The voyage carried on quietly—save for Victoria, who insisted on another match each time she fell to Miss Lakshmi.
"She seems to enjoy herself," Miss Halle remarked, folding origami with calm precision beside me. "Although your friend is… rather peculiar."
"She wasn't like this before," I murmured, hesitating. "I don't know—" I cut myself off, swallowing the thought.
"Miss Halle," I asked, carefully, "I was told you are a cultivator. Is that true?"
The paper crane in her hands paused mid-fold. She looked up, lips tilting into a faint smile. "And who might have told you that?" she asked, her tone gentle yet probing.
"I—I was only… curious," I admitted, letting the silence stretch.
"I am no cultivator, Heiwa," she said at last, setting a small, mechanical bird upon the table. "I possess something of the sort, yes but it is not the same. What I use is called a chimaera engine—granting me access to both Qi and Mana."
My breath caught. Mana and Qi? The cold sweat running down my spine suddenly felt a lot more than nerves.
"Would you care for tea? Green or black?" she asked, glancing at her pocket watch.
"Green, please," I said, bowing slightly without thinking.
"Very well. I'll return shortly," she replied, rising and gliding from the room.
I turned my gaze to the winter sunlight spilling across the airship's cabin, letting Qi flow quietly into the origami in my hands.
The afternoon shimmered with an almost dreamlike quality.
"Heiwa! Come watch me—I'm totally winning this time!" Victoria called, her voice ringing across the cabin. I sighed and rose, bracing for another familiar defeat and also as I would not know what to do with myself after Miss Heiwa's return.
Victoria's opening was almost languid, as though flicking aside an obstacle:
1. e3
Miss Lakshmi mirrored her with practiced symmetry, the match tilting slowly. Pawns slid forward, controlling the center with the precision of someone mapping out a dance.
But Miss Lakshmi was no ordinary opponent. Not today. Every reply was measured, deliberate—ice-cold precision.
The cabin warmed as the sun climbed. Light shimmered off the polished wood, lending the room an almost sacred glow. Victoria drummed her fingers once, once only, before striking:
6. Bxf7+
A sacrifice. A challenge.
Miss Lakshmi lifted an eyebrow and accepted the bishop with her king, exposing it to the light. Her clear sapphire eyes flickered with something sharp and eager.
Victoria smiled. Of course, this woman would walk into the fire rather than step back.
The game accelerated.
Pieces clashed like tempered steel. Pawns toppled. Knights vaulted diagonals. Queens sliced through the battlefield with the precision of sunlight cutting through mist. Every move carried a silent weight, a meaning neither woman spoke aloud.
Victoria's knight danced across the board like a creature born for chaos, slipping behind Lakshmi's lines with the confidence of someone claiming what had long belonged to them.
Lakshmi leaned forward, elbows brushing the edge of the sunbeam, her face illuminated like marble veined with gold. "You play recklessly," she murmured, low, amused.
"It works," Victoria replied without looking up.
The knight struck c7—forking king and rook, a declaration of intent.
Miss Lakshmi exhaled through her nose, unbowed but encircled by inevitability. Her king retreated under Victoria's relentless pressure.
The black pieces gleamed like obsidian, reflecting the sun's fire. One by one, Victoria dismantled Lakshmi's defenses. Every capture tolled like a quiet bell, heralding what could not be undone.
By the time Victoria's queen drifted to b5, the board resembled a battlefield littered with the remnants of fallen armies.
Miss Lakshmi's king stood alone, weary but undaunted, stubborn in a way Victoria almost respected. Almost.
Then came the final move:
Bxd8
The faint click rang through the sunlit cabin. Lakshmi stared long at the board, sunlight washing her features until she seemed almost celestial in her quiet defeat.
"I resign," she said, finally, placing a hand lightly over her fallen rook.
Victoria leaned back, letting the golden rays of triumph fall across her face. "Ha! I won."
The dust motes floated lazily in the sunbeam—particles suspended like memories, ghosts of games already lost, or the spark of rivalry never quite fading.
"Oh! Look at that—a win after thirteen plays," Miss Halle's voice came from behind a tray, serene as ever.
"Well," Victoria replied with a sly grin, "I still won, and now she owes me a favour."
"Thought you wanted a free ride?" Lakshmi asked, accepting her tea.
"Yeaaah," Victoria said, eyes gleaming, "but a free pass for whatever is better."
"Even though she now has twelve of such passes by that logic?" I murmured, glancing at Miss Halle as she moved with practiced grace.
The airship carried on, the sun inching westward, and the rivalry—and its consequences—hung between us, as tangible as the wind on our cheeks.