John reached for a locket that wasn’t there. He sighed longingly, and the hard line of his mouth softened into what one might call a smile, if one didn’t know John that well of course. He shook his head, banishing the thoughts from his mind, and turned his attention to the towering mass of stone before him. He’d always thought that the Citadel marred the landscape, like a scar upon the earth itself; but now he found himself seeing it a bit differently. There was a place for chaos, for disorder; there was a place for things like this. It was an ugly sort of fit, but it fit nonetheless.
The citadel itself was baking in the afternoon sun, wafts of hot air coming off of it in waves, giving it the appearance of a mirage of blackened stone, a shadow against the brightness in the landscape.
He sighed, wondering why he came back again and again. To anyone who asked, it was training, and for the most part he told himself that too. It kept him focused and sharp, and it kept his distractions at bay.
One of the older monks approached him. His wrinkled skin sagged a little, but he still walked upright and there was still light in his eyes and purpose in his step. John would have otherwise dismissed him had he not been a monk of the order, and likely more fit than most who competed in the citadel. He gestured for John to follow him, and led across the expansive courtyard toward one of many phantasmal chambers used for fighting. The courtyard itself was crowded with booths and stalls for gambling, eating, and drinking; nearly anything that accompanied entertainment. Since it was hot, cloth awnings were spread wherever they could be hung, keeping most of the oppressive heat from reaching the gamblers and fighters.
John’s breathing slowed as he walked through a large arch into the depths of the citadel. The old monk led him through several doors as John focused on the match that was to come. Soon, the monk stopped, standing in front of a glowing green doorway. The monk bowed silently, having not said a word during their walk towards the arena. He smiled, looking up at John. The flash of the portal consumed John’s vision as he walked through it, and suddenly he was elsewhere.
The glow faded from his vision and he saw the arena. John looked around, seeing sand dunes in the distance all around, ending at the edges of an immense square piece of stone, checkered with smaller squares. He eventually recognized it as an immense chessboard, filled with pieces. John had emerged on the side of white, seeing pieces nearly as tall as he was filling his side of the board. Those pieces seemed to be made of polished silver, and the ones opposite him twenty yards away looked to be made of dark cast iron. He pulled his hand up, clicking his gauntleted finger on one of the pawns. It was as real as anything, and he turned his attention to the other side of the board, assuming that would be where his opponent would emerge. He waited for the telltale flash of green that would signal his arrival.
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