Back on Earth, in London, England, Alistair finished hanging out with his friends and was heading home. On the way, he stopped at the subway station since he felt it was quicker.

As Alistair waits for the train, he hears a ringing sound coming from within him. His breath caught in his throat as he glanced around the frozen subway station. The bustling sounds of the train, the chatter of passengers, and the faint hum of fluorescent lights—all had ceased. It was as if the entire world had pressed pause, leaving him in eerie silence.

"What...?" he whispered, his voice echoing strangely in the stillness.

He took a hesitant step forward, his sneakers squeaking against the tiled floor. The train had come to a halt, its doors open, yet no one moved. People stood in mid-action—reading newspapers, scrolling on phones, sipping coffee—but their faces were lifeless, their motions suspended as if caught in a snapshot of time.

Alistair's arms tingled with an unsettling energy. He glanced down and noticed a faint golden shimmer coursing over his skin, like threads of light weaving into his very being. His heart began to race.

"This isn't normal," he muttered, clenching his fists to stop them from trembling. What's happening to me?

The faint ringing sound that had initially caught his attention grew louder and more insistent. It wasn't coming from around him; it was from within, resonating in his chest. The sound was powerful yet strangely comforting as if it were pulling him toward something he couldn't see but instinctively understood.

Suddenly, the air before him shimmered like a heatwave, and a golden portal began to form, its edges glowing with pulsating light. Alistair stumbled back, shielding his eyes from the brightness.

As the portal drew him in, Alistair barely had time to react. The shimmering light wrapped around him like a cocoon, and an overwhelming warmth flooded his body. His instincts screamed at him to fight and resist, but an inexplicable force—calm yet commanding—urged him to surrender.

As he drifted through the swirling vortex, Alistair felt a strange sensation coursing through his limbs. His arms and legs tingled as if they were dissolving and reshaping. The world around him was a blur of golden light and distant whispers, and the feeling of transformation became impossible to ignore. His body began to shrink, his tall teenage frame becoming smaller, more fragile.

"What's... happening?" Alistair gasped, his voice trembling and higher-pitched than before. Panic gripped him as the changes intensified. His clothes transformed into a simple tunic fit for a young child, and a pendant with a lion's head appeared around his neck and glowed brighter as though it were reacting to the magic around him.

Pain shot through his body, not unbearable but strange—like being unmade and remade all at once. Tears stung his eyes, and he instinctively curled into a ball as the transformation completed. His once-teenaged form was now that of a small, five-year-old boy.

The overwhelming sensation of change drained him, and his consciousness faded. The last thing he remembered was a faint, soothing feminine voice whispering to him.

"Alistair, Son of Aslan, and the beloved Empress of Narnia, Elizabeth Pevensie,... you are now home."

With those words echoing in his mind, Alistair succumbed to the darkness.

When he opened his eyes, he was lying on soft grass beneath a canopy of towering trees. The sky above shimmered with golden light filtering through the leaves, and the air smelled sweet, like wildflowers and morning dew. He felt... small, his limbs weak and clumsy. As he struggled to sit up, he caught sight of his reflection in a nearby pool of water.

Wide, innocent golden eyes stared back at him from a cherubic face framed by soft, pale blonde curls. His hands, tiny and chubby, trembled as he touched his face, trying to make sense of the transformation.

"I'm... a kid," he whispered, high-pitched and unfamiliar.

Before he could process further, rustling leaves drew his attention. A pair of gentle, curious eyes—belonging to a faun—peered out from behind a tree.

"Child, are you lost?" an older faun asked, stepping into view. He was adorned in simple garb and carried a staff with small charms that jingled softly with his movements.

Alistair stared at the faun, unsure of how to respond. His memories were hazy, and his mind was torn between the world he had left behind and the one he now found himself in.

The faun knelt beside him, offering a kind smile. "Do not fear. You are in Narnia now. This land is full of wonders, and it seems the magic of this place has brought you here for a reason."

"Narnia..." Alistair murmured, the name stirring something profound within him. He clutched his pendant, which now felt heavier and pulsed faintly against his chest. The pendant's glow dimmed slightly as if it were adjusting to this new world.

The older faun's gaze lingered on the pendant around Alistair's neck, his expression shifting between awe and uncertainty. The intricate carving of the lion's head glimmered faintly in the sunlight, radiating a presence that the faun could not ignore. He knew that symbol well—it was the crest of the House of Aslan, a mark of great significance in Narnia's ancient history.

Kneeling to meet Alistair's wide, curious eyes, the older faun softened his tone, not wanting to alarm the child. "Little one," he began, his voice as gentle as a lullaby, "may I ask your name?"

Alistair blinked, his tiny fingers instinctively clutching the pendant like a lifeline. "Alistair," he replied, his voice timid yet steady. "Alistair Pevensie."

The older faun's breath hitched at the name. He had heard tales of the Pevensies—one being the Empress of Narnia, the beloved wife of Aslan, their Narnian Emperor, and the others being the Kings and Queens of old, who had once ruled Narnia with wisdom and courage under Aslan's guidance. Could this child truly be connected to them? And that pendant...

"Alistair Pevensie," the older faun repeated slowly, the weight of the name settling over him. His conflicted gaze softened into one of compassion, though his mind raced with questions. "That is a noble name, young one."

Alistair tilted his head, sensing the elder faun's hesitation. "Do you... know about my family?" he asked innocently, his small hand tightening around the pendant. "My mum told me stories about Narnia, about Aslan...She says he is my father...Is he real?"

The older faun froze when he heard that the child was the son of Aslan, which let him know that the boy was also the son of the Empress of Narnia, Elizabeth Pevensie. He hesitated, his heart aching at the child's sincerity. "Yes, Aslan is very real," he said at last, his voice firm with reverence. "He is the Great Lion Emperor of Narnia, the protector and guide of all who dwell in this land. And... that pendant you wear—it bears his crest."

Alistair looked down at the pendant, his tiny fingers tracing the lion's head. He didn't know how it appeared to him, but he knew it was special. "Dad...," he whispered, his voice trembling slightly.

The older faun extended a hand. "Come, little one. My name is Theodore. I shall take you to somewhere safe. I have a human son. He can help you adjust to this world. His name is Thomas."

Alistair nodded, his small hand slipping into the faun's as they began their journey. Though he didn't yet understand the weight of his lineage, he felt a strange sense of belonging in this magical land—a connection he couldn't yet explain.

As they walked deeper into the forest, the faun silently vowed to protect the boy, knowing that his presence in Narnia was no coincidence. The return of one bearing the House of Aslan's mark could only mean that great things and challenges lay ahead.

Theodore gently guided Alistair into the heart of the makeshift Narnian village, the boy's wide eyes darting around in wonder at the bustling community. Tents and wooden structures were scattered throughout, housing Narnians—fauns, centaurs, dwarfs, talking animals, and even dryads flitting among the trees. The air was filled with chatter, the clinking of tools, and the distant melody of a flute.

As they approached the village square, a towering centaur with a robust build and a kind but watchful gaze approached them. A small but formidable figure was at his side—a mouse clad in armor with a sword strapped to his side.

"Theodore," the centaur greeted, his deep voice resonating with authority. His sharp eyes briefly flicked to Alistair, lingering on the pendant around the boy's neck before returning to Theodore. "Who is this child? And why have you brought him here?"

The faun bowed his head respectfully. "Oscar, this is Alistair Pevensie. I found him in the forest near the northern stream. He... bears the crest of the House of Aslan."

Oscar's brow furrowed slightly, though he masked his surprise well. He glanced at the pendant again, his expression thoughtful. "The House of Aslan," he murmured, almost to himself. "Intriguing."

Alistair, meanwhile, stared at both Oscar and the tiny warrior mouse beside him, his face a mix of awe and confusion. "You're a centaur," he said, pointing at Oscar. "And... you're a talking mouse!" he added, his voice rising in excitement as he looked at Reepicheep.

Reepicheep puffed out his chest proudly. "Indeed, young one! I am Reepicheep, leader of the Talking Mice and a warrior of great renown. And who, pray tell, are you?"

"I'm Alistair," the boy replied, still marveling at the sight of the two creatures. "I... It's hard to explain how I got here."

Oscar nodded solemnly. "Many things are unclear, but your arrival may be significant." Turning to Theodore, he added, "Thomas is inside, being treated for his wounds. The young Telmarine Prince and the others are with him."

Theodore nodded, leading Alistair toward a modest wooden house. Alistair hesitated at the doorway, his tiny fingers gripping Theodore's hand tightly as he peeked inside.

The interior was simple but cozy, with wooden beams and a stone hearth that gave off a faint warmth. At a wooden table sat a young teenage boy—Prince Caspian—leaning forward intently as he spoke with two others. One was a stout dwarf with a stern expression, and the other was a honey-colored badger with kind, intelligent eyes.

"...and you say the Telmarines are regrouping near the southern pass?" Caspian was asking, his voice laced with concern.

"Aye," Nikabrik the dwarf grumbled, stroking his beard. "They're not done with us yet, lad."

Trufflehunter, the talking badger, nodded in agreement. "We'll need a plan, and soon."

Theodore cleared his throat to announce their presence. All eyes turned to the doorway as the faun gently guided Alistair inside.

Caspian stood, his gaze curious as he took in the boy. "Who is this?" he asked, his tone polite but wary.

"This is Alistair Pevensie," Theodore introduced. "He bears the crest of Aslan."

Caspian's eyes widened slightly, his hand unconsciously brushing against the horn of Queen Susan, which rested on the table. Nikabrik narrowed his eyes in suspicion while Trufflehunter's gaze softened with recognition.

"Alistair Pevensie?" Trufflehunter said slowly, his voice thoughtful. "Could it be...?"

Alistair shifted uncomfortably under their scrutiny, clutching the pendant around his neck. "I... I don't know what's going on," he admitted, his voice small. "I just want to find my mummy."

Prince Caspian's gaze lingered on the child before him, his thoughts swirling with questions and doubts. He had sounded Queen Susan's horn to summon a great warrior who could lead the Narnians in their darkest hour. Yet, here stood a boy—innocent, wide-eyed, and clearly out of place—asking for his mother.

The room grew quiet as Caspian approached Alistair. "Your mother," he began cautiously, his voice gentle but probing. "Who is she?"

Alistair hesitated, glancing around at the unfamiliar faces. His tiny fingers fidgeted with the lion's head pendant hanging from his neck. "My mum is Elizabeth Pevensie," he finally said, his voice firm with pride.

The mention of the name caused a ripple of reactions in the room. Trufflehunter's eyes widened in shock, and his paws trembled slightly. Nikabrik gave a low grunt of disbelief, muttering something under his breath. Theodore exchanged a knowing glance with Caspian while the young prince's expression shifted to disbelief and hope.

Thomas, who had been lying on a makeshift cot nearby, stirred at the name. He sat up slowly, his face pale but his eyes sharp. "Elizabeth Pevensie?" he echoed, his tone heavy with mixed emotions. "The Missing Narnian Empress?"

Before anyone could say more, Alistair's face lit up as he spotted Thomas. His youthful excitement bubbled over as he ran toward the injured human, his tiny arms wrapping around Thomas's waist in a tight hug. "Mr. Tumnus!" he exclaimed joyfully, looking up at him with shining eyes. "I finally get to meet you!"

Thomas blinked, taken aback by the unexpected embrace and the name. "Mr. Tumnus?" he repeated.

Theodore stepped forward, his brow furrowed, and addressed Alistair. "How do you know the name Tumnus?" he asked softly, his tone curious but cautious. "He was my ancestor, long before your time."

Alistair turned to Theodore, still holding onto Thomas. "My Aunt Lucy—she was best friends with Mr. Tumnus! She used to tell me stories about him all the time. And she's really good at drawing. She has a whole book of pictures of Tumnus that she made whenever she visited him in Narnia."

The room fell silent again, the weight of Alistair's words settling over everyone. Theodore's expression softened, his memories of old tales blending with the boy's innocent account. Caspian exchanged a glance with Trufflehunter, his conflicted emotions evident.

Finally, Trufflehunter broke the silence. "If this boy is truly the son of Empress Elizabeth Pevensie and bears the crest of Aslan himself, then perhaps he has come to Narnia for a reason greater than any of us can yet understand."

Caspian nodded, though his gaze remained on Alistair. "Then we must protect him and uncover why he is here. If he is connected to Empress Elizabeth Pevensie and Aslan, his presence may change the course of our fight for Narnia."

Meanwhile, Peter, Edmund, and Lucy stood amidst the rubble of what was once their grand and beloved Cair Paravel. Elizabeth stood beside them, looking concerned. Even though Cair Paravel wasn't her home, she often visited this castle to visit her siblings before they disappeared and returned to Earth.

The gentle breeze carried the faint scent of salt from the nearby sea, but it did little to mask the overwhelming sense of loss that hung heavy in the air.

Lucy stepped forward, her gaze sweeping over the shattered walls and crumbled towers. "This... this can't be," she whispered, her voice barely audible. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears as her hands tightened into fists.

Edmund crouched near a fragment of stone bearing the familiar crest of Narnia—a lion in full glory, now cracked and weathered. He traced his fingers over it, his jaw clenching. "Who could have done this?" he muttered, anger and sorrow intertwining in his voice. "Who dared to attack Cair Paravel?"

Elizabeth placed a comforting hand on Lucy's shoulder, her own expression a mix of shock and determination. "This place... it was a beacon of hope for all of Narnia," she murmured, her voice laced with pain. "To see it like this... It's more than an attack. It's a message."

Peter stepped forward, his face pale but resolute. He turned to his siblings, his brow furrowed in thought. "The question isn't just who or what attacked Cair Paravel," he said firmly. "It's how long it's been since we left. Narnian time doesn't flow like ours. What could have felt like years to us might have been centuries here."

Elizabeth nodded, her gaze scanning the ruins. "The people of Narnia would never abandon this place without a fight. This wasn't just a siege. It looks like a war." She knelt and picked up a broken arrow, its design unfamiliar. "The craftsmanship is foreign... I don't recognize it."

Lucy knelt beside her sister, brushing her fingers over the charred remains of a tapestry. "We need to find out what happened and if anyone survived," she said urgently.

Peter straightened and turned his gaze to a closed door. "Then we start by seeing if the weapons that Father Christmas gave us are still in the treasure room. They were protected under Aslan's magic. Elizabeth, being his wife, could deactivate them."

Edmund's hands tightened into fists. "After that, we start by finding the Narnians. Someone must still be out there who can tell us what's happened and who did this."

Elizabeth rose to her feet, her eyes blazing with determination. "Agreed. If Cair Paravel has fallen, the Narnians will need us now more than ever. We've been called back for a reason and won't fail them."

The siblings exchanged a solemn glance, their bond and shared purpose stronger than ever. Together, they head towards the treasure room, vowing to uncover the truth and restore hope to the land they once ruled.

With his striking silver-white hair cascading down his back and piercing golden eyes glowing faintly, Aslan strode purposefully through the dense forest.

The towering trees whispered in the wind as though welcoming their long-lost Emperor. He had been absent from Narnia for too long, and his responsibilities elsewhere were pulling him away during its most significant struggles. The knowledge of his absence during the conflict with the Telmarines weighed heavily on him.

Each step he took felt like a mixture of hope and guilt. His regal bearing could not hide the turmoil within. The forest floor beneath his boots seemed alive with energy as if the land itself recognized its Emperor and longed for his return. Yet, the closer he got to the ruins of Cair Paravel, the more his heart ached.

"Elizabeth," he murmured under his breath, the name carrying a longing and a promise of redemption. He had spent centuries trying to find his way back to her, the love of his life, and to the son he had never truly known. His time away had been an eternity of regret and missed opportunities.

The sight of the ruined castle from the treeline stopped him in his tracks. His golden eyes widened as he took in the desolation before him. The once-grand symbol of Narnian unity and strength lay in ruins, a stark reminder of the conflict he had missed. The Telmarines had ravaged his homeland, and his people had suffered in his absence.

He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms as he swallowed the bitter taste of failure. "I should have been here," he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. "I should have protected them."

But as he stood there, his senses sharpened. He could feel it—Elizabeth's presence. It was intense but unmistakable, like a beacon calling him forward. His golden eyes softened, and his heart swelled with relief and resolve. She was here. She had returned to Narnia with her siblings. The knowledge filled him with a newfound determination.

"I've made mistakes," he said aloud, his voice steadying as he spoke to the air around him. "But I will not fail you again, Narnia. I will be the Emperor my people deserve and the partner you deserve, Elizabeth."

He began walking again, his stride firmer as he headed toward the ruins. Each step was a vow—to make amends, rebuild, and restore the balance lost in his absence.

The treasure room radiated an air of familiarity and nostalgia, untouched by the ravages of time. The golden glow of Aslan's magic preserved everything within, shielding it from the destruction that had befallen the rest of Cair Paravel. Elizabeth felt a deep warmth as her hand connected with the barrier. The magic greeting her like an old friend before dissipating, granting them entry.

As they stepped inside, the siblings felt a wave of relief. Despite the castle's ruined state, this sacred room remained as it was the day they left. Their statues, carved to honor their roles as rulers of Narnia, stood proudly, a testament to their legacy. Even Susan and Elizabeth's statues had endured the centuries, untouched and unmarred.

Peter approached his statue first. His eyes lingered on the image of himself, then shifted to the sword and shield that had once been his trusted companions in countless battles. He reached out and took them, the weight in his hands feeling familiar and reassuring.

Edmund followed, his gaze locking onto his statue. The sword that had accompanied him through many trials lay waiting. He gripped it firmly, its balance and heft reigniting memories of his growth and redemption in Narnia.

Lucy walked toward her statue, her face lighting up at the sight of her dagger and the cordial that had saved many lives. She carefully picked them up, but her expression turned to concern when her eyes fell on the empty spot where Susan's horn had once rested. "The horn is missing," she said, her voice tinged with worry. Her hands hovered over Susan's bow and arrows, and she took them after a moment of hesitation. "I'll use these. I know Susan would let me have it and keep them safe for her," Lucy murmured, determination lacing her words.

Elizabeth stood before her statue, her gaze fixed on the Yaka arrow that had been her unique weapon, a gift from Father Christmas himself. Beside it rested her enchanted harp, an instrument whose melodies could calm and inspire courage in allies yet put fear in her enemies. Her fingers brushed over the items fondly as if reconnecting with old friends. She took them carefully, placing them in her bag. The bag, which had somehow remained dry and intact despite their earlier ordeal in the water, held her diaries, untouched by the elements.

"It's all here," Elizabeth said softly, her voice a mix of relief and sadness. She looked around the room at her siblings, who were examining their beloved weapons and earned treasures. "Aslan's magic has protected this place for us. Even after all this time, he hasn't forgotten us."

Peter nodded, adjusting the shield on his arm. "It feels like we're being prepared for something," he said. "These weapons... they've been waiting for us."

Edmund glanced at Elizabeth, his expression serious. "If Aslan's magic has endured, he must have a reason for returning us now."

Lucy looked at her siblings, her voice steady despite the worry in her eyes. "Whatever it is, we'll face it together. Just like we always have."

Elizabeth tightened her grip on her Yaka arrow, a new sense of purpose blooming within her. "And this time, we won't leave Narnia unprotected. We owe it to the people, to Aslan, and ourselves."

The siblings exchanged determined glances, the weight of their mission settling over them. The treasure room, once a symbol of their past victories, now reminded them of the battles yet to come.

The treasure room was silent as Elizabeth, Peter, Edmund, and Lucy quickly changed into the regal clothes they found—garments that once symbolized their rule and now served as a link to their past. The rich fabrics, adorned with Narnian designs, fit them perfectly, as though waiting for this moment. They looked at each other, their expressions reflecting a bittersweet blend of nostalgia and readiness.

The moment was interrupted by footsteps echoing in the ruins. Instinctively, the siblings reached for their weapons, their bodies tense with anticipation. Elizabeth gripped her Yaka arrow tightly, her sharp eyes scanning the entrance.

When the figure emerged from the shadows, Elizabeth felt her breath catch. A man stepped forward, cloaked in a hood, his presence exuding an aura both powerful and familiar. As he pulled back his hood, the siblings were struck by the sight of his silver-white hair and luminous golden eyes.

It was Aslan. He still possessed the ethereal beauty that made him otherworldly, but his face bore the signs of centuries of burden—dark circles under his eyes and a weariness that spoke of trials endured. Yet, when his gaze fell upon Elizabeth, his expression softened, and his golden eyes filled with a warmth that seemed to melt away the weight of time.

Elizabeth's hand trembled as she lowered her weapon. Memories flooded back to her—their union, the love they shared, the promises they made in a life that felt both distant and immediate. The room seemed to fade as their eyes met, and their connection reignited like an eternal flame.

Peter, Edmund, and Lucy exchanged glances, looking relieved. The tension in the room eased, though they remained watchful.

Aslan stepped closer, his voice resonating with a deep and gentle timbre. "Elizabeth..." he said her name a caress on his lips.

Tears welled in her eyes as she whispered, "Aslan..." Her voice broke, overwhelmed by emotions too vast to contain.

The moment felt suspended in time. An eternal love rekindled between two hearts that had been apart for far too long.