Finalist Energheia Irish Prize 2025

The hallway was filled with glamourous paintings of all the ancient rulers of my predecessors; gold writings underneath the wood, hand carved gilded in gold leaf – each with their own unique design for their time.

They would hang there with pride. Knowing they would be remembered with glory. The hallway would stretch endlessly – until he put on the crown. He took a ragged breath as his hand trailed his blood on the smooth walls.

The cries of the civilians filled his head as the siege of enemies flooded the walls with no remorse. They– no, he should have expected it. Each sugar-coated threat, to each ensanguined compliment the King of Everlight gave him. When they both declared unity and peace for everyone. Was all just a blue fuckin’ lie.

Something rattled at the tip of his throat, unable to hold it on any longer, he coughed harshly on his free hand to reveal the same blood that was on the other. His hand shook uncontrollably to his disdain. Not realizing he had stopped; half of his body was leaning on the wall.

He took a breath,

He continued.

Each step he took sent terrors through his spine even if numbness covered every inch of his body. It didn’t take a genius to know he did not have long left.

He began to ponder the choices that led him down this path.

Was it because he let the people, he trusted get too close to him, ignoring all the signs?

Was it because he drank what the ‘now enemy’ king gave him?

Was it perhaps that he was simply a bad king? Ending what his processors worked so hard to build.

Was it because he was too greedy to be a successful king that he inspired to be blinded him how there wasn’t a possibility he could fail.

And oh, not only did he fail; he fell.

If he was able to end up in this hallway full of memories of the past; he’d be classed as the most foolish, and ignorant king, he was sure of it.

All his past deeds will be all for naught. All splattered to the ground like worthless dirt, but what can he say: my mistake.

Unable to keep his chuckle rattled their throat as he breathes out, only to continue his coughing fit.

An explosion echoed though the wall, he staggered whilst knocking down a painting along with all the others, like dominoes. Chandeliers fell like crystal rain, scratched and pierced all it could in the process.

His vision wavered but even in the dim dark, he could see the body of his grandfather, posed with pride with his wife standing alongside him with a smile that could capture anyone’s heart in their youth.

His eyes watered but all that fell was the blood dripping down his mouth. His head looked around, searching for the next painting as he straddled forward, ignoring the echoing footsteps that weren’t his.

His soldiers made him proud, immediately taking a stand in the attack. He fought with those very soldiers though tooth and nail; they all bonded closer than he ever thought. So, when he accidently drank what was going to end his life, and kept it hidden for long as he could while they followed every order, he gave of protecting the people instead of one man.

A small snicker escaped his lips. They’d deny his claim wholeheartedly. With spears digging on the ground and visor shadowing their face. Times and time again, they’d prove their strength, courage and loyalty. But at the end of the day, he was the one that needed to prove it, to them, to everyone. So, he made a choice.

Face to face combat with the enemy king wasn’t the best choice, the only thing he could do was run.

His eyes found what he wanted to see for the last time. The large painting of his father. The background was the same as his grandfather and all the others. The throne covered with solid silver and golden designs with a puffed-up red seat that was never comfortable. With a crown that matched the throne except there was a beautiful ruby in the middle with smaller rubies scattered across the dome of it.

He’d used to be in awe when he saw his father wear it, but now that he wore it, he didn’t feel the awe he used to, but a heavy burden of ‘king’. The man he wanted to be exactly like, that was classed as the best king that was in rule.

Why was he different?

Why did ‘he’ have to be in rule when the kingdom fell?

Why wasn’t he like his father?

Each of these questions will never be answered. Putting a hand on the painting, uncaring of the bloodied stain he’ll leave behind. Rested his head near the bottom frame while closing his eyes, letting his tears fall.

The echoing footsteps grew louder.

Breathing in the oil paint, he looked at his father once more. Usually, their queen stood beside their spouse, but he did not know his mother, nor did anyone talk about it. And so, he took the spot. Both smiled proud of being in their company.

“I’ll see you soon father,” he solemnly spoke.

He treaded forward.

As far as he could go. It didn’t matter where he ended up. He just needed to go far-, far enough to not let anyone get hurt.

He may be remembered for his foolishness, but he will not go down without a proper fight. Not today, not ever. His lungs started to heave; his bones ached as if they became rusted, and his joints started to lose mobility.

It took no surprise he was able to get followed easily with the blood trail he is leaving behind, he just hopes it was the right man. Clutching his chest as his eyes fluttered, his body glided down the wall, losing all balance. His breathing sounded like a tin whistle while openly coughing all the accumulated blood, splattering the mixer of people’s blood he carried on him.

Running now was useless. He did wish he could go on further, but wishing never gave him anything.

“Finally losing your strength, my dear king.” The voice of the King he trusted came closer than he anticipated. His shoes came into view while he clapped with their red gloves that were once white.

“Oh, gods. Have mercy on this poor bastard. The fool was too naïve for his own good.” The enemy king eloquently made his words clear as he heard the quicken footsteps become slower.

Now all he could see was the man’s leather shoes while he crutched down. Lifting his chin to directly see their sky-blue eyes he thought was once beautiful. Now, he could see it reflected his Kingdom, bloodied red.

Finally, he spoke. “Leave my people out of this,” he ended it with a wet cough that dripped a large amount of blood all over them. The king in front of him stared with a frown, eyes lowered, looking straight to the man’s face.

The man sighed. “Truly, I’ll miss you.” The king that was once his friend said as if he suddenly felt remorse for his actions. He laughed as much as his throat was willing whilst the man simply watched. Maybe he still had a shed of dignity left in his cell.

The enemy king looked at him with pity, but he did not let go of the smile while supinely his head on the wall.

“Did you know that this spot was going to be where my painting was going to hung after I pass?” His voice sounded worse than he thought. Scratches and barely hearable but the man looked up at his blood trail, to the empty frame painting.

“Luckily for you it’ll finally be filled beside your father, unluckily for you, this hallway won’t exist when I take rule.” We both glared at each other with newfound spite while the enemy king leaned into his face, almost touching his nose.

“I have won. This is ‘my’ victory,” sternly and confidently expressing the declaration as he pointed a finger at my chest to prove a point.

Sleepily, he smiled back instead which made the enemy king look back puzzled.

Until something blunt and metallic rolled beside them. The enemy king immediately found the source of the sound. A grenade rocked silently, and one without the silver handle. Following the king’s bloodied finger where he found that silver handle. It took a moment to comprehend what he saw. Stuck, he stared into the bloodied king’s brown eyes.

The sleepy smile was totally gone, replaced with a smile of acceptance and victory, white teeth covered in red. Calmly stated, with no spite, or fear, “we’re both going to die here”. Not even an ounce of regret or anguish. Moreso… Informing him.

He whispered. “Got ya’ bitch.”

The enemy king bolted without second thought. Finally realizing his predicament, but it was too late. The bleeding king finally relaxed as his pounding heart became slower, his sight already gone, he closed his eyes and breathed out.

–

Knights scurried into the hallway that held the massive explosion, further they went in, paintings were scorched as the walls charred, burned, and at the end of it, all there was left was the remains of the enemy king and a large ruby.