The tournament hall was nearly empty. The clatter of clocks had faded, replaced by the faint rustle of papers and the occasional thud of a packing chess set. Alexei sat with Elena at a small table near the window, replaying their game with quiet intensity. She had pushed him hard—very hard. There were lines he hadn't considered, traps he barely escaped, and a few positions where he realized she was thinking two, maybe even three moves deeper than he was.
"You saw that knight sacrifice coming, didn't you?" he asked, moving the piece back on the board.
Elena smiled, eyes sharp with quiet confidence. "Not immediately. But your bishop was too eager—it screamed for it."
Alexei chuckled, impressed. "You think like Tal."
"Maybe," she said, her tone shifting subtly. "Or maybe I've been taught to."
He looked up. Her voice had taken on a strange calm, like someone about to open a secret door. Then she reached into her bag and pulled out a small, worn wooden chessboard. It was old—very old. But it wasn't just the age that made Alexei's heart skip.
The carvings.
The edges of the board had the same delicate patterns he'd seen on his own. The same faded emblem near the center fold. The same scent of aged wood and a hint of candle smoke.
He felt the hair rise on his arms.
"Elena… where did you get this?"
"It was my grandfather's," she said softly. "He never let anyone touch it. He told me it once belonged to a friend of a genius—someone called the Magician. He said… it remembers games."
Alexei stared at the board. For a moment, the tournament hall felt colder, like the air had shifted. A breeze, where there should be none. Then, like a ripple in still water, the familiar shimmer began.
Shadows.
From the corners of the board, shapes began to stir. Not full forms—flickers. Wisps of presence. But Alexei knew them. The same presence that whispered in his dreams. That challenged him. That taught him.
Tal.
But this time… they weren't just responding to him.
They responded to her.
Elena didn't flinch. She met the shadows with calm recognition, as though she had seen them before. As though, in her own quiet world, she too had been guided.
A deep, resonant voice—Tal's voice—echoed between them, not aloud, but within the space they shared.
"Two boards. Two minds. One legacy."
Alexei looked at Elena, eyes wide. "This was your training?"
She nodded. "Ever since I was little. I thought I was the only one."
They were no longer just two talented players. They were connected by something ancient, something living. The boards were not separate. They were pieces of the same forgotten legend.
And now… the shadows were uniting.
The room dimmed—not by any fault of the lights, but by the sheer gravity of the moment. It was as though the shadows from both boards had soaked up the light, drawn into an invisible vortex only they could feel.
Alexei leaned in, heart pounding. "What does this mean? Why are they responding like this?"
Elena's voice was barely a whisper. "I think… they've been waiting. For us."
Suddenly, both boards shimmered. Not a glow—not like light—but a pulse, as if the grain of the wood remembered ancient struggles. And between them, in that growing twilight of memory and presence, a figure emerged—not a ghost, not a man, but something in-between.
Mikhail Tal.
He stood between their boards, one hand resting on each, his eyes flickering with mischief and fire. But this wasn't the same Tal Alexei had seen before in dreams. He was younger here, full of life, with the smile of someone who had just sacrificed his queen and knew you'd never see what was coming next.
Alexei froze. Elena's fingers trembled slightly at the edge of her board.
Tal turned to her first. "You play like Gyoza," he said, almost fondly. "My friend. My rival. Your grandfather."
Elena's breath caught. "You knew him?"
"Of course. He and I walked through fire and brilliance together. His board—this board—was forged for madness and beauty. Just like mine."
He turned to Alexei now, the intensity in his gaze doubling. "And you, fire-eyed boy… you've walked further than I dared in the Forbidden Line. You have paid the price."
Alexei's shoulders dropped slightly, ashamed. "I made it too public… I lost its soul."
Tal grinned. "Or maybe… you set it free."
Then Tal stepped back. The two boards began to glow with lines—trails of past games, variations danced in ghostly light across the squares like echoes of battles fought long ago. They saw the cursed line. The sacrifices. The refutations. The hope. The collapse. The resurrection.
And suddenly, their own pieces began to move—not by hands, but by memory. Alexei and Elena stood side by side, watching as their boards reenacted ancient games and brand-new ideas. Tal paced between them like a conductor, pulling threads together from both minds.
"You've both heard the whispers," he said. "But now, you must learn to speak with them. Together."
Elena looked at Alexei, something like awe in her eyes. "Do you think… we were chosen?"
"I think," he said slowly, "we've just been invited to finish the story."
The boards pulsed once more. Tal stepped back into shadow, fading—but not leaving. Never truly leaving.
"You have until the Championship," his voice echoed. "Unite your madness. Make the board sing."
The light returned. The shadows faded. The hall was silent again.
Elena looked down at her board, then at his. "You still want to win alone?" she asked, only half-teasing.
Alexei smirked. "Not anymore. Let's rewrite the line… together."
And so, the legend deepened—not one prodigy, but two. Two shadow-bound boards. Two minds born of sacrifice and brilliance. And a game still waiting to be played.
The wood was darker than Alexei's, aged with time and stories untold. She ran her fingers along the carved edges, sensing something stir in the air. Then, just as it had happened to Alexei months ago, a sudden chill swept through the room.
The candlelight danced wildly, and from the corner of the board, a soft glow began to pulse—pale blue and barely perceptible at first. Elena leaned in, eyes wide, heart fluttering with a mixture of fear and fascination.
Then, she saw her.
A figure slowly emerged from the shadows—graceful, composed, yet carrying the weight of forgotten years in her eyes. She wore an old-style coat draped like a cloak, and her hair fell in loose waves, streaked with starlight. The woman stepped forward from the veil of mist that hovered around the board.
"Elena," the figure said in a voice like music and memory entwined. "You've finally come."
Elena stepped back, stunned. "W-who are you?"
The figure smiled warmly, sadness flickering behind it. "My name is Anya. I once stood beside the Magician. Not as his rival, nor as a lover... but as his equal in thought, his mirror on the board."
"Elena…"the voice came again, softer now. "Your mind sees what others miss. The pieces speak to you the way they once spoke to us."
Elena's hand trembled. "Are you... are you a part of this board?"
Anya nodded. "Long ago, Mikhail and I crafted our lines together. But war, fame, and fate drew us apart. This board remained with me. Its shadow—my spirit—has waited, watching the world forget what we once dreamed."
A faint shimmer glowed along the board's edge. The pieces began to slowly rearrange themselves into a strange, sharp position—one Elena had never seen. Anya looked down at it and smiled.
"I waited for the one who would listen—not just to the pieces, but to the silence between them. You, Elena, and Alexei... you were born for this."
Elena's breath caught. "You know Alexei?"
Anya nodded. "The Magician watches over him. I watch over you. And soon… the two boards, the two spirits, will be united again."
The air turned heavier, as though fate itself was watching. Elena looked at the position forming on the board—complex, razor-edged, beautiful.
"We must prepare," Anya said gently. "The world doesn't know what's coming. But together—you and Alexei—can change everything."