For a long while, neither of them spoke. They simply sat there across from one another, perched on a branch so enormous it made mountains look small, sipping tea that appeared in their hands as easily as a thought.
The steam rose slowly, curling and fading into the glow of the living chessboard between them. The pieces shifted and breathed faintly, as if waiting for their next command.
They weren't just myths. They weren't just names whispered around mortal fires. They were women—older than any history book could capture, older than the ruins mortals worshipped without even remembering why.
Friends, rivals, companions across ages, bound more by familiarity than by loyalty. Their laughter wasn't forced, and their silences weren't awkward.
They carried the ease of those who had lived too long to care about filling every quiet moment, who could sit across a board for centuries and still find amusement in the way the pieces moved.
