The Last Dice Roll

The tavern was louder than a storm at sea—

Tankards clashing, men laughing, women singing.

But in the corner, at the table marked by candlelight and shadows, sat Marcus Veyne, the gambler everyone in the city feared and admired.

Marcus wasn’t feared for his fists or his blade—

He was feared for his luck.

Dice, cards, coins—it didn’t matter.

The man always walked away richer, and someone else walked away ruined.

For years he had lived this way, chasing fortunes and leaving broken men behind.

Some swore he cheated.

Others said the gods had cursed—or blessed—him.

But Marcus himself believed only one thing: luck was a weapon, and he was its master.

Tonight, though, was different.

His hands trembled ever so slightly as he set the dice on the table.

The crowd pressed closer, hungry for spectacle, whispering as they placed bets not on the game, but on Marcus himself.

Across the table sat Darius Holt, a soldier-turned-merchant with eyes as sharp as drawn steel.

Unlike most, Darius wasn’t here for coin.

He was here for vengeance.

Years ago, Marcus had ruined his brother in a game of dice—left him penniless, desperate, and dead by his own hand.

“One game,” Darius said, voice low but steady.

“One roll. Winner takes all. And when I say all—I mean everything. Your fortune, your house, your name, your life’s game. This ends tonight.”

The tavern hushed.

Marcus smirked, though his heart skipped.

He’d played a thousand games, but never one where the stakes were so final.

Still, pride was a poison he could never spit out.

“One roll,” he said. “Let the dice speak.”

The tavern keeper set the rules:

Two dice each.

Highest total wins.

No second throws.

No questions.

The crowd leaned in, sweat and ale thick in the air.

For the first time, Marcus felt the weight of silence pressing on him harder than noise.

Darius rolled first.

The dice clattered across the wood, tumbling like thunder, then stopped—

Eleven.

Gasps rippled. Nearly unbeatable.

Marcus smiled thinly, hiding the quake in his gut.

He picked up his dice, cool and heavy in his palm.

He had felt this weight a thousand times before, but tonight it felt…different.

Final.

He whispered to himself:

“One last roll. After this, I walk away. Win or lose.”

The dice left his hand.

They spun through the air, glinting in candlelight, striking the table with sharp cracks.

Time seemed to slow, every eye in the tavern following their tumble.

They landed.

A six. A five. Eleven.

A perfect tie.

The crowd roared, disbelief shaking the rafters.

No one had expected fate to laugh in their faces.

Marcus and Darius locked eyes, neither blinking, both knowing this wasn’t over.

“Again,” Darius growled.

“No,” Marcus said quietly. “This was the last roll. That was the deal.”

Darius’s jaw tightened, his hand twitching near the knife at his belt.

But Marcus leaned forward, voice steady, almost weary.

“Don’t you see? The dice decided. We are both winners. Or both losers. Either way, fate gave its answer. To roll again would be to spit in its face.”

For the first time in years, Marcus felt something shift inside him.

The hunger, the endless chasing, the pride—all of it faded.

He realized the truth: every game had always been leading here.

To this final throw.

To this moment of surrender.

He pushed his fortune—gold coins, deeds, jewels—across the table.

“Take it,” Marcus said.

“Your brother paid the price for my luck. Let this end the debt.”

Darius stared, stunned.

The crowd murmured, restless, not understanding.

But Marcus stood, the weight of years lifting from his shoulders.

For the first time, he wasn’t thinking of winning.

He was thinking of freedom.

Without another word, he walked out of the tavern, the night air cold against his face.

Behind him, Darius sat frozen, torn between vengeance and mercy, while the dice still gleamed on the table.

Outside, the moon watched silently, silver light falling across Marcus’s path.

He whispered to the night:

“No more games. No more wagers. That was the last dice roll.”

And with that, the gambler who had never lost disappeared into the darkness—

Not a winner, not a loser,

But a man who had finally stopped playing.