The bells of Oakhaven did not ring to wake the citizens; they rang to remind them that the light was still there.
Caspian stood on the balcony of his small marble cottage, his hands rhythmically scrubbing the brass casing of the family's Solar Lamp. In Oakhaven, a smudge on a lamp was more than a sign of laziness—it was a social sin. The city was a masterpiece of ivory stone and polished glass, designed specifically to capture every stray beam of the sun. Even the shadows here felt thin, weak, and unwelcome.
"Brother, you're scrubbing so hard the brass might disappear," a soft voice teased from inside.
Caspian stopped, his shoulders relaxing. He turned to see Aria leaning against the doorframe. She looked pale—the 'Ash Sleep' hadn't taken her yet, but the early signs were there. She was the one who kept the prayers, the one who truly believed in the sanctity of the light.
"The Elder said the morning mist is getting thicker, Aria," Caspian replied, his voice low. "If the Solar Crystal isn't polished, the glow won't reach the street corner. You know the rule."
"The Light protects, for the Void forgets," Aria recited the common Oakhaven proverb with a faint smile. She walked over and placed a hand on his bandaged right arm.
Caspian flinched instinctively.
"Does it still go numb?" she asked softly.
"It's just the cold, Aria. Nothing more."
It was a lie. Underneath those bandages, Caspian felt a terrifying sensation—not a lack of feeling, but a heavy, liquid darkness that seemed to pulse in sync with his heartbeat. Whenever he stood too close to a fully lit Solar Lamp, his arm didn't feel warm; it felt like it was being stung by a thousand needles. In a city that worshipped the sun, Caspian felt like a walking blasphemy.
Down in the Great Plaza, he could see the Luminarch Knights patrolling in their shimmering silver plate armor. They were the pride of King Magnus—holy warriors who ensured that every hearth stayed lit and every shadow stayed short.
The atmosphere in the village was... happy. Almost too happy. Neighbors waved at each other with wide, practiced smiles. Children played in the streets, but they never strayed near the dark alleyways. No one ever spoke about what lay beyond the Great White Walls of Oakhaven. There were no history books in the library that dated back more than a hundred years.
It was a perfect, beautiful prison.
"Come," Aria said, pulling on his sleeve. "The Morning Prayer is starting. If we're late, the High Priest will notice."
As they walked toward the central cathedral, Caspian noticed something. He stopped in his tracks, staring at a small puddle of water gathered near a drainage grate.
The sun was high in the sky, brilliant and gold. Aria's shadow was pinned directly beneath her feet, sharp and clear. But Caspian's shadow... it didn't match his position. It was stretched out a few inches too far to the left, and its edges weren't sharp. They were blurred, flickering like smoke in a windless room.
Caspian blinked, his heart hammering against his ribs. When he looked again, the shadow was back to normal.
It's just my head, he told himself. The light is playing tricks.
But as they reached the cathedral steps, a sudden, sharp pain shot through his bandaged arm. It was so intense he nearly collapsed. At that exact moment, for a fraction of a second, the Great Solar Crystal atop the cathedral—the pride of King Magnus—flickered.
Just once.
The thousands of people in the plaza gasped in unison. A silence so heavy it felt physical descended over Oakhaven. In that brief moment of dimness, Caspian felt a strange sense of... relief. As if the darkness in his arm had finally found a breath of fresh air.
Then, the light surged back, brighter and more blinding than before.
"Caspian? You're shaking," Aria whispered, her eyes wide with worry.
"I'm fine," he gasped, clutching his arm.
He looked up at the High Tower, where King Magnus stood, overlooking his kingdom. The King wasn't smiling. He was staring down at the crowd, his grip tightening on the balcony rail. He didn't look like a protector. He looked like a man who had just seen a crack in his cage.
Caspian turned his gaze away, but as he did, he caught a glimpse of a reflection in the cathedral's glass doors. Standing amidst the crowd was a woman with hair like starlight, watching him. She wasn't praying. She wasn't smiling.
She was waiting.
Cliffhanger: As the prayer begins, Caspian realizes the bandaged skin on his arm isn't just cold anymore—it's turning a faint, obsidian black, and for the first time in his life, he hears a whisper in his mind that doesn't belong to him.