Aside from his bookworm attribute, Quartz is also fond of playing the Piccolo. A fine woodwind instrument with half the size of an ordinary flute. This instrument was given by his father when he had the age of eight. His father always told him, that the Piccolo he loves to play, belongs to his deceased mother.

The young man only has limited information about his deceased mother. Her body was taken by death itself due to a rare genetic disease, Quartz, on the other hand, was only two months old during that time. Quartz's only reference about his mother is through pictures and descriptions foretold by his father.

Once the blanket of twilight has arrived, with the gargantuan moon ever glowing, Quartz would step outside his balcony, with eyes glancing on the night sky. Solemnly, he would play the Piccolo and join Nature's orchestra.

"Whenever you feel alone, scared, or even troubled, just look to the stars and play a song. Your mother will always be there to hear your melody, and she will listen to you with her dearest heart." This was his father's instruction, which sparked Quartz's likeness to the Piccolo his father gave.

Every night, the young man would play a song, hoping that his mother would listen to the melody. He believes that no matter what, his mother will always be beside him, hugging him tightly through the storm.

Some neighbors would even stay awake just to hear the young man's masterpiece, truly remarkable and truly fervent. On rare occasions, tears would trickle down Quartz's eyes, as his song yearns for his mother's loss.

Three hours have pa.s.sed, and his father has arrived at his abode with the notable chess set on his grasp. He couldn't wait to surprise his son with the gift he has bought. His intellect could grow profoundly with the boardgame his father bought.

Proud and delighted his father is, to see that his son has already eaten his breakfast. Just from the door, he could hear the melody of the Piccolo, gus.h.i.+ng to his heart. Just like every other normal day, Quartz was practicing his instrument once more.

Steadily, Cypress knocks on Quartz's door, while holding the wooden box on his hand. "Come in." The young man paused his practice for a while, as he responded in a blitz.

"Ah, practicing your flute aren't ya my boy? Before I left, I have promised you a gift, and here I have it now on my grasp." Cypress beamed with an exuberant tone as he sits beside his son on the plain white bed.

"A gift? What kind of gift father?" Quartz placed the flute beside him as his mind grew curious about the wooden box his father was holding.

"Ah! A game which suites men like you. A game of triumph and victory, a game for kings and queens. This my boy is Chess." Cypress exclaimed as he places the box on the young man's lap. Quartz gazed over the dusty wooden box, but he didn't seem interested in the game.

"Father, you do know that I am not fond of playing boardgames right?"

"Of course, you are my son, I know everything about you, but this game will surely stimulate your intellect. You are a man who is interested in wars and sieges which happened back in the golden eras of our city.

Now, you can recreate those wars and sieges with this game."

"Father, I don't even have an opponent."

"The best opponent, is always yourself. In that way, you can become a Grand Chess player in no time. I am busy, so my time to challenge you may only be limited." Cypress uttered as he pats the boy's shoulders with ecstasy and encouragement.

Quartz however was still not interested in the game. As long as its a board game, it is considered as lackl.u.s.ter to him and Chess is no exception. He smiled back at his father for he didn't want to hurt his feelings.

Suddenly, a knock from the house doors interrupted the both of us. The knock was rambunctious and boisterous, as if someone was eager to enter the house.

"I'll open the door." Quartz stood up from his bed and placed the Chess Set on the wooden desk beside his rustic closet.

He trickled down the stairs, with an odd mind. His psyche wondered who could be knocking on the doors of his abode? And why would they knock in the first place?

The father on the other hand smiled with bliss while staring at the portrait of his wife.