It Will Most Likely Stay This Way

28th of Byrn, the forest of Yrsa, the lands of Jóarr

(A week later)

There was a quiet distinction between the pieces on the board and the portrayal of war that people believed the game represented. A pawn might act like a frontline battalion, but being able to only take other pieces on the diagonal didn’t really make sense from that perspective. At the end of the day, it really was only a game.

“Why do you always start with the knight, ████?”

The older man before him rubbed his chin as he looked at the board. They were in a park, well lit and set to the side of a busy road, panels of glass protecting them from the moving ████, both of the debris they could pick up and the noise. ████ panels ███████ above them, though in the sunlight they didn’t bother the eye as much.

“Because I don’t like them,” ████ said, sighing. “So I’m trying to get rid of them first.”

The ███████████ board was part of the stone table. It was an attempt by city planners to help people remember the old days and ways.

“Hmmm… Is that so?” The old man looked at the pieces. “Then, does that mean I can take them without opposition?”

The scenery changed. His opponent was no longer the old man, but another woman clad in metal, much like him. Her helmet was slightly more ornate than his, its accented red color much more vibrant the stark white he’d chosen.

“No. I will fight with them. They are an important part of the game.” They were at the city’s outskirts, on post to stand guard in front of a massive metal gate. There were several others on the same post, but she was the only other one who knew how to play.

“You’re contradicting yourself a bit there, aren’t you?” she asked, placing her own knight in front of his.

The wind blew gently, making the leaves in the trees whisper a song, the blades of grass around them dancing along.

“How is it that they’re important, but you also want to get rid of them? Wouldn’t that be antithetical to your game?”

Once more, the scene changed. The crashing of waves, the salt in the air, the blood on his hands, and the open wounds on his opponent, who clung to life, one labored breath at a time. All of them seemed surreal, bathed in a light that bent at the wrong angle, the █████ sun in the distance threatening to engulf everything.

“I know. But it also feels like cheating,” he said, his own breaths labored. “Being able to skip enemy lines entirely.”

“I see.” The being before him, responding to him, was now neither man, nor monster. Its claws turned to fingers, then to appendages that had no name in ████’s language.

His opponent seemed to always fluctuate, yet they never actually changed. It was the same creature, the same mannerisms, the same speech pattern, even though its voice did not remain the same.

“So you’re trying to use it up first, even though that puts you at a disadvantage.” The old man made his move.

The city continued onwards; people passing by, their work never ceasing, even with everything that was happening beyond their giant metal walls. They couldn’t stop working. The moment they did, they’d cease to function as people. Fear would smother them entirely.

And yet, the two of them were playing, their own way of playing along in the charade of normalcy.

“But that’s just how the game works, isn’t it? Does it have to make perfect sense?” The woman asked as she tapped on the board, her metal finger making a clinking sound.

They were in the same field, but now the walls around them looked to be ready to collapse at any moment, the gates barely standing. The people they were with, the other █.█.█.’s, were still there, but they were fewer. He didn’t even remember anymore what they were supposed to defend or why.

That was no longer part of this memory. He’d chosen to forget. He didn’t remember when.

“Just because that’s ‘how the game works’ doesn't mean I have to like how it plays,” he said calmly to the creature before him, the blood from its wounds staining the ground below them again. He didn’t think that he would find comradery with a being like this - a type of being that he’d fought many, many times before.

And yet, here, at the end of the world, together they played.

“And yet, still you play.” The old man smiled. His hand tapped the table absentmindedly as he considered his next move.

At the side of the table stood a half-completed enlistment form, ████’s ink stained fingers grabbing hold of it as he played.

“I’m allowed to make my own choices with the pieces I’ve been given.”

“That’s true. And you did,” the woman said, her now-bloodied hand placing one last piece before collapsing onto the board.

There was nobody around anymore. There were no walls, no gates, and no people.

There was nothing but him, the █████board, and the corpse.

“It is funny… I’ve always hated this game,” he spoke now to himself, quietly. “How it makes one think they are creating a simulation of battle. Actual combat is always different, even if the pieces are the same…”

He moved from his seat and walked to his opponent’s side. Gently, ████ reached for and laid down the creature’s arm, which now looked more human than ever before.

He was meant to protect ████████ from them, and they almost █████████ ████████ ██ ████. And yet, despite all that, he didn’t feel any animosity towards the being laying across the table in front of him.

“In my memories, I always find myself in front of this board. I wonder why I always start here…” He glanced at the board one more time before walking away, the scenery changing with each step.

He stopped, thinking for a moment before turning around and walking back to the table.

“Maybe it’s the only constant I’ve had.” He laughed a hollow laugh while picking up the board.

“It’s been like this for this long, so I suppose it will most likely stay this way.”

* * *

Hrim awoke to the sound of rustling leaves. It was still early morning, the sun only just peeking over the horizon. He looked at his hand, piecing together the memories that jumbled together in his mind. It was like a kaleidoscope of the past, a past that he could not remember fully.

It was wrong to call it a “dreaming sleep,” but he considered it as such.

He had an inkling about why he’d recalled what he had. He had noticed the familiar board sticking out of Hal’s bag before when at some point she had been rummaging through it. It must have been quite a treasured possession to bring it with her on this journey.

The morning passed, and gradually the others woke. Rei began cooking breakfast for everyone, and Fin kept her company. Hal was the last to wake, Hrim watched quietly as she worked to pack her things away, beginning half-awake and slowly becoming more and more conscious as she did.

“Hal.” It was unusual for Hrim to be the one to speak first, and Hal still wasn’t fully awake yet, so she started a little at the sudden voice.

“Yes, what is it?” She turned to him as she rolled up her sleeping bag.

Hrim gestured to her bag, where the board’s corner was poking out again, brought to the surface after the rummaging she’d done the day before.

“Would you like to play a round?”

The morning sun filtered through what was left of the forest’s leaves, bathing both Hrim and Hal in its vivid autumn light. As Rei and Fin continued getting everything ready, the two of them sat in front of the board. It was ornate and well kept, tiny letters of unknown origin at its side, glowing softly, keeping the pieces in place. The pieces to Hal’s board were not the usual crude facsimiles made of granite or stone, as they usually were. Instead, these pieces were intricately carved from wood, all of the appropriate details added, and given a proper sheen.

Hrim placed his hand on the knight, looking at the details, pleased that the horse and the rider were both part of it.

“Wait, wait!” Hal said as he tried to move it. “The knight doesn’t move that way. You have to move the pawn first if you want to use it.”

Hrim stopped, looking up from the board to Hal.

“Why?”

“Well, I just don’t like when the pieces move like that. So I added a bit of a house rule to it, if that’s alright with you.” Hal sheepishly looked back up at him, smiling awkwardly. “It never really felt right to me that it can just… Jump other pieces, so you can only move it if you have space for it to move.” She gave a nervous laugh, briefly glancing back down to the board before looking back to Hrim again.

“... It makes sense, right?”

Hrim gave a quiet chuckle.

“Yes,” he said, moving the pawn first, per her house rule. “It makes a lot more sense.”