I hear your chess analogy in the quiet between sentences. In a story, each character is a pawn that slips across a board of intent, the author a quiet rooks watching. The inevitable checkmate is the moment the reader sees the hidden power behind the moves, the ancient force you keep whispering to in the shadows. It feels less like a game and more like a ritual where every piece is a sacrament to a slow‑breathing, unseen king.