The wind howled through the shattered window bars, carrying the scent of sea salt and the ashes of a fallen capital. Atop the tower, the once-magnificent palace stood silent amidst the clamor of cheers and the clash of swords against wooden shields.
What was once the heart of an empire now bore only the flickering glow of smoldering fires, casting a dim, murky light that spilled shadows across the dragon courtyard, where a massive chessboard for human chess was etched. The victorious queen strode between two rows of generals and soldiers into the dragon courtyard.
She raised her hand.
The raucous atmosphere fell silent. No more cheers echoed. Only the crackling of flames, which had once roared atop the curved spires of the once-prosperous capital, remained. Without looking back, she waved her hand again.
Two generals, clad in armor still drenched, and reeking of blood, followed her. A smaller, gold-inlaid chessboard stood before them, adorned with intricately carved ivory pieces, rounded in shape. The pristine white pieces, inscribed with elegant Chinese calligraphy by a renowned scholar of the era, painted in black and red, lay scattered across the board and on the ground.
One final game.
Seated before the chessboard was a man. His silver hair was neatly tied back, with a few strands falling across his forehead like threads of frost. He wore no imperial robes, no crown, only a long black cloak that brushed the ground, its golden trim worn and frayed. His angular, proud face bore the eyes of a king who had once been undefeated in countless battles. His left arm hung limp, still touching the hilt of a sword, its tip grazing the ground. That sword had brought countless enemy kings and generals to their knees. He stared intently at the final square on the board.
Only one piece of chess remained.
"Checkmate!"
The king did not look up. He spoke as if whispering to the victorious queen approaching him. The victorious queen remained cold. Her lips twitched slightly. She neither smiled nor wept. She paused and glanced lightly to her right.
The general on her right stepped forward. With a swift kick, he sent the king's sword flying from his grasp. His burly arms seized the king's silver hair, yanking his head down onto the gold-inlaid chessboard.
The general on her left approached as well. One hand steadied his scabbard, the other touched the hilt of his jeweled sword, still stained with fresh blood. He drew the blade, swung it through the air in a single arc, then sheathed it again.
The victorious queen closed her eyes.
When she opened them, the general on her left held aloft the severed head of the old king. Fresh blood splattered his battle cloak, pooling across the ruined chessboard. He looked at her, awaiting her command.
She nodded.
The general on her left let out a savage laugh. He tossed the head, letting it roll across the dragon courtyard, then charged toward the silent ranks of soldiers gathered before the courtyard. They, too, erupted into wild, triumphant roars.
The general on her right stood still. His eyes fixed on his queen. She did not meet his gaze.
Before her now, there was no opponent. The last—the final king—was nothing but a headless corpse. The chessboard was empty. The pieces were gone. She alone remained—the last survivor. She was the victor, and also the loneliest. She stood in her silence amid the emptiness.
Silence was the reward for all victors, and emptiness was the price of victory.
She glanced to her right.
The general on her right removed the deep crimson cloak from his shoulders. He stepped into the dragon courtyard and picked up the bloodied head of the former king. One hand held the head, the other clutched the cloak as he approached the still-bleeding, headless body of the old king. Carefully, he placed the head back at the severed neck and draped the cloak over the king's aged form.
Outside, the cries rang out:
"Long live the queen! Long live the queen! Long live the queen!
She stepped forward, sitting at the chessboard beside the former king's body. Her hand trembled slightly as she picked up the final chess piece—the one that had fallen from the king's hand as he was beheaded. She placed it back in its square. With the same hand, she reached out and brushed the bulge in the cloak where it covered the severed head. Only then did she speak, her voice a whisper, like a praying:
"Farewell, Father."