A Quiet Citadel

I slipped past the front gate, eager for the crisp street air after staying inside all yesterday. Following the quiet sidewalk to a shaded corner of the park, I paused beside a weathered stone chess table. Left behind on the engraved grid was a heavy, dark carved wooden rook, resting slightly askew. I climbed onto the bench and wrapped both hands around its notched parapet. The timber felt solid and cool, smelling faintly of aged wax. With slow, steady effort, I nudged the tower upright until it stood flush in the center of a pale square. It settled with a quiet, grounding tap, immovable against the morning breeze.