The forest was silent, too silent. The bitter wind that had once howled now barely whispered, as though the trees themselves were holding their breath. Around Lysandra, the shadows thickened, forming jagged shapes that moved with unnatural grace.
The shadowpieces crept closer, their sickly green eyes fixed on her. There were four of them now, larger and more twisted than the first. Each step they took left blackened marks on the frozen ground.
Thalassa rose to her feet, calm as ever. The white-haired high priestess tilted her head toward the man in armor. "You'll hold the front. Keep them distracted."
"And her?" the man snapped, his amber eyes flicking toward Lysandra.
"She must figure it out," Thalassa said simply.
"Figure out what?" Lysandra demanded, her voice rising in panic. The dull throb in her shoulder where the shadowpiece had struck her burned hotter now, a slow, searing pain. "I don't have weapons! I can't fight these things!"
"Not with swords," Thalassa said, her tone maddeningly cryptic. "But the chessboard doesn't leave its chosen pieces defenseless. You've already summoned the Pawn and the Knight, Lysandra. Do it again."
Lysandra's blood turned cold. Summon them? Here? In the real world? She wanted to argue, to demand a better explanation, but the shadows weren't waiting.
The first shadowpiece lunged.
The man in armor—Cassian, though his name hadn't been offered yet—moved with deadly precision. His sword flashed in the moonlight, slicing cleanly through the creature's midsection. The shadowpiece shrieked but didn't fall. Its torso melted into smoke, only to reform seconds later.
"They don't die," Cassian growled, slashing again, keeping the shadowpieces at bay. "Priestess, this wasn't part of the deal."
"It was always part of the deal," Thalassa said, stepping back calmly as if she weren't surrounded by monsters. "You just didn't understand the stakes."
Lysandra stumbled backward, her pulse pounding in her ears. She could barely process the chaos around her. Cassian fought with brutal efficiency, but the shadowpieces were relentless. Thalassa's serenity felt like a cruel joke, her cryptic instructions utterly useless.
And then there were the threads.
The silver threads had appeared again, faint and trembling, wrapping around Lysandra's hands like strands of spider silk. They seemed to pulse in time with her racing heart, tugging her forward, pulling her toward the shadowpieces instead of away.
She stared at them, panicked. "What do you want me to do?" she hissed at the threads, as though they could answer her.
"Stop thinking like a victim," Thalassa called sharply. For the first time, there was steel in her voice. "You're a piece on the board, Lysandra. Move!"
The word rang through her mind, and suddenly, the world shifted.
Her vision blurred, and the forest fell away, replaced by the chessboard once more. It was faint, like a reflection on glass—overlaid on the real world. The squares were there, faintly glowing beneath her feet, and so were the pieces: a white Pawn to her left, a Knight three squares away.
The shadowpieces moved, too, their positions mirroring their real-world counterparts.
It was a game. A horrifying, life-or-death game.
She clenched her fists. If she didn't move, she'd die. If she moved the wrong way, they all might.
The first shadowpiece lunged for Cassian again. He blocked its claws with his sword, but the force of the blow drove him back. He stumbled, his blade shaking under the weight of the creature. The second shadowpiece advanced on Thalassa, its claws already slicing through the air.
"Now, Lysandra!" Thalassa shouted, her calm demeanor cracking just enough to reveal urgency.
Lysandra inhaled sharply, focusing on the threads. They pulsed harder, guiding her, showing her the paths she could take. She stepped forward onto a glowing square, and the threads around her snapped taut.
The white Pawn beside her sprang to life, just as it had before. This time, it took the form of a soldier once more, its spear gleaming in the moonlight. The soldier moved with inhuman speed, intercepting the shadowpiece attacking Thalassa and driving its spear through the creature's chest.
The shadowpiece screamed and dissolved into smoke, but the Pawn froze again, returning to marble.
It wasn't enough. The other three shadowpieces surged forward, one targeting Lysandra directly.
Her body moved on instinct, the threads pulling her sideways to the next square. She didn't even have time to think about it. The white Knight beside her flickered and burst into motion, its sword blazing with golden light. The Knight swung its blade, cutting through one shadowpiece and wounding another.
But the last shadowpiece didn't stop. It barreled past Cassian, past the other pieces, and straight for Lysandra.
Her pulse roared in her ears as she stumbled back, tripping over the edge of a glowing square. She landed hard on the ground, and the shadowpiece loomed over her, its claws raised high.
The silver threads pulsed weakly now, flickering like a dying flame. She was out of moves.
"Get up!" Cassian roared, his amber eyes blazing as he slashed through the second shadowpiece. But he was too far away to stop the one above her.
The shadowpiece struck.
Lysandra raised her arms instinctively, bracing for the impact. But instead of claws, there was light—a sudden, blinding light that erupted from her birthmark. The rook-shaped mark burned white-hot, and the shadowpiece froze, its claws mere inches from her throat.
The light expanded, searing through the shadowpiece, and it dissolved into smoke with a final, earsplitting shriek.
For a long moment, there was silence. The remaining shadowpieces melted into the shadows, retreating as the light from Lysandra's mark faded.
Cassian approached slowly, his sword still drawn. He looked down at her, his expression unreadable. "What did you just do?"
Lysandra stared at her trembling hands, her pulse still racing. The silver threads were gone, and her birthmark no longer glowed. She shook her head, unable to speak.
"She didn't do it alone," Thalassa said quietly, stepping closer. Her oceanic blue eyes flicked toward the trees, where the last traces of shadow lingered. "He's watching."
"He?" Lysandra rasped, finally finding her voice.
Thalassa nodded toward the dark forest. "The Shadow King. Malrik Tharos. This was his opening move."
Lysandra's stomach twisted. She had heard the name before, whispered in the court when she was a child. Malrik was the usurper who had once tried to claim the throne, banished into obscurity after his rebellion failed.
"What does he want with me?" she whispered.
Before Thalassa could answer, Cassian turned sharply, his sword raised.
The wind shifted, carrying with it a sound—a low, resonant hum, like a heartbeat echoing through the trees. The ground trembled faintly beneath their feet.
And then, from the darkness, a voice emerged. Deep and chilling, it slithered through the air like smoke.
"You've made your move, little Pawn," the voice said. "Now it's my turn."
The chessboard flickered faintly around Lysandra, and this time, she saw it clearly: the black Queen moving forward, its shadow casting a long, dark trail across the board.
The sound of laughter echoed through the forest, and the light around them dimmed.