The war rages in our world, but here, on the deck of the Dawn Treader, the only battle is against the horizon. Three years have passed since we helped Caspian claim his throne. Now, Lucy and I are stuck with Eustace—our insufferable cousin—while Peter and Susan are in America. I’m too young to fight, but Narnia has other wars.

We were pulled from our world by a painting—a ship sailing into a storm. Now we’re here, drenched and disoriented, as the Dawn Treader cuts through waves like a blade. Caspian greets us with a smile, but his eyes are heavy. He’s searching for the seven lost lords, exiled by his uncle Miraz. But something darker stirs beyond the map.

In the Lone Islands, we were sold as slaves. I saw the fear in Lucy’s eyes when the auctioneer called her name. We barely escaped. Now, the crew whispers of a green mist that consumes souls. Coriakin warned us: each of us will be tested.

Tonight, as the stars align, the ship nears Ramandu’s Island. The final swords must be laid on Aslan’s Table. But the mist is waiting. And it knows our fears.