The Line Between

The darkness doesn’t come all at once. It seeps in, slow and inevitable, like a shadow creeping at the edges of his vision. First comes the dull ache in his chest, the constriction of breath, as though the air itself resists him. Then the world begins to blur—edges softening, sounds distorting, as if submerged underwater. His fingers tremble against the cool stone of the throne’s armrest.

This throne. His perch of dominance. The seat from which he commanded nations, dictated the rise and ruin of empires with a mere flick of his wrist. Now, as his gaze sweeps the vast hall, he wonders how many of those cities still stand.

His heart lurches sluggishly. A shallow cough rakes through his chest, and the metallic tang of copper fills his mouth.

King Avaris—the most feared ruler in the land, the man who embodied power itself—was dying.

A cold, brittle laugh escapes his lips, carrying none of the weight it once did. It is thin, hollow, and breaks against the oppressive silence of the room. A thousand victories linger in its echo—or are they defeats?

His hand trembles again. Once so steady, so assured in its might, it feels frail now, a relic of what he used to be. The tyrant surveys the opulence around him, the gilded walls and marble floors that once whispered of invincibility. But now they close in like a gilded cage. The throne, the jewels, the silk-draped windows—all meaningless. Even the distant sound of approaching footsteps, faint yet deliberate, stirs no fear in him.

They are coming.

He turns his eyes to the great oak doors, their carved panels bathed in the dim, flickering light of dying torches. There is no anger, no desire to fight. Only the weight of finality. This is his reckoning, a long-overdue confrontation with the life he’s lived—on the edge of arrogance, cloaked in power.

The footsteps grow louder.

The betrayal wasn’t supposed to unfold this way. He had trusted them. Her. Always her.

Her face rises unbidden from the fog of his thoughts. He remembers the day she arrived at court, fierce and radiant, her presence commanding the room as effortlessly as he once had. She was his most loyal advisor, a brilliant strategist, the one mind he allowed to walk beside his own. He had shared his ambitions with her, secrets he entrusted to no one else.

He never imagined it would be her hands that guided the knife.

His blood still stains the fine silk of his shirt, the dark crimson spreading like spilled ink. It seems almost absurd now, laughable, even. To have built a life on the foundation of pride, only for it to crumble under the weight of a single betrayal.

But was it truly the knife that felled him? Or was it something deeper—something long hidden beneath the ironclad veneer of his reign?

He’d seen the signs, of course. If only he’d paid closer attention. The subtle shifts in her voice, the fleeting glances exchanged behind his back. He had noticed, but he had dismissed them, confident that power alone could bind loyalty. He believed her devotion was unshakable, as if his throne were a bastion against the frailties of human will.

But pride, as they say, comes before the fall.

Now his vision dims. The candlelight of his thoughts flickers, wavering in the encroaching dark. Faces swarm his mind—ghosts of his past, of those he crushed underfoot, discarded, betrayed. Friends, enemies, and allies blur together into a single, faceless tide.

His father’s face appears briefly, the stern voice of his youth warning him never to trust too deeply. He recalls the looks of those he’d wronged—some pleading, some defiant, all of them unforgettable.

And then there is her.

Her face burns brightest in the darkness. The one he loved, shaped, and ultimately destroyed. He molded her into a reflection of his own cruelty, and she returned the favor with a blade.

The knife remains his sharpest memory. He feels it still—the cold steel sliding between his ribs, the betrayal it carried far keener than the edge itself. His breath catches, his chest heaves weakly. It wasn’t just her that betrayed him.

He had betrayed himself.

His greed, his endless hunger for power, had shaped him into this—a man who saw the world as a conquest, who believed his throne was not merely a seat of power but a fortress impenetrable and eternal. That illusion blinded him, made him forget what it meant to be human, to be vulnerable.

Now, at the end of it all, he understands. He was always alone. The empire he built, the legacy he thought indomitable, was nothing more than a monument to his own vanity.

The footsteps are closer now. They will finish what she started. Soon, his name will be erased from history, a shadow swallowed by time. He does not fight it. Fear has no place here anymore.

His final breath escapes in a whisper. Her name.

It carries no hatred, only the ache of recognition. They had danced the same dangerous dance, and in the end, she had simply played it better.

Pride comes before the fall.

And with that, he finally fell.