Imira's eyes fluttered open and her senses were immediately greeted by an ethereal ambiance that engulfed her childhood bedroom. A soft, radiant glow suffused the air, casting a delicate luminosity upon every surface. Outside the window, birds filled the surrounding landscape with their melodic songs, their joyful chirping intertwining with the gentle rustling of leaves in the breeze. The gauzy curtains swayed gracefully, moved by an unseen hand, casting dancing shadows upon the room's sunlit walls. 

As Imira tried to comprehend the inexplicable beauty around her, a figure emerged from the door, a figure that seemed to radiate love and warmth. Her heart skipped a beat as she recognized the figure. 

"Mother?" Imira's voice escaped her lips, a mixture of awe and disbelief. 

Her mother smiled and Imira's heart swelled with a mix of joy and confusion at the sight of her beloved mother. She jumped off the bed, bare feet on the cool carpet and ran into her mother's loving arms. Tears of joy welled up in Imira's eyes, her heart overflowing with a sense of belonging and peace as her mother enveloped her in a comforting embrace. 

Imira clung to her mother as she soaked in the familiar embrace. It felt as if a lifetime had passed since she had last seen her mother, and now, here she was, in this ethereal realm of reunion.

"I never thought I would see you again," Imira managed to say. 

Her mother pulled back slightly, her hands resting on Imira's shoulders as she gazed into her daughter's eyes.

"My daughter," her mother spoke, her voice carrying a soothing cadence, a melodic harmony that washed over her, calming her every fiber. "I have missed you so," 

"Am I dreaming?" Imira asked. 

Her mother tucked in a strand of hair behind Imira's ear. "Darling, you are dead," 

Imira's mind raced, the memory of her fall and the impaling pain flooding back to her. She looked down at her body, half-expecting to see the remnants of her mortal wounds, but to her astonishment, she appeared whole and unscathed. And dressed in a beautiful blue Datramite dress she did not remember owning. 

But that wasn't the only memory that returned to her. Years flashed through her mind, years of living with her mother and father and grandparents and relatives long dead. Here. 

Imira looked around, the ethereal room becoming familiar. "I've been here before," she realised. 

"When the witch killed you," her mother said. 

"I came here when I died the first time," Imira remembered. "I lived here with you. And then Aslan brought me back," 

"He said you wouldn't remember us," her mother said. 

She had been living on borrowed time all along. She could not go back, not again. And, despite wishing to, she felt at peace. 

"My sons," Imira looked at her mother. She didn't mind being dead in Narnia, she liked being here, she didn't want to go back, but there was a war going on back home. Narnia was her home.  

Understanding filled her mother's eyes. "Would you like to see them?" 

Imira peered down into the magical silvery pool, its water still as a plate. Something shimmered in the bottom, a bottom she could not see, and that light filled the pool from the inside, made it glow like moonlight and then refocus showing— showing the halls of Cair Paravel. The same light green marble columns, the same cold floors, same Narnians standing guard at their posts, servants carrying on with their duties, bright chandeliers, and familiar paintings. All except for one. 

It was a gargantuan canvas, the size of a wall in the grand gallery, and it depicted an all too familiar scene. Mud and blood, burnt grass, columns of smoke rising into the night sky, fires burning in the back of the field, faces in agony, faces in rage, faces of valor, faces of pain. A satyr dead under the spiked boot of an Ettin. 

Imira sucked in a breath. 

She kept looking at the painting. Her friend Henry leading the ballista from befind the tree line, the river gods drowning giants, Alcibe throwing a lance at an Ettin. Firestream flying above the giant's hoard, raining fire on their enemies, Peter wearing his crowned silver helmet, Rhindon on hand, a battlecry on his lips, his troops looking up at him in cheer, the enemy in surprise and fear, and Imira... Imira flying on her black pegasus, spear in her hand, immaculate suit of armor gleaming in the moon and firelight, golden hair flowing beautifully in the wind, slaying an Etting with her spear, the enemy cowering. 

"They call you giantsbane now. Your funeral lasted a week, the black flags flew for a month. That painting took three years to complete," her mother said. 

"Three years?" Imira looked up. 

"Time moves differently in other realms, remember?" her mother pointed out. 

"Right, it's all relative," Imira recalled, the memory surfacing. So many memories of her years lived here. "Show me Peter," she asked the mirror and the image changed. 

A countryside, a large mansion foreign yet familiar in style and— and the Peter she met when she was brought back to Narnia. Same funny haircut, same strange clothes, same teenage boy. And next to him a much younger Susan, a teen Edmund, and a tiny Lucy. 

"They're children," Imira whispered. 

"Peter thought the White stag could bring you back. He wasn't wrong, but he didn't catch it," her mother said. "They accidentally wandered off the same way they wandered in. And now they can't come back," 

"When?" Imira asked. 

"About a year after you died," 

"And the boys?" Imira finally peeled her eyes from the image. "Did they go with them?" 

"No, but—"

"But?" Imira asked. 

"They're here," 

"What do you mean they are here? How long was I asleep?" Imira asked. 

"Here, three years, in Narnia, fifty one," 

Imira did the math. "They shouldn't be here. What happened?" 

"I think that's a question for them to answer," 

They sat around another magical mirror, her father and brother also gathered around to watch, and they looked up and stood as soon as the door opened. 

They were taller than her and in their early twenties, but they had the same boyish smiled. 

"Mother!" they stood in unison at her sight, leaving her father and James behind. James, dead as well. Everyone did end up here or in the to her place, but still, she wasn't used to seeing him here. Nor her children. 

"It's too soon for you to be here," Imira said once they released her. 

"Yes, well..." Edward trailed off. 

"What did you do?" Imira asked. 

"Nothing, it was Will's fault," Edward said. 

"Me? What did I do?" William's voice raised. 

"You came up with the idea," Edward turned to his twin, their differences more notorious with their age, one's hair clearly darker than the other's- 

"Well, you didn't have to come," Will argued. 

Edward rolled his eyes. "It was my birthday, of course I was coming,"

"Will someone please explain?" Imira asked. 

"These two thought it would be a good idea to throw a boat party to celebrate their birthday," James clarified. 

"It was a great idea, uncle. You said so yourself," William said defensively. 

"Until we all got drunk, crashed into some rocks and died," Edward said. 

"What?!" 

"It's fine, it wasn't painful," William said. 

"That's not the point!" Imira exclaimed. 

"The point is you took everyone else with you," James said. "You took my children away with you," 

"One, we didn't force anyone to come, two, we didn't force anyone to drink, three, everyone was having a jolly good time, you can ask them yourselves, until that storm, which might I add came out of nowhere because I consulted the weather forecast with a centaur, drove us to crash into those rocks. How were we to know there was a crazy murderous green witch intent on taking over?" William said. 

"A witch?" Imira asked. 

"Don't worry, I killed her," James said. 

"And died in the process," their father added. 

"I didn't want to break family tradition," James shrugged. 

"Well, you're all fine now, that's all that matters," 

They all exchanged worrisome looks. 

"Oh, now what?" Imira threw her arms up in defeat. 

"Well, we died when we were twenty two," Edward said. "I had just gotten married, but Will was not," 

"Ah! You got married and I missed it? Why didn't we start there? Where? When? To who?" 

"To Thessalia, Eurybe's daughter, but not the point right now mummy," Edward said. 

"The point is, we died without heirs, along with all our cousins, and we had invited uncles Dean and Darren and they died too. And then uncle James died killing the witch," William said. 

"Then who rules?" Imira asked, dread filling her soul, her stomach churning. 

"My wife rules in my stead," James said, but the Lycian want to take over, the Datramites will die fighting than accept their rule, so she made a deal with our cousins," 

"You just said Dean and Darren are dead," Imira frowned, confused. 

"Not those cousins," James said. 

"Oh, don't say—" 

"The Acanthaeans will take my throne after Hayley dies," 

"And Narnia?" Imira asked. 

"Narnia is a different matter," their father stood. "They have no claim to it. Not anymore. Lord Peridan succeeded your sons. Seemed like the obvious choice since Queen Susan had agreed to marry him before she and the other monarchs disappeared, but he joined us recently. He never stopped believing they could come back. Every year Narnians hunted for the white stag to no avail. That's how he died. Hunting accident. But he did speak to Prince Corin of Archenland, about having him govern Narnia. Not everyone is in agreement but he was rather close to Queen Susan. It seems that's how they're running things there, by right of familiarity or proximity to the crown," 

"He is a prince and does have blood in common with the old Houses of Narnia and Datram," Imira said. 

"Oh, prince Corin ruling isn't the problem," her mother said. 

"Then what is?" Imira asked. 

"The hoards of Telmarines, sailing two thousand ships to the shores of Narnia," James said. 

All the blood drained from Imira's face. 

James continued. "Even if they made it on time, they would never defeat them," 

"But there must be something we can do," Imira said firmly. 

"We're dead mother, there's nothing we can do," Edward said. 

"And even if we convinced Aslan to send us back, we'd be ghosts. There's nothing we can do, only watch," William said. 

"Look," her father called their attention, his voice grave and urgent, his gaze on the magical mirror. "They're there, they've landed," 

They all hurried to the mirror, three generations of Datramite nobility, gathered together, looking from the great beyond at a sea more brown than blue, ships as far as the eye can see, rowboats landing on the shores, Telmarines coming down in hoards, to burn down Imira's precious home. And there was nothing she could do about it.