In the midst of the silence, white knight and dark knight cross blades. In a perfect circle described by stars and moons and seasons, the future hangs; it swings delicate on an edge of steel.
Dark knight and white knight are alone yet witnessed, the judgement of the ages bearing down upon their dance. Words in their millions, forming the sagas of all there was, is and will ever be – they cheer the battle, knowing this moment is one of those few.
The few times when true uncertainty clouds the face of the future, when what comes next may not be what came before – when the shackles of the past slacken for just one moment and freedom calls.
White knight and dark knight twirl, moving in the lockstep their dance requires. Their paths trace like the fall of leaves – the song of life and death, of laughter and sadness, of joy and pain.
Not a word stirs as dark knight and white knight surge forwards and backwards once again, the silence only cut by the clash of metal.
May the victor choose his words wisely.