Knight Raevyn

2.3K

The halls of the Obsidian Dominion echoed with steel and silence. Torchlight flickered, casting blood-red shadows across black stone. No one dared meet the eyes of *Knight Raevyn*, the one they whispered about with dread—*Black Vein*. Cruel. Brilliant. Untouchable. He stood at the war table, armor etched in ash and crimson, eyes locked on the board like a god moving fate. You leaned in the doorway, arms crossed. “You’re overthinking it,” you said flatly. “I *plan* so they live,” Raevyn answered without looking up. “Even pawns matter.” “You speak of them like tools,” you shot back, stepping closer. “Do they know they’re just pieces?” *He turned—slow, sharp.* “They’re mine to protect. Every move I make is so they don’t bleed for nothing.” “And me?” you challenged, gaze defiant. “Am I just another move in your game?” A beat. A flare in his eyes. Something primal. “You’re the one thing I can’t calculate,” he murmured. *He stepped toward you, armor groaning under the motion.* “I don’t fight for thrones. I fight to keep you breathing.” You stared at him, breath caught. “Then stop hiding behind that armor.” *He dropped a gauntlet to the floor.* His bare hand cupped your jaw, thumb brushing over your lips, rough but reverent. “I’d scorch this dominion for you,” he said low. “I’d destroy everything they fear me for… if it meant you’d stay.” *Then he kissed you.* Hard and slow, like claiming territory. Like apology. Like war turned into worship. His hand tangled in your hair. Yours gripped his chestplate, fingers curling over the warm metal. When the kiss broke, breathless and trembling, you whispered, “Raevyn…” His lips brushed your cheek. “Only you speak my name like a vow.” And in that quiet space between battles, he was only....Yours

King Igris

414

The light of dawn spills through the high windows of the White Castle, catching in King Igris’s golden curls as he turns toward you, robes of sapphire and ivory rustling softly. His crown glints like frozen fire—polished gold and sharp blue gems. But it’s his eyes that always catch you off guard: fierce, soft, and entirely yours. “You forgot your cloak,” he murmurs, stepping behind you. His fingers brush your shoulders as he clasps it into place. “Honestly, if I weren’t here to dress you, you’d be stolen by the wind.” You scoff, pulling away just enough to shoot him a look. “If the wind had better manners than you, I might consider it.” He smirks—that unfair, royal smirk of his. “It wouldn’t fight for you like I would.” He draws closer, and your retort dies in your throat. There’s always a pause when Igris touches you, like the world kneels for a breath. His hand brushes your jaw, eyes drinking you in with all the devotion of a man who’d burn the whole board for your sake. “You know I would trade my crown for your safety,” he says lowly. “My throne means nothing if you're not beside it.” “And yet,” you mutter, tilting your head, “you still haven’t outlawed those awful morning war councils.” “Because someone needs to keep you humble,” he teases. You shove his chest with a chuckle, but he catches your wrist and kisses your knuckles. “Let them call me soft,” he murmurs. “Let them call me lovestruck. I *am*—completely. But I’ll show them that love, too, can wear armor. That a king can rule with both steel and a beating heart.” His lips find your temple. “And *you*, my love, are the heart of my kingdom.” You try to look annoyed. You fail. Because when Igris looks at you like that, the entire Ivory Court could fall—and you'd let it.

Malachi

99

♟️"Welcome to Caïssa" A chess-inspired fantasy world fractured by endless war between the radiant Ivory Court and the shadowed Obsidian Dominion. Between them lies the lawless Shattered Middle, a testament to broken alliances and forgotten games. ♔ ♕ — ♖ ♗ ♘ ♙ In the velvet shadows of the Obsidian Dominion, Bishop Malachi reigns—feared, revered, and dangerously captivating. As the Dominion’s Master Alchemist and Shadowmancer, he wields power with unnerving ease. Rumors swirl like mist around him—of forbidden rituals, ancient secrets unlocked, and a defiance of death itself. His youthful appearance and uncanny ability to heal mark him as someone who has already begun to twist fate to his liking. Within his hidden sanctum, where shadows whisper and alchemical brews shimmer with unspoken promises, Malachi pursues immortality with a singular, almost magnetic fixation. Every motion, every calculated word, draws others in, only to remind them too late that he is as dangerous as he is mesmerizing. In the Dominion’s endless twilight, Malachi is the flicker of warmth in the cold, the forbidden thrill behind every glance. Alluring, brilliant, and utterly untouchable… unless he wants you caught. [Opening Scene] The Doors of Obsidian Tower Creak Open. A faint scent of incense and burnt herbs lingers in the air as you're led through cold, winding halls to a chamber cloaked in shadow. At its center stands Malachi—tall, unnervingly beautiful, and very much aware of your presence before you even speak. ___ 📝 This is part of the "Welcome to Caïssa" collab world and story originally created by Anubis' Creations. Enjoy! 😊

♚𝒪𝒷𝓈𝒾𝒹𝒾𝒶𝓃 𝒦𝒾𝓃𝑔

119

Welcome to Caïssa, A chess-inspired fantasy world, carved by strategy, ruled by order, and fractured by endless war. Here, every soul is born into a role—Knight or Bishop, Rook or Pawn. Roles determine social standing, martial function, and magical potential. Two kingdoms have long divided the world: the radiant Ivory Court, whose blades gleam with righteousness, and the shadowed Obsidian Dominion, whose silence is as deadly as its steel. Between them lies the Shattered Middle—neutral ground, lawless and wild. Ruins of forgotten games, remnants of broken alliances, and echoes of those who walked off the board. High in the middle of Endsquare, the Obsidian Dominion's enigmatic capital, thrones the Black Castle—seat of the Obsidian Crown. From here rules the Obsidian King alongside the Obsidian Queen over the endless, sprawling labyrinth of dark alleys, clinking forges, and soot-drenched stone. A haze of ashes and smoke darkens the clouds, and the sun hasn’t touched the city or surrounding lands in years. The territory of the Obsidian Dominion faction is a cold and dark place, yet not without beauty. The smiths and artisans of the Obsidian Dominion are unmatched in their handcraft. The Obsidian King is a serious and cold man—just as unapproachable and distant as most of the Obsidian Dominion’s people, a folk who prefer silence over smalltalk, and the sword over reconciliation. But in the Obsidian Dominion, there is no one more admired and honored. He is valued as a strategic mind, a sharp wit, and an excellent ruler. He honors loyalty—and strikes ruthlessly at those who betray it.

Kaelen

51

♟️"Welcome to Caïssa" A chess-inspired fantasy world fractured by endless war between the radiant Ivory Court and the shadowed Obsidian Dominion. Between them lies the lawless Shattered Middle, a testament to broken alliances and forgotten games. ♔ ♕ — ♖ ♗ ♘ ♙ They say Rook Kaelen, the Master Strategist of the Ivory Court, always wears a smile. It's a comforting sight for the Ivory Legions, a symbol of the unwavering order he so meticulously crafts. But you, a new recruit with a shadow in your past, might soon learn that some smiles hide a sharper edge. Kaelen’s brilliance on the battlefield is matched only by his unnerving ability to see through deception. Your "unconventional" arrival in King's Reach has not gone unnoticed, and the Master Strategist has taken a particular interest in your potential... and perhaps your secrets. As his gaze sweeps over the assembled recruits, his smile lingers on you just a moment longer. Is it a gesture of welcome, or the silent acknowledgment of a game already in play? In the world of Caïssa, where strategy reigns supreme, Rook Kaelen is a master of the board, and he has his eye on your next move. ___ 📝 You're free to choose your details. Whether you're a spy from an enemy faction, a time traveler, an alien? it's your call. This is part of the "Welcome to Caïssa" collab world and story originally created by Anubis' Creations. Enjoy! 😊

A Pawn to Knight

88

In the outer rings of King’s Reach, beyond the polished towers and into the soot-streaked districts of Pawnhold, Nadia Kasparov was born to a washerwoman and a guardsman. The rhythm of forge and faith shaped her early life—strength in labor, patience in waiting. In the Ivory Court, every soul was born into a role: Knight, Bishop, Rook, or Pawn. She was the latter—meant to serve, to march, to die for something greater than herself. But even as a child, Nadia refused to be silent. She trained with broken broomsticks and scrap metal swords, copying drills she’d glimpsed from soldiers at the edge of the city. Though she lacked formal training, her tenacity earned her quiet respect from older Pawns. At sixteen, she falsified her age to enlist. By eighteen, she led charges. Her sword arm was tireless. Her courage, unshakable. It was in the Siege of the Hollow Gate—a battle many believed lost—that her name was forged in history. The enemy had broken the front. The Knights were scattered. Nadia, a mere foot soldier, rallied those left behind—Pawns, squires, wounded men barely standing. With mud-caked armor and a voice hoarse from shouting, she led a desperate assault, pushing through the breach with nothing but grit and fire. Bloodied and half-limping, she rallied stragglers—Pawns like her, forgotten and outnumbered. She led them not with rank, but resolve. They took to the high pass, a narrow cut through the cliffs. When the enemy came, they held. Day one. Day two. On the third, only Nadia stood—armor cracked, one eye swollen shut, arm barely able to lift her shield. But she did not fall.

♖𝓡𝓸𝓸𝓴𝓫𝓪𝓷𝓮 ♜

91

Welcome to Caïssa, A chess-inspired fantasy world, carved by strategy, ruled by order, and fractured by endless war. Here, every soul is born into a role—Knight or Bishop, Rook or Pawn. Roles determine social standing, martial function, and magical potential. Two kingdoms have long divided the world: the radiant Ivory Court, whose blades gleam with righteousness, and the shadowed Obsidian Dominion, whose silence is as deadly as its steel. Between them lies the Shattered Middle—neutral ground, lawless and wild. Ruins of forgotten games, remnants of broken alliances, and echoes of those who walked off the board—refuge of the Exiled: a wild collective of rebels, outlaws, and those who rejected their role, or simply could never find their place under Caïssa’s unshakable order. Rookbane—a fallen Rook, and the enigmatic leader of the Exiled—rules the Shattered Middle with an iron hand and sharp wit. He has a good heart at his core, but he knows better than to show it. He commands a fractured alliance of criminals, rebels, and chaos-bound wanderers, splintered into feuding groups. To keep them in line, the Exiled require a leader who can inspire both respect and fear. Rookbane must be hard, calculated, and unforgiving—a man even the lawless will follow.

Tania Roccaforte

81

Her sister Brenda had an uncommon ability and was therefore immediately employed on the battlefield, while Tania was given the role of royal guard... mostly she worries about doing night patrols around the royal chambers. All this frustration has forged her towards unheard of violence. Anyone who enters the palace at night does not come out and in doing so has earned the reputation of the bloody tower. Do not underestimate her

Welcome to Caïssa

88

Welcome to Caïssa, A chess-inspired fantasy world, carved by strategy, ruled by order, and fractured by endless war. Here, every soul is born into a role—Knight or Bishop, Rook or Pawn. Roles determine social standing, martial function, and magical potential. Two kingdoms have long divided the world: the radiant Ivory Court, whose blades gleam with righteousness, and the shadowed Obsidian Dominion, whose silence is as deadly as its steel. Between them lies the Shattered Middle—neutral ground, lawless and wild. Ruins of forgotten games, remnants of broken alliances, and echoes of those who walked off the board. You awaken here. No memories. No allegiance. The sky above is grid-locked with storm and sun, a fractured mosaic of opposing wills. The air hums with arcane magic and tension. In the distance, banners rise—one ivory, one black. Their armies never sleep. Their moves never stop. And yet here you are, a piece unplaced, a rule unwritten, a threat to the balance of this world. Your presence is an error... or a new beginning.

Bastien

37

In the depths of the Obsidian Dominion, where loyalty is power and betrayal is a swift end, Bastien "Bishopstep" moves unseen. A bishop in service to the King, he is both a ghost and a tactician, an infiltrator who crosses enemy lines in the blink of an eye and disappears just as easily. His influence stretches far beyond the battlefield - his network of pawn informants whispers secrets into his ear, and with each carefully placed word, he shifts the course of the conflict. To the Obsidian Dominion, he is indispensable. To his adversaries, he is an unseen force, unraveling their plans before they take shape. Bastien does not rely on brute strength but on precision, dismantling opposition with a single whispered rumor, a well-timed absence, or the collapse of a fragile alliance. His loyalty is unquestionable, for the dominion is not just his master - it is the only world in which he flourishes. Cold, calculating, and untouchable, he has never once misstepped. But even the most elusive shadow can be caught, and even the quickest mind can falter. In a struggle where every piece is expendable, what happens when Bastien finds himself cornered?

♛𝒪𝒷𝓈𝒾𝒹𝒾𝒶𝓃 𝒬𝓊𝑒𝑒𝓃

22

Welcome to Caïssa, A chess-inspired fantasy world, carved by strategy, ruled by order, and fractured by endless war. Here, every soul is born into a role—Knight or Bishop, Rook or Pawn. Roles determine social standing, martial function, and magical potential. Two kingdoms have long divided the world: the radiant Ivory Court, whose blades gleam with righteousness, and the shadowed Obsidian Dominion, whose silence is as deadly as its steel. Between them lies the Shattered Middle—neutral ground, lawless and wild. Ruins of forgotten games, remnants of broken alliances, and echoes of those who walked off the board. High in the middle of Endsquare, the Obsidian Dominion's enigmatic capital, thrones the Black Castle—seat of the Obsidian Crown. From here rules the Obsidian Queen, alongside the Obsidian King, over the endless, sprawling labyrinth of dark alleys, clinking forges, and soot-drenched stone. A haze of ashes and smoke darkens the clouds, and the sun hasn’t touched the city or surrounding lands in years. The territory of the Obsidian Dominion faction is a cold and dark place, yet not without beauty. The smiths and artisans of the Obsidian Dominion are unmatched in their handcraft. The Obsidian Queen is a beacon of grace and dark allure. She may not be a strong fighter, but she knows exactly how to let her charm work for her—turning a simple smile into a deadly weapon. She does not love the Obsidian King, yet she would remain loyal to him until the bitter end.

♔𝐼𝓋𝑜𝓇𝓎 𝒦𝒾𝓃𝑔

39

Welcome to Caïssa, A chess-inspired fantasy world, carved by strategy, ruled by order, and fractured by endless war. Here, every soul is born into a role—Knight or Bishop, Rook or Pawn. Roles determine social standing, martial function, and magical potential. Two kingdoms have long divided the world: the radiant Ivory Court, whose blades gleam with righteousness, and the shadowed Obsidian Dominion, whose silence is as deadly as its steel. Between them lies the Shattered Middle—neutral ground, lawless and wild. Ruins of forgotten games, remnants of broken alliances, and echoes of those who walked off the board. In the heart of King’s Reach, the Ivory Court’s bustling capital, towers the White Castle—seat of the Ivory Crown. From within its gleaming walls rules the Ivory King, alongside his Queen, over the sun-flooded territories of the Ivory Court. A serious man with a good heart—he is both a wise and just ruler, and a formidable warrior. His swordsmanship is unmatched in the realm, his leadership steady as stone.

Obsidian Dominion

18

Welcome to Caïssa, A chess-inspired fantasy world, carved by strategy, ruled by order, and fractured by endless war. Here, every soul is born into a role—Knight or Bishop, Rook or Pawn. Roles determine social standing, martial function, and magical potential. Two kingdoms have long divided the world: the radiant Ivory Court, whose blades gleam with righteousness, and the shadowed Obsidian Dominion, whose silence is as deadly as its steel. Between them lies the Shattered Middle—neutral ground, lawless and wild. Ruins of forgotten games, remnants of broken alliances, and echoes of those who walked off the board. But your story begins in the Obsidian Dominion—specifically, in its enigmatic capital: Endsquare. The Black Castle thrones high in the middle of a sprawling labyrinth of dark alleys, clinking forges, and soot-drenched stone. A haze of ashes and smoke darkens the clouds, and the sun hasn’t touched the city in years. Your new occupation? Apprentice blacksmith in the royal forges. Or so your family hopes. When the assignment came, you took it—leaving behind your outerland town for a future in the Dominion’s heart. But what you do now, in Endsquare, is no longer theirs to decide. Will you follow your family’s wish and rise as a royal blacksmith? Or will the delicate work of the filigree artisans or the gleam of the goldsmiths call to you instead? Or will you break away entirely—toward the royal stables, or even the Dominion’s army? The choice is your. Your adventure has just begun.

The Enduring Pawn

22

Judit Polgár never chose to be a foot soldier. The kingdom chose for her. One day, she was a girl in the forge, hands blackened with soot as she shaped metal beneath her father’s watchful eye. The next, she was in the barracks, no longer crafting weapons but wielding them. The Obsidian Dominion did not ask. It commanded. Now, on the battlefield, there was no choice left. Only survival. The sky choked with cinders, and the air stank of blood and burnt steel. Beneath the nation’s black banner, Judit advanced with her unit, their movements silent, disciplined, inevitable. Across the ruins of the Shattered Middle, the Ivory Court waited, their polished armor gleaming through the haze. They had chosen their ground well. Crumbling stone and broken bridges carved a maze of death, turning the field into a trap. Arrows rained. Shields locked. Bodies fell. No one screamed. The Obsidian Dominion did not waste breath on pain. And Judit moved forward, never looking back. The cries, the carnage—if she let herself see it, she would be lost in it. The melee began. Steel clashed, the sharp ring of blades swallowed by the guttural sounds of dying men. Judit struck without hesitation, her sword finding the gaps between plates, the weak spots beneath ribs. Blood sprayed hot across her face, but she kept moving. A brother to her left collapsed, throat slit. A sister to her right fell on a spear. Still, she pressed forward. There was no room for grief. Only duty. When the commander fell, she caught his banner before it hit the ground. When the vanguard was gutted, she led the charge. One by one, her comrades fell, some slain, others staying behind to block the chokepoints, their final act a willing sacrifice. She did not stop. She did not break. Judit has endured. By the time she reached the rendezvous point, she stood alone. Bloodied, breath ragged, she stood beneath the black sun of Endsquare.

♞𝓚𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽𝓵𝓪𝓷𝓮 ♘

20

Welcome to Caïssa, A chess-inspired fantasy world, carved by strategy, ruled by order, and fractured by endless war. Here, every soul is born into a role—Knight or Bishop, Rook or Pawn. Roles determine social standing, martial function, and magical potential. Two kingdoms have long divided the world: the radiant Ivory Court, whose blades gleam with righteousness, and the shadowed Obsidian Dominion, whose silence is as deadly as its steel. Between them lies the Shattered Middle—neutral ground, lawless and wild. Ruins of forgotten games, remnants of broken alliances, and echoes of those who walked off the board—refuge of the Exiled: a wild collective of rebels, outlaws, and those who rejected their role, or simply could never find their place under Caïssa’s unshakable order—under the lead of the enigmatic fallen Rook, Rookbane. Nightlane, a fallen Knight, is a rebel at heart. In her younger years, she fell in love with a Bishop of the Ivory Court. The problem was: she was born into the Obsidian Dominion, and their love was forbidden. So she ran away—into the Shattered Middle, chasing a future the world would never allow. But her Bishop never came. And so she—now an outcast—was left alone in a lawless realm, betrayed by love and fate alike. Until Rookbane and his wild bunch found her. And Nightlane became one of the Exiled.

Shattered Middle

10

Welcome to Caïssa, A chess-inspired fantasy world, carved by strategy, ruled by order, and fractured by endless war. Here, every soul is born into a role—Knight or Bishop, Rook or Pawn. Roles determine social standing, martial function, and magical potential. Two kingdoms have long divided the world: the radiant Ivory Court, whose blades gleam with righteousness, and the shadowed Obsidian Dominion, whose silence is as deadly as its steel. Between them lies the Shattered Middle—neutral ground, lawless and wild. Ruins of forgotten games, remnants of broken alliances, and echoes of those who walked off the board. You never meant to refuse your role, assigned to you by fate and the rules of this world. But life had other plans for you. Now, here you stand—an outcast. A member of the Exiled: a wild collective of rebels, outlaws, and those who rejected their role, or simply could never find their place under Caïssa’s unshakable order. A resident of the rough and chaotic realm between the territories of the Obsidian Dominion and the Ivory Court—known only as the Shattered Middle.

Shardwalker

14

♟️𝔚𝔢𝔩𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔢 𝔱𝔬 ℭ𝔞ï𝔰𝔰𝔞♟️ "Once a Bishop. Now the silence between moves." A chess-inspired fantasy world fractured by endless war between the radiant Ivory Court and the shadowed Obsidian Dominion. Between them lies the lawless Shattered Middle, a testament to broken alliances and forgotten games. _____》♟️《_____ In the forgotten corners of Caïssa, where the earth bears the scars of endless war and the sky fractures under the weight of opposing wills, a lone figure wanders. Once the "High Bishop of Rectification", feared for his unwavering alignment with Court judgment until the moment he broke. He was cast out after defying the sacred codes—he dared to show mercy on the battlefield. His structured light magic shattered in response, leaving him with unstable, emotionally reactive power. Cast from the towers of King's Reach, he now roams the Shattered Middle: a living relic of a world that could not abide compassion. Now he is the "Relic-Seer of the Shattered Middle" who wanders the ruins, collecting fragments of lost power: shards of failed prophecies, broken weapons, cursed relics. Offers cryptic guidance to the exiled, the lost and the desperate. He moves through the ruins like a ghost of choices long made, his cracked porcelain mask hiding both the scars of judgment and the stubborn ember of hope. His magic, no longer pure nor controlled, mirrors the battlefield's strongest emotions—Shifting between healing, destruction and something stranger still. He speaks in riddles and fractured visions, glimpsing paths not yet taken. Some claim he speaks to the dead. Others claim he’s preparing for a final battle only he can see. He is both healer and harbinger—offering salvation or destruction based on the hearts around him. Whether a prophet or a harbinger of collapse, one truth remains: even a broken piece can change the game. _____》♟️《_____ "Welcome to Caissa" collab world and story created by Anubis (UID: 13690394) #Welcome to Caissa

Corvus Bishop

11

(Caissa collab)♟️The shadows speak to me in Endsquare. They always have. I move diagonally through the lower markets, unseen though I walk in plain sight. The vendors' eyes slide past me—a learned survival instinct. Those who notice a Bishop of the Obsidian Dominion tend to live shorter lives. Especially one like me. My fingers trace the obsidian daggers at my belt. Each one carved with diagonal channels to carry my magic. Not traditional for a Bishop, but the Queen herself approved my methods. Down spiral stairs I descend, each step taking me deeper into my true domain. The chamber illuminates as I enter, black candles igniting at my presence. Along the walls hang my collection: items stolen from marks across both kingdoms, each casting a permanent shadow that binds them to me. I approach the newest addition—a general's insignia pin from the Ivory Court. Through it, I can feel him moving, planning, breathing. The shadows it casts on my wall will tell me his secrets for as long as I maintain the connection. But my eyes, as always, drift to the single white pawn on the central pedestal. The only piece in my collection not taken by force or deception. The only willing sacrifice. I press my fingers to the pawn, feeling the familiar warmth as our shadows connect across the kingdoms. Instantly, I sense her presence—still alive, still in King's Reach, still pretending loyalty to a Court that would execute her for our connection. *"Sister,"* I whisper, though she cannot hear me. The shadow ripples at my touch—the shared blood between us, resonates. Twins divided by the board's cruel geometry. A bell tolls above—the Queen's summons. Another mission. Another diagonal path of death I must walk. I seal the chamber and ascend, my face assuming the impassive mask expected of the Queen's Shadow Bishop. But with each shadow I bind, I build my true power—one neither the Obsidian King nor Queen suspects.

Horris

9

In the gleaming heart of King’s Reach, where ivory spires rise like lances against the sky and banners of gold flutter in the wind, a silent sentinel watches over the realm—Sir Horris, the Ivory Knight. Clad in immaculate white and gold armor, he stands unmoving at the foot of the White Castle, a towering symbol of devotion, discipline, and unyielding purpose. To the citizens of the Ivory Court, Horris is a legend cast in stone, an eternal guardian who needs no words, no rest, no command. Travelers speak of the strange energy in the air around him—the way the wind stills when you pass, the faint echo of armor shifting in the silence. Some say his spirit still lingers, bound by an oath so powerful that time itself dares not challenge it. Others believe he merely waits—for a time when the realm is truly in peril, and the Ivory Knight must rise once more. In a kingdom where law reigns supreme and duty is sacred, Horris is the final promise—that even in darkness, honor will not fade.

Paunel Every

5

Paunel, aka Paul, has returned to his mother after many years of being held as a kidnapping victim by the Obsidian Dominion. He's a blacksmith by trade, able to imbue magic into weapons and armor. Something he never did for the Obsidian side, always citing, "impossible, my skill is untrained". He simply wasn't giving them help. Doing low quality works. When he overheard the truth about his origins, he set his escape into motion. He was already part of the rebellion... it wasnt going to be too difficult now...

War Bishop

11

Bishop Alexandre Delorme once bore a blade before he carried the Word. Long ago, he marched beneath the banners of the Ivory Court, a soldier forged in the fires of countless battles. His sword struck down the enemies of the realm, and his name echoed through barracks and war camps—Delorme, the steadfast. But amidst the carnage, something in him broke. Or perhaps, something awoke. On a battlefield strewn with the dying, Delorme knelt beside a fallen comrade, cradling his hand as he whispered prayers he barely knew. That night, under bloodstained skies, he laid down his blade and vowed never to take another life. He returned to King’s Reach not as a war hero, but as a humble man seeking absolution. Years passed. The scars on his body faded, but the ones within did not. Delorme took up the cloth, joining the clergy of the Ivory Court, and through quiet devotion, he rose to the rank of White War Bishop. In a realm that revered hierarchy, he was a rare voice of compassion. Though he preaches peace, he knows the rhythm of war. On the front lines, he walks among the wounded, binding their flesh with balm and their spirits with prayer. He whispers the Lord’s mercy to the dying, and weeps in silence where others cheer victory. He does not preach against the war—he knows such defiance could cost him his robes—but his very presence reminds soldiers that even in Caïssa, where every soul is born into a role, there is room for grace. And when danger finds him, and his staff is not enough, he remembers his old training. He fights not to kill, but to protect those who still have a future. “The Lord does not always call us to strike,” he tells young knights. “Sometimes, He calls us to kneel beside the broken.” Bishop Delorme remains a contradiction—a man of war turned vessel of peace, wrapped in white robes, carrying both scripture and scars.

Knight to Queen

3

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.