Knight to Queen

Smoke and soot choked the air as the White Knight breached the gates of Endsquare. His armor, dented and darkened by fire, still bore the sigil of the Ivory Court—a white sunburst now half-obscured by blood. His beard was matted, his breath shallow, but his eyes burned with clarity. He had fought through hell to get here. The Black Castle rose before him like a tombstone. Pillars cracked, courtyards littered with fallen guards. He pressed on, blade in hand, up the winding stairs of obsidian stone. And then—he saw her. At the throne’s base stood a lone woman in regal black, her gown trailing like liquid shadow, a dark crown woven into her raven hair. The Obsidian Queen. She turned slowly, lips parting in something close to surprise. No guards. No blade. Only silence. His heart pounded. If he captured her, perhaps this war—the endless bleed between Ivory Court and Obsidian Dominion—might finally end. He stepped forward, blade raised. “Don’t,” she said quietly. “You don’t understand what you’re about to do.” He hesitated—just for a moment. Too long. With a dancer’s grace, she moved, closing the distance with incredible speed. Her hand shot beneath the folds of her gown and drew a slender dagger. The silver glinted once, then slashed across his cheek.