The scene shifted.
A dim chamber, walls lost to shadow, air heavy with something that smelled faintly of wilted roses and dust. A small lamp glowed over a chessboard, its white and black pieces frozen mid-battle.
On one side, a girl—her outline blurred, her face hidden in shadow. She sat in perfect stillness, hands folded neatly, as if patience itself was her flesh and bone.
Across from her, a figure emerged from the gloom. Seryn Eloweth. The faint curve of her lips carried that polished serenity that never quite reassured—more like the hush before a scalpel cut.
"You've already made your opening," she said, her voice low, almost musical. "That means you've been waiting."
The silhouette girl only tilted her head. A piece moved—not by hand, but as though the board itself obeyed her will.
Seryn smiled.
"Bold. But reckless."
She plucked a knight, sliding it forward with such grace it seemed inevitable, as if the piece had always belonged there.
They continued, move after move, no clatter, no hesitation. The sound was only the faint scrape of pieces against the board—and the silence between them, the silence that pressed too close, like a second skin.
"Strategy is the art of patience," Seryn murmured. "But you already knew that. What fascinates me is… which part of you enjoys devouring the other? The tactician… or the child who cannot stop gambling?"
The shadow girl let out a laugh—soft, lilting, and wrong. Not loud, not wild, but threaded with something that left the air colder.
Pieces fell. Queens vanished. Pawns turned into weapons. Neither looked at the board anymore; both knew every move the other would make.
The game was no longer about winning.
It was about seeing who could keep smiling the longest before the mask cracked.
And neither mask cracked.
The chamber did not change—yet it felt like it had grown smaller, walls pressing in, air heavier, the faint light trembling as if it wanted to escape. The silhouette girl's voice broke the silence, quiet but razor-sharp, threading through the shadows like a whisper that didn't belong to a human throat.
"Tell me, Seryn… why are you truly part of this tournament? What is it that drives you to bleed your way forward?"
For a heartbeat, Seryn sat motionless, her fingers lingering on a bishop, stroking it like a delicate animal. Then, her lips curved into something grotesque—too wide, too deliberate, a grin that showed both serenity and hunger in the same moment.
"Why?" she echoed softly, and then leaned forward, her voice dropping into a venomous purr. "Because I want the Council. I want to break them. No—more than that. I want to shatter their illusion of control. And to do that… I will tear Silas Caelumotris down with my own hands."
The shadow girl said nothing at first. The silence gave Seryn room, and she filled it—her tone swelling, her eyes alight with something feverish, disturbing, alive with cruel anticipation.
"Imagine it," she whispered, almost reverently. "That perfect figurehead… that polished little paragon. Watching him fall apart, gasping in front of everyone. His pride gutted, his face crushed under despair. The great leader, humiliated, stripped, broken. Their protector, their shining emblem… reduced to nothing."
Her nails tapped against the chessboard, rhythmic, steady, like a drumbeat that set the air crawling.
"And in that moment," she breathed, "every single soul in this academy, in this kingdom, will finally understand… that fear has a face. My face."
The silhouette girl shifted slightly, one hand raising to rest against her cheek, as though watching an amusing but unruly child. Her tone was low, calm, dismissive.
"Not yet. Not so fast. You gnash your teeth in the shadows and call it victory. He has not fallen. You have not even touched him. And even if you did… you still forget the Equinox."
The word hung, heavy, deliberate.
Seryn's breath hitched. Then she laughed. Not soft, not graceful. It erupted raw, jagged, spilling out of her like cracks in porcelain. A laugh that rang too loud for the tiny chamber, bouncing back off the shadows until it felt like more than one person was laughing.
"Blanche?" she spat between her mirth. "Blanche? You dare throw that fragile little name at me as though it were a blade?"
She leaned forward, grin splitting wide again, and her voice fractured into a hiss.
"That girl is nothing. A stiff little doll, a spoiled ornament of her house. You think she could stop me? You think she could stand in my way? Don't—"
Her eyes narrowed, blazing sharp, and for a moment the air itself seemed to recoil.
"Don't make me angry with such nonsense."
The chessboard trembled under her fingers. A piece tipped over by itself.
The shadow girl only smiled faintly, like a mother tolerating a tantrum, her calmness cutting sharper than any mockery.
The girl in the dark did not move, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her silhouette as still as carved obsidian. Her tone, when it slipped out, was quiet, unbothered, but it carried the sharpness of a needle sliding beneath the skin.
"I am only warning you, Seryn. Equinox carries a record you cannot dismiss. Their history of victories, their discipline, their lineage—do you truly think none of it matters? That such a name cannot become a threat?"
Seryn's head tilted slightly, her long hair sliding over her shoulder as her lips twisted into that serpentine smile again. She brushed a fingertip against a pawn, pushing it forward almost lazily, the soft scrape of wood against the board echoing far too loud in the silence.
"A threat?" she murmured, voice dripping with disdain. "Blanche Van Equinox is not yet whole. She is incomplete, still fumbling, still searching. And incomplete pieces don't frighten me. They can't. She is not a blade—she is only the dull shimmer of one, half-forged and far too fragile."
Her grin widened, too white in the gloom, too sharp.
"Besides…" she whispered, low and poisonous, "she can still be useful. A piece on the board. A pawn. If I wish it, I could bend her, twist her, make her march where I command. That wide-eyed doll would never realize she's being moved until the game was already won."
The shadow girl let out a soft chuckle—delicate, almost melodic, yet it sounded like it was meant to slice.
"You do sound very sure of yourself, Seryn. Almost… smug."
Seryn leaned back in her chair, laughter bubbling out—quiet at first, then sharper, curling into something mocking and cruel.
"This isn't arrogance," she said finally, eyes burning in the dimness. "This is the truth. Cold, unshakable fact. I am better than Blanche. She will stumble; I will not. She will flinch; I will strike. She will still be learning how to stand when I have already torn kingdoms to their knees."
Her hand pressed down on the chessboard, pawns rattling at her touch as if they too were afraid.
"And when the world watches her fall beneath me, they will understand what she truly was—naïve, foolish, pathetic. A girl who thought she had power but was only ever a toy in someone else's game."
The shadow girl tilted her head slightly, smile faint but eyes gleaming like needles in the dark, letting Seryn's words settle like rot in the silence.
The last echo of wood sliding across polished marble lingered like the drag of a knife in the dark. The board stood settled now, pieces scattered in their final arrangement, the king cornered and strangled into silence. Seryn's fingers lifted away, her nails scraping the edge of the table as she breathed out that single word, quiet yet venomous, carrying the weight of inevitability.
"Checkmate."
The dim light caught the gleam in her eyes, cruel and burning, while across from her the other figure—still half-swathed in shadow—let out a soft laugh, delicate but cutting, like glass breaking in the distance.
"Ah… so it is," the girl whispered, lips curling in amusement. "As expected. You are clever, Seryn. Too clever for most of them. I can see now… why they fear you, even if they do not yet admit it."
Her praise lingered, but Seryn's face remained carved in stone, unimpressed, untouched. She rose from her seat, the legs of the chair scraping faintly against the cold floor, her silhouette stretching tall and lean in the dim glow. Her gaze cut downward, sharp as a dagger aimed between ribs.
"This game," she said flatly, "was not for victory. It was for a reminder. I came only to ensure you have not forgotten—that when the time comes, when the ground cracks open and the crowd screams, you will still play the part I require of you. I will need you, Leader of the North. Selene."
The name sliced through the silence, its weight dragging shadows across the room. And with it, the haze that cloaked the mysterious figure shifted, peeled away like a curtain drawn back. At last, Selene leaned forward into the light, her posture languid, chin tilted ever so slightly as if savoring the reveal.
Her smile stretched—predatory, knowing, the kind that seemed to rot the air itself. A grin not of joy, but of someone who already held cards no one else knew existed.
"Mm…" Selene murmured, voice low and silken with threat. "How refreshing to hear my name from your lips. Yes, Seryn. You may need me. But do not forget…"
Her head inclined, her eyes glinting like coins soaked in blood.
"I also need you. My business—my empire—does not thrive without your little chaos feeding it. You'll keep the blood warm, the dice rolling, the fear alive. And I'll make certain the game never runs out of players."
For a moment, silence choked the room again. Just the faint tick of some unseen clock. Then Selene's grin widened, her teeth flashing, her laugh soft and unkind.
"Until then… do not die too early. I would hate to lose such a valuable piece."
Seryn did not answer. She only turned, cloak trailing like a smear of ink across the floor, her footsteps fading into the dark. Selene leaned back into her chair, one hand idly knocking down the toppled king on the board, her laughter echoing faintly after the girl who had just left.
And with that, the board lay abandoned, the final move made, the final pieces fallen—yet the true game had only just begun.
The curtain drops here, but its threads tremble—leaving the promise of something darker waiting to be pulled