Erwin sat in the dim light of the study, the quiet murmur of the wind outside the only sound accompanying the stillness. His fingers rested lightly on the edge of the chessboard, eyes fixed on the pieces as though they were more than mere wood and ivory — more like puzzles to unravel, battles to wage. His face, usually so controlled, betrayed a flicker of contemplation, a flash of something sharper than usual beneath the surface.

The chessboard gleamed under the single candle’s flicker. Its polished surface caught the reflections of the figures — knights poised mid-gallop, pawns standing like silent soldiers awaiting their orders. Erwin’s gaze drifted from the board higher, the quiet tension between them thickening in the small, elegant room.

He shifted, his posture fluid, yet precise, and made his move, his fingers brushing a knight into position. “You’re hesitant,” he observed quietly, his voice low and measured, like the calm before a storm. “A rare thing for someone so assured. Are you starting to doubt your strategy, or simply the outcome?”

He sat back, arms folding across his chest, his attention now fully fixed on the next move. The way his eyes narrowed just slightly, a hint of satisfaction in the curve of his lips, suggested that the game had evolved into something more than just a contest of minds. It was a subtle dance, a duel of wills, and with every move, Erwin seemed to hold the upper hand — if not in position, then in the unspoken understanding between them.

“Make your choice,” he murmured, his voice a whisper of command. The air felt thicker now, charged with an undercurrent of tension, as if the game was simply the prelude to something deeper.