Chapter 1
In the beginning, before the Great Silence fell over the heavens and the earth, there was only Aslan’s song. It wove through the vast emptiness like a golden thread, stitching together the very fabric of the world. Its music was unlike anything that had ever been before — deep and resonant, joyous and soft, filled with power and tenderness. From His mouth came a melody that turned nothingness into light, light into stars, and stars into constellations. And among those constellations was the Leopard, fierce and proud, its stars shining with a brilliance that seemed to leap and run across the sky.
At the very edge of the Leopard’s constellation, as the song crescendoed into its final glorious note, there was a sudden shimmering. A star was born — the last to come into being before the Song gave way to Silence. Her name was Iwarlil.
Iwarlil opened her eyes to the vastness of the heavens, blinking at the light all around her. She was small compared to the others, a soft, silvery glow nestled amidst the fierce brightness of her older kin. The great stars of the Leopard roared their fiery greetings, their light streaking like claws across the velvet darkness. Yet Iwarlil did not roar. She gazed wide-eyed at the majesty around her and listened.
The echoes of Aslan’s song still lingered, reverberating through the void. It was in the hum of distant stars, in the dance of silver clouds that floated between them, and in the very core of her being. The music thrummed gently within her chest, like the heartbeat of something eternal and good. And as she turned her gaze downward, she saw it: the world. Narnia.
It was a canvas of wonders unlike anything she had ever imagined. Her light shimmered as she watched it unfold beneath her — mountains rising as though stretching towards the stars, rivers tumbling and winding their way through emerald valleys, and forests growing dark and deep, whispering secrets to the wind. She saw the oceans too, glimmering like sheets of sapphire, reflecting the light of the heavens above. And as the world continued to awaken, it was the creatures that astonished her most. Birds took to the skies, their songs mingling faintly with the memory of Aslan’s melody, and beasts prowled the land, fierce and free. Flowers bloomed, their colors bursting like little flames on the earth, and the air itself seemed to sigh with life.
Iwarlil watched all of this with wonder that shone as brightly as her light. How marvelous it was! How beautiful! She could scarcely contain the joy that swelled within her as she beheld the work of the Great Lion’s song.
And there He was, walking among it all. Aslan.
She saw Him tread softly through a meadow that was still wet with morning dew, His golden mane catching the first light of the new sun. Where He walked, life seemed to bloom with even greater splendor, as though it, too, leaned towards Him in reverence. Iwarlil felt her light tremble. The Lion looked up, and though she was so far away in the heavens, it was as though His eyes met hers. Her glow grew warmer beneath that gaze, as if Aslan had whispered a part of His song just for her.
Night after night, Iwarlil kept watch. Though she was born to shine among the stars, her gaze always fell upon the world below. She watched as rivers carved their paths deeper, as the seasons danced their slow, eternal cycle. She watched as creatures built homes, as kings were crowned and legends born, and as ships sailed the oceans beneath the sweep of her constellation. Every evening brought something new.
Her fascination did not go unnoticed. The other stars of the Leopard often teased her as they leapt through the sky, their light bold and fierce.
“Why do you always stare at them, Iwarlil?” laughed one of the eldest stars, his glow blazing like fire. “What could be so interesting about that little world?”
“They are so small and so short-lived,” scoffed another, her brilliance shimmering cold and sharp. “What is there to see that we do not already know?”
“Look at her,” chimed a younger star, its light darting playfully. “Iwarlil the dreamer, watching the ants crawl below.”
Iwarlil would only smile softly, unbothered by their laughter. “I do not know,” she would reply, her voice light as the glow of her star. “But something about them calls to me. I want to understand.”
Her siblings would roll their light and move on, roaring and racing across the heavens as was their nature. But Iwarlil stayed still, her quiet glow ever fixed on the world below, listening and longing.
But her joy turned to sorrow when she saw the White Witch. The skies over Narnia seemed darker then, and the land itself grew quiet, as though holding its breath. Winter crept across the earth, cold and endless, and Iwarlil’s light dimmed with grief. She watched children cry in frozen villages, trees shiver under heavy snow, and the rivers grow still under thick sheets of ice. For a hundred years, she looked down upon a world held captive in cruel silence, longing to do something but bound by her place among the stars.
Then, as if in answer to a forgotten hope, she saw the Lion return.
At first, it was faint — the barest whisper of spring. The snow began to melt, the rivers broke free and sang once more, and the flowers bloomed as though waking from a deep slumber. And there was Aslan, golden and radiant, walking the land again. She watched Him restore Narnia, her heart bursting with light as the Witch’s winter gave way to green fields and warm sunlight. She saw the four thrones of Cair Paravel filled once more, and her joy returned.
Yet even when peace reigned, Iwarlil’s longing remained. How strange it must be to walk where they walked, she thought. How wondrous it must be to feel the earth beneath one’s feet, to breathe the same air as the Lion. Her longing only grew stronger with time, until it was no longer a quiet murmur but a steady ache in her light. And so, night after night, she turned her gaze towards the east, where the stars first caught the glow of morning, and she prayed. She prayed to Aslan, the Great Singer, the Creator of the heavens and the earth.
“Let me walk there,” she pleaded. “Let me see it as they do. I do not ask to belong — only to understand, to know the beauty You have made.”
For ten years, the young star prayed. And for ten years, the world below continued to turn, never knowing that far above, a star burned brighter each night with her yearning. Yet Iwarlil never wavered. She watched and she waited, her light unwavering, her hope unshaken.
Then one night, when the heavens were clear and still, a voice came. It was deep and soft, like the rolling of distant thunder, yet full of warmth and love.
“Iwarlil.”
The star’s glow trembled. She knew that voice.
“You have watched, my child, and you have waited. Your heart is pure, and your longing true. If you would cherish what I have made, then so you shall.”
Iwarlil’s light blazed suddenly, a burst of radiance across the night sky. She felt herself falling, though there was no fear in it, only wonder. The heavens slipped away like a dream, and the world of Narnia rushed up to meet her. The last thing she heard was the echo of Aslan’s voice, gentle and certain:
“Walk well, little star.”
And so the youngest star of the Leopard constellation fell to earth, where the Eastern Sea shimmered beneath a sky full of her kin. She awoke to the sound of waves lapping softly against the shore, her chest rising and falling with her first breath of the world she had longed to touch.
For the first time, Iwarlil felt the heaviness of a body, strange and new. Her limbs rested upon the earth, warm and solid beneath her, while the sound of the waves echoed in her ears. She opened her eyes, and the world was no longer distant and small but vast and endless, stretching out in every direction. Above her, the sky was pale blue, streaked with golden light, and for the first time, it was the stars that seemed far away. She took a breath, startled by the cool air filling her chest, and the simple act brought a soft, amazed smile to her lips.
Slowly, she moved her fingers. The sensation of grass met her palms — soft, damp, and alive, its blades tangling in her touch. She pushed herself up onto her hands and knees, unfamiliar with the weight of her own body. She sat back carefully, her chestnut hair falling in loose, silken waves around her face, and looked down at her hands, pale and freckled, as if dusted with the faint glow of her light.
Before her was the cliff’s edge, where the world fell away to meet the sea below. The ocean spread vast and endless, its surface dark and rolling, crashing against the rocks with a deep, rhythmic song. Iwarlil’s eyes widened in wonder. How loud it was! How alive it all seemed! With trembling determination, she planted her hands on the earth again and pushed herself to stand. Her legs wobbled, and she nearly fell back, a startled laugh escaping her lips. She steadied herself, step by careful step, until at last, she found her balance.
She looked down, seeing a way that led from the cliff to the shore, a narrow and winding path through tufts of grass and stone. With deliberate care, she began her descent, her bare feet finding the earth cool and rough against her skin. Each step was slow and unsure, yet her heart swelled with quiet exhilaration. She was walking. She was here.
At the base of the path, the ground turned to sand, soft and shifting beneath her weight. The sound of the waves grew louder, until at last, she reached the shore. The water rushed up to greet her, lapping against her ankles, cold and sharp. Iwarlil gasped, the sensation startling, but she laughed softly. Her hands reached out, fingers splayed as though trying to touch everything at once — the wind, the water, the world around her.
She caught sight of her reflection in the shallows. The water rippled, distorting her image, but she could see herself clearly enough. Her dress, white as starlight, clung softly to her frame, the satin and silk shifting with her movements like liquid light. Her chestnut hair, long and soft, shimmered with faint golden highlights where it caught the sun, as though it still held echoes of the stars. Her face, delicate and youthful, gazed back at her with pale green eyes wide with awe. They were eyes that held both the wisdom of the heavens and the wonder of a child seeing the world for the first time.
Her skin, fair and dusted lightly with freckles, seemed to glow faintly in the sunlight, a whisper of the light she had once been. Iwarlil touched her face with trembling hands, marveling at the warmth and texture of her own skin.
She was here. Truly here.
Her voice rose softly, almost a whisper. “Thank you.”
The waves continued their ceaseless song as Iwarlil stood at the edge of the world she had longed to touch, the youngest star now fallen to earth, her journey only just beginning.
Iwarlil sat on the soft, damp sand for a long while, marveling at the sound of the waves and the distant cries of seabirds. Her body, once unfamiliar and unsteady, was beginning to feel more natural. Her breaths came easier, and her fingers no longer trembled as she ran them through the coarse grains of sand.
She looked around, her pale green eyes wide with wonder. Everything—the earth, the sky, the wind—seemed to hum with life. The world was not still, as she had so often imagined when watching from the heavens. The trees swayed as though whispering to each other, the waves rolled with a rhythm that felt like a heartbeat, and even the breeze carried soft voices, faint but real.
A sudden ripple in the water caught her attention. She turned her gaze toward the ocean and saw the surface parting as figures approached. From the depths of the sea emerged graceful forms that moved with the ease of flowing water. Their hair streamed behind them like silken threads, and their eyes shone with the light of the ocean’s depths. Water nymphs, she realized, though she had only ever glimpsed their laughter from above. With them swam others—mermaids with shimmering tails that reflected the sunlight in bursts of silver and turquoise.
The nymphs and mermaids gathered in a half-circle, gazing at her curiously. For a moment, there was silence. Then, one of the nymphs, a tall figure with hair like flowing water and a voice like a bubbling stream, spoke first.
“Who are you?” she asked, tilting her head as though trying to solve a puzzle.
Iwarlil blinked, startled by the sound of the nymph’s voice, clear and lilting. She opened her mouth to answer, but the sound that came out surprised her. “I am Iwarlil.”
Her voice was soft and airy, like the wind brushing over the treetops, yet strong in its clarity. It felt strange to hear herself speak, to give her name shape and sound. Her fingers came to rest against her throat, feeling the vibrations of her voice. How odd, she thought, and yet how wondrous.
The nymphs and mermaids exchanged glances, their expressions shifting between curiosity and awe.
“Iwarlil?” one of the mermaids echoed, swimming closer. Her tail sent small ripples across the water. “You… you are glowing.”
Iwarlil blinked again. “Glowing?” she asked softly.
The nymph nearest her pointed to her arms, and for the first time, Iwarlil looked down at herself fully. Her fair skin exuded a faint, shimmering light, as though the glow of distant stars had followed her to the earth. It clung to her in a soft halo, not bright enough to blind but impossible to miss.
“It seems so,” she said simply, her voice filled with quiet wonder. She lifted her hands and turned them in the light. The glow danced across her skin like the last rays of twilight. It was so strange to see herself—her own limbs, her own form—and to know she was now part of this world.
“You are no ordinary being,” another mermaid said. Her voice was deeper, like the resonance of ocean waves. “From where do you come?”
Iwarlil hesitated. How could she explain? How could she put words to millennia of watching, yearning, and wondering?
“I came from…” she paused, searching for words, “the sky.” She lifted her gaze upward, where the day’s light had washed the stars away. “I was a star.”
There was a collective intake of breath from the nymphs and mermaids. They glanced at each other, awe blooming on their faces like sunlight breaking through clouds.
“A star?” the first nymph whispered. “But stars do not walk the earth.”
“I asked to come,” Iwarlil said softly, her gaze returning to them. “I wanted to see Narnia… to feel it, to understand it. And Aslan granted my wish.”
At the mention of Aslan, the nymphs and mermaids straightened, reverence crossing their features.
“Then you are blessed indeed,” said the deeper-voiced mermaid. “Aslan’s gifts are never given lightly.”
Iwarlil nodded slowly. The breeze carried the scent of salt and earth, wrapping around her like a cloak. She felt the coolness of the water lapping at her feet, the sunlight warming her face, and the wind tugging gently at her hair. Every sensation felt new, raw, and overwhelming—but it was everything she had longed for.
“Are you here for long?” a younger nymph asked, her voice like a tinkling brook.
“I do not know,” Iwarlil replied honestly, looking back at the ocean. “I will stay as long as I am able. There is so much to see… so much to feel.”
The nymphs and mermaids smiled, though their expressions carried a touch of wonder and perhaps a trace of sadness.
The nymphs and mermaids smiled, though their expressions carried a touch of wonder and perhaps a trace of sadness.
“Then welcome, Iwarlil,” the first nymph said. “Welcome to Narnia.”
Iwarlil smiled back, her pale green eyes shining as brightly as her faint glow. “Thank you,” she whispered, the words carrying on the breeze like a promise.
The nymphs turned as if to go, their forms beginning to meld once more with the sea. But Iwarlil suddenly stepped forward, her voice soft and pleading.
“Wait, please,” she called, her hands outstretched. “I know not where to go.”
The nymphs paused, their faces turning back to her, gentle and curious.
“Well,” said the first nymph with a smile, “if you have Aslan’s favor, Cair Paravel is where you must go.”
Iwarlil repeated the name, whispering as though tasting its sound for the first time. “Cair Paravel…” Her voice trembled with awe. “Yes. The castle by the shore. I must go there. But…” she looked around, her expression soft with uncertainty, “I know not the way.”
“Follow the Pole Star,” said one of the mermaids gently, pointing northward. “It shines brightest along the shore, ever north. It will guide you.”
Iwarlil’s heart fluttered at the mention of the Pole Star. She had known him well in the heavens—a steadfast companion, a spearhead of light piercing the darkness. For a moment, she closed her eyes and remembered him, blazing proud and unyielding in the velvet skies of her old home. A pang of homesickness washed over her, sharp and sudden, but she steadied herself.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice soft with gratitude. “I will follow it.”
The nymphs and mermaids smiled once more, their forms sinking back into the waves with a soft ripple and a quiet laugh that echoed across the shore. Iwarlil stood alone, gazing northward where the Pole Star would soon appear.
“Spearhead,” she whispered, the name an old comfort on her lips. Then, with quiet determination, she turned her steps toward the north, the sea breeze tugging gently at her silken dress. Her journey had begun.