The rain lashed against the palace windows in relentless sheets, turning Rafa's gleaming spires into a watercolor blur of neon and steel. Thunder growled in the distance—a fitting backdrop for the silent war being waged in the emperor's private study.
Alberto Bernard exhaled a slow stream of cigar smoke. Across the obsidian chessboard sat ISSD Chef Carl.
"Your move," Alberto said, tapping ash into a crystal tray.
Carl's fingers—gloved in thin black tactical mesh, more out of habit than necessity—hovered over his queen's knight. The piece clicked against marble as he executed a classic Marshall Attack.
"Pressure on D4."
Alberto's lips twitched. He'd expected this. With deliberate slowness, he slid his bishop to E3.
"Counterplay."
The chess pieces were antique—ivory and onyx replicas of Bernard Empire soldiers and Ostra's rebels.
A knock at the door.
"Enter," Alberto called without looking up.
Defense Minister Thomas stepped inside, his suit still damp at the shoulders.
