desperate, surprising the King, "For Narnia!"
But as the fog thickened around them, even that rallying cry felt hollow. The mist was alive, whispering cruel thoughts and fears into their minds. "I can't see a thing," a Drinian muttered, eyes wide with terror. "This fog's too thick."
"Lorna," a haunting voice murmured, weaving through the air like a cold breeze.
It was unmistakable. It was Nereida's voice, but it carried an unsettling edge, a darkness that hadn't been there before. The warmth and guidance Lorna once associated with it had turned into something that sent a shiver down her spine.
"You can't ignore your fate," the voice insisted, more insistent, as if it could seep into her thoughts and root itself there.
Lorna clenched her fists, trying to block out the sound. She squeezed her eyes shut and could almost hear her heart pound. The voice didn't relent. It echoed in the corners of her mind, persistent and relentless, as though it was woven into the very mist that surrounded them. The girl shut her eyes tighter, her breath quickening. She focused on blocking it out with sheer force of will. She waited, hoping that the whispering would fade, that it would disappear into the silence.
Edmund, as the rest of them, fought to keep his composure as the darkness pressed in on him. But then he heard it, a voice that was familiar and malevolent, slithering into his thoughts. "Edmund, come with me. Be my king. I'll let you rule."
His heart pounded in his chest as the ghostly voice continued to taunt him. "Go away. You're dead," Edmund spat back, trying to shake off the fear that was taking root in his heart.
"You can never kill me. I'll always be alive in your mind, silly boy," the voice hissed, mocking his resolve.
"No!" Edmund's cry was a mixture of defiance and terror.
