A note to new readers: this story is a major WIP. There may be grammar mistakes, plot holes galore and lore that is perhaps not very accurate. While I'm writing this, I will be going along and editing each chapter periodically. So what you see here so far, may be in a rough shape until the story concludes itself. Thus certain plot points could be changed here and there, but I will always keep you up to date on any changes, and overall the main arching plot and characters should hopefully remain relatively un-changed throughout the story. Please do feel free to leave me any constructive criticism, as I do take it on board. I consider this story as both an exercise for my writing skills, and a place to let my imagination run wild.

I also wish to establish, that this story is going to take place in a world that is a mix of both the books and the movies. Admittedly, favouring the movies a little more story wise, but I do my best to try and pay attention to the lore and characters that are established in the books. Of course, as this world isn't as developed as say Tolkien's Lord of the Rings is, I will naturally be taking creative licence here and there to expand the story and its capabilities. I'm basically going to be stretching out the events of the movies, adding in certain battles that were not included in the movies, and for the main characters I'll be using the movie ages rather than the book ages for the characters. Because this is a more mature take on the series, therefore it seems appropriate to make Lucy, Susan, Edmund, Peter and Caspian a little older. :)

Well that's enough from me, please enjoy!

The impact of the bullets in my chest had sent me straight onto my back. It was like a rain of lightning had hit me square in the chest, but there was no pain. None at all. Only a wave of numbness.

I had touched my chest, looking down at my torso. If I hadn't seen the bullets coming, then I might have thought that someone had just pushed me over- or hit me with a baseball bat a few times.

But I had seen it clear as day. My brother. Aiming his gun straight at me. Pulling the trigger five times.

Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang.

I remember pulling my hand away to look at it. It was completely soaked in blood. And then, everything became fuzzy, as the rapid blood loss took over my head. I recall the feeling of a tear gathering at the edge of my eye, as I looked at my brother one last time, and rasped, 'Why?'

I'd barely heard his response before everything went black. It was like I was being pulled into a deep sleep. There was no time for me to feel that strangling fear of death that we all experience when we're young.

The last thing I felt was my knees hitting the wooden floor. I collapsed, but before the moment my face should have hit the floor, everything was already gone.

Caught in mid-air; the page half turned. The paper falls back in place, the story stops writing, and the last words leave the tale on a cliff with no ending. The adventure is replaced with horror. The reader left only with a deep feeling of dread, because though they know the story shouldn't have ended there… it did.

It actually felt good. I don't remember feeling so tired all of a sudden, but when everything went black, I felt like It was the first time I had closed my eyes in a year.

For a while, I slept. At least, that was what it felt like I was doing the moment my mind returned to consciousness. Because really, do we even know what true sleep is like? The only way we know we've slept- is by waking up. So then, what happens in our mind, during the hours we're gone? When we don't dream, do we really even exist between the night and the day?

When I first woke, I found it was unexpectedly difficult for me to open my eyes. It felt like there were little stitches across the seams of my eyes, holding them tightly shut as I struggled against an unknown force.

The fight to open my eyes continued on for what felt like forever. Sometimes I would open them, and then I'd lose all strength, and they'd fall close again. Again and again and again.

Each time, I never remembered seeing anything but a golden light. Like the sun. Despite its warmth, the cold stretched through my fingertips and all throughout my body- holding tight to me like death clutches a soul.

But the more I fought to open my eyes, the warmer I began to feel in the depths of my body. In my heart, but yet still even deeper than that- something burned and bled. My survival instincts kicked in, and though I couldn't feel the adrenaline; the deep, primal instinct to fight the cold is what eventually drove off whatever had been trying to keep me asleep.

I have no clue how long I was out for. In a way, it felt like a lifetime. Like I'd slept for a good 30 years or so. But those 30 years also felt like they lasted only 30 seconds. Because then the world existed once again.

Memories rushed through my mind. I remembered the feeling of moving my toes in the sand. Of walking side by side with my friends at high school, and pushing the gear-stick of a car into drive. Hearing my dad talking me through how to ride a bike and my mother, brushing my hair and singing old lullabies to me.

'I remember that… and that- and that too,' I thought.

I heard sounds. A giggling. Someone shouting someone's name- my name?

Just as I had remembered it, I became very aware of my own body. The hair that I had, how long my arms and legs were- the color of my eyes and skin. And I felt it.

My body, restored to my ownership. Everything appeared to be working, but I just couldn't move and had no strength to get up.

It was warm, and I could hear some sort of strange crackling. I felt oddly un-comfortable, like the ground underneath me wasn't flat.

And then I heard it. A warm voice calling my name- the sound almost reverberated within the walls of my skull. And I jolted straight up, eyes wide open to the world and breath caught in my throat. The voice seemed to re-awaken my whole body- returning it to my command.

All at once my senses returned, and I finally could take in my surroundings. I was alone, on top of some kind of stone table. It was broken into big pieces, which explains why I had felt like the ground wasn't stable.

If I knew I would wake up at all, perhaps I would have expected to be in a hospital- or an ambulance. Or maybe I would have still been on the floor of my brother's apartment. I honestly think I would have preferred not to wake up at all.

The crackling came from a circle of fire that lit up the entire room. The walls were lined with carvings of strange creatures. At first it took me a moment to realize what they were. There were centaurs, minotaurs, fawns, tigers, birds, dwarves, and in the very center, a giant lion sat.

Where the hell am I?

How did I get here?

Am I dead?

I must be.

The rushing of inner thoughts made my head dizzy. It had never felt so unnatural to do something as simple as think.

Looking all around me, In the corner of my eye I momentarily thought I had seen the lion move. My neck joints cracked as my head turned to look at it closer. I slid down off the broken table, my hands taking with them the dust and grit of the stone.

This carving was by far the most intricate, with a lot of attention put into the mane and face of this lion. I could have sworn that It was blinking. It's expression was so serious- and its eyes. They were haunting. Though only a carving, the eyes seemed to hold something akin to wisdom. If this creature was real, then I would think it'd have many stories to tell.

Then my stomach dropped, as the lion moved to stand. How the hell can stone move? Defying logic, it shook its mane, sending dust off its surface and onto the ground. Looking dead at me in the eyes, it opened its jaws to reveal teeth so massive, and a roar so fierce the whole room felt it. The sound was deafening, awe inspiring and fear inducing.

I felt something stir within me, and gulped- looking down. My body was still covered in blood, and I realised I still had bullet wounds. Peeling away my jacket, and lifting my torn white shirt, I looked for my wounds, and blanched. I went pale when I saw them- for they were not as big as I was sure they should be. In fact, they were shrinking. Growing smaller like they were being pinched into nothingness.

It was so strange. There wasn't any odd tingling or any pain, but rather the numbness I had felt before drained away. My skin and any vital organs that had been hit were re-growing themselves- I know because I felt it and I didn't know what else it could be. Skin and flesh re-stitching and binding until there were only small scars left. I hadn't quite realised how hot it felt until my body suddenly became cooler. It seemed the lion's healing roar was finished.

There was a thumping in my chest which hadn't been there before, and lifting a hand to place it over the top of my breast, I realised it was my heart. My heart had started beating again- and hard too, with almost a renewed energy. It was so warm…

I looked up, the shock and awe plain on my face. The lion had returned to its place, sitting and still. As if it had never moved in the first place. I blurted before I could think, "Thanks…Thank… Thank you… " It didn't respond, and I walked closer. The wall of fire separated me from the wall, but if I could, I might have reached out and touched its paw.

For a moment longer I stood there, just basking in awe. This defied everything I knew was possible. I should have died from my wounds, and yet a stone carving had reversed all the damage that was done.

I had so many questions, and hoping for answers, I asked, "Did I die?" I waited for a response, but there was none. The lion did not blink or move at all. Beginning to feel worried I spoke, "Please I need to know, where am I?"

Nothing- not a word or even a twitch of acknowledgement. I'd never felt more alone before, and this was when the realisation came to me.

My brother had shot me… My brother, shot me.

Despite the fact that no one was around to hear me, I spoke aloud, "Oh my god… My brother tried to kill me… he tried to kill me…" It was but a whisper, and I brought a hand to my mouth, as if the words themselves were a poison on my tongue. I could feel my stomach become tight, my facial muscles growing taught with a very familiar feeling. I always felt like this before the waterworks came.

I backed up until I touched the back of my knees to the cracked stone table, and I slid down it to plant my bum on the ground. My head in the palms of my hands, I let out a strangled wail, "He nearly killed me! Why? Why would he do that?" As I wasn't given an answer, I tried to come up with one in my head. A reason for this insanity I was feeling.

Maybe I'd done something wrong. Why do people kill other people? It could have been out of jealousy, out of hatred or spite. Or maybe I had something that he wanted, and felt I didn't deserve. Yes maybe that was it- but what? What could I have possibly had that he wanted?

For all the reasons I could come up with, none of them made sense. Perhaps he hadn't meant to? Perhaps it was a mistake? There was so little hope in that sentiment. My gut told me that what had happened was not an accident. There was no regret in his eyes, and there was even less in the finger that pulled that trigger five times.

My father always said, three was a pattern... and he shot me five times. To be honest, I was surprised I even remembered the number- but I did, and that number seemed to have been branded into my mind.

Almost involuntarily, I continued to splutter various sentences and words to myself. Repeating them over and over, trying to calm my ragged breath. Nothing helped. In between sobbing and speaking, my body trembled and shook- the fear in my last moments returning to me in a massive wave that took hold of everything I was and am.

I felt like maybe if I denied it had happened, then I could pretend that I still had a loving big brother. I had so little else in this world, I wasn't sure what I'd do with myself if the only thing I had left was taken away from me- even if it wasn't by my own doing this time. If I didn't pretend that I still had something to live for, then what on earth was there left for me to do?

I'd never felt so shitty in my entire life. I was distraught, confused, angry, sad, and everything else that went under that umbrella. I didn't know what to do.

But, I did know, that if there was anyone in this world who had earned the right to ball their eyes out right now- that person was me. So I did.

I cried until my nose was dry from snot, and my throat was sore from the screaming. I had begun to rock myself at some point- side to side in an effort to give myself a little bit of comfort. It helped stop the trembles.

I didn't feel like I was done crying yet. Maybe my body was, but I wasn't. I wasn't done mourning this loss. This tragedy. A random thought of writing a book popped into my head at this point, and I almost gave a huff of self-deprecating laughter. Well It surely would have to be a bestseller.

I looked up at the lion again, and found that it was almost calming to just gaze upon it's stoic face. It was un-moving, and I had a feeling it would probably stay that way for a long time. But who knows, maybe If I left and came back again it would actually talk to me.

Either way, I didn't really like the idea of staying here for too long. I could move now that I didn't have to worry about bleeding out, and dying.

In a way though, I wondered if staying here was a better idea. How was I to be sure that there was anything beyond this room? Maybe we were all wrong- and death is just a room to sit in, alone with your thoughts until the world ends. It sounded rather boring, but I found it a little funny and ironic if that was true.

Somehow though, I doubted that this was death- and if it was, I needed to be sure. Looking around, there did seem to be an exit to the room, though there was only one. I wasn't sure if I appreciated or feared the lack of options I had. It made everything simpler, but also all the more worrying. What laid beyond that passage?

Well, I figured there was only one way to find out. Turning around to face the exit, I manoeuvred around the stone table and approached the dark tunnel. There was no light at the end of it, but there was a subtle breeze which made me feel a little more confident that this wasn't just a tunnel to nowhere.

I looked once more over my shoulder, eyes landing on the lion's face. I murmured a few words of appreciation, and then let my world plunge into darkness as I stepped into the shadow.

AN: Hello everyone! I hope you enjoyed the read, I certainly had fun writing it. I've always wanted to write a Narnian Fanfiction, but I never was able to hold onto inspiration for very long. This story came to me quite out of the blue after I began reading a fantastic story by another lovely individual on this site.

If you have not read "With Courage" by Halfwit-halfblood, then please do go and have a look! It is a truly well written story and I can't wait to see where the author takes it. It's by far my favourite Narnian FF. I'd like to thank the author for her writing has given me the inspiration to create my own story.

Never before have I written 10,000 words in a span of 38 hours, and yet I did so just yesterday! I'm already up to chapter five, so I will be updating this story either once or twice a week if I can, and will try and stay ahead so theres always something to post. :D

Anyway, please leave me a comment if you like the story and share it with your friends! I'm really looking forward to meeting my readers.