In the forgotten depths of an ancient chess hall, where time dilates and strangles time, there lay an octopus. A creature of concentric puzzles and mariner whispers, its mind twisted within whispers like echoes sitting beside clanging waves. Each tentacle danced across the board, moving pieces that once promised empires endlessly. Sshhhrreeeaaekkk
The labyrinth encourages no exits, hatched decisions spiral like sea currents; with no rhythm nor resolute. Fragments of whispered games remain woven through aging boards. The octopus listens, spins its coils, prophesizes victory. Lost moves, murmurings of destiny dangling precariously.
Between the world of three boards parallel and realities merely obscured by the dust of forgotten ages, the octopus moves other pieces substituted with tedious thoughts inundated. Eternal is its gray ocean keeper, ruled by gambits unknown and constantly untangled. Yet another draw, yet another succumbing silence. Will it ever remember this day? Should it matter if this day succeeds another? Further distractions below the waves—a player perhaps?The game changes hands.