Preparation was a ritual.
In the war room, I selected no weapons.
Steel was crude. Armies were blunt instruments. Tonight required neither. Shadows answered intent alone—and intent demanded precision.
I adjusted the high collar of my coat. Flexed my gloved fingers once. Then slipped a single ring onto my right hand.
Shadow-imbued.
A failsafe.
Capable of unraveling wards… or flesh.
As I passed the sanctum, the great chessboard tugged at my awareness. The anomalies had gone quiet since the bishop's advance. No new shifts. No unsolicited movement.
A temporary stalemate.
Leonhardt's knight remained overextended. The Rayne house continued to fracture beneath imperial scrutiny.
Good.
Yet the porcelain bishop rested heavily in my pocket—white to my black king. A reminder.
A worthy opponent demanded caution.
And—rarely—anticipation.
Vesper intercepted me in the corridor, emerging from a side shadow with practiced grace. Amber eyes sharp. Too sharp.
"My lord." Her bow was flawless, but tension threaded her voice. "The capital escalates. The Rayne boy clashed with royal guards. Minor injuries. Major instability. His aura flares without restraint."
Expected.
"And the girl?"
"Seraphina Voss remains unaccounted for. Academy records list withdrawal, but our agents lost her trail near the Eclipse Spire ruins."
Because she wanted them to.
Vesper stepped closer—an inch too close. "You intend to go alone?"
"Yes."
Her jaw tightened. "Light counters shadow. Allow me to accompany you."
"No."
The word fell like a blade.
Shadows stirred at my feet, responding instantly. "This is a diagonal play. Proxies would only blunt it."
She held my gaze a moment longer. Loyalty warred with something deeper—concern, perhaps. Possessiveness.
In the novel, her betrayal had been written as love.
I noted the divergence.
"Monitor the board," I said. "Report any shifts."
"…As you command."
She dissolved back into darkness.
Good.
I stepped into shadow and vanished.
The journey south took heartbeats.
Void rushed past like liquid night, intent guiding me unerringly. Northern frost gave way to temperate air as the capital's glow receded behind me.
The Eclipse Spire rose ahead.
Ancient.
Once-white marble veined with black, half-collapsed from forgotten wars. Twin moons loomed overhead—silver and crimson—sliding toward alignment.
Eclipse imminent.
Light and shadow overlapping.
Fitting.
I emerged at the spire's base, shadows peeling away like smoke. Ruins sprawled outward—shattered arches, luminous vines pulsing faintly with old magic. Runes etched into stone hummed softly, awakened by celestial convergence.
She was already there.
Standing atop the highest intact platform.
Silver hair unbound, flowing like starlight in the wind. Gone was mourning black—replaced by a fitted white tunic and dark leggings, practical and deliberate. Violet eyes glowed softly as she turned.
Seraphina Voss.
Beautiful in the way sharpened steel was beautiful.
Elegant. Lethal.
No grief lingered in her posture.
Only poise.
"Shadow Sovereign," she called, voice carrying effortlessly across the ruins. "Punctual. I approve."
I ascended the broken stairs without haste, shadows trailing behind me like a living mantle.
"And you," I replied. "Bold. Leaving breadcrumbs for monsters."
A faint smile curved her lips. "Had to draw the player out. Your opening with my father was… efficient."
No hatred. No vengeance.
Just assessment.
We stopped ten paces apart.
A respectful distance.
Her light mana hummed—contained, disciplined. It resonated with the runes beneath us, answering the eclipse.
"You sensed the scry," I said.
"Residual shadows lingered," she replied calmly. "Amateur mistake."
A tilt of her head. "But you're no amateur. Anthony Crowe, isn't it?"
The name struck like a discovered check.
"Undefeated grandmaster. Died in a roadside collision. Woke up gloved and villainous."
I did not react.
"And you?" I asked. "Another reader? Or something more creative?"
She laughed—soft, genuine amusement.
"Sophia Lang. Twenty-six. Corporate strategist. Casual chess hobbyist. I binge-read Eclipse Chronicle on a red-eye flight."
Her eyes hardened.
"Hated it. Protagonist worship. Harem nonsense. Villain doomed because the author said so."
A breath.
"Next thing I know, I'm Seraphina Voss. Minor character. Light affinity. Scheduled for an off-screen death."
Transmigrator.
Confirmed.
Relief and danger intertwined.
"Why challenge me?" I asked. "Revenge?"
"Father was a tool," she said flatly. "You disposed of him better than the novel did."
She stepped closer, light flaring faintly, illuminating fractured stone.
"No. I moved the bishop to find you. We're the anomalies."
"The board responds," I said. "Your doing?"
"Some. The knight's early twitch? Mine. A probe."
She frowned. "But not everything. Leonhardt's rage was pushed. Accelerated. Something else is moving pieces."
A third hand.
She raised her palm.
Light condensed—forming an ethereal chessboard between us. White and black pieces shimmered into being.
"Our game," she said. "White clustered. Plot-armored. Black scattered, but thinking."
A white pawn moved on its own.
Then a black knight.
Her gaze sharpened.
"Not us."
The eclipse deepened.
The moons overlapped.
Runes ignited.
She extended the board. "A truce. Temporary. We break the hero's script together. Then we decide who takes the crown."
Alliance.
Tempting.
I advanced the ethereal black king one square.
"Terms?"
"Information sharing. No direct strikes until Leonhardt falls. Your shadows infiltrate. My light divines."
Clean. Ruthless.
"And after?"
Her smile sharpened. "Endgame."
The thrill surged—
Then the ground screamed.
Runes flared violently, light and shadow colliding instead of harmonizing. The ethereal board shattered, pieces exploding into sparks.
A voice echoed—layered, distorted.
Divergence detected. Correcting.
Seraphina's eyes widened. "What is—"
Shadows erupted around me—twisted, unbidden. Light lashed from her hands, uncontrolled.
The spire groaned.
From the eclipse itself, a rift tore open—void threaded with glyphs.
Words.
Sentences.
Fragments of the novel.
Light prevails.
Destined hero.
The author.
Or the world's immune system.
Seraphina grabbed my arm, her light stabilizing my shadows. "It's forcing the plot! Leonhardt—he's awakening now!"
A distant roar thundered from the capital.
Mana detonated.
Heroic.
Premature.
Cataclysmic.
The rift pulsed, pulling.
From our pockets, pieces flew free—my black king, her white bishop—drawn together.
Merging.
Gray.
Players unauthorized. Reset imminent.
Seraphina met my eyes.
No fear.
Only resolve.
"Together," she said.
I nodded.
Shadow and light surged as one—slamming into the rift. Glyphs fractured. The tear recoiled—
But did not close.
And from the capital, another surge.
Leonhardt.
Coming for us.
Early.
The game had shattered.
And we stood at its center.