The throne room felt alive,The Man stood frozen, staring at the crowned figure slumped on the throne. The guy sitting on the throne looked dead, his crown of thorns glinting like it was drinking the dim light. The knight statues, heads bowed low, seemed to hum with something "judgment", maybe, or just watching. The horse stood close, its black coat shimmering with bits of mirror from the last room, its eyes steady, like it knew what was coming but his presence was comforting the man . The heart is pounding the voice's last words"Prove us wrong"ringing in his head like a bell that wouldn't stop.
He took a step toward the throne. The air got thick, pressing on his chest. "What do you want from me?" he asked, his voice rough, barely above a whisper. The horse snorted, pawing the stone floor, like it was trying to warn him….the man on the throne was silent…perhaps not even alive, but the voice was alive and answered his question , smooth and sharp, like a knife sliding across silk. "You know what you have to do. Look at him. He's everything you thought you were."
The Man squinted at the figure. Its face was hidden in shadow, but something about it felt familiar too familiar. His hands shook as he got closer, the crown's thorns catching the light, each one sharp enough to cut through bone. A blade appeared in his hand, cold and heavy, like it had been there all along. He didn't remember picking it up, but it felt right, like it belonged. The voice chuckled, low and mean. "Go on. End it. Or are you still too proud to admit what you've lost?"
He stopped, the blade hovering. "What's that supposed to mean?" he snapped. The voice didn't rush to answer, letting the silence stretch until it hurt. "You think you're free because you named Pride back there? You're still carrying it. You always will unless you face what it took from you." The Man's throat tightened. He wanted to argue, to say he'd already won, but the horse's eyes locked on him, steady, like it saw something he didn't.
"Show me," he said, quieter now. The throne room blurred, the walls melting into a memory,not a place, but a moment. He saw himself, younger, standing in a house with wooden walls, a fire crackling low. A woman sat across from him, her face soft but tired, her hands folded like she was holding back words. "You don't have to prove anything," she said, her voice breaking. "Stay. Please." But he didn't. He saw himself turn away, chin high, eyes burning with something he thought was strength. He walked out, leaving her behind, the door slamming shut like a gunshot. Pride. It had cost him her—someone who loved him, someone he'd never see again because he thought he was above needing her.
The memory faded, and the throne room snapped back. The Man's eyes stung, not with tears but with something heavier. "i did what i had to do," he whispered. The voice was right there, closer now, like it was breathing down his neck. "Yes. You chose to be the one who never falters, the one who deserves worship. And what did it get you? A desert.A forest. A horse. Nothing.". The man got angry and shouted "I did what i had to do for myself! those people were holding me down! at the end of the day it was either me or them and i chose me every single time!"The horse nickered, soft and sad, like it felt the weight too and the voice stayed silent for him victory was achieved again over the man.
He looked at the crowned figure again. The shadows shifted, and he saw it, his own face, older, harder, carved with lines of arrogance…..it was him sitting on the throne. The figure wasn't dead. It was him, or what he'd been running from all this time. Its eyes opened, slow and heavy, locking onto his. "You can't kill me," it said, its voice his own but colder, sharper. "I'm what made you. I'm why you survived." The Man gripped the blade tighter, his knuckles white. "You're why I'm here," he shot back. " i know the truth now…and i know what i have to do "The voice laughed, echoing off the walls, bouncing between the knight statues. "Then do it. Stab me. Prove you're better than me. But you'll never be free. You'll just find another throne to chase." The Man's hand shook, the blade catching the light. He saw her face again—the woman from the memory, her eyes pleading, her hands empty. He'd walked away because he thought he was too big for her, too big for anyone. Pride had whispered he was enough on his own, and he'd believed it…but he also knows regret isn't a choice anymore.
"Is that what you want?" he asked the figure, his voice cracking. "For me to keep running?" The figure leaned forward, its crown tilting, thorns dripping something dark, like blood or ink. "I want you to be honest. For once. Admit you were wrong. Admit you need help." The horse stepped closer, its warmth brushing his side, like it was saying, You can do this.
"i was wrong….and i do need help…but this is the last time i will ever let you hold me down….too late to regret anything and just in time to get rid of you" The figure's eyes widened, not with anger but with something like fear. The voice went silent, and the throne room trembled, a low rumble shaking the floor.
He raised the blade, not with rage but with certainty. "I'm done with you," he said, and drove it into the figure's chest. It didn't scream. It smiled, sad and strange, like it had been waiting for this. The blade sank deep, and the figure dissolved into ash, its crown crumbling, thorns scattering like dead leaves. The palace groaned, cracks splitting the walls, chandeliers crashing in bursts of light. The knight statues toppled, their bowed heads breaking into dust.
The horse reared, screaming, and the Man ran to it, grabbing the reins. "Go!" he shouted, swinging onto its back. The palace was falling apart, stones tumbling, mirrors shattering into storms of glass. The horse bolted, hooves pounding through collapsing halls, dodging falling beams and sparks. The Man clung tight, his heart racing, not with fear but with something new—freedom, maybe, or just the absence of weight. The palace's hum turned to a wail, like it was begging him to stay.
They burst through a crumbling archway into a desert, vast and grey, the sky heavy with clouds that didn't move. The palace collapsed behind them, its ruins sinking into the sand like a dream swallowed whole. The Man slowed the horse, his breath ragged, his hands still shaking from the blade. He looked back, expecting nothing, but a faint glow pulsed where the palace had been—a light, sickly and green, like something alive was crawling out of the rubble.
This time he didn't fall unconscious …but the fogs are back, he couldn't see a thing. So he horse started walking straight but nothing appeared…the fog was suffocating, there was no sun here nor salvation…and for the first time the man felt disappointed…as if his exit from a nightmare meant his entry into another nightmare worse than the one before….And suddenly a shadow appeared sitting, but that made the man feel even more disappointed… all he had seen since he got here was shadows after shadows but this one seemed familiar.
"i told you we'd meet again" it was the vendor and the mirror was still in his hand as if it blended in.The man got off the horse and approached the vendor determined to get some answers this time but deeply he wished that a magical knife will appear in his hand again…