Welcome to my game, Graven

The morning sun timidly crept through the cracks in the stone walls of the mine. But today… the sun wasn't the only thing rising. 

Today… a new king is born. 

Elliot stood at the front of the slaves. Their faces, accustomed to humiliation, now glowed with the fire of rebellion. Behind him, Luke held a rusty axe, while George narrowed his eyes with caution. 

The palace is an hour's walk away. The guards? A hundred. Us? Three hundred. 

Elliot gave them a sideways smile. 

But we have something they don't… me. 

Some laughed. Others looked at him with concern. 

Mind control… the key to the throne. 

On the way, he approached George. 

The palace commander… what's his name? 

Marco. 

His age? 

42. 

Elliot closed his eyes… just for a moment… then smiled. 

Marco fears the king discovering his betrayal. Perfect. 

At the gate, the guards shouted: 

Stop right there, or— 

Elliot stepped forward. 

What's your name? he asked one of them. 

Jack. 

Your age? 

29. 

A second of silence… then: 

I should warn the commander… but if I attack, I'll die. 

Elliot smiled faintly. 

Jack… drop your sword. 

The guard's fingers trembled… and the sword fell. 

Welcome to the team, Jack. 

The gate creaked open like the mouth of an old beast. 

Inside the palace, guards scattered like rats. 

Marco! Elliot called softly. 

He's hiding behind the throne… holding a poisoned dagger. 

He turned to Luke: Behind the throne. 

With one swift motion… Marco was dragged out of his hiding spot, his body trembling. 

Who the hell are you? Marco shouted. 

Elliot leaned forward slightly. 

I'm the one who knows what you hide… Marco. Forty-two years old. You betrayed the king, stole gold, and feared being exposed. 

Marco's veins froze. 

How…? 

I am the mind of this world… and you're just a stray thought in it. 

He gestured to Luke. 

One swing… and Marco collapsed. 

Elliot sat on the throne. 

The palace… is just the beginning. The world itself? A stage for my mind. 

Then he whispered: 

Whoever knows the name and age… owns the soul. 

He sat there, running his fingers over the cold wood. The palace was silent, but in his mind… a storm of thoughts. Every whisper, every fear… now his tool. 

Chaos destroyed this palace. I will rebuild it… with free minds, not chains. 

He stood up, the echo of his steps filling the hall. 

Luke, gather the slaves. 

In the courtyard, the slaves assembled. Their faces were worn, their eyes scarred by memories of captivity. 

You were slaves, he said softly, though his words pierced their bones. I know how you felt… I was one of you. 

Murmurs filled the air. 

But today… you are free. 

Shock. Disbelief. Then, a single voice: 

Freedom! 

Soon, dozens followed. 

Elliot raised his hand. The crowd fell silent. 

I give you freedom… and ask only one thing: stay. Build this palace with me. We will make the world kneel… with our minds, not our chains. 

He scanned their faces… and heard their thoughts. 

Finally… someone who doesn't see us as tools. 

If he's that smart… I'll follow him. 

Freedom? Can it be real? 

He smiled. 

Freedom is real… if we create it ourselves. 

The work began. 

He ordered the storerooms opened: food for everyone. 

Blacksmiths forged new weapons. 

Former slaves with expertise were appointed to manage workshops and farms. 

In one night, the palace transformed from the ashes of rebellion into a fortress pulsing with life. 

And in his mind… a map took shape. 

We are in the north. South lies Craven Kingdom. West… mercenary lands. East… the Golden Port. 

His eyes gleamed. 

Mastery begins with knowing names… and ends with shaping worlds. 

George stood beside him, watching the soldiers train. 

Elliot… what's next? 

Elliot gazed at the sky. 

We build an army. 

And why an army? 

He gave a sideways smile. 

Because kings rule with swords… but I will rule with minds. And my army? It will have no borders. 

Months passed since Elliot freed the slaves and rebuilt the palace. But time wasn't just a number—it was a fire that tempered steel and a mind that forged empires. 

He stood on the palace balcony, watching the courtyard below. Hundreds of men trained tirelessly, their eyes glowing with a new resolve. No longer slaves… they were soldiers. 

Commander, sir, came George's voice. The scouts have returned. 

Elliot turned. Bring them in. 

Two men entered, their clothes dusty, faces tense. 

Speak. 

The first man spoke, voice trembling. We saw them… the kingdom's army. Thousands… heading this way. 

Elliot's brow rose slightly. 

How many? 

Five thousand… led by General Graven. 

Graven… the battlefield butcher. The reaper of rebellions. 

Elliot smiled faintly. 

And when will they arrive? 

In ten days, sir. 

Perfect. 

The scouts exchanged anxious glances. George frowned. 

Elliot… we have only four hundred men. 

Elliot turned to him, his eyes shimmering with dangerous clarity. 

Yes, four hundred… but we know their names. 

In the war hall, the leaders gathered. 

We're facing a royal army! one shouted. They're trained… we were miners months ago! 

True, Elliot said calmly. But we have something they don't. 

What? 

A mind. 

He placed a map on the table. 

Graven is a traditional soldier. He relies on brute force. He'll march through Wolf Pass… the narrowest path. He'll expect us to defend the gate, but he doesn't know us. 

He tapped a spot on the map. 

We'll lead him into an illusion… and strike from the shadows. 

Preparations began. 

At night, Elliot ordered fires lit along the wall to mislead the enemy. 

He sent men to spread rumors that the palace was filled with gold and supplies. 

As his army trained… Elliot listened. 

Graven thinks we're just a mob of slaves. 

He plans to divide his army into three columns. 

Graven himself will lead the center. 

Elliot smiled like a hunter watching prey step into his trap. 

Welcome to my game, Graven. 

On the ninth night, Elliot stood on the wall. 

Tomorrow… the real story begins. 

And in his mind… a distant voice whispered: 

War… is just a chessboard. And you…