---
(A Quiet Invitation)
The grand hall stood empty, yet full of weight.
Crimson banners hung from the high ceiling like frozen fire, and carved stone figures lined the walls—watchful, expressionless.
John stepped through the open doorway, his boots echoing on polished black stone.
He wasn't led in. No guards. No fanfare.
Just the Governor waiting at the far end of the hall, seated behind a long table of carved obsidian.
He leaned back, one arm draped casually along the chair, expression unreadable.
"Sit," he said,
not unkindly, gesturing to the single seat across from him.
John glanced once at the surrounding space—nothing hidden, nothing waiting.
He walked forward deliberately, calm.
Pulled out the chair.
Sat.
Back straight. Hands folded. Eyes steady.
The Governor smiled, almost… pleased.
"You carry yourself well," he said. "You're not like the others."
John didn't blink.
Didn't smile.
"I would like to thank you for accepting my invitation."
The Governor nodded, thoughtful.
"I did. I found your... directness refreshing."
He leaned forward, folding his hands.
"Tell me, John. What do you see when you look at this city?"
John took a breath.
"...A machine."
That surprised the Governor—but not unpleasantly.
"Go on."
"Everything moves with purpose. No wasted energy."
The Governor smiled wider. "And is that not admirable?"
John held his gaze.
"That depends," he said quietly. "On who built the machine."
Silence stretched between them—long enough to carry meaning.
The Governor nodded once, slowly. His eyes sharp now, but still warm.
"Let's play a game you and I."
---
He snapped his fingers.
A servant appeared, quiet as a breath, placed a dark wooden board between them. It looked like chess but wasn't quite—fewer pieces, stranger shapes. A battlefield of some sort.
John looked down. His expression didn't change.
"The rules?" he asked.
The Governor smiled again.
"You'll learn as we go."
---
John studied the board.
It was simple at first glance—gridlines, carved tokens shaped like towers, wolves, and something that might've been a flame. But the spacing, the symbols along the edge... it wasn't chess. It wasn't anything he recognized.
He picked up a piece.
It was cool to the touch—stone, not wood. Etched with faint markings that caught the light in odd ways.
He placed it forward one square.
The Governor's eyebrows lifted, pleased.
"Most would've hesitated. You don't."
"Most don't call a conversation a game," John replied.
The Governor moved a piece of his own. Swiftly. Confident.
"And yet you're still playing."
John let out a quiet chuckle under his breath.
He studied the board again.
And reached for a piece shaped like a spiral—uncertain.
The Governor leaned in slightly, his tone light.
"That one moves diagonally. Only when it's alone."
John paused. Looked at the piece again. Then placed it to the side instead.
The Governor watched him with a quiet kind of patience.
"Don't worry. Most people take a dozen games before they get good at it."
John gave a dry look. "So you play this game with all your guests?"
"Just the interesting ones."
He moved his own piece forward—a tower-shaped token. A smooth, practiced motion.
"You'll want to protect that left side," he added.
John nodded slowly, adjusting his move.
They played a few more turns, the Governor offering the occasional tip:
"That one links if it touches two others."
"Ah—not across that tile. That's a dead zone."
It was strangely calm. Like a father gently guiding his son. No condescension. No rush.
John watched him carefully, even as he learned.
Another move. Another quiet correction.
Then the Governor spoke again,
"You're a rare one, John."
John's next move was firmer now. More confident.
"Because I learn quickly?"
The Governor smiled. "Because you don't pretend to know what you don't."
He nodded toward the board. "Most would fake confidence. You ask quietly. That's smarter."
---
. aziz
A few more turns passed in silence, the rhythm shifting—John no longer needing guidance.
"You're adjusting faster than most," the Governor said, almost proudly.
John made another move, not looking up.
"Still don't know what you'll do next," he said.
The Governor's grin returned.
"Neither do I"
Then, after a pause,
the Governor spoke again.
"Tell me, John. What do you really want?"
John took his eyes of the board.
Looked the Governor directly in the eye.
"The truth."
A soft chuckle escaped the man across from him.
Wasn't mockery—more like someone surprised to hear such a simple answer.
Then, he moved his piece.
---
John watched the Governor carefully, not just for strategy—but for patterns. Cause he had no idea what to do.
A soft knock.
It wasn't loud, but it was firm. Just once.
The Governor's brow twitched. Not annoyed. Not surprised. As if he'd been expecting it, but hoped to delay it longer.
He raised a hand gently.
"Hold your position," he said to John,
then turned slightly.
"Enter."
An attendant stepped inside—cloaked in soft gray, eyes lowered respectfully.
"Apologies, Governor. The High Engineer requires a moment of your time."
The Governor gave a light sigh through his nose. He stood with no rush, folding his hands behind his back.
"John," he said calmly,
"the board is yours until I return. Feel free to study it. I will be here shortly."
John nodded silently.
As the Governor passed, he added,
"Some interruptions are necessary. They remind us that the world moves even when we're deep in thought."
The Governor and the attendant slipped through a side door, not the main one.
And for a little while—
John was alone.
---
The hall was quiet, but not empty.
The statues. The walls. The stone. It all breathed quietly around him.
He looked back at the board. Pieces frozen mid-conflict. One of the Governor's flame pieces hovered just one space from locking a crucial formation.
John tilted his head slightly. Then reached out—not to move anything.
Just to feel the shape of the game from above.
Something about it wasn't just strategy.
It was metaphor.
A map.
A story.
He leaned back in the chair.
Waiting.
Nervous.
A bit restless.
---
John didn't move.
Didn't touch the board.
Didn't fidget.
He just sat there, elbows resting gently on the edge of the table, eyes scanning the pieces as if they might start speaking on their own.
It was a strange quiet. Not the empty kind—but the watchful kind.
Like the room itself was waiting to see what he'd do.
His gaze drifted over the flame-shaped token near the center—strategically dangerous, but placed with elegance. The Governor hadn't moved it carelessly. That was a setup. A distraction maybe.
John leaned back in the chair slightly, folding his arms.
His eyes wandered up, over the tall stone pillars and the soaring ceiling high above. Shadows moved softly across the carvings—dancing just slightly, stirred by the breeze coming through narrow window slits.
Everything in here felt heavy. Not oppressive, but… deliberate.
Like it had all been arranged to say something.
"I wonder what the others are doing right now," John murmured quietly to himself.
No one responded. Not even an echo.
He imagined Finn half-tangled in some stall, yelling about something stupid.
Aurora rolling her eyes.
Jake probably arguing with someone.
Sally keeping the balance.
King watching quietly.
Harry… likely halfway into a restricted section, pretending he wasn't.
John let the image sit in his mind for a moment, his lips curving into a subtle, involuntary smile.
It faded.
His eyes returned to the board.
The strange spiral piece he'd moved earlier still sat untouched. He didn't know what it did yet—not fully—but he liked the way it felt. Quiet, unassuming. But useful when you were paying attention.
He leaned forward, just slightly.
Still didn't move it.
Just thought.
And waited.
His gaze drifted again—this time to the great stone windows carved into the walls.
Outside, the wind had picked up.
A distant gust stirred a thin veil of dust down from a carved beam above. It spiraled gently in the air before dissolving again.
Below, across a stone bridge, he could make out tiny shapes moving. Workers. Guards. Who knew? They all looked the same from up here.
All of them blending into one moving body.
It was strange. Being this far from the others.
He didn't realize he missed the noise until now.
---
Long minutes passed in near-total stillness.
John had grown a little impatient amid the silence,
Until—
The soft sound of a door.
He didn't look immediately.
He heard the measured steps return, smooth and composed.
The Governor came back alone, adjusting one of his cuffs as he walked, a small laugh under his breath.
"Whew," he exhaled lightly as he returned to his chair.
"If I hadn't gone, the Engineer might've thrown a fit. He's terrifying when he's polite. I'm warning you, John—best stay on his good side."
John gave a quiet, wry smile.
"Noted."
He slid into his seat again without ceremony, his eyes drifting briefly to the board.
"You didn't move anything," he said, not accusing—just observant.
"It wasn't my turn." John shrugged,
He placed a finger near the flame piece the Governor had last moved.
"It was yours."
The Governor chuckled lightly. "Fair."
He set both hands on the table, fingers light on the edge.
"Shall we continue?"
---
The board was shifting.
Not just the gameboard—but between them.
John leaned forward, resting his fingers lightly on a curved token shaped like a coiled serpent. He didn't move it yet—just studied it. Watching its options. The angles. The traps.
Across the table, the Governor swirled a dark amber drink in his glass.
He looked at John, who looked lost in thought.
"You know, john. Most people," he said, voice easy,
"play this game to win."
John raised an eyebrow slightly. "And, you?"
"I've already won," the Governor said, not arrogantly—just matter-of-factly. "That's why I keep playing."
John noticed something in his expression, but ignored it.
Finally, he moved the serpent.
The Governor chuckled softly.
"I must say, john. You're actually doing quite well all things considered."
"I expected hesitation. You're new to the board. You asked questions. You listened."
He tapped the table. "Then you stopped asking."
John looked up. "Well, now I don't need to."
The Governor tilted his head.
"I know the pieces now," John added.
"And the rhythm."
---
Midway through the game, time had stopped mattering.
There were no clocks. No chimes. Just the slow rhythm of thinking, moving, pausing.
They'd both made dozens of calculated plays now. The board had become a quiet conversation of its own—each piece a sentence, each capture a question.
At some point, John wasn't sure when, an attendant re-entered the hall with a silver tray.
Two small goblets. A porcelain pot of something steaming. And a second, smaller tray with fine-cut fruit slices arranged like flower petals.
The Governor looked up as the items were set beside them.
"Thank you," he said, as casually as one might nod to a passing breeze.
The attendant gave a crisp bow and stepped back, disappearing again into the stillness beyond the archway.
The Governor reached for a goblet. He swirled the amber liquid once before sipping.
"Smooth," he muttered to himself with a pleased nod. "Tell them this batch is better,"
John glanced at his own goblet, still untouched.
And, even though he hadn't taken a single sip from any of them, the glass of drinks were piling up.
Another few minutes passed. Moves were made. A trade. A deflection.
Then a silence.
The Governor leaned back slightly and glanced across the table.
"John," he said suddenly, gesturing to the goblets, "you must try some. At least try that one right there. That one's rare—imported from the northern cliffs. It's like honey, if honey had ambition."
John blinked once, but nodded with a soft smile.
He wasn't thirsty. Or maybe to in thought to notice it.
But, he reached for the cup—not just grabbing it, adjusting it gently by the stem, like he'd been raised with table manners even the Governor hadn't expected.
"Thank you," he said, sincere but quiet.
He took a sip.
It was warm. Spiced. Sharp at first, but smooth after a moment.
John gave a soft nod of appreciation. "That's… better than I thought."
"Glad you like it." the governor replied, pleased.
Across the hall, the same attendant lingered briefly by a column before slipping away again. John hadn't even noticed them still standing there.
They paused just long enough to glance back at him.
Impressed.
The Governor caught the look. Smiled, but said nothing.
He made his next move.
---
"You know," he said, voice softer now,
"this game… it's an old friend of mine. Not the board itself, mind you, but the rhythm of it." He tapped a finger lightly on the table, as if coaxing a memory to the surface.
"There was someone, years ago, who'd sit right where you are. We'd play for hours. Back then, I was the one teaching, just like now."
John tilted his head slightly,
The Governor's smile grew, warm but tinged with something bittersweet.
"She was… a handful," he said, his tone fond but edged with exasperation.
"Always trying to outsmart the rules before she'd even learned them. Half the time, she'd be so deep in thought, brow all scrunched up, that she'd just—"
He paused, chuckling as the memory took hold.
"She'd flop right over the board, face-first, like the weight of her own thoughts was too much. Pieces scattering, her muttering about 'strategy' while sprawled out like a starfish. I couldn't help but laugh… even when I had to pick up the tokens."
John's lips twitched, a half-smile breaking through.
"Sounds like she took it seriously. Kept you on your toes, I suppose."
"Oh, she did," the Governor said, his eyes glinting with amusement.
"Still does, in her own way." He shook his head, as if brushing off the thought, then leaned forward again,
his tone shifting back to the present.
"But you, John—you play with more patience. She'd have knocked the board over by now, not on purpose I can guarantee."
He moved a tower-shaped token forward, smooth and deliberate,
the game resuming as if the story had never happened. But the air felt a fraction lighter, the Governor's charm a little more human,
even as his sharp gaze lingered on John's next move.
----
It was towards the end.
The gameboard sat between them like a silent witness.
Pieces locked in place. Some waiting, some poised for sacrifice.
It wasn't a game anymore. Not really.
The Governor placed a hand gently on the edge of the board, running his thumb over the carved ridges like a man tracing an old memory.
He leaned back slightly, the firelight catching faint silver along the side of his temple.
"You're more composed than you should be," he said casually. "Most would be… unsettled, sitting here with me."
John didn't answer. He only moved a piece—another small shift. Strategic.
The Governor smiled.
"You think a great deal before you speak. You measure. Even now, you're watching everything. The placement of my hands. The tension in my shoulders. The way I sip between moves."
John's gaze remained steady.
"I think," the Governor continued,
"you've already decided what the outcome could be, of the game. You're thinking I'm dangerous. But not dangerous enough to walk away from."
John said nothing.
A beat.
Then, softly, like a casual invitation dropped in a lull:
"What if I told you…"
The Governor's fingers hovered over his next piece.
"There's a place for you here."
The piece clinked softly as it landed.
John didn't react immediately. He still kept his eyes down, thinking.
Then, slowly, he met the Governor's eyes.
"You're.. offering me something?"
"Not just you," the Governor replied.
"There's room for all of you. Your friends. Your circle. A future here—if you choose it."
John paused— he wasn't expecting this.
He wasn't expecting this offer from him.
John kept his posture the same.
Not stiff. Not defensive.
The Governor folded his hands neatly in front of him, elbows resting on the edge of the table.
His tone remained pleasant, but something behind it had shifted.
"In time," the Governor said softly, "you and your friends could hold real positions of power here."
He paused to let it sit.
"Rulers. Governors. Advisors. Whatever shape leadership takes in the next chapter of this city… you could be part of it. You could be the ones ruling this city instead of me."
John's brows barely moved. But behind his calm face, thoughts churned.
He thought to himself,
this wasn't a test of ego.
It was more a test of alignment.
And maybe something deeper.
"You want us to lead?" he asked carefully.
The Governor nodded once. "When the time arrives, of course. When your bodies catch up to your minds."
John almost smiled at that—but didn't.
"You're saying we're mature for our age?"
The Governor chuckled.
"I think you're already asking better questions than some of my staff."
He leaned in slightly.
"And more importantly—you're restrained."
John blinked.
"Most your age would've jumped at the proposal. Demanded titles. Leverage. Clout. You haven't."
The room fell silent for a while,
Then—
"Why this game?"
The Governor looked up.
"Why play this with me?"
The Governor tilted his head, considering the question. But John didn't stop.
"Why not talk like normal people?"
"Why tell me all this?"
"And most of all—why choose us?"
The question echoed gently across the polished stone.
The Governor folded his hands again, gaze sharpening just enough to feel it.
"Because games reveal more than words, john."
A beat.
"Anyone can talk. Smile. Answer questions. But how you move… how you sacrifice… how long you wait before acting?"
He nodded toward the board. "That's truth."
"And, isn't that what you wanted?"
Silence.
Then, the Governor continued, tone quieter now.
"And as for you and your friends…"
He studied John's face. "You don't belong here, just mere travelers. And yet, here you are. Not broken. Not lost. And… strangely composed."
John held still, unreadable.
"You're not like the others. Not like the elves I've known."
John's fingers twitched once.
"So, you think that means something?"
The Governor smiled faintly.
"I think it means you're different."
He paused.
"And difference… is valuable."
---
John looked down at the board again.
The game was still mid-match. The Governor's side had more pieces in play—but not necessarily stronger ones.
He made another move. Subtle. It shifted a piece to block a possible route, but didn't attack.
The Governor raised an eyebrow.
"Still defensive."
"Still learning," John replied quietly.
---
They played in silence for a while longer.
The board shifted back and forth—no bold strikes, just quiet pressure and defensive lines. Both of them circling. Testing.
Then it happened.
A move from John.
A slow counter from the Governor.
And the pattern locked.
No paths forward. No clean wins. Just a perfectly balanced tension.
John looked at the board. Then at the Governor.
"A stalemate," he said softly.
The Governor's smile didn't falter. "Seems appropriate."
John stood, brushing the creases from his coat. "Thank you for the game."
He gave a polite nod. "And the conversation."
The Governor gave a small, almost gracious bow of his head.
John turned, walking toward the great stone doors.
His steps were steady. Calm.
But just as his hand touched the handle—
"Remember john."
"Power isn't always taken with teeth,"
"Sometimes it's offered. Gently. Kindly. While there's still time."
John didn't flinch, but his eyes sharpened.
"Time for what?"
The Governor only smiled.
He stood from his seat slowly, pacing just a step toward the massive windows.
"See this city," he said, gesturing.
"Explore it. Walk its halls. Speak to its people. Touch the stone beneath your feet."
Then,
turning halfway back toward John—
"And when the time comes… we'll speak again."
"Let's see what you choose," the Governor said, voice low.
"leader."
John paused. Just for a breath.
Then pushed open the door and walked out without a word.
The door slowly closed behind him.
---
[TO BE CONTINUED IN VOL 4]