The Artwork portrays King Midas seated upon his throne, nestled in a lush, overgrown garden — a sanctuary turned prison. Cursed to turn all he touches or desires into gold, Midas is rendered (by Muhju Art) as a figure both regal and tragic. His form is semi-transparent, revealing a golden skeleton beneath the surface — a visual metaphor for a man who has lost not only his humanity, but his very sense of self.
Surrounding him stand his guards: towering beings forged entirely from gold, ancient and enigmatic, like statues come to life. Midas sits in solemn contemplation, his gaze cast toward the noble knights who encircle him — warriors drawn by the lure of wealth, battling to the death for a chance at his riches.
Among them, one knight raises a white banner bearing the sigil of Midas. Victorious in combat, he begins to turn into gold, slowly and irrevocably. He believes himself triumphant — unaware that he, too, has become a slave to the curse. Eternally bound, not to glory, but to greed.
Among these knights stands one who is different: the Knight of Camelot. His blood-soaked armor has turned a permanent shade of red — not by paint, but by legacy. He fights not for gold, but for honor. His weapon: a heavy mace. His presence: a silent rebellion against the madness surrounding him.
Midas no longer cares for gold. The weight of his curse has dulled his hunger. Now, he toys with it — not out of desire, but out of boredom and disdain. He watches as men kill each other for a treasure he no longer values. He is worshipped — not for who he is, but for what he possesses. And he knows it.
In this, he sees the true nature of his curse. It was never his alone. The curse is humanity — its boundless hunger, its lust for power. Midas has become the mirror. And what he reflects is a truth more terrifying than gold: the human soul, for sale.
