Prologue

THE BLACK mark had never appeared before in Chesslandiya.
Where others bore marks of righteous light upon their hands—white symbols of purity, loyalty, and of the god-king’s favor—Sirius and Lucien bore forsaken stains of dark.
No record named such a curse.
No scripture prepared them for the hardship that followed.
Chains rattled as they were led through the white halls of the Chronalux Palace, their steps echoing like the toll of the clocktower’s bell. The throne rose before them, shrouded in misty white, its vast weight pressing upon the King’s Chamber.
Eternity itself had gathered to judge.
Sirius remembered everyone he carried across the proving grounds, their blood soaking into his skin as though to anchor them to the living.
Lucien remembered the clash of steel, the raw strain in his arms as he created a diversion to secure passage for them.
Yet their heroism meant nothing beneath the looming shadows of the black marks. When the god-king of Chesslandiya exercised judgement, his message carved itself into the inevitability that was awaiting them.