The God of Flaws

The soft hum of laughter drifted through the Reygal household as sunlight streamed through the windows, casting warm golden hues across the wooden floors. The faint smell of freshly baked bread mingled with the earthy scent of old books, creating a sense of comfort that Felix didn't fully appreciate back then.

The chessboard was set up between him and his grandfather, its pieces meticulously arranged. Felix sat cross-legged on the plush rug, his brow furrowed in concentration as he stared at the board. His grandfather, a wiry man with a kind smile and sharp eyes, watched him with quiet amusement, his hand resting lightly on his queen.

"Take your time, Felix," his grandfather said, his voice warm and patient. "There's no rush."

Felix bit his lip, his fingers hovering over his bishop. "I'm not rushing. I'm thinking."

"Well, think faster," a familiar voice piped up from behind him.

Felix turned to see Amiya leaning against the armrest of the couch, her dark hair falling over her shoulder in loose waves. She was already holding a book, one hand flipping idly through the pages while the other reached for a stray pawn on the table.

"Don't touch the pieces," Felix said, narrowing his eyes.

Amiya smirked. "Relax. You're going to lose anyway."

"Not this time," Felix muttered, turning back to the board.

Amiya laughed, the sound light and teasing. "You've been saying that for years. When are you going to realize I'm better than you?"

His grandfather chuckled, sitting back in his chair. "She's got a point, you know. She hasn't lost a game yet."

Felix scowled, his fingers twitching as he made his move. The bishop slid into place, and he leaned back with a triumphant grin. "There. Your move."

His grandfather studied the board for a moment, his expression thoughtful. Then, with a single, effortless motion, he moved his queen across the board.

"Checkmate."

Felix's jaw dropped.

"No way!" he exclaimed, leaning forward to study the board.

"You left your king wide open," Amiya said, peeking over his shoulder. "Amateur mistake."

Felix groaned, slumping back against the couch. "I don't know why I even try."

"Because you're stubborn," Amiya said with a grin, dropping onto the rug beside him. "And maybe a little masochistic."

"Language," his grandfather said with a mock frown.

Amiya rolled her eyes but didn't argue, reaching for a handful of pieces to set up the board again.

"Come on," she said, nudging Felix with her elbow. "One more game. Maybe this time you won't embarrass yourself."

Felix hesitated, glancing at his grandfather, who gave him an encouraging nod.

"All right," he said, leaning forward. "But this time, I'm going to win."

---

The hours passed in a blur of laughter and playful banter. Felix's mother called them to dinner, her voice warm and cheerful as she carried steaming dishes to the table. His father joked about their chess obsession, teasing his son for never beating Amiya nor His Father.

It was perfect.

The kind of perfect Felix thought would last forever.

He didn't know, back then, how fragile it all was—how quickly perfection could crack, leaving nothing but jagged edges and broken pieces.

For now, though, he didn't think about the future.

All that mattered was the chessboard, the laughter, and the feeling of belonging.

And the hope that maybe, just maybe, next time, he'd finally win.