The sky only hinted at day — a pale wash of orange bleeding into an ash-grey blue canvas. The wind whispered things unintelligible, but cold enough to chill the bones. A world caught between night and morning, in breathless pause.
Back in the castle, Regina paced her room, worry clawing its way onto her otherwise serene expression. Her polished composure cracked with every step. She was just about to leave the castle grounds—heading out to search for her—when she collided with the Prince in the hall.
It was dawn.
The sun had finally begun its climb over the horizon, washing the land in light.
Pawn H8 and I were seated beside a moss-covered boulder. Her long, beautiful black hair was now tangled and wild, full of twigs and dried blood.
The Bishop stood nearby, silent as ever. Her eyes were covered now with a black blindfold. Regal. Unreadable. Like a statue carved from obsidian and myth.
"So…" I rasped, pain still clinging to every breath. "What happened?"
Pawn H8 stretched, cracking her back, then launched into her signature drama.
"Hmm… after you passed out—very gracefully, I must say—Big Sis Bishop over here went full storm mode." She swung her arms theatrically. "Boom! Bam! Absolute violence!"
The Bishop sighed, unimpressed.
A familiar chime rang in my skull.
[System Notification:]
You're too injured for this much confusion.
Reconstructing memory. Please stand by.
---
Earlier...
The Bishop had arrived without warning—no fanfare, no sound. She simply appeared before the leopard-man beast like divine judgment in black.
Without hesitation, she transformed her midnight ferula into a sleek, jet-black pilum and drove it deep into the monster's flank. It howled in rage, but the wound began to close, sinew pulling tight in seconds.
The creature dropped the black pawn it had been swinging like a hammer, her armored skirt clinking dully as she hit the dirt. She rolled, limp and bloodied.
The Bishop vanished again.
Not a blink of light. Not a swirl of wind.
One blink—and she was gone.
She teleported in pure silence, snapping across long diagonal paths between trees—like space itself obeyed her logic, the logic of the board.
In a fit of fury, the leopard-beast charged.
He swung wild fists like anvils, raw power over precision. The Bishop kept just ahead of him—always one move too clever. She stabbed. Teleported. Stabbed again. Always from just outside his rage.
Snarling, the beast uprooted a young tree and spun it like a club, tearing through the underbrush, trying to flatten her.
She danced. She vanished. She struck again.
Then—she stopped.
Standing perfectly still beside a tree, blindfolded. Her weapon gone. A smile playing on her lips.
The creature roared and hurled the tree straight at her.
CRACK!
A morning star—not the Bishop's—slammed into the side of his skull. Blood sprayed in a wide arc. His head snapped sideways.
From another flank, the Bishop threw a guandao, piercing his abdomen. Another followed a heartbeat later, stabbing through his chest.
Then the black pawn, bloody but somehow still standing, smashed her morning star into the creature's exposed neck.
It staggered.
And then—
The Bishop reappeared behind him. No sound. No flourish.
She drove a curved fauchard through his throat.
And it was over.
---
"Wow…" I breathed. My eyes felt too wide for my face. "That's… that's insane."
I coughed a bit, tasting blood. "But wait… how did you heal me? You didn't have that ability during the fight."
The Bishop tilted her head slightly, saying nothing.
Pawn H8 grinned like a child who knew something I didn't.
"Hmm... maybe a reward for winning? Maybe divine favor?" she teased, voice light but eyes sharp.
I just sat there.
Bruised. Bone-deep tired. A little terrified.
But mostly — grateful.
They were on my side.