A battlefield of black and white stretched into eternity. Pale moonlight spilled onto the chessboard, casting elongated shadows across its checkered expanse. The pieces stood like statues—soldiers carved from bone-white marble and obsidian-black stone, their faces emotionless yet alive with unspoken purpose.
Denwen's hand hovered over the board, sweat trailing down his temple as he tried to think about the next move forward. Closeby, the Queen watched from her throne, a motionless specter wrapped in cold elegance. She did not speak, but the weight of her presence was suffocating.
The silence was thick, broken only by the ragged breaths of the remaining players. Elara's quiet sobs filled the space, fragile and broken, a stark contrast to the ruthless battlefield they stood upon.
Denwen's vision blurred. His hands clenched the arms of his throne, nails digging into the polished bone. His mind was spiraling, drowning in the echoes of Garrick's last moment, the expression frozen on his face before he was erased from existence.
A voice cut through the choking grief like a blade.
"You guys get yourselves together! We have to win this!"
Kaelin's voice was firm, resolute. There was no hesitation, no grief on his face—only the severity of their situation reflected in the hard lines of his expression. His warhorse snorted beneath him, hooves grinding against the chessboard, ready to charge.
The characteristic laziness he normally showed not see during this moment as the reality of the situation settled into everyone's minds.
"Garrick wouldn't want us to mope about his death," Kaelin continued, his sharp gaze locking onto Denwen. "If we don't do this, we are all doomed. Hey, kid, you should know better than this. You said we're your pieces, right? Then play the damn game. If you hesitate now, we all die for nothing."
His voice carried weight, dragging Denwen back from the depths of his spiraling thoughts.
"Remember, we just need to win," Kaelin pressed. "Even if you're the only one left at the end, make sure you win." He exhaled sharply. "And get the authorities involved, kid. You were right. We should have listened to you. Hopefully, in our next life, we won't be as stupid as we were today."
Denwen swallowed hard, forcing clarity into his thoughts.
He tightened his grip on the throne.
"Rook to C1," he commanded.
Roran's piece shifted, moving out of the Queen's radar.
The game continued, each move a battle of survival. Every advance was countered, every retreat was punished. The enemy played mercilessly, forcing them into a desperate struggle. Denwen's mind burned as he tried to protect his key pieces—Kaelin the knight, Elara the bishop, Roran the rook and the king itself to avoid a checkmate—while still finding a way to break through.
But the pressure was unrelenting.
The last pawn was crushed beneath the enemy's advance.
And then Kaelin was trapped.
Denwen's breath hitched. His fingers twitched over the board, desperate to find a way out, but no move would save him.
Kaelin looked at him and shook his head in resignation as though asking to keep on playing as he would without holding back.
"Hey, kid, play me to B4," Roran's voice came through, calm but firm.
Denwen froze. His mind calculated the move instantly. It would protect Kaelin. But it would cost Roran his life.
"No," Denwen muttered. "We can find another way—"
"There's no other way, kid," Roran interrupted. "You know it. Play me to B4, and we'll have a better chance."
Denwen's hands trembled. "You're asking me to sacrifice you."
Roran chuckled, a short, dry laugh. "What did you expect? That we'd all make it out alive? Look around, Denwen. This isn't a game any longer, this is war. And in war, sacrifices are made. This is the life we all chose as hunters when we first registered, it was only a matter of time before death came knocking" His voice softened, but his resolve did not waver. "Besides, we all believe you can win this. Don't water down a man's conviction, please."
Kaelin's voice rang out, sharp and unwavering. "Kid, do it. We all know you can win this, and we've already resolved to help you."
Denwen swallowed thickly.
The command left his lips like a death sentence.
"Rook to B4."
The Queen's eyes gleamed as her piece moved.
Roran barely had time to smirk before her gaze fell upon him. His body convulsed, the black stone of his rook form cracking as invisible hands tore through the pieces and with him frozen unable to move it tore him apart piece by piece. His scream was brief.
Then he was gone.
Denwen forced himself to keep moving.
Elara's piece shifted forward, placing the enemy king in check.
But the king merely stepped aside.
Kaelin was still trapped.
Denwen's heartbeat pounded in his skull. His breathing became uneven. He had to think. Had to find a way out. Had to—
A face flashed in his mind.
A memory.
A person.
His body locked up, his chest tightening as panic seized him. His vision blurred at the edges, breaths turning shallow. His mind began to go into a place he didn't want to visit as his thoughts was running wild. He racked his brain trying to think of a way out, he tried to be cold, he tried to be calculative, this team scammed him on the first day that they met so why was he feeling this way, why did this remind him of that certain day when everything fell apart for him.
He was spiraling. Drowning.
"Hey, kid!"
Kaelin's voice anchored him.
"Don't think about it too much. There's nothing you can do to save me now."
Denwen's vision cleared just in time to see Kaelin shift his piece into position, standing before the enemy's white bishop.
The bishop raised its palm. A bright light flared.
Kaelin closed his eyes.
Denwen turned away.
A scream. Flesh turning to embers. The stench of burning skin.
Then silence.
Denwen exhaled shakily, but before he could speak, Elara snapped.
"No! No, no, no, I can't die here! No!" She banged on the edges of her square frantically, fingers clawing at the boundaries as if she could break free by sheer desperation.
"Elara, focus!" Denwen pleaded. "We can win. I have a strategy—"
"Oh, right, a strategy!" Her voice twisted with hysteria. "Like the one that got Garrick killed? The one that got Kaelin killed? You killed all of us! You did this!"
Denwen recoiled. "That's not—"
A cackle sliced through the tension.
A feminine voice, smooth and amused.
"Hehehehe… I suppose a useless piece that can't follow the rules ruins the fun."
Denwen's blood ran cold.
The Queen had spoken, her voice sending shivers down both of their spines.
Before he could react, Elara's square burst into flames.
Her screams were piercing, raw and agonized as fire consumed her, melting flesh from bone. Her body writhed, her fingers curled in desperation, her eyes hollow with terror as her skin peeled away like paper in the inferno.
The Queen smiled, watching from her throne:
"Broken pieces like that deserves to be discarded, am I wrong bearer?" she asked resting her head on her right hand staring down in amusement.
Denwen sat frozen, unable to comprehend anything that was happening any longer.