After three months had passed since the Battle of Memories, the kingdoms' landscape had shifted, and the once-prominent figures had faded from Narnia's stage. The kings who had held dominion over the realms had departed, leaving behind a vacuum in their wake. The echoes of the battle had reverberated through the hearts of all who had borne witness, casting a shadow that lingered in both memory and reality.
Amidst this shifting backdrop, Santes Durbin, the victor of that fateful battle, finally opened his eyes. His lashes fluttered against the dappled light that filtered through the canopy, his gaze adjusting to the world that awaited him beyond the realm of dreams. It was a world transformed, one that had evolved in the wake of conflict and revelation.
The first sight that greeted him was the sky—a vast expanse of blue punctuated by drifting clouds, a serene backdrop that stood in stark contrast to the battlefield where he had once fought. His surroundings were different, his senses attuned to the gentle rustle of leaves and the distant murmur of water, a symphony of nature that seemed to envelop him.
As Santes blinked away the remnants of sleep, his gaze settled upon the world around him. The landscape was adorned with vibrant hues, the vibrant greens and gentle browns of nature's palette. The air held a crisp freshness, carrying with it the promise of new beginnings.
With a slow, deliberate movement, Santes pushed himself into a sitting position. He felt the earth beneath his fingertips, grounding him in the present moment. A mixture of sensations washed over him—the whisper of a breeze against his skin, the rustling of leaves as they danced in the wind, and the distant hum of life that flowed through the land.
Memories of the battle resurfaced, interwoven with a sense of triumph and closure. The rain-soaked battleground, the clash of steel, the whispers of his sister's voice—they all converged in his mind, creating a mosaic of emotion and experience. The weight of his victory, of the answers he had sought, settled upon him like a mantle of understanding.
As Santes Durbin gazed upon the world that had continued to turn during his absence, a feeling of renewal unfurled within him. The scars of battle had healed, both upon his body and within his spirit. The journey he had embarked upon, driven by a thirst for truth and retribution, had reached a destination that extended beyond his original quest.
In the quietude of the chamber, the door swung open, revealing the figure of Lord Jhon, a presence that carried a gravitas born of both authority and kinship. His eyes met Santes Durbin's, and a subtle nod of acknowledgment passed between them—a gesture that spoke of shared experiences and unspoken understanding.
Santes, his gaze clear and contemplative, regarded Lord Salvador with a mix of respect and curiosity. The room seemed to hold its breath, an aura of significance enveloping their encounter. Words, a bridge between two souls, lingered in the air, poised to be spoken.
Santes: The Last time i was in the capital was many years ago
John: for what?
Santes: Another Wedding.. My sister Lumi And Vayu Cerberus The Last Windcaller. And the beautiful, noble Vayu Cerberus left her for another women . that start a war and the war ended right here. and then your father s army took the city .And my sister did u know what they did to her?
Jhon: ive heard remours
Santes: if The nighreaper Killed my sister . your father gave the order.
Jhon: you killed The Nightreaper what do you want more .
Santes: Justice for my sister and her children .
jhon: why are you staring at me?
Santes: forgive me for staring. idont see many Vaultwoods where im from.
Jhon : Do you know why all the world hates a Vaultwood ?
Santes:power?
jhon: What good is power if you cannot protect the ones you love?
Santes: you can avenge them.
Jhon: this is a beautiful big world
Santes: most of us live and die in the same corner where we were born and never get to see any of it.
jhon: i dont want to be Most of us
Santes: its a rare to meet a Vaultwood who share my enthusiasm for dead Vaultwood.
as the air in the chamber held the gentle hush of conversation and companionship, a new presence emerged—the figure of Jaime, a member of the Kingsguard and a trusted advisor. His entrance was marked by a sense of purpose, his steps carrying a weight that demanded attention.
"Santes Durbin, Jhon," Jaime's voice held a tone of authority, a command that punctuated the tranquility of the moment. "The time has come. Lord Salvador has summoned you to the Blackhall for the Small Council."
Santes and Jhon exchanged a glance, their shared understanding woven into their gaze
With a nod of acknowledgment, Santes pushed himself to his feet, his movements fluid despite the remnants of his recovery.
"We will be there shortly," Santes replied, his voice carrying a sense of readiness and purpose.
Jaime's gaze held a mixture of respect and recognition as he regarded them both. "The matters to be discussed hold weight," he said, a note of solemnity in his voice. "The kingdom looks to its leaders for guidance."
Jhon's expression mirrored the gravity of the situation, his nod a silent acknowledgment of the responsibility that awaited them. "We understand," he affirmed, his voice steady and resolute.
In the hallowed chamber of the Blackhall, a gathering of notable figures had convened, their presence a testament to the gravity of the matters at hand. The air was charged with a sense of purpose and anticipation, each individual assuming their place in the tapestry of leadership that governed Narnia's destiny.
In the heart of the council chamber, the exchange between Lord Salvador and Santes Durbin unfolded—a tapestry woven with tension, defiance, and the enigma of hidden truths.
"Tell us what Robin Cerberus is planning in Zion," Lord Salvador's words held a note of urgency, his gaze focused on Santes Durbin, a figure who had become both a source of intrigue and vexation.
Santes' response was a steadfast refusal, a defiance that seemed to echo within the chamber's walls. But Lord Salvador, undeterred, invoked a promise from the past, a reminder of Santes' own words before the Battle of Memories. "You claimed you would spit every secret you know about Robin," he asserted, his voice a potent mixture of authority and anticipation.
Santes' laughter, a melody of amusement, echoed through the chamber, a response that was equal parts defiance and amusement. The tension in the room escalated as Salvador's frustration mounted.
"What do you want more?" Salvador's voice was tinged with exasperation, his words a plea for the truth that seemed just out of reach.
Santes' response was succinct, his voice carrying a weight that extended beyond his individual desires. "Justice," he declared, his words resonating with the echoes of a past that had been marked by loss and retribution. "Justice for my sister."
The mention of his sister brought a weight of sorrow and anger, a reminder of the tangled web of allegiances and actions that had led to her demise. Santes leveled a pointed accusation. "The Nightreaper followed your orders, but the one who truly should have been condemned is you."
King Cedric's voice was a declaration of judgment, his words a reflection of the law that governed the realm. "ill have you executed ,For treason," he asserted, his tone unyielding.
Santes' interruption was swift, a challenge that cut through the room's tension. "Suppose you do execute me for treason," he began, his voice holding a subtle edge. "But who will save you from Robin Cerberus and his formidable army?"
Confusion clouded the faces of the advisors—Lord Salvador, Jaime, and the others—as they grappled with the implications of Santes' words. "How could Robin amass such a force in a mere six months?" Salvador's voice was a mixture of curiosity and concern.
Amidst the charged atmosphere of the council chamber, Santes Durbin's voice carried with it a weight of revelations, each word a thread that unraveled the tapestry of secrets.
"If you killed me, whether for treason or any other reason," Santes' voice resonated with a sense of defiance, his gaze fixed on those gathered before him, "the world shall know that Jaime killed her own king Michael .Vizier in pursuit to kill Robin, who is far from being on any vacation."
The words hung in the air, each syllable a declaration that pierced the silence. The implications were profound—secrets unveiled, motivations questioned, and alliances tested.
Melissa, her expression a mixture of turmoil and intrigue, began to speak, but her father's stern gaze halted her words. Lord Salvador's command for her silence carried a firmness that demanded obedience.
Santes' gaze shifted to Lord Salvador, a subtle challenge in his eyes. "How could you possibly do that if you are dead?" Salvador's question held both skepticism and curiosity.
Santes' response was a calculated revelation, a revelation that shifted the dynamics of the conversation once more. "Before I came to the capital," he began, his voice steady and purposeful, "I confided in someone, sharing everything I knew about Narnia and its Lords. That, my friends, is my firewall."
The weight of his words settled over the room, a realization that the web of secrecy and intrigue extended far beyond the walls of the council chamber. The assembled figures exchanged glances, each mind racing to comprehend the extent of Santes' reach and the depths of his plans.
With those words, Santes Durbin rose from his seat, his gaze sweeping over the assembled figures—a figure poised on the brink of revelation and resolution.
"I win, Lord Salvador," he declared, his voice carrying a challenge that resonated through the room. "I win this time."
As he turned to leave the Blackhall, his footsteps echoed like the footsteps of a victor, his final words a portentous promise that lingered in the air. "Prepare yourself for the great war."
And with that, Santes Durbin exited the chamber, leaving behind a room abuzz with unanswered questions, the specter of looming conflict, and the promise of truths waiting to be unveiled.