With every move on the chessboard, the tension in the room seemed to thicken, suffocating me in its grip.
The weight of each decision bore down on my shoulders like a mountain, a constant reminder of the stakes at hand. Playing with lives was not a game for the faint of heart, and as I contemplated my next move, I glanced at the golden-eyed man seated across from me, his gaze unwavering, his demeanor eerily calm.
He was a master of manipulation, a puppeteer pulling the strings of fate with a skill that surpassed the will of heaven. His every move was calculated, and strategic, designed to corner me and force a fatal error. His appearance was lax, he held a chalice of red wine(?) and drank in peace.
*Snap!* he snapped his fingers and a figure appeared in the distance, one sitting at a piano.
"Play Lacrimosa, I hear the hero likes it," The man with the golden eyes said. Immediately, the figure began playing.
