Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jeongha was a kingdom hidden among the mountains, a place that shone with unimaginable luxury for most of its inhabitants. Surrounded by thick forests and dark valleys, the kingdom was like a hidden gem, protected from the outside world by tall walls and imposing castles that marked the boundary between the common people and the elite who resided within. The stone-paved streets, golden palaces, and towers reaching towards the sky had an air of perfection, but behind that shimmering facade lay an abyss of injustices and secrets that only a few had the courage to face.

The ruler of Jeongha, King Taeryeon, was a man of power and authority, whose name was known and feared in every corner of the kingdom. His figure, tall and imposing, was always surrounded by an aura of respect and fear. The king ruled with an iron fist, but his leadership was based on the appearance of justice, a delicate balance of alliances and betrayals that he had built over the years. His family was his strength, his wealth, but also his prison. Every move he made was calculated, every word weighed like a sentence. His vision of ruling Jeongha was clear: a perfect kingdom, with no room for mistakes, emotions, or weaknesses.

But within these golden walls lay a tragedy that no one could have imagined. Taehyung, the king's son, was the designated heir, but his existence had never truly been wanted, nor loved. Born in an environment that valued appearance and efficiency, Taehyung had never known the love of a family, except in the form of duties and expectations. The kingdom of Jeongha, which stood tall over the surrounding lands, was also a kingdom of solitude for him.

Taehyung walked through the palace corridors like a shadow, silent and distant, as if the world itself could not perceive him. Every step he took was an automatic repetition, a routine that unraveled between rooms adorned with luxury and empty halls, where the echo of his footsteps got lost in the vastness of a building that seemed more like a mausoleum than a home. His tall, slender figure contrasted with the coldness of the environment around him, but his presence went unnoticed, as if he were invisible, as if he did not belong to that golden world.

Taehyung's eyes, once full of hope and curiosity, were now two endless abysses, drowning in a sea of solitude. His pale, lifeless skin spoke of sleepless nights spent staring at the ceiling, brooding over what could not be changed. There was no truth in his veins, only a trail of lies and broken promises. His existence was defined by a single constant: abandonment.

And now, in his room, darkness enveloped him like a shroud, thick and suffocating, the only companion Taehyung had ever known, the only one who had never betrayed him. The darkness of his room seemed to breathe with him, the cold, silent walls like the emptiness that filled his heart. The door closed and bolted, his heart beating faster with each breath. There was no sound, except for his own pain. His curse tormented him at every moment, like an invisible demon feeding off his affections, creeping into his thoughts.

The curse that weighed upon Taehyung was an unrelenting fate, forged in the oldest shadows of his family, a power that coursed through his veins like poison. It was not just a punishment for something he had never fully understood, but a living force, an entity that consumed him and threatened to take anyone who came too close. Every person who dared approach Taehyung with affection, love, or even just compassion, would be ripped from life, consumed by the dark energy that surrounded him like an invisible, lethal aura. The face of the woman who had loved him, who had embraced him with all her sweetness, often appeared in his dreams and in his darkest thoughts.The vision of her haunted his mind every time he closed his eyes. The memory of her face, serene and loving, faded into a smile he could no longer see, blending with the agony that had preceded her death. It was as though her death had occurred in a parallel dimension, where time had bent and twisted, and the pain of losing someone you loved had no end. He had seen her trembling figure, consumed by an invisible flame—one that did not burn flesh, but the soul. Her life had been ripped away in an instant, like a butterfly landing on a lit candle, reduced to ash before it could even take flight.

The curse that weighed on Taehyung was an unrelenting fate, forged in the deepest shadows of his family’s past, a power that ran through his veins like poison. It was not merely a punishment for something he had never fully understood, but a living force, an entity that consumed him, threatening to take anyone who came too close. Every person who dared approach Taehyung with affection, love, or even compassion, would be ripped from life, consumed by the dark energy that surrounded him like an invisible, lethal aura.

Every night, his mother appeared in his dreams, not in her peaceful state, but as a twisted vision distorted by pain. Her face, once warm and welcoming, was now warped, with lines of suffering and eyes that seemed to judge him, as if he were the cause of her end. The words that escaped her lips in that moment—a whisper of love, but also a plea—tormented him, as if every word were a blade piercing his heart. “You shouldn’t... you shouldn’t have loved me...” they seemed to whisper, but even the echo of “I forgive you” tore him apart just as much.

The remorse that consumed him was not only the weight of her death, but the fact that Taehyung, though he had never wanted nor sought the curse, was its creator, its bearer. Every time he looked into the mirror, felt the weight of that curse upon his skin, he understood that something deeper, something older, had awakened the moment he was born. His very blood, his very being, contained the key to destroy anyone he loved, and the awareness of this truth broke him each time his thoughts fell on those he had lost.

His mother’s face, torn by pain, was not just a memory of her death, but the symbol of Taehyung’s condemnation, a wound that would never heal. Because the true agony wasn’t her death, but the realization that he was the cause of it—indirectly, like a seed planted maliciously, unable to be stopped by the one who sowed it. His curse was a sentence to live in endless isolation, where every attempt at love would be a mortal danger to anyone who came near him. Every glance, every smile, every embrace would be his last.

“Why was I born? Why me?” he thought, as his body trembled under the weight of the memory. There was no answer, only the chill that invaded every corner of his soul.

Taehyung knew that his existence was a sentence, a punishment for something he couldn’t remember, but which seemed written in the stars, in the runes of his family. He had tried to ignore that bond, to escape it, but he couldn’t. The truth was too painful: the curse was tied to him, to his soul, to his very existence. Every day, every moment, was a blow to the heart.His father, King Taeryeon, had never shown him affection. He had always been distant, a cold and stern authority. He treated him like a burden, a shame, a mistake to be endured. He looked at him with eyes full of contempt, constantly reminding him that he was the cause of the tragedy that had destroyed the royal family. There was no room for forgiveness, no space for love. The death of his mother had marked their relationship like a brand that could never be erased. Taehyung was nothing but a stain on his kingdom, a scar on his legacy.

“I was never a son to him,” Taehyung thought, trying to suppress the tears that threatened to escape. His father’s words echoed in his head, cold as ice. Every time the king looked at him, Taehyung felt alone, abandoned. So, he could do nothing but try to survive, to distance himself from anyone who cared for him, to hide behind a wall of coldness and distance. His existence was a prison, a life that offered him no freedom, because his freedom meant death for someone else.

The night passed like any other night for the prince, as it had since he had grown old enough to regret his existence—painful, restless, full of memories he would have liked to forget in order to live as though he were not the cause of that pain.

That morning, the sun did not rise above the castle, as if the sky itself had decided to cast a veil of sadness over the atmosphere. The wind blew relentlessly through the high walls, like an unsettling whisper, and the cold air seemed to seep into a silence heavier than any word. Taehyung felt it, that silence, as if it were a part of him, as if it had always accompanied him, every day of his life, until it became an inseparable part of his existence.

A light knock on his door woke him, interrupting the flow of his thoughts. In a polite but uncertain voice, the servant announced, "Prince Taehyung, it is time to rise. The king is waiting for you."

Taehyung sighed, tiredly. He knew what it meant to be summoned by his father. There were no joyful ceremonies, no hope that the day would bring anything different. It was always the same. A gray and heavy day, without any hues of color.

A couple of servants entered the room, silent as shadows, and began preparing for the daily ritual. The prince had no choice. "Hurry up," he said, his voice sounding more like a weary request than an order.

One of the maids gently helped him rise from the bed, as if afraid of breaking him. "Your highness must be ready for the king’s council," she said as she led him toward the grand private bath, a place that seemed to belong to another world, far removed from his sad reality.

"There’s no need to do all this for me," Taehyung murmured, looking at the maid. She will never get used to this, he thought to himself. He always felt that invisible barrier between him and others. Even they, who served him with respect, seemed light-years away from him.

“Forgive me, your highness,” the maid responded, with a slight bow. “It is our duty to serve you to the best of our ability.”

Taehyung said nothing but followed without protest. Elegant clothes were laid out for him to wear—an outfit that seemed more like armor than a simple robe. The fine fabric and the golden embroidery weighed heavily on him, but he wore it as he must. The same loneliness he felt in his heart, he felt in the clothes that were sewn onto his body."Be careful with the collar, I don't want any wrinkles," ordered one of the maids as they carefully adjusted his clothes. Taehyung allowed them to do so, without the slightest hint of emotion.

After being combed and perfectly arranged, Taehyung found himself in front of the mirror. A man he no longer recognized. He was no longer the boy who only needed someone to love him. He was just an elegant figure, but soulless. Yet, a part of him still yearned for something more, a spark of something he could never have.

When his appearance was finally deemed satisfactory by the servants, one of them escorted him to the throne room. The long corridor that separated him from the king's room felt eternal, as though the palace itself was watching him, judging him.

As he walked, his steps echoed in the silence of the empty court.

The servant led him to the grand throne room, where the king awaited him, seated on his golden throne, surrounded by guards and advisors. His face, solid and impassive, betrayed no emotion. There was no smile for his son, no sign of affection. Taehyung knelt before the throne, even though he didn't want to, but he knew the gesture was an obligation, not a choice.

"Rise, Taehyung," the king commanded in a voice that allowed no argument.

The prince slowly rose, feeling the cold of the stone bricks against his bare feet. Each step, like a cold caress on his skin, seemed heavier than the last. The room around him was still, as though time itself had stopped, and the king looked at him without a word, his gaze unreadable. He was no longer the father Taehyung had known, but a distant, impassive figure, studying him as if he were another stranger.

"You know, I have received word from certain wizards and priests who claim to have ancient knowledge, secrets passed down through forgotten generations. They say there is an artifact, an item that could break the curse that has tormented you for so long. An object engraved with runes, covered in symbols that only the most skilled can decipher. This artifact, if found and used correctly, might be the key to ending the curses that afflict us... and perhaps, it could free you from the burden you carry."

The king paused for a moment, as if he wanted those words to resonate in Taehyung's mind, then continued with the same calm tone, but with an inflection that suggested some form of condescension. "I understand that your fate has been sealed, that you have been brought into this existence without any choice of your own. But this is your opportunity, Taehyung. The opportunity to prove that you can be useful, that the weight of your name is not just a condemnation, but a chance for redemption. It is not only our kingdom that awaits your return, but also your spirit. If you can find this artifact... perhaps not only the kingdom will be free from your curse, but you yourself will be free from your torment."

There was no compassion, only a well-thought-out plan, a trick masked as a promise of hope. The king wasn't trying to save his son, but to rid himself of a burden, using his mission as a kind of justification.

"I am sure you understand," he said, his gaze more of a warning than a true expression of affection, "this is a task we cannot delegate to anyone else. There are no alternatives, Taehyung. You must do it. For the good of the kingdom... and for your own good."

His words were wrapped in a veil of delicate lies, presenting his command as a path to salvation. But Taehyung, though unable to see clearly the truth behind those words, felt the weight of that command, and something in his heart began to freeze.

Chapter Text

The sun rose lazily behind the distant mountains when Taehyung passed through the grand gates of the palace. No one greeted him. No servant came forward to help him prepare, no farewell words were spoken. It was as though his existence had already been erased, even before he left.

The night before, his father had simply placed a map on the table between them, without lifting his gaze from the documents he was signing. "Tomorrow you will leave. Follow this road," the king's voice echoed through the vast hall, devoid of warmth or hesitation. He set the map down with a mechanical gesture, not taking his eyes off the papers. "According to the scriptures, within the Sanctuary of Light lies a divine artifact capable of breaking even the most powerful curses." Only then did he look up at Taehyung, scrutinizing him with a penetrating gaze, as if assessing an object rather than a son. "This is your purpose, your opportunity." The tone was flat, final, with no trace of hesitation or remorse. A curt order, given without room for reply.

Taehyung stood motionless, his fingers tightening against his palms, waiting for his father to say more, to add something—anything. A warning, a justification, even an insult would have been better. But nothing came. After a brief moment of tense silence, his father turned the page, as though the son standing before him had never existed.

That night, Taehyung studied the map under the flickering candlelight, trying to make sense of it. There was nothing familiar, no recognizable landmarks. It was a road carefully drawn, yet with no real destination. He had been sent away, and no matter how much he tried to convince himself it was an opportunity, something within him rejected the idea. There was a bitter aftertaste to it all, a persistent feeling that made him feel like a disposable pawn on a chessboard too vast to comprehend. Why had his father, so distant, not said anything more? He tried to shake off that weight, to focus on the idea of an artifact capable of breaking his curse. But he couldn't help but wonder: why now? Why alone? The doubt followed him like a silent shadow, creeping between his steps.

The morning air was fresh and clear, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and freshly cut grass. His routine was the same as always, but with a different weight. He had packed his bag alone, with slow, almost hesitant movements, as if each gesture was burdened by a weight that held him back. The cloak slipped through his fingers before he could drape it over his shoulders, and the fabric, too light against his skin, gave him a sense of emptiness rather than protection. He stood still before the gate for a long moment, breath held, fingers tightening around the strap of his bag. His heart hammered in his chest, but the rest of his body seemed prisoner to a subtle inertia, as if part of him refused to step beyond that threshold. It was the first time he was stepping outside the secure walls of his gilded prison, yet he felt no fear. Only a strange sense of lightness, as though something inside him had been broken.

The journey began in silence. The bag, heavy with things he didn’t even know if he would ever use, hung from the side of his horse, making a soft but constant sound with every step. The cloak, too elegant for the path he was on, brushed against his skin like a promise of a world that no longer made sense. Every movement of the horse seemed to take him further from the palace, as if each step was a step into the unknown, yet his body followed an automatic routine, as if everything had already been decided. Inside, however, something twisted. His breath became shorter, and his mind couldn’t stop the flurry of thoughts. He looked at the landscape that slid slowly past him, but nothing was familiar. Only the dusty road, the silence surrounding him, and the weight of a mission he hadn’t asked for. The horse moved steadily forward, but every step seemed a reminder of something he could never reclaim. One step after another, with no chance of turning back.The path that wound out of the palace led him through lush hills and cultivated fields. The farmers moved like cogs in a well-oiled machine, intent on working the land beneath the sun, which was now growing warmer. Taehyung watched them with curious eyes, almost with envy: they seemed to have a purpose, a sense of belonging to a world that had always been denied to him. As he crossed the hills, the morning air—fresh and heavy with the scent of earth and cut grass—felt like a sharp blow to his body, accustomed to the sterile and perfect air of the palace. The dusty path beneath his boots was a stark contrast to the glossy marble floors that were familiar to him, and the smell of dust, mingling with the scent of simple life, hit him like a punch. Every step he took moved him further away from the golden protection of the palace walls, as though he were breaking through an invisible veil between two separate worlds.

Each step took him farther from the place he had always called home and closer to a world he did not know. The thought should have filled him with excitement, with the adrenaline of the imminent adventure. Yet, everything was veiled by a subtle melancholy, a sense of deception he couldn't shake off. The awareness that his father had sent him away not to save him, but to rid himself of him, weighed on him like a constant shadow.

By the time he finally reached the village, the sun was high in the sky, a golden beacon lighting up every corner of the world. The air, thick with enveloping fragrances, carried with it the aroma of freshly baked bread and spices that blended in a sweet, warm embrace, like a distant memory of home. The dusty streets were traversed by simple yet vibrant humanity: women with serene smiles chatted as baskets full of fresh fruit swayed on their hips, men with hands marked by labor carved wood or forged metal with an energy that seemed almost to dance in rhythm with their breath.

The village that opened before him was a whirlwind of colors, sounds, and smells that were completely foreign to him: the frantic clamor of voices, the chatter of children, and the crackling calls of the vendors—everything blended into a symphony of chaos that had nothing to do with the deliberately empty silence of the imperial chambers. The people, dressed in simple, worn clothes, walked with steady steps, while he, in his refined cloak that caught on the branches of trees and the dust, seemed out of place—a polished stranger in a world he had never asked to know.

The noise of life, of laughter and voices intertwining, filled every corner, penetrating the folds of every gesture, as though the village itself were a heart beating to the rhythm of an existence Taehyung had never known. The cries of the vendors trying to attract passersby, the children running between market stalls—everything felt like a song of freedom, contrasting sharply with the empty, lifeless silence of the cold palace walls he had just left behind.

He paused for a moment, taking it all in with eyes full of wonder and a hidden longing he didn’t know how to express. Every face he crossed, every movement, every laugh seemed light-years away from the solitude he had learned to live with in his gilded world, one devoid of warmth. It was a world that felt so alive, so full of the little daily joys that he couldn’t fully comprehend, as though the affection that had always been denied to him poured into every corner of that square.Taehyung felt like a foreigner in that place, yet at the same time, somehow, he felt that he was finally touching something real—something that had always eluded him. He couldn’t quite define what it was, but that moment felt almost sacred, as though he was about to cross a threshold that would forever change his path. Every breath, every step he took in that land that did not belong to him, seemed to whisper a truth he had always tried to ignore.

The frantic sound of meat sizzling on the grill and the intense aroma rising in the air guided him toward a tavern hidden among the dusty streets of the village. It was a solid wooden building, weathered and worn by the passage of years. The sign above the door, once painted in bright colors, now showed only traces of what it had been, faded by time and neglect. The letters were blurred, as though the world itself was trying to forget this place.

Taehyung stopped his horse in front of the tavern, the animal's breath heavy and labored, and with a fluid motion, he draped his cloak over his shoulders. The fine fabric of his garment, with its shimmering reflections, bent slightly under the movement, but Taehyung made sure it wasn’t too noticeable. This wasn’t the place to display the luxury of his attire, so he tried to hide every trace of himself that might betray him.

He tied the horse’s reins to a nearby post, out of sight from those who might notice the distinction between the animal and the others crowding the area. The horse fidgeted a bit, but Taehyung stroked its neck with a calm, reassuring gesture. Then, with a quick check of his faithful companion, he moved away, feeling the dull crunch of uneven ground beneath his feet as he headed toward the tavern door.

As soon as he crossed the threshold, the impact was immediate. The scent of hurriedly poured beer, mixed with the acrid smoke rising from the candles and fires, hit him with almost physical force. The air inside was dense and warm, as though the tavern itself were breathing, exhaling its humidity and heat from the worn wooden walls. Every corner seemed saturated with that mixture of smells—sweat, spices, cooked meat, and the earthy scent that follows lively, crowded places.

The room was a lively chaos of voices, raucous laughter, and the sounds of utensils clashing against metal plates. Massive, rough-hewn wooden tables, worn down by time, were scattered throughout the room, occupied by men and women who seemed oblivious to the outside world. They laughed unabashedly, spoke loudly, gesturing theatrically as they drank and ate in abundance. There was no shame, no fear of expressing a joy that was as brutal as it was liberating. Their faces were marked by hardship, the scars of tough lives, but they shone with a kind of ruggedness that made their humanity sparkle.

The contrast between that world and his own essence, so different, struck him like a wave. The raucous laughter, the clinking of glasses and plates, the rustling of food-stained tablecloths... everything seemed to belong to another dimension. Taehyung lingered at the doorway for a moment, observing carefully, feeling the weight of the place that welcomed him with a strange familiarity, but also with its relentless call to a simple life, without masks or pretenses.It was then that Taehyung noticed them, near an empty table he was heading toward. Two young men were engaged in a conversation, their words silent but thick with tension. They were distant from the laughter and chatter of the others, as if they had created a small bubble around them, a world apart. The first, with dark, messy hair falling over his eyes, had a sharp gaze, as though he were always a step ahead of everyone else. His smile was subtle, barely there, curling at the corners of his lips with the air of someone who knew something the others did not. He seemed like the type of person who took pleasure in dissembling, in playing with words without ever revealing too much of himself.

The second, taller and decidedly more muscular, held a mug of beer in his hand. His calloused, sturdy hands gripped the metal with an almost animalistic force. His dark eyes were fixed on the other man, but his expression betrayed a mix of amusement and frustration, as though he were trying to control himself, but failing to do so completely.

As Taehyung moved toward his table, he was unconsciously drawn to the scene. He hadn’t intended to listen, but the words of the two young men slipped into his mind like an irresistible whisper.

The shorter man tilted his head, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he leaned just a little closer to the other man. "Funny, for someone who cries when enjoying the touch of others at night, you sure are full of confidence during the day."

The muscular man stiffened for a moment before responding with a sneering grin. "I could say the same about you, Jimin. Remember how you begged me to take you after you threw a tantrum when I struck the traveler before you could even steal his trousers? We’re both capable of playing this game."

Jimin chuckled, bringing the mug to his lips and absentmindedly surveying the tavern. It was at that moment that he noticed him.

Unintentionally, Taehyung found himself listening, as if their words had a magnetic pull on him, and despite wanting to pull away, an increasing curiosity kept him there.

Jimin held the reins of the conversation, his words a mix of play and challenge, but his mind never stopped, always searching for new opportunities. While he continued talking to Jungkook, his eyes, almost effortlessly, roamed over the room, noting every detail like a hunter scanning the ground for tracks. Nothing could escape him, not even the arrival of a new figure making its way through the crowd.

The door creaked open with a faint squeak, but it was the scent that hit him first: the smell of fine leather, of elegance, sharply contrasting with the stench of smoke and beer that filled the tavern. Jimin smiled to himself, his fingers pausing for a moment on his mug as his gaze slid toward the threshold. That was all it took to understand. The young man who had just entered, standing tall with his cloak falling delicately over his shoulders, was different. He was the outsider, the intruder, and he would surely bring something interesting with him.

Jimin couldn’t help but notice the small details: the way the young man, clearly uncomfortable, moved between the tables, the noble air he tried to conceal among the rough crowd. His presence stood out, despite the ostentatious indifference. A sly smile spread across Jimin’s face as he tilted his head slightly, his eyes glinting with an intriguing spark.

"Well, well," he murmured to Jungkook without looking away. "A pigeon that’s wandered into the right place."
Jungkook, absorbed in his drink, glanced up absentmindedly, but Jimin had already locked his gaze on Taehyung, sharp and direct, like an arrow poised to strike. It wasn’t just his appearance that had caught his attention, but the way he moved, his hesitation—almost imperceptible—that betrayed his unfamiliarity with this world. It was a sign that the boy had something that could be taken.

Jimin knew how to recognize an opportunity when he saw one. He wasn’t just a thief; he was an expert at sensing the right moment, the precise instant when someone was about to become an easy prey. This young noble, with his elegant cloak and innocent air, would never have imagined that he’d end up in the sights of someone like Jimin. Jimin had already started calculating, imagining what would be easiest to steal, catching glimpses of every small vulnerability.

He smiled wider, a smile that hid nothing good, and whispered to Jungkook, "Watch out, it looks like someone has come to be a rich catch."

Jungkook, with a curious expression, turned slightly, but Jimin had already begun his game. The tavern was full of noise, but for him, the world had narrowed down to that young noble, that face that would be his, that prize he could already see in his hands.

Taehyung sat quietly, his body stiff, but his mind far away, wandering among his thoughts, detached from the chaos around him. The tavern buzzed with sounds and movements, yet he seemed completely unaware of it all. His posture, perfectly composed, betrayed an education far removed from this place, yet there was something in his eyes, the subtle distance he maintained from everyone, that made it clear he didn’t belong to this world. Every movement he made, even the smallest, seemed too measured, too refined for such a raw environment. The cloak draped over his shoulders, the fine fabric that caught the light delicately, was a clear sign that, no matter how much he tried to hide it, the boy was not like the others. And Jimin knew it, and he knew how to exploit it.

A subtle, intriguing smile played on Jimin’s lips as he observed Taehyung with a glint of curiosity in his dark eyes. It was a game he enjoyed playing: recognizing those like Taehyung, the nobles who tried to disguise themselves, to blend in with the crowd, as though the air they breathed was different, as though their gaze was something else, as though the world surrounding them was nothing more than a performance. And yet, this was where they were wrong. His experience told him that such a boy would be easy to manipulate, easy to strike.

And the hunt, as always, was about to begin.

Chapter Text

With a calm and controlled stride, he rises from his seat and makes his way toward Taehyung, unhurried, letting his body move with the grace of a predator who knows its prey is already within its grasp. Jimin doesn’t need to rush. His movement is slow, deliberate—every step part of a plan already laid out in his mind. It’s not just the treasure he sees in Taehyung; it’s also the anger burning inside him—the same anger he harbors toward every elite, toward those who have ruined his people, those who have allowed his life to fall apart.

Jimin’s rage is deeply rooted in his past, steeped in suffering and disillusionment. Raised in an environment where survival was the only law, he was forced to fight from a young age to carve out a place in a world that treated him as invisible. Born into a poor, exploited family, he watched his dreams shatter every time the system trampled over him. He never had the luxury of a carefree youth; he learned early that to thrive in this world, one had to be willing to do anything—even betray, steal, and manipulate.

His anger is a reaction against a system that not only marginalized him but also forced him to live in the shadows of others, to feel inferior. He learned not to trust anyone, to use his intelligence and charm to get what he wanted. But more than anything, his resentment is fueled by a deep-seated hatred for those who caused his suffering—the upper class, the privileged, families like Taehyung’s. Seeing a young noble, dressed in fine clothes and exuding elegance, stepping into a place like the tavern is a direct affront to Jimin’s frustration. It is as if Taehyung’s mere presence there, among people who had always been despised by his kind, was a reminder of the power of those who had everything, while Jimin and his people never had a chance to change their fate.

This anger is not just about social class. Jimin also harbors deep resentment over the fact that his pain and struggles have been ignored, never seen or understood by those who lived in luxury. Every fake smile thrown his way, every look of disdain he received from people like Taehyung, is a wound that has festered over time. Jimin has never had the chance to be more than a tool in the hands of others, and this realization has shaped him into the man he is today—calculating, manipulative, and painfully aware of how little his life is worth compared to that of the nobles.

Yet, at the heart of it, his rage is also a form of vengeance. It is his chance to prove that he endured, that he survived, and that now it is time for people like Taehyung to feel what he has suffered his entire life. His game with Taehyung is not just about power or money—it is a way to show that, despite everything, he is still standing, and that no one, not even someone as refined and elegant as Taehyung, can ignore the pain he carries within him.

When he reaches Taehyung’s table, Jimin pauses for a moment, assessing him with a gaze that leaves nothing to chance. Then, with a smile that appears friendly but conceals a hint of disdain, he begins the conversation.

"A young gentleman like you in a place like this?" he says, his voice low but laced with irony. "You must be here for something very interesting. Or perhaps you’re just curious to see how those who have never had gold at their fingertips live?"

Jimin's words are a judgment disguised as a casual question. Every phrase is an indirect attack on Taehyung’s privileged position. He knows those words will unsettle him, make him feel out of place. But Jimin is not just a thief; he is also a master in the art of manipulation. He knows it well: a few words are enough to lure someone into his web.

It’s not just money that Jimin wants, but the chance to inflict a small wound, to bring out the anger he feels toward people like Taehyung who have made his life so difficult. Every noble is, to him, a symbol of oppression, a target to strike, a wound that must be addressed. And Taehyung, with his elegance and noble demeanor, is the perfect prey.

At the table, Jungkook slowly sips his beer, his gaze fixed on the opaque surface of the mug, as if he were a distant observer in a scene that no longer concerns him. His body is relaxed, but his mind is elsewhere, in a place far from that tavern, far from Jimin’s company and everyone else’s. Life has taught him not to care about anything, let alone the power plays weaving around him. A former fighter, bought as a child and raised to entertain the nobles, he has never truly had a choice. To him, the world has become a stage where no one really has control.

And yet, despite his apparent apathy, Jungkook watches everything from the corner of his eye. It’s as if every movement, every word, is just an echo reverberating in his disillusioned heart. Jimin moves with his usual confidence, but there is a spark in him that makes him different. There is anger, a flame that cannot be extinguished. When Jimin approaches Taehyung, his steps are calm, measured, but his eyes do not lie. He has already decided: that stranger, that young noble who does not belong in this place, is his prey.

Jungkook says nothing. He does not stop Jimin, nor does he interfere. His indifference to the world moving around him is absolute. He knows Jimin sees the world differently than he does, but in the end, for both of them, survival is what matters most. The anger burning inside Jimin is tangible, almost palpable, and yet Jungkook cannot find within himself the will to intervene. It is no longer his job to stop anyone or play the role of a guardian. He simply observes, like a spectator who has already seen enough.

His gaze then shifts to Taehyung, whose presence seems out of place in that tavern. There is something about him that does not blend with the environment, with the rough faces and calloused hands surrounding him. Taehyung is distant, too distant. He never truly looks at anyone, as if he wants to stay out of the games being played, as if he is aware that his belonging to that world was never a real choice. Jungkook, despite his apathy, cannot help but notice how Taehyung intrigues him. He is not like other young nobles. There is a resistance in him, a desire to remain indifferent to everything, even when, perhaps, that is not truly possible. But Jungkook does not approach, does not offer words of comfort or advice. He does not care enough.

Meanwhile, Jimin continues to play his part. His voice is low, smooth, every word a carefully placed lure for Taehyung. His anger is a spark that fuels the fire of his manipulation. But while Jimin’s game unfolds with his usual mastery, Jungkook remains still, his gaze lost in the void. It is not that he does not see, but there is nothing compelling him to act. The world around him is like a carousel that never stops spinning, and he no longer has the desire to get on.

Taehyung, though accustomed to receiving looks of disdain from those who saw him only as a symbol of an oppressive system, had never faced a rage as palpable as Jimin’s. Every word Jimin spoke felt like a finely sharpened blade, but what disturbed Taehyung the most was the awareness that his behavior was not casual, that it was not mere contempt. It was something deeper, something personal."You know," Jimin continued in a low, almost whispered voice, "people like you never realize how little they truly matter at the end of the day. What could a man in a gold-embroidered shirt really do in a world that has forgotten those who built that wealth?"

Each word felt like poison seeping into Taehyung’s veins. A weight pressed against his chest, as if he were trapped between Jimin’s scorn and his own sense of helplessness—a feeling he had never experienced with such intensity before. In that moment, his life of privilege and protection seemed to slowly crumble, like a sandcastle caught in a storm.

Jimin wasn’t just trying to manipulate the situation; he was dismantling Taehyung’s world piece by piece, and he did it with a surgical precision that made him even more terrifying. Every word from Jimin felt like a challenge, a confirmation of everything Taehyung had always known but had never been forced to confront with such raw anger. His lack of response at that moment hurt him more than anything else.

As Taehyung struggled to grasp a sense of himself amidst the chaos, Jimin’s game continued. There was no escape—not even for him. The challenge wasn’t just directed at Taehyung but at everything he represented. The upper class, luxury, the system that had crushed lives like Jimin’s. Every gesture, every word, gave Jimin power. It was like a venom wrapping around him, forcing Taehyung to see his reality with sharper, but also more wounded, eyes.

Taehyung, with a smile tinged with subtle irony, responded to Jimin with a coldness that struck like a velvet glove hiding a fist of iron. "How pitiful," he said, his voice calm but laced with disdain. "A man who seems to have no other purpose in life but to judge those who have more than he does. You should know that your resentment will never take you anywhere. You might as well start reflecting on yourself instead of unloading your frustration onto others."

Taehyung’s words lingered in the air, sharp as a finely honed blade. He didn’t realize, however, that his judgment cut deeper than he had intended. Jimin stood frozen for a moment, his face morphing into a mask of suppressed rage. He hadn’t expected such a response, yet that venomous critique, spoken with such detachment, struck him like a lash. His eyes burned with a fury he couldn’t quite control.

Jungkook, seated on the other side of the table, immediately noticed Jimin’s reaction. His body tensed, muscles poised to react, as a palpable tension spread through the air. He didn’t need words to understand that the situation was veering into dangerous territory. Taehyung’s irony, coupled with his perceived superiority, had pushed Jimin to a breaking point—a point that could no longer be ignored. Jungkook knew that the spark of anger in Jimin could turn into something much darker. His experience told him that Jimin’s psychological games never came without consequences.

"Stop it," Jungkook murmured, his voice low but authoritative. His hand lifted slowly, pausing between Jimin and Taehyung. "This isn’t the time."

For a moment, Jimin stared at Jungkook in disbelief. He hadn’t expected anyone to intervene. His plan had been so perfect, his anger so justified. But something in Jungkook—an unspoken shadow that flickered through his gaze—made him pause. It made him hesitate, if only for a second. He couldn’t afford to lose control. His life had always been a series of battles, and a single wrong move could cost him everything. Jimin’s anger was a caged beast, but now the cage was stronger than he was willing to admit.Jimin clenched his teeth, irritation palpable, but then lowered his gaze and stepped back slightly—not before throwing one last, searing glare at Taehyung. His heart pounded furiously in his chest, but he knew now wasn’t the time to push further. A public fight would be too risky, yet the desire to hurt Taehyung lingered, fueled by the words he had just heard.

As the tension in the air began to wane, a small but crucial detail went unnoticed by most. Jimin, with quick and furtive movements, had taken advantage of the distraction to steal something from Taehyung. His hand had slipped into the prince’s pocket, extracting a carefully folded parchment without being detected. He knew it was something important, but there was no time to examine it now. The map he now held in his hands could be the key to something far greater than he had ever imagined.

As Jimin stepped out of the tavern, his eyes gleamed with hunger. It wasn’t just revenge that drove him—it was the opportunity he had just seized. The map in his hands was the first step toward a path that could change his life forever.

Jungkook, his brow furrowed and arms crossed over his chest, could no longer tolerate Jimin’s behavior. It wasn’t the first time they had clashed, but this time, the tension between them was suffocating. Jimin, with his defiant arrogance, had pushed Jungkook past the limits of his patience.

"You’re such an idiot," Jungkook snapped, his voice low but brimming with anger. "You can’t keep acting like this. Don’t you ever realize how much you’re ruining everything?"

"Who cares?" Jimin shot back instantly, his face twisted in frustration and resentment. "You don’t understand anything! You never understand anything! What do you expect me to do, huh? Sit around and wait to die like you—silent, always under someone else’s control?"

His tone was laced with sarcasm and venom, but Jungkook didn’t flinch. He met Jimin’s gaze, his own eyes burning with restrained fury—yet beneath it, there was an understanding Jimin refused to see.

"It’s not about waiting to die in silence, Jimin," he retorted sharply. "It’s about learning to think before you act. This isn’t a game. And it’s not a game for you, either. You should know by now that we can’t afford to make reckless mistakes like this."

Jimin let out a bitter laugh. "And what about you, Jungkook? Why don’t you tell me what to do instead of lecturing me? You’re just a blacksmith, not a free man. You have no idea what it means to be me!"

"You’re wrong," Jungkook replied, his voice dropping slightly as if he were struggling to contain his anger. "I’ve lived through hell you can’t even imagine. But at least I don’t give up."

"Ugh, enough!" Jimin scoffed, shaking his head. "You’re always the same—boring, full of your self-righteous morality. You don’t understand anything. I’m leaving before you start lecturing me again about how your life was so terrible and now you think you’re better than me just because you became a blacksmith. I won’t bow down to those who caused this pain in my life—you should be thanking me."

And with that, Jimin turned on his heel, disappearing into the midday sun, while Jungkook let out a frustrated sigh.“I should be thanking him for nothing. Every time, he almost gets us killed, and yet, like an idiot, I still save him despite his terrible attitude.”

But as their tempers remained ignited, Jimin paused for a moment, glancing down at the piece of parchment hidden in his hands. His fingers traced the delicate lines of the map. He didn’t truly recognize the place—The Sanctuary of Light. As far as he knew, it was just an old ruin, one of those places that had once been sacred but were now forgotten, worn down by time. And yet, something about the map made him think there was more to it.

“What could be so special about that sanctuary to attract the attention of a noble like him?”

He sighed, staring down the dark alley where he stood. As he thought, his heart began to beat faster. A growing curiosity stirred within him, an impulse he couldn’t ignore.

Still keeping the parchment hidden in his pocket, Jimin navigated through the dark alleys, moving through the shadows of streets he knew all too well. Despite the anger still simmering in his chest from his argument with Jungkook, he couldn't ignore the nagging urge to seek him out. At that moment, the only thought that consumed him was the map—and the curiosity of what could be so important in the Sanctuary of Light that even a noble like Taehyung would want to go there.

Jimin let a few hours pass before deciding to approach Jungkook again. He had calmed down and no longer felt the urge to leave him bleeding in an alley, so now seemed like the right time to talk about what he had stolen.

When he finally reached Jungkook’s small workshop, the rhythmic clanging of metal and hammer echoed endlessly. Jimin stopped at the entrance, watching the young man work. Sweat beaded on Jungkook’s forehead, his expression serious as always. But when he noticed Jimin’s presence, his demeanor remained unchanged.

“What do you want?” Jungkook growled, not pausing his work. “Wasn’t what I told you earlier enough?”

“I’m trying to understand,” Jimin began, stepping forward with quick but deliberate strides, “what could be so special about that place—the Sanctuary of Light. Why do you think a young noble would want to go there? What could convince someone like him to abandon his gilded life for a ruin? The old gods no longer dwell in those sanctuaries.”

Jungkook scoffed, finally lifting his gaze to Jimin, though he didn’t stop hammering the metal. “How should I know? I’m not a noble like him. But I can tell you one thing—the Sanctuary of Light is nothing but a pile of ruins. It was a temple once, if I remember correctly. But now? Just dust and stone. The real question is, why do you care?”

“Because it’s strange,” Jimin answered, as if it were obvious. “I stole this.” He pulled out the parchment, letting it flutter in front of Jungkook’s eyes. “And I don’t understand what could be so interesting about a place like that.”Jungkook stared at the map for a moment, his piercing eyes fixed on the parchment as if trying to decipher it. Then, with a slight shrug, he returned to his work, seemingly uninterested.

"I don't know, Jimin. It's not like I care much about what nobles do. I'm a blacksmith, and I already spend all day sweating just to earn my bread. I don't have time to guess other people's mysteries."

Jimin took a step forward, his expression exasperated. "Do you think this is just about curiosity? You're wrong, Jungkook. This could be an opportunity. The chance to gain something. Something we've never had."

Jungkook stopped hammering the metal and looked at him, his face betraying a mix of skepticism and concern. "Don't do it, Jimin. Just don't. Because in the end, this will only destroy you. I'm not convinced that shrine will give you anything worth the risk."

"But I want to know what's there!" Jimin snapped, his tone growing more insistent as he stepped even closer. "What are you so afraid of, huh? Do you really want to stay here all day hammering iron while the world changes around you?"

"It's not the world changing—it's you who's obsessed with this," Jungkook scoffed, growing tired of the conversation. "I told you, I don't have time for this. Not everything has to have some deep meaning. Some things just are, and that's it."

"I don’t believe that," Jimin countered, more determined than ever. "There has to be something more. Maybe that shrine isn't just ruins—maybe it's the key to something bigger. Something that could help us. What do you think?"

Jungkook hesitated, giving Jimin a strange look. "You're so damn stubborn. But do whatever you want. I’m not following you on some wild adventure that’ll probably lead to nothing."

But Jimin wasn’t discouraged. "Then I'll go alone. It doesn't matter if you don't understand." With a swift movement, he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Jungkook staring after him, perplexed.

Meanwhile, as the two continued their tense exchange, Taehyung was already outside the tavern, ready to mount his horse and set off. But something stopped him. His hands instinctively patted his pockets, searching through his belongings, and a sudden wave of panic washed over him.

"Where the hell is it?" he muttered under his breath, his heartbeat accelerating. "The map! It can’t be gone!"

Frantically, Taehyung started searching, his fingers brushing over his saddle, rummaging through his bags. But the map—the crucial key to his mission—was nowhere to be found.

He had no idea how it had disappeared, but in that moment, he realized that his hope of reaching the Sanctuary of Light and uncovering the truth behind everything that was happening to him hinged entirely on that map.

And now, without it, he felt completely lost.

Chapter Text

The world seemed to slow down as his hands trembled, frantically searching for the map he had with him just moments ago. Every movement felt aimless, every corner of the saddle and every pocket of his jacket explored with growing desperation. With each passing second, his breathing grew more ragged, as if time itself had become his enemy. The pounding of his heart echoed in his ears, louder and more insistent with every fleeting moment.

He knew that map wasn’t just a piece of paper—it was the key to his entire mission. Without it, his journey lost all meaning. The hope of reaching the Sanctuary of Light, of uncovering the truth behind the curse that tormented him, was tied to that fragile scrap of paper, like a flickering flame in the middle of a storm. And now, without it, he felt the darkness creeping into his heart.

His gaze darted around nervously, but there was no sign of it. The crowd around him moved with indifference, oblivious to his rising panic. The wind blew gently, yet to him, the world felt heavier, every breath a battle against the inevitable. Taehyung suddenly felt vulnerable, like a fish out of water, lost in a sea that threatened to pull him under without mercy.

His hands clenched into fists, knuckles turning white as his skin stretched tight. Every motion he made was a desperate search, as if his own body was trying to stitch together an invisible wound. His fingers skimmed the edges of the saddle, dug into the innermost pockets of his jacket—but the map wasn’t there. It wasn’t there.

"It can't be... It can't be gone," he murmured to himself, his voice trembling with both rage and helplessness. "How...?"

Each word he spoke felt carved into the empty air, and the panic threatened to consume him whole. His mind darkened, the thought of losing everything he had fought for suffocating him. But then, like a sudden grip tightening around his heart, a figure emerged from the crowd.

Taehyung felt as if his heart was hammering against his ribs. His hands trembled, his breath caught in his throat, but his attention was entirely locked onto the figure slipping away into the mass of people. The boy with the sharp smile. The way he moved, the confidence in his steps—it had struck him from the very first moment. He couldn’t look away. Something was off. Something wasn’t right.

A few steps behind him, another boy. The one with the bag slung over his shoulder. He was imposing, the shadow of his figure almost menacing, as if he knew he could be dangerous if he wanted to. The bag was too big. Too heavy. Taehyung wondered what was inside. His mind began to race. They had to have the map. It couldn’t be a coincidence. It was too obvious. It had to be them.

"It’s them," he thought, his breath growing more erratic. "They have the map."

The realization terrified him as much as it fueled his resolve. They must have taken it. There was no other explanation. His hand tightened around the collar of his jacket, his grip tense, as if trying to keep himself steady. He couldn’t let them escape with the map—not when everything depended on it.

Without another thought, he broke into a sprint, shoving past people, his steps unsteady but swift. He had no time to waste. He had to reach them. He had to stop them. He had to find out what was going on.When he finally caught up with them, the boy with the sharp smile stopped and stared at him. His eyes were gleaming, as if he had been expecting this moment. The other one, the one with the sack slung over his shoulder, seemed to ignore him entirely—but Taehyung knew better. He was watching, waiting, like a predator that had no need to rush.

The boy smiled, but his expression was disarmingly false. Jimin pretended to glance around, as if he had no idea why Taehyung was looking at him so intently.

"Looking for something?" he asked, whistling softly, as if he lived in a world of his own, as if this conversation was nothing but a passing amusement.

Taehyung didn't let his guard down, his breath still ragged, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. "Don’t play dumb. I know you took the map," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. "Give it back."

Jimin shrugged, utterly indifferent, his smile unwavering. "Ah, the map?" he echoed, as if it were the most trivial thing in the world. "What makes you think I took anything?"

Taehyung’s gaze darkened, but Jimin went on in that maddeningly relaxed tone, as if they were merely exchanging pleasantries. "Why would I take a map? I don’t even like maps. Too… predictable."

A wave of frustration surged inside Taehyung. "Don’t waste my time," he growled, his voice low and firm. "That map is all I have. It’s not something you can just brush off."

Jimin tilted his head, feigning curiosity, as if Taehyung had just said something absurd. "Oh, really? I had no idea it was that important," he mused, a mockery of surprise in his voice. "But, you know, life is complicated. Things don’t always go the way we want."

Without a care in the world, he toyed with a small object between his fingers, his eyes never leaving Taehyung. His smirk said everything and nothing at once.

"That map belongs to me," Taehyung said, his voice trembling with anger yet resolute. "Give it back."

Jimin let out a quiet chuckle, his smirk curling with something between amusement and disdain. "Ah, this is such noble talk, isn’t it?" he said, shaking his head with mock sympathy. "You rich folks never want to put in the effort, huh? You want everything handed to you, and when you don’t get your way… well, this happens. You remind us exactly where we stand in the food chain of this kingdom."

Taehyung's eyes burned with intensity, but Jimin was anything but intimidated. If anything, his smile widened, as if the real game was only just beginning.

"Because that’s how it is, right?" Jimin continued, his voice laced with a sharper edge. "Rich people think the whole world should kneel before them. And when they don’t get what they want, they get mad, they make themselves heard. But you can’t have everything, you know? Not everyone exists to serve your needs."

Taehyung's anger flared, but he held himself back—just barely. "That’s not—" he started, but Jimin cut him off with a lazy flick of his hand.

"I see it in you," Jimin said, his tone turning colder. "That look—‘I’m better than you.’ The kind that only people who have always been treated as special wear on their faces. The kind that says the world owes them something."

His gaze locked onto Taehyung’s, unwavering. "Yeah. I see it in you. But the world doesn’t owe you anything. Not anymore."

The words struck Taehyung like a punch to the gut. For a moment, he felt stripped bare, every illusion of superiority shattered. The weight of reality pressed down on him, suffocating.

But he couldn’t let Jimin see it. Not now. Not like this.

"It’s not like that," he said, his voice quieter, but firm. "I’m not who you think I am."
"Ah, you are," Jimin replied, a triumphant glint in his eyes. "That's why you need your map. Because without it, you feel lost, like a fish out of water. And there's nothing more amusing than watching someone like you, so used to being in control, lower yourself for something so... insignificant."

Jimin chuckled to himself, silencing any chance of rebuttal. "Pathetic."

Every word stung. But Taehyung didn't stop. Not yet. Every fiber of his being screamed that he had to win this battle. He had to. Because without the map, without that key, his entire journey would be in vain. The map wasn’t just a matter of survival; it was something more.

"Don't play dumb!" he exclaimed, his hands clenched into fists. "The map is mine, and you took it. Tell me where you've hidden it."

Jimin raised his hands, rolling his eyes as if he were forced to endure a complete misunderstanding. "Calm down, friend," he responded serenely. "I have no idea what you're talking about. And if I really had taken it, what do you think you’d do about it?"

The impulse overtook Taehyung. Without thinking, he lunged at Jimin, hands ready to grab him, to force him to tell the truth. But Jimin moved effortlessly, as if he had anticipated every one of his moves. Taehyung tried to strike, but Jimin countered with a swift movement, blocking his attack and sending him to the ground with a precise blow to the chest. Taehyung hit the ground hard, his breath knocked out of him.

"Don't underestimate me." Jimin said with a sneering smile, tilting his head slightly. "This is my world, and in my world, rich kids like you don’t even make a dent. You’d do well to stay in your place, rolling around in the dust and dirt."

"A poor wretch like me making a rich boy like you fall," Jimin whispered, leaning closer, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Maybe you should reflect on your place in this world."

Taehyung, panting, tried to get back on his feet, but his breath was short, and his rage clouded his vision. He didn’t want to look weak, despite the sense of loss and uselessness that had followed him for years. Before he could do anything else, a larger, more imposing figure stepped between them, interrupting the fight.

"Stop," Jungkook said firmly, positioning himself between the two. "Jimin, that's enough."

Jimin raised an eyebrow at him. "Let it go, Jungkook. He needs to learn how things work."

Jungkook nodded, but his gaze was serious. "This isn’t the time for fun, Jimin. And you," he said, looking at Taehyung with disdain, "stop. You have no chance against him."

Taking a deep breath, Jungkook moved toward Taehyung and grabbed him with a strength he hadn’t expected, lifting him up effortlessly. Taehyung felt powerless, trapped like a spider ensnared in a web. Despite all the anger and humiliation, he couldn’t break free from Jungkook’s grip, which held him as if he were nothing more than a sack of potatoes. Every struggle was futile. His arms were pinned, and his breathing grew more labored.

"Let me go!" he shouted, trying to wriggle free, but Jungkook’s grip didn’t loosen. His body, powerful and unyielding, was the chain that bound him to the fate Jimin had decided for him.

"Anyway, let’s not waste time. Let’s take him somewhere more private, away from prying eyes."

Jungkook, without saying a word, began to move, dragging Taehyung behind him. His steps were heavy but measured, while Jimin’s figure followed with a light, almost dancing gait. They headed toward a narrow alley, away from the noise and the people who might interfere with what was about to happen.

In the dark alley, where the sound of footsteps and breathing filled the air, Jimin stopped and turned to Taehyung. "Well, now that we’re far enough, this would be the perfect time to know your name, wouldn’t it?" Jimin’s smile was even more bitter, as if he found the situation amusing. "After all, you just heard mine and Jungkook’s. You wouldn’t want to be rude, would you?"

Taehyung, who had never had a chance to escape, resigned himself and answered, his gaze fixed on nothing. "I’m Taehyung." His voice betrayed a note of exhaustion, but not defeat. That answer wouldn’t change anything, but maybe, for a moment, he could seem human in Jimin and Jungkook’s eyes. After all, no one outside the castle knew his name. It was a cursed name, steeped in secrets and a fate that would prevent him from being recognized beyond the palace walls.

Jimin raised an eyebrow, as if he weren’t too surprised. "Taehyung, huh? Well, that’s too bad for you," he said, as if that revelation was just another confirmation of Taehyung’s status as a prisoner. Then, he turned to Jungkook. "And you? What do you think, Jungkook?"

"What should I think? You know I don’t agree with you. You’re just a hothead, so what else could I add to that truth?" Jungkook replied, exhaling in exhaustion.

"The usual. You should pull that stick out of your ass every now and then." Jimin scoffed in irritation before turning his gaze back to Taehyung. "You know, Taehyung, you might actually be useful," he said, his tone shifting suddenly. "I don’t know why, but I think you could serve our purpose. So we’re offering you a deal. Nothing personal. It’s not like we like you, but your map could be useful. At least for now."

Taehyung lifted his gaze, a mixture of disbelief and anger in his eyes. "And what should I do? Follow you around like a dog?" he asked, his words dripping with disdain. But deep inside, a small part of him started considering Jimin’s words. What else could he do? Stay and look for the map on his own? No. There was no time. Maybe this was the only way to find what he needed.

"Why not?" Jimin replied, his smirk turning playful. "We’re not so different, after all. And you, Taehyung, need us. The map isn’t the only thing we’re after. We’ll keep you around, not for your sake, but for ours. And if you’re smart enough, you won’t end up in a bad situation."

Jungkook, who had been silent until now, took a step forward. "This isn’t an offer. It’s a survival proposition. Either you come with us, or you stay here and let whoever finds you decide your fate."

He had no choice. He couldn’t stay here, like a fish out of water, trapped in their hands, and he couldn’t give in to the overwhelming feeling of helplessness either. His pride, which had sustained him until now, was slowly crumbling under the weight of the circumstances. He felt like a stranger in his own body, his mind a carousel of chaotic thoughts.

Every corner of his existence had always been under the control of his family, his origins, the unspoken laws that governed his life. But here, with Jungkook still holding him like a sack of potatoes, it was as if everything he had ever known had vanished in an instant."I’m coming with you," he said, his voice lower than he had ever spoken before. Yet there was a resoluteness in it that he couldn’t hide, not even from himself. The truth was clear: he had nothing left to lose. There were no more power games, no more golden palace to protect him. Only a world that would use him, just as it always did with the weak. And yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that maybe—just maybe—this was the moment when his life would truly change.

Jimin watched him with amused eyes, though there was a hint of contempt in his gaze. It felt like he was peeling away Taehyung’s layers, searching for every last remnant of hesitation still clinging to him. A smile played on his lips, but it was far from friendly. It was victory. And he knew it.

"Perfect," Jimin said, as if he had just gained something far greater than Taehyung could comprehend.

Beside him, Jungkook let go of his grip in a single, fluid motion. The sudden loss of restraint made Taehyung feel disoriented, the sensation of regained freedom fleeting and fragile. Only seconds ago, Jungkook’s grasp had been a stark reminder of his powerlessness—now, even though he was no longer held, he felt even more vulnerable.

Jimin took a slow step forward, measured and deliberate. "Let’s get one thing straight," he continued, his voice dripping with something sharp and poisonous. "We’ll take you with us, but don’t even think about running. Once you enter our game, there’s no way out."

His words hit Taehyung like a punch to the gut. A tight knot formed in his throat, but he forced himself to keep his expression unreadable. "It’s not like I have many options," he muttered, trying to sound less fragile than he felt. But deep down, he knew the truth—he could never really escape this. Even if he wanted to, there was no going back.

For a moment that felt like an eternity, Taehyung stood there, staring at Jimin and Jungkook. His mind buzzed, thoughts crashing over him like relentless waves. Was he really making this decision? Was he truly choosing to follow these two strangers into a path that promised nothing but danger and uncertainty?

And yet, somehow, he knew he had no other choice.

"Then let’s go," he finally said, the words leaving his lips with a strange finality. There was no hesitation left, only the understanding that he was stepping into something far greater than himself—but that he had no choice except to keep moving forward. "Take me. But know this—the map is only the beginning."

Jimin raised an eyebrow, a flicker of intrigue crossing his face. Then, with an enigmatic smirk, he gestured for Jungkook to move. "Let’s see how long you last," he said, his voice a mix of curiosity and challenge.

As Taehyung followed them into the darkened alley, he felt the weight of the unknown pressing down on him. Every step carried him deeper into an uncertain future, and he knew one thing for sure—there would be no turning back.

Chapter Text

The alley stretched out before him, narrow and shrouded in a darkness that felt timeless. The high walls, overgrown with ivy and moss, cast long, mysterious shadows that danced between light and gloom. Yet despite everything, the atmosphere felt strangely warm. The air, though thick with humidity, carried a certain softness—an inviting quality that wrapped around him like a blanket.

Despite the oppressive silence, there was something vital about the alley. The sound of footsteps, the gentle rustle of Taehyung’s clothes brushing against the wall, all seemed to follow a rhythm known only to that place. The alley, dark and hidden though it was, did not feel empty; it seemed to breathe, almost as if it had a life of its own, a soul buried deep within its cracks.

With every step, Taehyung wasn’t just moving forward into a new reality—he was approaching a feeling he couldn’t quite name. The fear and uncertainty that had clung to him until that moment seemed to melt away, replaced by something deeper, something undefinable. It wasn’t familiarity, but neither was it strangeness. It was as if the alley, in all its darkness, was offering him an unexpected refuge. A sensation that, while new and unsettling, made him feel closer to something long forgotten—a feeling of belonging to a world that did not reject him, but welcomed him.

The shadows dancing on the walls were not threatening, but full of life. A warmth, almost invisible yet tangible, permeated the space, contradicting the coldness of the streets they had walked before. And Taehyung, without even realizing it, found himself surrendering to that feeling. He allowed himself to be enveloped by the warmth, by the silent life pulsing between those walls. For a moment, he forgot the fear, forgot the worries. This was not a place of death or despair, but of life—hidden, secret life—that still beat in the heart of the city.

And as he drew nearer to the room where Jimin and Jungkook would receive him, Taehyung came face to face with a new and strangely comforting realization: in this place, perhaps for the first time, he did not feel completely alone.

Jimin walked without hurry, as if he knew every inch of the place, while Jungkook followed just behind, his heavy steps echoing in the stillness. Taehyung, who had lived his whole life surrounded by luxury and order, now found himself immersed in a reality that, despite its shadows, seemed to live in ways he could not explain. Each step took him further from the castle, from its cold, gray rooms where life had been nothing more than a hollow routine, weighed down by expectations and silence. Here, amid the chaos, he felt something stir—something that made him feel alive, though he didn’t know what it was.

Jimin turned to him with a smirk, his voice laced with mischief.
“You know,” he said mockingly, “we’re not keeping you out of charity. After all the trouble you caused, meddling in our business, I think the least you can do is offer a second meal. And those supplies will make a fine thank-you gift now that we’ve decided to let you stay.”

Taehyung said nothing, his gaze fixed on the stone floor as if trying to retreat from Jimin’s sharp words. But the truth was—he had no choice. He couldn’t fight it. All he could do was follow their pace, walk their path. And despite the disdain he felt for this game of power, part of him already knew how it would end.

Noticing his reaction, Jimin added with a sly grin,
“I bet you're not used to paying for others, huh? You rich folks just give orders and think that makes you special—people of worth.” His tone was biting, almost amused. “But now you’re one of us, so get used to facing reality.”
Taehyung didn’t answer. He let the words slip past him untouched, as if trying to keep them from entering his mind. He had learned not to react. In the castle, every word had been an invisible vice tightening around his heart, every smile a lie crafted to deceive him. But here, things were different. Jimin’s words didn’t pierce the same way—yet that gnawing sense of inadequacy remained.

Jungkook, who had kept a low profile until then, spoke up, his voice laced with a quiet sharpness.
“Jimin, enough. There’s no point in taking it out on him for everything you’ve been through,” he said, his tone silencing his companion instantly. “You won’t change the past by tormenting him.”

Jimin, taken aback, didn’t reply right away. But his gaze turned icy, and the tension between them rose—just for a moment. Taehyung noticed, but didn’t dare say a word. It wasn’t his place to interfere in the dynamics of this world. Not yet.

As they continued walking, the air around him began to shift. The alleyway slowly opened, leading them back toward the small tavern they had left behind, now standing beneath the sun like a quiet refuge. The smell of food and spices teased Taehyung’s hunger, but also stirred his discomfort. His mind drifted back to the castle: the refined meals, the life dictated by expectations, his footsteps echoing alone through vast, cold halls devoid of warmth. The chasm between that world and the one he now walked through felt immeasurable.

When they arrived, his horse stood waiting at the entrance of the tavern, tied to the post near the trough where he had left it. The loyal companion had followed him without complaint. Taehyung paused for a moment, watching the animal. There was something strange—something honest—about being greeted by a creature rather than by the cold grandeur of golden walls.

Jimin, who had since reclaimed his teasing tone, looked him over with a thin smile.
“I hope you brought enough coins, Taehyung. I’d hate to hear you complain if the food isn’t up to your noble standards—Count, or whatever you are.”
The tension in the air dissolved into the creak of the tavern door swinging open, welcoming them into the makeshift shelter that would mark their next step.

Jungkook, walking ahead, threw a last glance at Jimin—as if to remind him that now was not the time for games.

Beside him, Jungkook spoke again, without much interest, as though merely ticking off a duty.
“Don’t forget. We need to stock up on supplies,” he said, voice flat and devoid of warmth. “Don’t think you’ll get off easy.”

His words carried neither the weight of a command nor the comfort of reassurance. It felt like he was reciting a list, not speaking to a person. There was no kindness in his tone, no sympathy. It was as though he were addressing a machine.

Not now. Not yet.

Taehyung didn’t reply. He didn’t have the strength to rebel. His life had always been a sequence of predetermined steps, every gesture and every word orchestrated by someone else. And even now, in this unfamiliar hardship, nothing had truly changed. He was still trapped in a reality he hadn’t chosen—yet had no choice but to endure.

They stepped back into the tavern. The air was warmer now, thick with sounds and scents, a contrast to the tension they’d just left behind. The smell of food mingled with the damp scent of wood, and laughter echoed faintly from somewhere deeper inside.
Jimin and Jungkook moved toward the counter, ordering a second meal, while Taehyung remained a step behind—watching their practiced, confident movements from a quiet distance.Once they received their food, they moved to a secluded corner of the tavern, where the soft lantern light cast gentle shadows on the wooden walls. The table sat far from the main bustle, closer to the dark side of the inn. They sat down in silence, the usual tension between them heavier than ever. Taehyung sat quietly, trying to appear natural, but the heavy atmosphere clung to him like a second skin.

The clinking of cutlery on plates mixed with the awkward silence surrounding them. Neither spoke, and Taehyung couldn't tell if it was due to the circumstances or if they truly had nothing to say. He sighed quietly, feeling the weight of his own presence.

Jimin stared at his plate without a word, eating with an almost bored expression. Jungkook, on the other hand, ate with his usual apathy, as if completely indifferent to the company. Yet, there was a sense of intimacy between them—a bond Taehyung couldn't understand. He didn’t know if it was just their nature or something darker, something that involved him.

Finally, after several long minutes, it was Jungkook who broke the silence. His voice, monotone and uninterested, made Taehyung flinch.
“The map,” he said, glancing up for a brief moment. “Do you know anything about the place we're heading to? Who’s waiting for us there?”
The question was direct, but there was a chilling calmness in his tone.

Taehyung tried to keep his voice steady.
“The place… it's hidden. It's protected.”
He paused, looking at Jungkook’s impassive face, then shifted his gaze to Jimin, who seemed interested but hadn’t spoken yet.
“I don’t know who’s waiting, but… it’s dangerous.”
That was a deduction—his father hadn’t given him much information, but from what he understood, there were places where losing a limb—or a life—was just part of the risk.

Jimin looked up from beneath his lashes, studying Taehyung carefully.
“You’d better know more than that,” he said, his tone halfway between an order and a threat. “We need everything, Taehyung. And you don’t have much of a choice.”

Jungkook said nothing for a moment, continuing to eat calmly. Then finally, he lifted his gaze to Taehyung.
“Are you sure about what you're saying?” he asked, voice as flat as ever, as if he wasn’t really expecting an answer.
“Because if you're lying to us…”

The rest of the sentence hung in the air, a silent threat. Taehyung lowered his eyes, feeling the weight of Jungkook’s words. He didn’t reply, but his silence spoke volumes. He knew that if he betrayed them, the consequences would be severe. But even pretending ignorance could be just as dangerous.

“I told the truth,” he murmured, hoping that would be enough. But he could feel that every word he spoke tightened the trap around him.

Jimin stared at him, then gave a small smile that never reached his eyes.
“We just need to be sure,” he said, his tone leaving no room for doubt. “Because once we trust you, Taehyung… there’s no going back.”

Jungkook stood, placing his empty plate aside.
“Keep quiet, and don’t make any wrong moves,” he added before walking toward the exit.
Jimin followed without saying another word.

Taehyung remained seated, feeling fear grip tighter around his chest. He didn’t know what would happen next, but one thing was certain: his life would never be the same again.
After gathering their supplies at the tavern, the three made their way toward the courtyard to retrieve their horses. Jimin was the first to notice something he hadn’t caught before. Tied beside the others was a horse—larger and more imposing, its coat gleaming in the fading light, mane neatly braided.

He paused, eyes drawn to Taehyung, who was standing silently beside the gray stallion. His fingers moved along the animal’s mane with slow, deliberate care, as though searching for a connection that ran deeper than mere ownership. There was a quiet intensity to the way he moved, a protective stillness in the way his gaze followed every shift of the horse’s body. There was something unspoken between them—a bond shaped by memory, by past and shared experience.

“So this is your horse,” Jimin said, approaching slowly. His voice was soft, but there was an edge of provocation behind the words. “Didn’t expect someone like you to have such a bond with an animal. You nobles usually see them as tools—livestock for labor, or a hobby for leisure.”

Taehyung turned to him, a flicker of embarrassment crossing his features. “It’s just a horse,” he replied, attempting to sound indifferent. But his hand didn’t move away—it lingered, gently brushing the mane, betraying his reluctance to part from the animal.

Jimin raised an eyebrow. He didn’t need to be an expert to see the truth: Taehyung wasn’t just touching a horse. He was seeking comfort—like that creature was the last piece of home he had left.

A sly smile curled on Jimin’s lips as he watched. “Well, if that’s your horse,” he said casually, “I suppose I should pick one too.” He didn’t ask permission. Instead, he stepped forward with smooth confidence and untied a dark-coated steed that responded almost instantly to his presence. “I think we’ll get along just fine,” he murmured to himself, mounting the saddle with ease.

Meanwhile, Jungkook stepped toward Taehyung, whose hands trembled slightly, betraying an unease he couldn’t quite conceal. “We need to go,” Jungkook said, voice firm, commanding. He came closer, eyes flicking briefly to the horse. “We can’t afford you trying to run.”

Taehyung lifted his gaze, a hint of protest in his eyes, but he froze when Jungkook gave a subtle nod toward the horse. His stance was clear, the message undeniable: there would be no defiance.

Reluctantly, Taehyung stepped aside, allowing Jungkook to mount behind him.

The contact was minimal—but enough to remind Taehyung that he wasn’t free. With a heavy heart, he nudged the horse forward, the rhythmic sound of hooves blending with the rustle of leaves overhead. Jimin, further ahead, didn’t look back—but his smirk lingered.

“What a declaration of love, Jungkook. Don’t worry, Taehyung. Sometimes he even lets you sit behind him—it’s quite the honor.”

“Let the journey begin,” Jungkook muttered with a scoff. “Sometimes I pray he falls off the damn horse and breaks his neck.”

Silence settled over them as Taehyung’s and Jimin’s horses moved steadily down the narrow path, both now under Jungkook’s watchful eye. The younger man sat close—too close—his presence a constant reminder of the restraint wrapped tightly around Taehyung’s freedom.

Their journey had begun, and the looming shadow of the dark forest awaited them ahead. But the feeling of being trapped—bound to this uneasy company—would not leave Taehyung. Not even for a moment.The trio ventured deeper into the Dark Forest, and the atmosphere closed in around them like a blanket of shadows—thick, heavy, and suffocating. Each step they took seemed to draw them further away from the light, as though the forest itself was trying to swallow them whole, pulling them into its dark belly where time and space dissolved, where reality blurred like a dream slipping through trembling fingers. The shadows of the trees, twisted and distorted, stretched out like skeletal fingers toward the path, piercing every crack of light, devouring any hope for peace.

The sky, now distant and indistinct, was but a faded memory above them, obscured by the choking web of branches, interwoven like a venomous trap. Every rustle, every sound seemed magnified within that oppressive silence. The crunch of dry leaves beneath the horses’ hooves echoed like a death sentence, and Taehyung’s quickening heartbeat thudded out of rhythm with the stillness, pounding in his ears like a drum calling him inward, exposing his deepest vulnerabilities.

Jungkook’s ragged breath stayed close behind him, but even he felt like a shadow—an indistinct presence merging with the world around them, as if reality itself was fading, leaving behind only this bottomless abyss.

The sensation of being watched was constant, suffocating. Every shifting shadow between the trees seemed a silent observer, ready to pounce and consume them whole. There was no peace, no quiet. The wind hissed through the branches like a muffled wail, a sorrow that echoed in Taehyung’s chest—as if the forest was crying for him, mourning the prison he could not escape.

Each shadow took shape like a living nightmare, and Taehyung felt his breath grow heavier, his body weaker, as though he was meant to fall under the weight of his curse—as though the darkness was calling him, swallowing him whole.

Every step carried him further from salvation. The urge to run, to flee, was unbearable, but the forest held him fast in an invisible snare he could not break. His thoughts, frantic and tangled, spun into the choking dream that surrounded him—a dream from which he could not wake. Each breath felt harder to take, the very air growing thicker, more oppressive. The forest knew him. And he knew, somehow, that it was binding him tighter, stitching his loneliness into its roots.

Jimin, riding ahead, seemed untouched by the same suffocating dread. His eyes glinted with an unnerving calm, almost detached, scanning the trees as if he belonged to that world now. Jungkook, on the other hand, said nothing, but the tension in his body betrayed his concern. For all its silence, the forest’s menace seemed to grow with every step, its shadows stretching longer, deeper—more alive.

Taehyung couldn’t shake the feeling of being an intruder. Every tree, every shifting shadow, felt like a judge passing silent judgment, asking whether he deserved to be there. His mind, already fragile, began to falter under the weight of it all. The forest was not merely a physical place—it was the living embodiment of his darkest fears, of the weaknesses he couldn’t hide. And each step drew him closer to the heart of that darkness from which there was no escape. No light. No salvation.

And yet, within the dark, Taehyung felt the weight of his solitude grow heavier. The forest filled every corner of his mind, every rustling leaf echoing like one of his own thoughts—thoughts he could no longer silence. His heart beat wildly, frenzied, but that same fear that paralyzed him also held him in place, as though he were meant to stay, trapped there forever, until he too became a part of the Dark Forest.

(A few hours later)

The sun was slipping beyond the horizon, painting the sky in shades of crimson and gold that struggled to filter through the twisted branches of the forest. The light dimmed, giving way to a pale and restless twilight, as if the darkness itself was preparing to claim its unchallenged reign. The shadows—already long and menacing—thickened, turning every trunk, every leaf, into uncertain shapes, whispering threats among the rustling foliage.

Taehyung felt the air grow colder, dense with something invisible yet tangible, as if the woods were holding their breath, waiting for some imminent change. Even the sounds of nature had faded into a muffled whisper: no birdsong, no rustling of small creatures in the bushes—only the rhythmic pounding of hooves on damp earth and the taut breathing of his companions.

Jungkook, reins firm in his hands, pressed forward with determination, guiding the horses through the maze of blackened trunks and gnarled roots that jutted out like broken bones from the soil. His eyes flicked rapidly, alert to every shift in the path, every fork that might lead them out of this nightmare before the darkness swallowed them whole.

Jimin rode slightly behind, silent. His gaze scanned the forest with almost palpable tension, fingers clenched tightly on the reins as though he too could sense something stirring at the edge of perception, hidden among the warped trees. His horse moved with cautious steps, as if even the animal knew they shouldn’t linger here past sunset.

Taehyung remained quiet, but every fiber of his being thrummed with a subtle, creeping unease. It was as if the forest knew. As if it was watching him from within, recognizing something broken, something cursed in him. His very presence seemed to echo through the ground—a silent summons the darkness seemed ready to embrace.

His fingers instinctively tightened around the reins, cold and trembling slightly. Each moment spent inside stretched into uncertain time, as if the forest was trying to pull them into a realm beyond reality, beyond all logic.

Jungkook urged the horses forward with firmer resolve, shortening their stride but holding control, jaw clenched, breath deeper. Time was running out. The sunset was near. And they had to get out. They had to do it before the darkness fell upon them like a verdict sealed in stone.

Chapter Text

The first sign was the wind.
A chilling breeze slipped through the trees—a sharp whisper that made the blackened branches tremble and lifted dust and dead leaves around the horses. The sun was almost gone, and with it, the illusion of an easy escape from that vegetative nightmare.

Taehyung felt it before he saw it: a sense of oppression, a sudden emptiness in his chest, as if the air around them had thickened, turned hostile. His breath grew short and erratic. Something was coming. He could feel it.

Then, everything happened in the blink of an eye.
The air turned icy, as if the forest itself had drawn a breath and held it. From the shadows between the trees, slithering shapes emerged—not defined figures, but fluid, inhuman presences. They moved in unnatural jerks, their bodies a pulsing mass of blackness, a dense, ravenous smoke that seemed to feed on the dying light of dusk.

They didn’t walk.
They didn’t crawl.
They simply were, as if the night had taken form and hurled itself at them.

A sharp hiss tore through the silence. Then another.
The creatures had no mouths, and yet they emitted a warped sound, like the distant echo of muffled screams. They moved as one—a beat of shadow that lunged toward them.

Jungkook didn’t hesitate.
He unsheathed his sword with a swift motion; the blade caught a pale glimmer before it sliced down at the nearest creature. It passed through it—but met no resistance. No flesh, no blood. Only emptiness.

“They don’t work!” he growled.

Jimin darted to the side, barely dodging a shadowed claw that grazed his flank.
“We have to move! They’re not physical beings, they’re—”

But he didn’t finish.

Taehyung already knew.
He could feel the shadows pulsing around them, slithering into their minds, clawing at their deepest nightmares. These weren’t ordinary monsters.

They were fear.
And he was drenched in it.

Taehyung’s mistake was imperceptible—a blink, a breath of hesitation.

A shadow claw lashed out at Jungkook, fast and deadly.
Something ancient and primal ignited in Taehyung’s chest, burning hotter than terror, sharper than pain.

Protect them.

The thought slammed into him with brutal force. It wasn’t a command. It wasn’t a calculated decision. It was visceral—wedged between the cracks of his soul like a shattered blade.

And that was enough.

The curse awoke.

He felt it before he even saw it.A chilling, unnatural shiver ran down his spine—cold and unrelenting.
It was as if something inside him snapped with a muted crack, an invisible chain breaking all at once.
Then came the pain.

A searing wave exploded through his body, setting his veins ablaze, twisting his flesh as though it were fragile paper. His hands trembled, skin splitting in thin black fissures that pulsed with a malignant energy. It felt like poison was corroding his bones from within—like a dark entity was digging into him with merciless claws.

He couldn’t hold back a strangled cry.

The air around him rippled, vibrating like a field of energy on the verge of collapse. A surge of power erupted from him, radiating outward in an uncontrolled burst.

The creatures were hurled back, shrieking in an incomprehensible tongue.
The ground cracked beneath them, the shadows writhed—torn apart by an energy that belonged to no known realm.
For a moment, they scattered, twisting like smoke in the wind… but they did not vanish completely.

Taehyung was gasping for breath, the pain in his arms throbbing like living venom devouring his flesh from the inside. The black fissures continued to spread, like cracks in a fragile surface, while an unnatural cold seeped deep into his bones.

Jimin and Jungkook exchanged a quick glance. Neither spoke, but the tension in their bodies was palpable. The forest held its breath.
Even the remaining creatures hesitated, as if reassessing the threat.

Then, without warning, the air turned frigid once more.

The shadows Taehyung had scattered began to reform—but this time they were denser, more vicious.
They weren’t just creatures of darkness anymore: they were alive.
They fed on fear.
They adapted.
And Taehyung, with his awakened curse, had become their focus—their catalyst.

The whispers intensified, slithering like venom through the gnarled trees.
Branches seemed to bend inward, curling like claws ready to snap shut.

Jungkook cursed under his breath, tightening his grip on the hilt of his blade.
“He’s drawing them in.”

Jimin turned toward Taehyung, eyes feverish.
“You have to stop.”

“I can’t.”
Taehyung’s voice was a trembling whisper.
The pain consumed him from within—but more than the suffering, it was the terror that devoured him.
Not for himself.
For them.

The shadows surged again.
A black, writhing wave, poised to strike.

This time, they wouldn’t let them go so easily.

Taehyung collapsed to his knees, fingers clenched over his ravaged arms.
The black fissures kept spreading, devouring inch after inch like poisonous roots digging ever deeper.
The pain was unbearable—but worse than the physical torment was the realization.

It had happened again.

The power that kept him in chains.
The burden that bound him to an irreversible fate.

Jimin took a step toward him, but Taehyung raised a trembling arm.
“Don’t come any closer.”His voice was broken, trembling. But it carried a raw, unmistakable fear.

He would hurt them. He would destroy them.

The forest trembled with darkness. Shadows twisted and writhed, ready to strike again—more violent, more ravenous. Taehyung struggled to remain on his feet, his trembling fingers clutching his cursed arms. The pain was like cold fire slithering beneath his skin, devouring him from within.

Jungkook and Jimin were already in position, backs close, weapons raised. Their breaths were heavy, their gazes tense. They knew the fight wasn’t over.

A sound in the distance. A rustle among the trees, the hiss of swift steps on damp earth.

Two figures approached cautiously, eyes trained to cut through the darkness. They had heard the clash, the muffled screams carried by the wind, the metallic ring of blades slicing through the air. They weren’t the kind to throw themselves into battles without reason, but something about the way the shadows churned in that clearing had compelled them forward.

When they reached the glade, the scene before them was almost surreal. Two men fought fiercely against pitch-black creatures, while a third—dark-haired, eyes burning with fever—clutched his arm, his body taut with obvious pain.

One of them stopped abruptly, his gaze falling on the kneeling figure. There was something about him that pulled at his instincts, something that made him move without hesitation.

“I’m going to him,” he said, not even glancing at his companion, as if it were an inevitable choice.

The other gave a slight nod, already in motion. “Then I’ll help the others.”

In the blink of an eye, the noise of battle surged once more. The man threw himself into the fray, a gleaming blade in hand, positioning himself beside the two youths—far too young to be risking their lives in a place like this.

“We’re not here to fight you,” he said, voice calm but edged with steel. “But if you don’t want to die here, I suggest we join forces.”

Jungkook stared at him for a beat, breath ragged. His dark eyes narrowed, sizing him up. But time was a luxury they didn’t have.

Jimin let a brief, sharp smile flash across his lips. “Then let’s see what you’ve got.”

As the battle reignited with renewed fury, the other figure knelt beside Taehyung, studying him closely.

“Hey.” His voice was gentler, a stark contrast to the chaos around them. “You look like hell.”

Taehyung looked up, his eyes clouded with exhaustion and pain. He didn’t respond at first, too focused on keeping the pounding in his chest under control, too overwhelmed by the way the curse pulsed inside him like a living thing.

The stranger sighed, inspecting the wounds quickly. “I don’t know who you are, and I’m sure you don’t know who I am either. But trust me—just for the next five minutes, alright?”

Taehyung’s silence was his only reply.

The clash of battle filled the clearing. The clang of blades, the hiss of arrows tearing through the air, the unnatural whispers of shadows slithering closer. And yet, all of it felt distant to Taehyung—muffled, like the world had narrowed to that single pulsing pain devouring his veins.

The newcomer was crouched in front of him, his face lit in flashes by the bluish flames of the ongoing battle. He didn’t look alarmed, nor particularly surprised. Just focused. Analytical.

“Mind if I take a look?” he asked, extending a hand toward Taehyung’s arm.

Taehyung should have pulled back. The curse burned beneath his skin, ready to lash out at anyone who dared come too close. But for some reason—perhaps the man’s calm demeanor, or maybe the exhaustion that stole the air from his lungs—he stayed still.

Fingers brushed against the wounded wrist. A shiver ran through Taehyung, something more than just pain. A warning.

Too close.

The air around them seemed to ripple. The light touch became a sudden jolt—an eruption of dark energy that surged from Taehyung’s skin. He clenched his jaw, barely suppressing a cry.

The other man recoiled with a sharp intake of breath, but not in fear. His expression only tightened, as though he understood instantly what it was.

“I see.”

A simple statement, yet it carried the weight of someone who had seen things like this before. There was no revulsion in his voice, no trace of fear. Only a quiet understanding that unsettled Taehyung more than the curse itself.

“You can’t touch me,” Taehyung hissed, clutching his aching arm to his chest. “It’ll hurt you.”

The man tilted his head slightly, as if considering it.

“It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been burned.”

Before Taehyung could reply, a sudden noise cracked through the air nearby. A shadow moved with inhuman speed, launching itself at them with glinting claws.

There was no time to react.

A flash of silver. A single, precise strike.

The attack crashed against a blade that appeared between them, diverting the creature in a whirl of black smoke. The man had moved without hesitation, his face still unreadable as he rose to his feet and stepped between Taehyung and the danger.

“Don’t move,” he ordered, without looking back. “I’ve got this.”

The shadows, sensing the shift, twisted with renewed fury. The fight—momentarily calmed—resumed with even greater violence.

They were focused now. On him.

Or more precisely… on Taehyung.

They could sense it.

The curse. The tainted blood.

It drew them like moths to a flame.And that could only mean one thing.
They were all going to die—unless he did something.

Taehyung’s heart pounded wildly as the shadows lunged at them with renewed fury, drawn to him, to his curse, to the poison running through his veins. He could hear them hissing in the wind, whispering to him with slithering voices, promising him the end.

The man standing before him—still a stranger in the chaos of battle—did not hesitate. He moved with the precision of someone who had faced such creatures countless times, his blade flashing for a split second before slicing through the flesh of the shadows, dissolving them into whirling smoke.

Not far off, Jungkook and Jimin fought relentlessly, flanked by another figure who had arrived unannounced. Their blows were swift, merciless, but the shadows seemed endless.

Taehyung clenched his teeth, pain pulsing through every wound, but the real torment was buried deep inside.

I’m the problem.

If he had been somewhere else—if he had died before all this—none of them would be risking their lives to protect him.

A shadow moved to his left—thicker, denser, with eyes burning with pure malevolence. It lunged at him before he could react.

A sword stroke.
A flash of silver.

The creature dissolved inches from his face.

The man turned to look at him, holding his gaze for a long moment.
“If you just stand there, you’re nothing but a target.”

There was no scolding in his voice, only a simple truth. But to Taehyung, it felt like a blade driven deep into his gut.

He was right.

He couldn’t keep being dead weight.
He couldn’t let the curse decide for him.

His fingers curled around the tattered fabric of his cloak. He took a breath.
And then he moved.

His blood burned. The curse writhed beneath his skin.
But this time, he was the one in control.

He darted to the side, snatching a dagger left behind among the leaves. And when the next creature came for him, it met steel instead of fear.Maybe he wouldn’t survive.
Maybe the shadows would claim him.
But if he was destined to fall, then at least he would fall fighting.

The shadows moved with relentless ferocity, each strike Taehyung delivered swallowed by the darkness that surrounded him. His body ached, but it was his mind that had become a prison of anguish. Every time he thought he might overcome the curse, it awoke again—tightening around his throat like a vice.

Amid the chaos, the sound of battle began to fade, as though every scream was being pulled into the dark itself. Taehyung was losing strength, his ragged breathing betraying the exhaustion creeping in. “I can’t fail now,” he told himself, but his hands were trembling. The dagger he held felt heavier with each passing second.

The shadows closed in like an invisible grip, ready to devour him. His mind was slipping. The curse stirred within him, making him feel like he was the weight dragging them all to ruin. It was all too much.

Then, suddenly, the sky above him seemed to clear, as if the world itself wanted to unveil a hidden truth.
A blinding light erupted, piercing every corner of that dark forest.
A sharp, whistling sound, a flare of brilliance that burned like sunlight.

The shadows froze.

Taehyung lifted his head, heart leaping in his chest. The creatures that had encircled them, besieged them, began to retreat—driven back by some unseen force, as if the sun itself had turned against them.

It was as if the entire forest had stopped breathing. The air vibrated under the weight of that light—expanding, searing, overwhelming.

Taehyung’s breath slowed. The light passed through him, and for a moment, it felt like the darkest part of his soul had been stripped away.

The man who had shielded him earlier moved forward with poised grace. His cloak rippled like silk in the wind, his appearance so immaculate he looked almost misplaced in that wild, cursed land. A faint smile played on his perfect lips as he watched the shadows scatter into nothing, burned away by that illusion of radiance.

His gaze swept from Taehyung to the rest of the group—unbothered, unreadable, as if nothing could truly disturb him.
“Apparently, I’m the one who has to handle the difficult things.”

With an elegant motion, he raised a hand, and the light spread—rolling out like a wave, swallowing the last remnants of the dark.
The forest, moments ago a haven for nightmares, now felt still—calmer, as though nature itself had bowed to his command.

“You… who are you?” Taehyung asked, voice still shaking from adrenaline and pain. He wasn’t used to witnessing powers like that, or men like him.

The man didn’t answer right away. He stepped closer to Taehyung, his eyes bright and sharp as blades. Then, slowly, he placed a hand on Taehyung’s shoulder.“Who am I?” he whispered, an enigmatic smile playing on his lips.
“I’m someone who enjoys making the shadows run. And today, I took a little break.”

There was something unsettling in his tone—yet magnetic. An aura of mystery wrapped around every word he spoke.

“There are no shadows that can withstand my light, boy,” he added with a wide smile, as if barely suppressing a laugh. Then he turned away, as though he had said all he needed to, and walked over to the other man who had fought by his side.

“But luckily, it seems you didn’t get hurt too badly.”

The companion gave him a brief glance, a barely noticeable nod, then turned his gaze to the rest of the group.

“Stay back,” he ordered, voice firm and commanding. “We’re not finished yet.”

The shadows were gone, but the tension lingered. Taehyung looked at the man who had just spoken, trying to decipher something in his expression—but found nothing. His presence was captivating, unreadable—so enigmatic that Taehyung couldn’t tear his eyes away.

The shadows had vanished, leaving only silence behind.
But a new question was forming inside him.
Who were these men who had come to his aid?

Chapter Text

(Someone Else’s P.O.V.)

The cold wind of the Dark Forest lashed against Jin’s skin, but he didn’t seem to care. He walked with graceful steps, his cloak billowing behind him like a sail. Yet, his mind was far removed from the solemnity of the landscape. It wasn’t the forest or the shadows that concerned him, but something far more irritating.

“Yoongi!” Jin called, turning toward his companion who walked in silence a few paces behind him. “Seriously? Can’t you laugh at a joke?”

Yoongi didn’t flinch. His eyes remained fixed ahead, focused on the winding path opening before them. He had a mission, and nothing would distract him from it.

“There was nothing funny,” Yoongi replied in a low, monotone voice, without even glancing in Jin’s direction.

“How can you say it wasn’t funny?” Jin protested, stepping a little closer, trying to catch the mercenary’s attention. “That was an excellent joke, sweetheart. Sometimes I wonder what exactly is so wonderful about you… but then I look at you and remember you’re the man of my dreams.”

Jin’s tone was soft, sweet, and the look he gave Yoongi carried that particular tenderness only he could express. Every word, every little motion, felt like a silent declaration, a playful tease veiling a very real adoration for the man by his side. It wasn’t just the way he spoke—but his presence, magnetic and vibrant, lighting the air around him with an almost electric pull.

Yoongi didn’t answer right away, but his gaze lingered on Jin for the briefest moment, caught in that tiny hesitation only Jin’s smile could provoke. He wasn’t used to such warmth, to that effortless beauty Jin exuded, yet he couldn’t ignore the effect it had on him.

Jin sighed, his voice lightening as if to ease the tension. “You know, I’m a fallen prince, after all. Don’t I deserve some attention?”

Yoongi raised a brow but still said nothing. His thoughts were elsewhere, locked in a tangle that didn’t include Jin—for better or worse, Jin was used to that by now.

The forest was anything but calm. The air was thick, heavy, as if every step had to push through the darkness stretching between the twisted trees. The sound of their footsteps mingled with the rustling leaves—until, suddenly, everything changed.

A scream.

The sharp clash of steel, followed by shouts and the pounding of fast footsteps.

Jin’s head snapped up, his eyes glittering with curiosity. “Hey, did you hear that too?” he asked, breaking the silence that had surrounded them.

“Quiet,” Yoongi said, holding a hand up to stop him. He exhaled heavily. “They’ve been attacked. Follow me.”

Jin shrugged with a wry smile. “Attacked? And? We're just out here for a bit of fun. You know, you could use some proper excitement now and then.”

Yoongi didn’t respond, but his expression sharpened, his senses on alert. Something felt off—very off. His bounty hunter instincts screamed at him that there was more to this than a simple ambush.

They moved silently through the forest once more, Yoongi’s steps firm and determined, Jin’s more fluid and elegant. The screams guided them, louder now, closer. Another surge of sound exploded ahead of them.

Jin slowed down, trying to catch a glimpse of what was happening.

Finally, they stopped. Hidden behind a gnarled, ancient tree, they looked out over the clearing.

Three young men were fighting against the shadows—dark, formless creatures that moved with eerie speed. Two of them, one with cropped hair and the other taller and muscular, fought with precision and strength. But the third—he was on his knees, clearly struggling. A strange, burning aura shimmered around him, as if magic itself was searing through his body. The boy fought to stay upright, but his movements were weak.

“They need help,” Jin murmured, his voice suddenly serious and focused. “I can’t just watch.”

Yoongi didn’t respond, but his gaze locked onto the kneeling boy—the one who seemed to be the target of the shadows. Something about him stirred a strange familiarity that Yoongi couldn’t quite explain.

Jin glanced at his companion, then stepped forward with his usual smirk—though there was a shadow of concern in his eyes. “Getting impatient, huh? Always so drawn to trouble, Yoongi. You just can’t resist saving them, can you?”

Without another word, Yoongi dashed into the fray, sword in hand. The shadows reacted instantly, as if recognizing him.

Jin rushed toward the boy on the ground. He crouched beside him but didn’t dare to touch him. Instead, his gaze met Taehyung’s—bright, enigmatic, like the whole thing was part of a bigger game.

“I don’t know who you are, and I’m sure you have no idea who I am either. But trust me—just for the next five minutes, okay?”

Taehyung didn’t speak, but his silence was answer enough. Jin understood. He was ready to accept help.

The clearing echoed with the chaos of battle—the clashing of blades, the whistling of arrows slicing through air, and the unnatural whispers of shadows slithering closer. Blue flames lit up Jin’s face in flickers. He didn’t look alarmed or surprised—only focused. Analytical.

“Mind if I take a look?” he asked, reaching toward the boy’s arm.

“Don’t touch me,” Taehyung hissed, clutching the wounded limb tightly against his chest. “It’ll hurt you.”

Jin paused. That caught his attention. But he wasn’t one to be easily discouraged.

He tried again and again, attempting to analyze the boy’s injury with his magic, but the shadows constantly pulled his attention away. Eventually, he grew tired of being interrupted—and maybe it was time he unleashed his frustration on them instead.From Jin’s perspective, the forest seemed to breathe with him. Every step he took was deliberate, yet carried a certain graceful elegance, as though the sound of his boots pressing into the leaves was part of a secret dance. His mind was focused on one thing: the boy seemed overwhelmed by the magic consuming him, and Jin felt the pull of that chaos. He couldn’t let it get worse—especially not when the boy was struggling with a power he didn’t even understand.

He paused, his gaze sharpening as he scanned the scene ahead. His Yoongi and the two younger men were locked in violent combat with the shadows, but the boy at his feet… he was different. He was on his knees, his magic visible and corrupted, an energy that burned through him slowly. A shiver ran down Jin’s spine, and without thinking twice, he surged forward, his cloak billowing behind him like a cloud.

“Stay back, Yoongi,” he said without turning, feeling the weight of his task settle on his shoulders. “I’ll handle this.”

Yoongi didn’t reply, but Jin knew his companion would follow his mercenary instinct and remain where the danger was most immediate.

The atmosphere around him seemed to shift. The sky suddenly cleared, as if the world itself was preparing to reveal a dark secret. The light that followed was blinding, nearly unbearable to the eye. Jin smiled. That light was his signature, his power. An explosion of energy radiated from him, a flare that lit up the forest. The shadows seemed to shudder, tremble, as though they understood they couldn’t escape the light consuming them. Their movements grew erratic, panicked, until at last they began to retreat, fleeing as though frightened by something far greater than themselves.

A satisfied smile crossed Jin’s face as he watched the shadows flee. The illusion of a solar force—unseen, yet powerful—drove them into nothingness. The forest seemed to exhale in a collective breath, and the thick tension that had once saturated the air vanished, leaving only silence.

Jin rose to his feet, his body moving with the same poise as always, as if nothing could ever disturb him. His figure, immaculate and aristocratic, seemed out of place in the wild, dangerous surroundings. With an impassive look, he approached the boy still on the ground, whose face was frozen in a mixture of disbelief and pain. The light Jin had summoned still glowed softly behind him.

“Who… who are you?” came the hesitant question.

Jin smiled—a smile both kind and elusive, as though concealing a secret only he could understand.
“Who am I?” he repeated, his voice melodic and assured. “I’m someone who knows how to make shadows run, boy. And it seems today, I came to take a short break.”

His words sounded like a light joke, but there was something captivating, almost spellbinding, in the mysterious tone that coated every syllable.

On the other side of the clearing, Yoongi approached the two boys who had fought beside him.
“Stay back,” he said with firm authority. “We’re not done here.”

Taehyung, watching Jin and Yoongi, felt a question rising inside him—one that burned hotter than the dark magic still lingering in his veins.
Who were these men, really? Why had they chosen to save him?

The silence that followed the battle was heavy, though the tension in the air hadn’t quite dispersed. Taehyung’s question went unanswered.

Jin cast a glance at Yoongi, then at the three boys—exhausted, dirt-smeared.
“We need to move. This place isn’t safe.”

Yoongi nodded, hands tucked in his pockets.
“There’s a town a few hours from here. We’d better be gone before someone else shows up.”

Jimin ran a hand through his sweat-damp hair.
“So you’re escorting us?” he asked, his voice laced with both suspicion and fatigue.

Jin paused for a moment, then gave a short nod of his chin.
“Call it what you like. But staying here isn’t an option.”

Jimin rubbed his aching arm, trying to ignore the tight knot of tension in his shoulders. He glanced at Taehyung, noticing the boy’s unsteady steps, as if the ground beneath him had turned hostile. Something wasn’t right.
“Taehyung…” he began, hesitating. “What happened back there?”

Taehyung didn’t respond immediately. His lips were pressed into a thin line, and the silence spoke louder than any answer. Jimin narrowed his eyes in thought. There had been a moment—just one—when the air around Taehyung had changed. A flicker of energy, subtle yet unmistakable. It hadn’t been normal. Not something one saw every day, even among people like them.

A thought began to take shape in his mind—fleeting, but persistent.
If Taehyung was hiding something… if the magic he’d used wasn’t just a fluke… then his lineage wasn’t that of a simple commoner.
Perhaps, beneath that quiet demeanor and unreadable dark gaze, something far more noble was buried—something he wasn’t ready to reveal.

“You alright?” Jungkook asked, his tone flat, almost bored. But the way he had walked close to Taehyung ever since they left the clearing betrayed him. His eyes followed Taehyung’s every move, as though waiting for a sign to explain what had truly happened. It wasn’t concern—at least, not openly. But the curiosity was undeniable.

Taehyung didn’t answer right away. The sound of their shoes against the damp earth seemed louder in the deafening silence. Eventually, he looked up—but it wasn’t Jungkook he looked at. It was Jin and Yoongi, walking several paces ahead, perfectly aligned.
“Who are they, really?” he murmured, almost to himself.

Jimin sighed.
“The ones who saved us—for now. And the ones getting us out of here.”

Jungkook let out a skeptical sound, glancing at Yoongi, whose profile was outlined by the faint moonlight slipping through the trees.
“He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who does things without a reason.”

“No one ever does.”
Jin’s voice cut through the air—calm, yet sharp. He didn’t look back as he spoke, continuing to lead them forward with steady steps.

A chill slid down Jimin’s spine. It wasn’t a threat—not exactly. But something in Jin’s voice made it feel like they were all walking a tightrope suspended in nothingness.

Taehyung clenched his jaw, slowing his pace.
“So I should thank you for that?”

Jin stopped abruptly. Even Yoongi turned slightly, his eyes catching the moonlight. The silence that fell over them was heavy, as if the entire forest were holding its breath. Then Jin smiled—a smile that seemed more like a riddle than a reply.

“No,” he said at last.
“You should just remember it.”

Jin glanced at Yoongi, then at the three boys—exhausted and caked with dirt.

“If you’re having trouble walking because of your injuries, we’ll go get your horses. I saw them not far from here, safe and sound.”

“I don’t want any more delays,” Yoongi grumbled. “Let’s get the horses and head back the way we came. The kid’s barely standing as it is.”
Jin smiled lightly at him and nodded.

As they continued onward, Jimin couldn’t help but notice the tension simmering between Yoongi and Taehyung. It wasn’t just mistrust. There was something deeper—older. A grudge that felt carved out by time itself. Yoongi didn’t speak directly to Taehyung, but his sharp glares were impossible to misread.

Jungkook leaned in closer to Jimin, lowering his voice.
“Have you noticed the way he looks at him?”

Jimin gave a subtle nod. “It’s not just suspicion. It’s… personal.”

Taehyung lifted his gaze, locking eyes with Yoongi for the briefest moment. He didn’t say anything, but his expression hardened—more guarded now.

“Cut it out, Yoongi,” Jin said, his tone light but firm. “This isn’t the time for your assumptions. We’ve got more urgent things to worry about.”

Jimin watched the exchange closely. Jin wasn’t just trying to keep the peace with Taehyung—there was intent in his gestures, a knowingness that the others didn’t seem to possess. He wasn’t merely a mediator between him and Yoongi, but a keeper of unspoken truths. A puppeteer pulling strings with quiet cunning.

Taehyung looked down, struggling to keep pace as fatigue dragged at his limbs. He had barely begun to slow when a shove landed between his shoulder blades.

“Move it, rich boy,” Jimin jeered with a sharp smile. “At this rate, we’ll get there by tomorrow.”

Yoongi scoffed, not even bothering to look back.
“He’s slowing us down. Put him on a horse.”

Jungkook nodded without complaint and walked off with Jin to fetch one of the steeds. When they returned, Jungkook wasted no time—he grabbed Taehyung with a firm grip and hoisted him into the saddle without ceremony. Taehyung clutched at the reins instinctively, eyes wide with surprise.

Jin, who had watched the scene with amused interest, raised an eyebrow.
“Oh? A little sewer rat complaining about others? How ironic. You street types usually follow nobles around like dogs. I don’t know who you are, but this boy’s probably your age. I doubt he’s the reason you turned out to be such an ass.”

Jimin spun around and glared at him.
“Go to hell. You don’t know the truth. That fancy silk cloak gives you away. I could sell it for a room at a decent inn—permanently.”

But Jin only laughed, giving the horse’s neck a casual pat.
“You’re so tiny, one good kick would be enough to keep you away from my beautiful cloak. Come on, scrap heap. If you don’t want your neck snapped, hold on tight to that horse,” he added, this time addressing Taehyung with a smirk after silencing Jimin.

Chapter Text

As the group moved away from the Dark Forest, the sky above them was slowly fading into twilight. Taehyung, visibly exhausted, had been lifted onto a horse by force, his unsteady steps slowing the group’s progress too much. Despite his efforts to resist, the fatigue and weight of his curse left him vulnerable, and the horse seemed the only way to keep him moving.

Yoongi and Jin, leading the way, exchanged quick glances, both clearly concerned about the situation, though no one spoke of the growing tension between them. The distance between the Dark Forest and the village was still considerable, but they all knew they had to reach it before nightfall. Twilight was quickly surrendering to darkness, and the risk of encountering more shadow creatures was dangerously high.

“Quickly,” Yoongi said firmly, guiding the horse at a steady pace, trying not to push too hard. “We can’t stop now—we must arrive before it’s completely dark.”

His eyes stayed fixed on the path ahead, but his mind was elsewhere. The image of Taehyung—so weak, so silent—haunted him. The curse on him was unmistakable, the marks on his hands, which Yoongi had never seen before, spoke for themselves. His pale face, his fragile posture... it was all too perfectly tragic to be a coincidence.

Yoongi remained silent, but his thoughts swirled, growing more and more unsettled. Each step seemed to carry them farther from the forest, yet for him, the danger had never felt so close.

The boy walking beside them—delicate, marked by mysterious signs, and carrying a sorrow none of them could yet understand—was a mystery Yoongi couldn’t stop staring at. The suspicion inside him only grew stronger. This couldn’t be just coincidence.

The cursed prince.
The words echoed endlessly in his mind. The connection Taehyung seemed to have with the curse, the scars that appeared on his skin whenever someone came too close—it was too familiar. Too much like what Yoongi had once known.

The curse that had destroyed his kingdom. That had devastated his people.
The same curse that had, years ago, descended like a storm on everything Yoongi had ever loved.
It has to be him, Yoongi thought, his heartbeat growing louder. The king’s son—the one with power over curses.
The thought tormented him. And yet, he couldn't tear his eyes away from Taehyung. There was something ominous—something wrong—about that fragile, innocent figure.

But there was more he couldn’t make sense of.
What were those two vagabonds doing with him? They didn’t look noble, nor like anyone of importance. Just two boys from the slums, dressed in worn-out clothes, survivors by nature. And yet... something about their demeanor struck Yoongi as odd.
Why were they traveling with someone like him?
If Taehyung truly was the cursed prince, where were the guards? The court?
This must be a trap, Yoongi thought, a bitter smile brushing his lips. Maybe they think they can fool me.
But he couldn’t believe it was that simple.
There was too much pain in Taehyung’s eyes. Too much rage for it all to be fake.
And yet… if he really was the prince—the one who could control curses—then all of this had a far greater purpose.

His kingdom had fallen to a curse no one could stop. His people, his home—obliterated by a darkness no blade could cut through.
If he is truly the one… then he could be a threat unlike any other.

Yoongi tried to focus on the road, but his eyes kept darting toward Taehyung, studying him in silence.
I don’t know what game you’re playing… but I won’t let you destroy everything again.

Jin, walking beside Yoongi, was also observing Taehyung closely, though his gaze was softer, almost protective. It was as if something deeper compelled him to maintain a calm front—a calm that echoed in the tone of his voice as he finally spoke to Taehyung.

“Don’t mind Yoongi,” Jin said gently, his voice more serene than usual, attempting to diffuse the tension hanging in the air. “He always needs time to adjust to new things.”

Taehyung, who had kept his eyes on the ground until that moment, paused before responding. Jin’s words, though simple, brought an unexpected sense of relief—like someone had finally acknowledged the weight he was carrying.
He didn’t have to explain himself.
Someone’s listening, he thought. And for the first time in days, that awareness made the loneliness inside him a little easier to bear.

He said nothing in return, but his heart lightened by a few beats.

The road to the village stretched longer than expected. Each step seemed to pull them farther from the Dark Forest, and yet the feeling of being chased by it lingered.
When the first lights of the village finally flickered between the trees, something inside Taehyung melted—but his breath still caught in his throat, as if he feared the village’s peace might only be an illusion.

Yoongi, who had kept a brisk pace, slowed slightly as the lights came into view, though his suspicion remained unchanged. He watched Taehyung as if every movement he made might reveal the truth—an enigma waiting to be solved.
There was no trace of trust in his eyes, and despite the village drawing nearer, he was not ready to lower his guard.

“The road feels longer, doesn’t it?” Jin murmured, attempting to distract Yoongi with a light remark. But Yoongi didn’t respond.

When they finally reached the edge of the village, Yoongi came to an abrupt stop. His voice, dry and stripped of emotion, cut through the air.

“We’ll stop here,” he said, dismounting with the swiftness of someone eager to abandon everything behind.
There was something rushed about his movements—like he was desperate to reach a conclusion but wasn’t ready to face it yet.

Taehyung dismounted slowly, his body aching and sore. Every muscle had accumulated days of tension, but the relief of being far from the Dark Forest was stronger.
The village, though seemingly welcoming, felt oddly distant to him—as if his very presence disrupted the peace it held.
His heart pounded—not from exhaustion, but from fear.
Fear not of the forest itself, but of everything that hid behind it:
His curse.
The scars carved into his skin.
And the secret that dragged him inevitably toward a dark, inescapable fate.The shadow of the Dark Forest, which seemed to cling to him even now like a never-ending nightmare, did not leave him. He could feel Yoongi’s eyes growing heavier on him, the distrust becoming almost tangible. I can’t escape this.
The awareness that he was trapped in a game he didn’t fully understand struck him square in the chest, but he said nothing.

Jin, meanwhile, had stopped beside him, and though his gaze was sharp, it offered a subtle kind of protection.
"Let’s find a place to sleep," he said in a low voice, careful not to draw attention to them.

Taehyung nodded silently, sensing a strange connection to that gentle tone. For the first time since his mother’s death, it seemed that maybe, just maybe, the night wouldn’t feel so lonely.

When the group arrived at the inn, dinner was already served, and the atmosphere inside was warm and welcoming—though crowded. The torchlight flickered against the wooden walls, and the smell of hot food filled the air. They approached the counter to ask for a table, and while they waited to be seated, Jimin wasted no time launching another of his sharp remarks at Taehyung.

"Since you’re rich and well-off, I suppose it’s only fair that you pay again, right? Maybe that way you can get your map back—if you still want it, of course," he said with a mocking smile.

Taehyung walked in silence, his tall and rigid figure like a wall of ice that allowed nothing to come too close. He didn’t respond, keeping an impassive expression. His hands, hidden beneath the table, were clenched into fists, but betrayed no emotion. Each provocation was just another layer of frost covering his heart—nothing could shake him.
The anger he felt was never shown. Instead, he shut down further, becoming more distant from everyone around him.

Jin, who had been quietly observing until then, didn’t let the situation escalate. He stepped forward, his enigmatic and calm smile standing in contrast to the tension in the air.
"Don’t worry," he said calmly, but with a tone that brooked no argument. "I can pay for my meal, and also for my sweetie’s. Unlike someone else here," he cast a playful glance at Jimin, "we work honestly and can afford the basics—like food."

Jungkook, who had seemed entirely apathetic until that moment, widened his eyes and joined in with a sardonic grin.
"And I can afford dinner, thanks. Like him," he nodded toward Jin, "I’ve decided to change my life. We’re not all the same, after all."

Jimin scoffed, but Taehyung remained still, as if the words bounced off him without even grazing his skin. He could ignore provocation, but he couldn’t escape the persistent feeling of being trapped in a game whose rules he didn’t know.
He felt distrust growing inside him—not out of fear, but out of habit. He was used to never having answers for the world around him.

Then, without warning, Taehyung stepped forward. His voice, low and resolute, cut through the air.
"It’s part of the deal. I’ll pay for dinner."

The words came out with a firmness that left no room for doubt. There was no trace of regret in his tone. He didn’t feel obliged to anyone. It was a matter of principle: paying to get something in return. Nothing more.

The group’s reaction was silent. Taehyung’s words were clear, but they didn’t know how to take them. They weren’t used to hearing him speak that way—nor to being treated like that.

When the food arrived, the tension at the table remained. The trio still didn’t know Jin and Yoongi’s names, and vice versa. Every glance exchanged seemed to weigh heavier with each bite.
Jimin, as impatient as ever, looked at the others with a subtle air of contempt, but Taehyung, frozen inside, didn’t care about such provocations.

There was no warmth among them, but no hatred either. They were distant people, each trapped in their own world, unable to get close or understand each other.
And yet, something was changing—though none of them recognized it yet.

The table remained silent, except for the clinking of plates and cutlery. The tension in the air seemed to rise with every bite swallowed, and no one dared truly speak.
Then, without lifting his gaze from his plate, Jin finally voiced the question that had been hanging in the air for a while.

"What kind of deal do you have with them?" he asked, looking at Taehyung for the first time since they sat down, trying to understand what lay behind the young man’s words.
"Why do you seem so... determined to pay for Jimin and Jungkook’s meals?"

Taehyung slowly looked up, his gaze cold and indifferent. For a moment, his face seemed more distant, as if he were fighting with a part of himself that didn’t want to share. But then, as if it were inevitable, the words came out.

"Jimin took something important from me," he admitted, his voice devoid of emotion. "And to get it back, I have to accompany you to the location marked on the map I lost."

Jin raised an eyebrow, curiosity tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"A deal?" he asked, a mix of disbelief and amusement in his tone.

"So why pay for us? And more importantly, what’s behind all this? You’re not trying to recruit these two for a job, are you? Paying them with food?"
Yoongi’s gaze held suspicion, as though trying to uncover a puzzle that didn’t quite add up.
Every word out of his mouth felt like a small riddle—something he couldn’t easily solve.
There’s something more, he thought to himself, his instincts increasingly convinced that there was a darker side to Taehyung he had yet to uncover.

Taehyung, with a glacial, distant look, stared at the table for a long moment, as if searching for the right words.
There was no emotion in his eyes, only a shadow of weariness that made his face even more enigmatic.
Then, without warning, he spoke, his voice calm but devoid of inflection.

"Jimin... took something important from me," he admitted without hesitation. His words were cold and precise, but a hint of frustration escaped him.
"And to get it back, I have to accompany you to the location marked on that item."

Taehyung’s declaration hit like a bolt of lightning.
Jimin, who was biting into a piece of bread, stopped abruptly, his eyes widening for a moment—but he quickly masked his discomfort with a forced smile.
Jungkook remained impassive, but couldn’t hide the slight lift of an eyebrow.

Jin fell silent for a moment, trying to process the information he had just received.
"Something important?" he repeated, his eyes scrutinizing Taehyung as if trying to discern whether he was telling the truth.
"And what exactly is this thing? Why didn’t you tell me before?"“It’s not relevant,” he said, barely shaking his head. “I just wanted you to know that’s why they’re escorting me.”

Jimin scoffed but said nothing, aware that the conversation was beginning to spiral out of control. He felt more irritated than ever, but tried to keep it together, forcing himself to appear more relaxed than he really was. Jungkook, on the other hand, simply observed with his usual detached gaze, as if watching a scene that didn’t involve him at all.

Jin, though still uncertain, gave a slow nod. “Alright… shall we eat?” he asked, trying to ease the tension.

But Yoongi, as always, didn’t let Taehyung have the final word.
“If there’s something you’re hiding from us, we’ll find out.”
His tone wasn’t aggressive, but resolute. His trust had been tested, and while he still wasn’t sure of Taehyung’s intentions, he knew he wouldn’t lower his guard.

Jin took the first bite, offering a smile that seemed to try and lighten the mood.
“I’m Jin,” he said, glancing at Jimin, Jungkook, and Taehyung one by one. “And that’s Yoongi.”
He looked at Yoongi, who gave a small nod of his head—not exactly thrilled about the introduction, but accepting it nonetheless.
“We apologize if we were a bit harsh earlier. We’re not used to… these kinds of situations.”

Yoongi, visibly more tense, lifted a glass of wine in a slow, thoughtful motion before speaking without looking up too much.
“Yoongi,” he said, his voice a little colder than Jin’s, but still showing a faint trace of courtesy.
“Nice to meet you.”
There was no enthusiasm in his voice, but neither was there contempt.

Jungkook, sitting with a straight back and an empty gaze, looked at Jin and Yoongi with an impassive, almost indifferent expression.
“Thank you… for saving us,” he said, his voice void of emotion.
There was no real recognition in his tone, just the obligation to say the right words.
No warmth or appreciation, only evident detachment.

Jimin, on the other hand, looked far more uncomfortable. He nervously played with his fork, fingers spinning it endlessly. When he finally raised his eyes to speak, his face betrayed clear embarrassment.
“Yes… thank you,” he said, his tone more genuine, more human.
“We didn’t expect you to… to come and save us. It was… really kind of you.”
His eyes met Jin’s for a brief moment, as if silently apologizing for all the bitter words he’d spoken earlier.

Taehyung, who had remained silent until then, took a deep breath. When he finally spoke, his voice was cold—but laced with a sadness he couldn’t quite hide.
“Taehyung,” he said, his gaze drifting from Jin to Yoongi, never settling on either.
“Thank you for what you did. I’m sorry things turned out this way, but… you were helpful.”

There was a strange contradiction in the way Taehyung spoke: the coldness on the surface couldn’t hide the sadness leaking through his words, like a shadow that followed him constantly.
His gratitude wasn’t disjointed, but there was something deeper in his tone, as if he were carrying a sorrow he couldn’t show.
A kind of loneliness he couldn’t share, even with the others.
It was as though his very existence was soaked in an invisible weight he would never be able to shake off.

Jin, who had been watching him, noticed the subtle shift in Taehyung’s expression but said nothing.
Taehyung’s coldness was obvious, but there was something deeper beneath that impenetrable surface. Jin couldn’t tell if it was just his personality—or something haunting him.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Jin said, trying to ease the atmosphere again.
“We’re not here to talk about what happened before. Let’s eat, get our strength back for what’s coming.”

Yoongi remained silent, but the way his eyes studied Taehyung betrayed an interest he couldn’t suppress.
There was something about him that didn’t add up. Something Yoongi couldn’t quite decipher.
But for now, he had to settle for the answers Taehyung gave—answers that, while precise, still felt incomplete.

The rest of the dinner passed in a mix of silence and sparse conversation, but the tension never fully lifted.
Each of them was still trying to understand the others, to figure out who they really were, while the food was eaten without much joy.
They all knew the road ahead wouldn’t be easy—
And maybe, not even this dinner would make it any easier.

Chapter Text

Dinner was over, and Taehyung watched in silence as the others rose from the table. Before parting ways, they turned to the innkeeper, asking if there were any rooms available for the night. The woman nodded, motioning toward a few chambers upstairs, and accepted their payment without asking questions. Just before they could leave, she added with a smile, “The water’s been changed recently. If you want to wash, now’s the best time.”

Jungkook was the first to head toward the basins, followed by the others. The inn had grown quiet now, the only sound remaining the crackling of the fire, filling the space between the flickering shadows on the walls.

Taehyung stayed where he was, hands clasped together on the table, eyes fixed on an undefined point in the distance.

It was the perfect moment to plan his next move—to figure out how to slip away without raising suspicion. He couldn’t afford to stay tied to them, not to Jimin or Jungkook, and certainly not to Jin or Yoongi. Especially Yoongi. The man watched him too closely, picked apart his words and gestures as if he could see through him—see what he truly was.

A problem.
A threat.
A cursed riddle waiting to be solved.

Taehyung clenched his fists, trying to suppress the unease tightening in his chest. It wasn’t just habit—it was survival. Solitude had always offered him a safe haven, an unbreakable boundary that protected him from prying eyes, unwanted questions, and the danger of someone digging too deep. It was the only way forward. It had always been that way.

He was about to stand, ready to look for an escape route, when he sensed movement behind him. A chill ran down his spine, but he didn’t turn immediately. He felt the presence draw near, slow yet relentless, thick as a shadow stretching over him.

"You should be more careful when you're alone."

The voice was low, sharp, saturated with something dangerous. Taehyung lifted his gaze and met Yoongi’s eyes. They burned with restrained fury—embers smoldering beneath the ash.

There was a moment of absolute silence, the air humming with tension.

Yoongi stepped forward. “I knew it,” he hissed. “I knew it from the very first moment I saw you. You... you’re the cursed prince.”

Taehyung didn’t flinch, but something inside him twisted painfully. He knew. Yoongi had seen through the veil of anonymity, recognized the boy the world had tried to forget.

Yoongi pressed on, his voice harder now, laced with barely contained pain. “Do you even know what you’ve done? What you’ve brought with you? The kingdom I served... the land I loved... reduced to ash because of a curse like yours.”

He took another step, hands clenched at his sides, shoulders taut. “You bring chaos, destruction. I saw what happened in the dark forest... your veins blackened, your hands scorched by your own magic. You are the bearer of a curse you cannot control—and now it’s fallen upon us. You are its vessel.”

Taehyung didn’t move. His gaze held no fear, nor defiance. Only a cold shadow—the same mask he always wore to hide the weight inside him. But within, a sharp ache bloomed in his chest. It wasn’t his fault. It never had been. He’d been born this way, with this darkness etched into his blood, a magic he had never chosen and could never command. He wasn’t a monster—he was a victim. But Yoongi couldn’t know that. Couldn’t understand the torment of living each day in fear of hurting those who came too close.

Better to be hated.
Better they see him as a monster than risk being harmed.

“So what?” His voice was a whisper, devoid of emotion. “Are you going to kill me now, Yoongi?”

The man gritted his teeth, fists trembling slightly from tension. And for a moment, Taehyung truly believed he might. That Yoongi might raise his hand and strike him, unleash all that fury burning inside.

But before anything could happen, a third voice shattered the charged silence.

“Enough.”

Jin stood in the doorway, his gaze stern. He hadn’t raised his voice, yet his presence alone was enough to break the tension. He stepped forward and positioned himself between the two—a human shield between Yoongi and Taehyung.

“He’s hurt,” he said simply, nodding toward Taehyung.

Only then did Yoongi glance down and see what Jin had already noticed: Taehyung’s hands, skin reddened as if burned, his movements stiff, breath ragged. Sweat on his brow, the faint tremor of his fingers. And at the base of his neck, hidden beneath shadows—marks like cuts, as if the curse was carving itself into him even when no one was looking.

Jin looked back at Yoongi. “This isn’t the time.”

The dim light of the inn revealed the scars on Taehyung’s skin—some fresh, others old as the secrets he carried.

Yoongi stood motionless for a long moment, breathing heavy. The rage hadn’t left him; it was merely buried for now. Taehyung said nothing, his gaze still unreadable, but behind that icy mask, something else flickered. Something broken.

Yoongi took a step back, but said no more. He turned and left the room, dragging a heavy silence in his wake.

Jin turned to Taehyung, but the boy had already closed off. He said nothing. Did nothing. He simply turned and walked away, as if nothing had happened.

Taehyung left the room, heart pounding too fast. The moment he crossed the threshold, the darkness of the inn swallowed him, the only light coming from the dim lamps lining the walls. His breath remained shallow, each step heavier than the last. He didn’t stop even when Jin called his name. He didn’t look back. There was too much to process, too many unsaid words, too much pain threatening to crush him if he allowed himself to pause.

The corridor seemed to narrow with every step, as if the inn itself were trying to close in on him. His hands trembled, yet he ignored the growing burn that seared deeper by the second. The curse had never felt so close, so real. His skin felt like it was rebelling against him, his body desperate to escape itself.

He reached the window, pulling back the curtain to peer outside. The night was deep, the stars cold in the sky. Emptiness swept through him—an emptiness that would never be filled. He leaned against the glass, closing his eyes for a moment.

Yoongi’s voice echoed in his mind, sharp as a blade.

“You bring chaos. Destruction.”It wasn’t true.
It had never been true.
And yet, there was a part of him that couldn’t convince himself Yoongi was wrong.
Every time he looked in the mirror, he saw that black shadow slicing through him — that magic he could never stop. He had never been able to do anything about it, not even against the damage it caused, without him meaning to.

The door to his room opened without warning, but Taehyung didn’t turn.
He didn’t need to.
He knew who it was.

“Are you okay?”
Jin’s voice was soft, but heavy with concern.

Taehyung gave the slightest nod, but said nothing.
The loneliness — that same cold loneliness that had followed him for years — was wrapping around him again, making him want to run.
But he couldn’t. Not anymore. Not now that he was tied to them, to the resistance, to something that might — just might — change everything.

He didn’t know what to say.
Didn’t know how to respond.
It was as if every word weighed too much for him to lift.

Jin approached, his footsteps light but steady. Without saying a word, he placed a hand on Taehyung’s shoulder, stopping him.

“Yoongi doesn’t know what you’re going through,” Jin said, his voice low but incredibly steady. “He has no idea how your curse works. He’s blaming you for things you can’t control — because he’s just trying to find someone to blame. A scapegoat for his pain.”

Taehyung didn’t move, but inside, Jin’s words sank into him like a fine blade.
He didn’t want to believe what he was hearing.
But somehow, he knew it was true.

Jin sighed, his tone softening. “I don’t blame him, Taehyung. He’s lost a lot — just like you. The anger, the frustration… it’s all he sees right now. But that doesn’t mean he gets to treat you like you’re the reason everything fell apart. That’s not fair.”

Taehyung lowered his head, a knot forming in his throat.
He couldn’t speak.
He couldn’t find the words.
He felt trapped — between the curse, his fears, and everyone else’s expectations.

Jin continued, his gaze resting on Taehyung — not with judgment, but with understanding.

Taehyung met his eyes, and for a moment, a flicker of hope sparked in his chest.
The promise of being seen — of not being alone anymore — touched him more than he wanted to admit.
But that feeling, unfamiliar and dangerous, made him falter.

Jin’s eyes were full of a kind of understanding Taehyung couldn’t bear — as if he could see straight through him.
Warmth spread through his chest, and for an instant, Taehyung thought maybe — just maybe — it was possible to let go.
To trust.
To lower his guard.

But then, like an electric shock, the thought of the curse hit him hard.
The weight of that uncontrollable force inside him.
The one that would harm anyone who got too close.
The marks on his hands.
The fire that burned through him every time someone believed in him too much.

“I can’t,” he whispered, pulling away slowly from Jin’s hand, as if his touch was too warm for a frozen heart.
“I can’t allow it.”

His tone was cold, distant — a mask hastily thrown on to hide the emotion starting to rise.
He didn’t want Jin — didn’t want anyone — to see how fragile he was.
How vulnerable that one moment had made him feel.

He had to keep control.
He had to seem strong.
Even if inside, he was breaking.

Taehyung clenched his jaw, his body stiff as stone.
“It’s not that simple,” he said, anger flaring in his voice like it was the only shield he had left.
“You don’t understand... I don’t want anyone to suffer because of me.”

Jin stepped back, but kept his gaze locked on him, as if he refused to let him go completely.
“Then make sure they don’t,” he said, voice quiet but firm.
“Because you’re not alone, Taehyung.
But you have to accept that. Sooner or later.”

Taehyung remained silent, staring at the floor.
Every word Jin spoke hit something inside him.
But he didn’t want to give in.
Didn’t want to lower that wall.
Didn’t want to risk being seen.

That coldness — it was the only shield he had left.
And for now, it would have to be enough.

---

That night, wrapped in silence and solitude, Taehyung found himself at a crossroads: to run or to stay. Uncertainty was eating him alive, but physical and mental exhaustion outweighed any desire to flee. His mind, muddled by the curse that was crushing him, was a tangle of conflicting thoughts. On one hand, he felt a desperate need to get away, to stop being a threat to anyone who came too close, to vanish into the darkness. But on the other, the weight of his weak and aching body was too much to bear. And so, without a plan, without a map, without hope, he fell asleep in the room beside Jimin and Jungkook.

The burning scars stretching across his skin seemed to glow faintly, but the pain had faded, as though it had been absorbed by the sheer weight of exhaustion. He no longer had the strength to run—nor the desire. The map, the artifact, the sanctuary—they all felt distant, like his fate had already been etched in the stars above, watching from afar, cold and indifferent.

He was the son of a merciless king, a forgotten prince, a boy who had tried to fight his own curse—and now, he lay in a dark room beside two people who hated him as much as he hated himself.

Jimin, the thief who seemed to take delight in every reminder of Taehyung’s noble status, moved like a shadow in the opposite corner. His face held a mix of contempt and curiosity, but he said nothing. His rage toward Taehyung’s class blinded him from seeing beyond the mask. Jungkook, on the other hand, sat near the window, lost in thought, the vacant air of a fighter who had lived too long as a pawn in the games of the wealthy.

"You're going to sleep too?" Jimin asked in a sharp voice, eyeing Taehyung with a grin that barely masked his tension. "Didn’t expect a spoiled brat like you to settle for a shabby bed without whining."

“Jimin, you’re the one with a problem with everything. I’m trying to sleep and you’re still complaining. Maybe you should get some sleep—might even discover the joy of silence,” Taehyung replied coldly, his voice sharper than expected.

The sudden bark of laughter that burst from Jungkook's lips was completely out of place—light, youthful, almost childish. So unlike the detached, annoyed demeanor he usually wore.

"Spending too much time with us is making you just as unbearable as Jungkook,” Jimin scoffed. “Why don’t you both fuck off so I can tie you up like salamis and leave you here with not even a shred of dignity left. Not that Jungkook has much to begin with.”

“Jimin, shut up already and accept the fact that everyone hates you when you don’t stop whining,” Jungkook murmured. His tone made it clear—he was smiling.

"Goodnight. I'm going to sleep because I can't stand you, not because you told me to," Jimin huffed and turned his back on his roommates.

In the silence that followed, the three remained there—separated by invisible walls, each trapped in their own thoughts, unable to cross the distance between them. The bond between them was as fragile as a spider’s thread, ready to snap at the slightest pull. But that night, in the darkness, it seemed like loneliness had found a way to bind them together.

---

The darkness had lifted like an ink stain washed away by the rain.

Taehyung couldn’t say what time it was when he woke, but the first thing he felt was an unpleasant pressure against his side. Then came the irritating voice.

“Wake up, pampered brat. You missed the sunrise... but don’t worry, you’re still just in time to be useless.”

His eyes flew open—Jimin's face was inches from his own, leaning over him with a wicked grin tugging at his lips.

“What the hell—”

“You snore. Did you know that?” the thief interrupted, rocking on his knees beside him. With one finger, he brushed a strand of hair from Taehyung’s forehead and tapped him on the nose. “Like a chubby child dripping with honey and guilt.”

Taehyung shoved him away with a tired hand. “Stop touching me.”

“Oh, don’t tempt me, Your Highness. If you really knew where I’d like to put my hands…”

“Jimin.” Jungkook’s voice, low and flat, sliced through the air like a blade. He stood by the door, arms crossed, eyes fixed on them. He wore only his pants, hair tousled, veins still taut from waking. “Don’t start.”

“What? I wake him gently and get assaulted.” Jimin stood up theatrically. “Is this how you treat someone who saves your sorry asses from eternal slumber?”

“You’re like a bratty child flinging mud and expecting medals,” Jungkook replied, slowly walking into the room. He stopped just a few steps away from him. “Everything you do screams, look at me, I need attention.”

Jimin laughed—a sound like a knife scraping bone. “Oh, and you? The tragic mute. You know what you scream, when you come?”

A chill dropped into the room like a blade through water. Taehyung froze. Even Jungkook's breath seemed to halt for a second.

Jimin licked his lips, defiant. “Want me to say it? Because I remember it very well.”

The other boy said nothing. The flash that crossed Jungkook’s face wasn’t anger—it was humiliation. Real, cold-burning shame.

And then, without a word, he grabbed him.

Jimin didn’t resist. He laughed.
“Oh, are we in the mood for games now?”

In an instant, he found himself belly-down across Jungkook’s knees, held in place with a strength so fierce the wooden floor beneath them creaked in protest.

“Don’t you da—” he began, but the first slap knocked the air from his lungs.

A sharp smack landed on his backside, followed by another. Not violent—calculated. Humiliating.
Jimin writhed, kicked, laughed... but the sound was cracked.

“I’m not a child. Remember that,” Jungkook hissed through clenched teeth. “And you’re not untouchable.”

Taehyung stood frozen, eyes locked on the surreal scene unfolding before him.

There was anger in it. Pain. A toxic pattern that reeked of nights spent numbing loneliness with each other’s bodies. An intimacy built on resentment. And neither of them was shielding themselves from what the other could inflict.

Eventually, Jungkook let go.

Jimin straightened, lacking any trace of dignity. His eyes were glassy, yet he was still laughing, softer now.
“Nice hit, champ. Feel better?”

Jungkook didn’t reply. He looked at him once, then turned away.
“We should get moving. We’ve wasted enough time.”

Jimin turned to Taehyung, expression twisted into something bitter and sharp.
“And you? Did you enjoy the show, Your Grace? I hope it at least got you a little hot. Would be a shame to waste your tragic teenage years on a suicide mission.”

Taehyung rose silently. His heart was pounding.
Not because of what he’d witnessed—
But because of what he’d felt watching them.

Envy.

He wanted something too. Something just as raw. Crude. Real enough to hurt.

“Stop calling me that,” he said quietly, brushing past Jimin.

The thief chuckled again, but there was no edge to it this time.
“Sure. Whatever you say, princeling.”

They stepped outside in silence. The sky overhead was gray.

And on Taehyung’s chest, invisible to the others, the curse burned softly.
A new mark had appeared on his skin, as if carved by a forgotten hand.
A thin line.
Ancient.
Unavoidable.
And it was his fault—for daring to want.
For daring to envy someone else’s affection.

Chapter Text

The upstairs hallway of the tavern was wrapped in a rarefied stillness, broken only by the creaking of wooden planks beneath the slow footsteps of the three young men. The air hung heavy with the scent of wax, damp, and sour wine, while the soft light of dawn filtered through the grimy glass panes of the small windows, painting the edges of the walls in a warm, flickering orange.

Taehyung followed Jimin and Jungkook at a slow pace, his fingers curled around the edge of his cloak, eyes still weighed down by sleep. He hadn't slept well — not as much as he needed — and far too close to people he wasn’t sure he could call allies or just temporary obstacles. But now, the world was quiet, and for a fleeting moment, he could pretend there was nothing to think about.

At the corner of the hallway, a door creaked open. Jin was the first to emerge. He wore his usual pale tunic, unbuttoned at the collar, the sash at his waist hanging loose as if fastened in a rush. His hair — tied half-up — looked like it had slept worse than he had, yet Jin bore the same satisfied expression of someone who had dreamed of the sea and woken still on the shore.

"Ah, my morning audience!" he announced grandly, spreading his arms. "How wonderful to share the dawn with such… lived-in creatures."

Behind him, Yoongi appeared like a dense and crumpled shadow. His black shirt was buttoned incorrectly, and strands of raven hair fell across his forehead in chaotic tufts. He looked like someone who had woken up already exhausted.

"Don’t talk to me," he grunted, dragging a hand down his face. "Don’t breathe near me. Don’t exist in my proximity."

Jimin chuckled. He was leaning against the wall, a half-bitten apple in hand, his eyes far too awake for that hour.

Yoongi sighed deeply, as if merely remembering the night he’d just endured caused him physical pain.

Taehyung simply watched. There was something absurd, yet oddly captivating, about the way those two — Jin and Yoongi — moved around each other like opposite poles of the same magnet. Jin was light and sound and presence; Yoongi was silence and sharp glances and a slow-burning sarcasm. He didn’t understand what tied them together, but it seemed deeper than the banter suggested.

At the foot of the stairs, the tavern's common room opened up before them like a tired mouth: crooked tables, mismatched chairs, golden light spilling through narrow windows, and a weary figure behind the counter who looked as if they’d already lived too much in a single morning.

"Must be nice to wake up with enthusiasm," Yoongi muttered, brushing the railing with one hand as he descended the last steps. "Or... it would be."

Jin glanced sideways at him. "See? You can't resist. You love my jokes. They give you rhythm. Meaning. Life!"

"They give me the urge to find a new group," Yoongi replied — but not without a hint of complicity in his voice.

Taehyung paused a step above the others, watching them from that small vantage point. Morning light spilled across his shoulder, warming the threadbare fabric of his cloak. There was something strangely fragile, yet comforting, in the way the group moved: they weren’t perfect, nor truly in sync — not yet — but their exchanges were alive. And in their own way, they already seemed to belong to one another.

He descended the last few steps in silence, adding nothing. He took a seat at a table near the cold hearth, hands clasped in front of him, eyes quietly drifting over the others.

In the room, morning light stretched across the worn floor in sharp lines. The silence that welcomed them was broken only by the scrape of a chair hastily dragged by an old customer, already drunk despite the early hour.

Jin was the first to choose a table. He sat down with a relaxed air that clashed against the tension radiating from the others, as if he were the only one truly unaware of the bitter aftertaste lingering in the air. He leaned back, stretched out his arms, and yawned loudly.

Yoongi took a seat without enthusiasm, sitting slightly askew as if to stay ready to rise again. His eyes scanned the room constantly. He wasn’t looking for exits. He was calculating targets.

Jimin settled beside Jin with a half-smile, elbow on the table, fingers playing with a breadcrumb. Jungkook stood for a moment, then slowly sat down, throwing a quick glance at Taehyung, who still hesitated a few paces away.

Taehyung approached last, body stiff, gaze low. He sat beside Yoongi — the only seat left — feeling a subtle tension settle over him, like he’d just stepped onto a trap yet to be sprung.

“God, what a funeral atmosphere,” Jin commented, slapping his palms on the table with a smile too wide to be genuine. “Or maybe it's just your face, Yoongi. Hard to tell.”

Yoongi turned to him with deliberate slowness. “I shared a bed with you. Not everyone survives that.”

“And yet,” Jin replied, placing a hand over his heart in mock offense, “I’m sure I made you laugh at least once. I remember it. Middle of the night, you were facing the wall, and you made that noise… like a sneezing dog.”

“That was me trying to suffocate myself with the pillow. Shame it didn’t work.”

Jimin watched the exchange with an amused smirk, though his eyes kept drifting back to Taehyung. There was no longer the provocation of the night before, but neither was there real welcome. Just quiet observation, as if waiting to see which way the coin would fall.

"And you?" he asked then, turning to Yoongi with near-innocent curiosity. "Why do you look so wrecked? Don’t tell me they gave you the worst cot?"

Yoongi shrugged. “No. They gave me Jin. Worse than the cot.”

“Hey!” protested Jin, still smiling. “You make me sound like a living torture device. But deep down, you like me.”

“Deep down,” Yoongi replied coolly, “I’m thinking of twelve different ways to kill you. One with a spoon.”
Taehyung lowered his gaze to the table, pretending to be interested in a dark stain on the wood, though his heart was pounding. He was surrounded by dynamics he didn’t understand. Every joke felt like a blade waiting to plunge, every smile a weapon in disguise. No one seemed truly sincere — and yet, that falseness felt oddly familiar. Like home.

The inn, nestled in the heart of a nameless village, smelled of damp wood and stale bread. The sun wasn’t high yet, and the morning air cut through the grimy windows in cold, narrow slants.

The table they occupied felt too large for five people who didn’t trust one another.

Jimin drummed his fingers against the rim of his water cup, his eyes fixed on Yoongi, who was sipping his herbal infusion as though it were poison. Jin, meanwhile, bit into an apple with almost offensive enthusiasm, as if they hadn’t nearly been torn apart by an attack just two nights earlier.

Taehyung was the only one not touching anything. His cloak still clung to his shoulders, his head bowed. The scratches on his left cheek hadn’t been properly treated. No one had offered help. No one had felt obliged to.

Jungkook sat with his arms crossed, legs spread, his chair tilted back at a precarious angle, as though daring gravity to challenge him. The collar of his shirt hung open, revealing a trace of the black tattoos that snaked along his collarbone and disappeared beneath the fabric, alive like scars. His hair was tied back in a loose, disheveled ponytail, still tousled from the night.

The silence stretched a few seconds too long. When Yoongi finally broke it with his usual sharp-edged tone, Jungkook didn’t move. His dark, opaque eyes never left the older man’s face, even as he answered Jin with a flat, unsympathetic voice.

“We don’t trust you.”

No hesitation. No courtesy.

“Fair enough,” Jin replied, sipping his infusion with mock innocence. “We don’t trust you either. We're already halfway to a beautiful partnership.”

Jungkook furrowed his brows. The muscles in his arms tensed slightly as he adjusted his seat. Tension was something he knew intimately. He’d grown up in it. It took him just a breath to sense when someone was preparing to strike. And Yoongi? He was the kind of man who would slit a throat without even getting his hands dirty.

“You’re wasting your breath,” Jungkook murmured, more to Jimin than to the rest. “If you brought us here to play happy village, you might as well have left us to the beast.”

Jimin raised his eyebrows in a silent don’t start, but didn’t reply.

“You have any idea what kind of creature that was?” Jin asked, more out of boredom than real interest.

“Selvae,” Jungkook replied instantly, without even blinking. “Two females. Hungry.”

Yoongi regarded him with the first flicker of curiosity. “How do you know that?”

“Because I fought a pack during the siege of Than. They leave specific marks. The females move in pairs, never alone. They seek body heat, flee from rain.”

“And you’re telling us this now?” Jimin snapped.

“What were you planning to do, offer them a blanket?” Jungkook shot back, dryly.

Then he turned to Taehyung. He stared at him for a moment, as if searching for something in his eyes. A question, maybe. A challenge. Or just a sign that this strange boy was good for something.

Taehyung didn’t meet his gaze. He remained still, chin lowered, hands resting on his knees.

One beat. Two.

Then Jungkook spoke again, voice low and edged with quiet frustration.

“If you’d taken even a single step back, you’d be dead. And so would we.”

It wasn’t an accusation, but it carried its weight. He’d seen too many fall to place trust in someone who hadn’t proved they were worth the breath they wasted.

Yoongi watched him over his cup, eyes narrowed to slits.

“Than, huh?” he asked softly. “That siege was eight years ago. What were you then, twelve?”

Jungkook didn’t answer right away. His gaze hardened, jaw clenched. The chair thudded back onto all four legs as he leaned forward, elbows on the table.

“Fourteen,” he finally said, voice flat. “But it was enough.”

Yoongi raised an eyebrow, faintly amused. “And what was a kid doing in a siege with nobles and mercenaries?”

A brief silence followed. Even Jin fell quiet for once.

Jungkook ran a finger over an old scar on his arm, like it was a story carved into his skin. Then, without looking at anyone:

“Fighting. People used to bet on who’d last longer in the pits. I always did.”

Taehyung looked away. Jimin bit the inside of his cheek.

Yoongi didn’t speak for a moment. Then, in a tone barely above a whisper:

“Longer doesn’t mean forever.”

Jungkook’s eyes flashed as he looked at him. “It does for me.”

Jimin had been watching him for a while, eyebrows slightly drawn. He wore that something’s not adding up expression but waited for the right moment to speak.

At last, between a sip of water and a poorly disguised yawn, he said:

“And you,” he said, nodding toward Yoongi, “how do you know so much about Than?”

Yoongi didn’t even look up from the knife he was spinning between his fingers.

“I read,” he replied curtly.

Jimin sighed. “Sure. Because someone who wields blades like chopsticks is known for his love of history books.”

Jin chuckled under his breath, but didn’t interrupt. He was curious too.

Taehyung, still silent, watched Yoongi through the strands of hair falling into his eyes. He wanted to know too.

Yoongi finally raised his gaze. For a moment, silence enveloped the group completely. Then he spoke, his voice forged from iron and ashes:

“I was there.”

Jimin stiffened. “When?”

“When it fell.”

Yoongi’s tone was flat, like he was discussing the weather or an old headache. But his eyes… they belonged to someone who had never truly left the ashes of that city.

“You… you were from there?” Jungkook asked, less confrontational than usual.

Yoongi nodded once. “Born and raised. My name was carved into the walls, alongside my brothers’. My blood is buried beneath that land.”

Jimin stared at him, lips slightly parted. “Then… you’re a knight?”

Yoongi smiled, but there was no joy in it. “I was. When there was still a kingdom to serve.”

The knife in his hand stilled.

“And when the curse came,” he added, glancing briefly at Taehyung, “no one was spared. Only monsters. And those already half-dead inside.”

A long silence followed.

Then Jin, in a tone far too light for the moment but somehow necessary, murmured:

“And guess what? He was very half-dead inside.”

Yoongi leaned back in his chair, arms crossed.

“Very,” he confirmed, with a tired smirk. “Now I’m just what’s left.”

For a moment, no one spoke. The silence wasn’t heavy, but it wasn’t empty either. It was the kind that settles on your shoulders and refuses to leave.

Taehyung didn’t look away from Yoongi, even though it seemed he wasn’t really seeing him.

Something inside him stirred gently, like a stone dropped into still water.
Those words — no one was spared, only monsters — had lodged themselves somewhere deep, hard to ignore.

Maybe that’s why he looks at me like that. With that hatred… that certainty.
To him, I’m the curse. The face he gave to the disaster. The monster that survived where his people did not…

"Did you see that?" Jin said to the others, gesturing theatrically toward Yoongi. "He said it with affection. He likes me. He’ll never admit it, but he’s a softie on the inside."

Yoongi made to stand up, and Jin darted away laughing.

Jungkook shook his head, arms crossed over his chest. "But he’s right, you do look like a corpse. Try sleeping sometime."

"You should fight less and sleep more too," Yoongi shot back, standing and stretching his shoulders. "Strength without brains isn’t a virtue."

"Says the one who threw himself off a roof to kill a dragon," Jin cut in.

"And I succeeded," Yoongi replied, without looking at him.

---- FLASHBACK – THE NIGHT BEFORE, BEHIND THE INN ----

The moon hung high and milky in the sky when Jin stepped out the back of the tavern with two steaming mugs. He handed one to Yoongi, who was sitting on a fence rail, eyes lost in the void.

"I’ll go with them," Jin said after a sip. No preamble. No explanation. Just the truth, dropped like a knife on the table.

Yoongi didn’t reply immediately. He lifted the cup, took a sip, then looked sideways at Jin, eyes narrowed.
"Why?"

Jin smiled, but it was a smile more curved than usual. "Because I feel it."

"Ah, so now you’re one of those old witches who reads bird entrails?"

Jin chuckled quietly. "No, I’ve just gotten old. And I’ve learned how to tell when something stirs beneath the surface. That boy… the one with the cloak that costs too much… he’s running from something. But he’s not alone. The other two—broken souls, but not bastards. Maybe they’ll kill each other before the next stop, or maybe they won’t. But I don’t want to be left thinking I could’ve prevented corpses and instead turned away."

Yoongi stared at the foam in his cup.
"You’re not the remorseful type."

"No. But you are."

Yoongi looked at him. For the first time, Jin seemed… less like himself. Less theatrical, less dazzling. He was tired. He was real.
And beneath that jester’s mask, there was a gleaming blade.

"You want me to come too," Yoongi said.

"I saw how you look at the kid. You’re not stupid. And if you really plan to rip his heart out, better I be there when it happens."

Yoongi sighed, long and deep. "You manipulative bastard."

"We make a great pair, don’t we?"

---- PRESENT – MORNING, OUTSIDE THE INN ----

The village was already bustling: carts preparing to leave, children chasing chickens, merchants setting up stalls.

In front of the tavern, the five of them were gathered. Jimin was tying his pack to his back, Jungkook lazily spinning one of his blades between his fingers, while Taehyung, on horseback, looked lost in thought.

It was Jin who broke the silence, unclasping his cloak with an exaggerated flourish.
"Well then, we’re coming with you. Like it or not."

Jimin raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"You, him, and the mystery boy look like the least reliable team on the continent. A thief, a former gladiator, and a boy with a horse that’s too perfect. It’s a recipe for disaster."

"And for a few epic ballads," Yoongi added from behind him, already ready to leave.

Jungkook looked up, measuring Yoongi for a moment. No smile, but a flicker of respect sparked in his eyes.
"I don’t mind the idea."

Jimin scoffed, but his eyes were sparkling.
"As long as you keep insulting Yoongi, I’m in."

"I don’t insult," Jin replied. "I refine the truth."

Jimin laughed, and for a moment his gaze locked with Jin’s, like two dirty mirrors recognizing each other.
He gets it. He plays like me.

Meanwhile, Taehyung watched the scene silently, eyes low, mind elsewhere.
They’re getting in too quickly. As if we’re a group. As if we could trust each other.

He tightened his grip on the reins.
I need to get that map back. Once we reach Kaen, I’ll split off from them. Better that way. Better before the chaos turns on me again.

He said nothing. But within him, a plan was beginning to take shape.

Chapter Text

The path snaked through a narrow gorge, flanked by twisted trees that rose like skeletal fingers against the milky sky. The air had grown heavier, thick with something indefinable. The birdsong had stopped, as if sliced away by an invisible blade.

Yoongi walked at the rear of the group, his right hand always close to the hilt of his sword. His eyes darted between branches, shadows, and leaves that seemed to sway just a little too slowly.

"Stop," Jungkook said in a low voice, a moment later. He had felt it too. The smell. The silence. That kind of quiet that is never natural.

Jimin turned with a raised eyebrow, ready to answer with sarcasm—but he never got the chance.

A rustle. A sharp blow. Silence shattered.

It was as if the forest exploded.

Black figures dropped from the branches, a rain of cloaks and blades. Not a cry. Only silent, lethal movements.

Yoongi reacted like an animal. Reflexes forged in blood. His sword flashed out like a tongue of steel and deflected a knife in mid-air, just barely steering it away from Jin’s neck.

Jungkook had already drawn his daggers, facing two enemies at once, his body hunched forward, movements fast and brutal. A dance without grace—but deadly in precision.

Jimin disappeared behind a trunk with feline agility, ready to strike from a blind angle. Jin leapt onto a rock for a better vantage point, hurling stones down toward a few attackers.

And then there was him.

Taehyung.

One of the assassins charged straight at him, eyes narrowed, blade bared. The prince had no time to react. His horse neighed and reared, throwing him off balance. The blade was about to fall—

But Yoongi struck first.
His sword pierced the enemy’s side, then twisted at the wrist and shoved him away. A clean blow. Too precise to be instinct.

Taehyung looked at him. Yoongi said nothing. But for a moment, in his eyes, there was no hatred. Only a flicker of hesitation.
He could have let him die. He could have taken his revenge.
But he didn’t.

The attackers began to retreat. One of them let out a coded shout. Something about a “failed priority.” Then they vanished into the trees as suddenly as they had come.

Jin climbed down from the rock, bloodstained but unhurt. His eyes met Yoongi’s. Just a moment. Only a moment.
“Thank you,” he whispered, his eyes trembling. “I saw it. What you did.”

Yoongi didn’t answer. He stared at the blood on his blade as if trying to understand why he had stepped out of his silence for someone else.

The silence returned like a shroud. Heavy. Uneven.
But it wasn’t the same silence as before.

The assassins’ bodies lay scattered among the leaves—some lost in the flight, others left behind as warnings. The group had gathered near a small stream, in a clearing hidden among oaks.

What remained now was a hushed murmur, a shared fatigue seeping through their breaths, their wounds, their tense muscles. The cicadas had started singing again, distant and unaware. But no one moved for a long moment.

“Show me your shoulder,” Jin ordered gently but firmly.

“I’m fine,” Jimin muttered, though blood was still dripping between his fingers.

Jungkook sat on a flat rock, his breath heavy but his posture steady as ever. He had killed quickly, coldly. But now, in the strange stillness, he looked young again.

Yoongi silently inspected his own wounds—superficial ones. He never complained. Jin glanced his way but didn’t insist. He had seen that look before: the one of someone used to suffering in silence.

It was Jin who moved first—his skilled hands tearing clean strips from his robes to make bandages, digging into his satchel for a dark vial and a needle that smelled of bitter herbs. His hands trembled only slightly as he disinfected the wound.
“Hold still. Or it’ll get infected.”

Yoongi stepped away a few paces—not to withdraw, but to keep watch. His sword still in hand. He hadn’t sheathed it. His eyes scanned the branches, as if the trees might spill out more enemies at any moment.

Taehyung remained standing, motionless, arms limp at his sides. Not a drop of blood on him—but he seemed the most shaken of all. His gaze was empty. He stared at the spot where the assassin had collapsed after Yoongi’s blow.

The forest had returned to a semblance of calm, but none of them truly felt relief.

The air smelled of blood and disturbed earth. Crows cawed from a distance, as if they knew something terrible had just happened. The assassins’ bodies had vanished into the underbrush or escaped, but the shadow of their attack lingered, dense and suffocating.

Jin finished wrapping Jimin’s wound and stood, wiping his hands on his trousers. He passed by Taehyung, brushing his shoulder lightly without truly touching him.
“You’re not hurt, right?”

Taehyung didn’t reply. He was breathing heavily, but forced himself to nod.

Yoongi returned to the group, eyes on the ground.
“They were ordered to eliminate someone. They weren’t here to rob us. They were looking for a specific target.”

“Or more than one,” Jin added.
His gaze fell on Taehyung. No more words were needed.

For a moment, no one spoke. Only the rustle of leaves and the group’s exhausted breathing.

Then, like lightning through stagnant air, came Taehyung’s voice.

“It’s your fault.”
The words were low. Not explosive.
But filled with something worse: restrained resentment, worn and heavy.
The silence that followed was heavy as lead.

A step forward. The sun filtering through the branches carved the shadow of his face, and it almost looked like his pupils were burning.

“What...?”

Taehyung turned around.
His eyes—usually distant and elusive—were now fixed. Too fixed. Almost human, finally. But filled with fire.

“You took the map. Without knowing what it represents. Without knowing who I am, or what you're messing with. You put everyone in danger for a damn... personal challenge.”

Jimin stiffened, gaze sharp, but struck.
“You never trusted me. Or anyone. Maybe that’s your real problem—not the map.”

“I can’t afford to trust. Because every time I do... someone dies.”

The words escaped too quickly, and he lowered his gaze at once. Taehyung clenched his fists.

Jungkook stood up, concern on his face. He spoke calmly. “Hey, hey... breathe. No one asked you to protect us, Taehyung. We’ve been doing that ourselves for years. We know what’s out there.”

Taehyung looked at him. For a moment, he seemed fragile. Lost.
Then his gaze hardened again.
“You don’t understand. You can’t understand.”

He turned to walk away—like he was running from something inside himself. The sunset kissed his shoulders, casting an almost ethereal light around him. But the way he wrapped his arms around his chest betrayed something else.

Jimin ran a hand through his hair, frustrated.
“And what about you? What are you really after? Why won’t you just say it?”

Taehyung stopped.
Rigid shoulders.
But he didn’t turn around.

“Because every time I tell the truth... people die.”

And then he vanished into the forest, leaving silence in his wake.

Yoongi stepped closer to Jin, who was already watching him.

“He’s scared,” Yoongi said softly.

“Yes,” Jin replied. “And he hates it.”

“The curse burns him.”

“And the heart betrays him.”

They remained still, while behind them the rest of the group tried to figure out who, exactly, that boy was—who spoke so little, yet seemed to carry an entire world on his back.

Jungkook calmly rose from the rock. His sword, still stained with blood, rested beside him, but he didn’t take it.
His gaze lingered where Taehyung had disappeared, brows slightly furrowed.

“I’ll go.”

Yoongi looked at him carefully, needing few words. He nodded.

“Go, but stay on the path. Don’t follow him too deep into the brush. He’s more dangerous than he looks.”

Jungkook nodded respectfully. “I’ll try to make him listen. I’m one of the few who doesn’t flinch.”

He was about to leave when Jimin suddenly jumped to his feet.

“Wait—”

Yoongi turned to him, eyes cold and unyielding.

“You’re wasting our time. Sit down and stay quiet.”

Jimin clenched his jaw but obeyed. He didn’t have the standing to talk back. Not yet.

Jungkook disappeared into the trees, his light cloak vanishing behind the growing shadows of the forest.
His steps were silent, controlled.

Jin approached Yoongi, hands still stained with dirt and dried blood. He observed him a moment, then spoke in a low voice.

“You fought well. Back there—”

“You’re not dead,” Yoongi cut him off, eyes still averted.

“No. But I could’ve been. Thank you.”

Yoongi gave a vague nod, almost annoyed, but didn’t move. His gaze stayed fixed on the ground, and a faint, almost imperceptible flush touched his cheeks.
Jin noticed—and smiled faintly.

“You’re not used to compliments, are you?” he murmured, his voice light.

Yoongi shot him a glare. “They’re just empty words. If you want to thank me, stay alive.”

“I’ll try,” Jin replied, his smile never fading. But his eyes said something else.
They said he had seen something in Yoongi—and he didn’t plan to let him ignore it for long.

Yoongi turned away, pretending to scan the area, but stayed close enough to be seen.

Meanwhile, deep in the forest, leaves rustled softly under Jungkook’s measured steps.
He had found Taehyung, still by a tree, head bowed, breath uneven.

He didn’t speak right away. He approached the way you would a wounded animal. Slowly. Quietly. Unarmed.

Taehyung turned slightly.

“You came to talk me into going back?”

“I came to see if you needed someone to stay quiet with.”

Taehyung let out a sound that might’ve been a laugh, but it died in his throat.

Jungkook sat at the base of the same tree, leaving space between them.
The silence stretched on—but it wasn’t heavy. It was… respectful.

“You don’t have to stay,” Taehyung said after a while, voice low.

“Neither do you,” Jungkook replied. “But you’re still here.”

Taehyung lowered his gaze. A leaf drifted down beside him.
The sun was high above, and through the branches, the sky looked like the sea.

“I don’t understand what you all want from me.”

His voice wasn’t an accusation. Not even anger.
It was something emptier. More fragile.
Like a child who’s stopped asking why, because no one ever answers.
Jungkook, sitting beside him, ran a hand through his dark hair, letting the silence linger a moment longer before breaking it with words that sounded raw and honest—but without venom.

"We were looking for an excuse to feel like we were more than what we were. More than thieves, more than beggars, more than slaves. And you were that excuse."

Taehyung lifted his gaze only slightly, but didn’t interrupt him. His eyes looked like those of someone who hadn’t expected a real answer in a very long time.

"Jimin will never say it," Jungkook went on, his voice quiet but steady. "His wound made him less inclined to speak the truth. But it’s real. We wanted... something to give all this meaning. And then you crashed into our world with that map and that air of someone already condemned. It felt like fate."

Taehyung shook his head, a tired, joyless smile tugging at his lips.

"And I just thought I was a burden."

Jungkook looked at him—truly looked at him—for the first time with different eyes. Not with the wary gaze of a wanderer, nor the guarded stare of a battle companion. He looked at him the way you look at someone who broke themselves so no one else could do it first.

"Maybe you’re both," he said softly. "But we’re not better than you. Just better at pretending."

Taehyung glanced sideways at him, and for a moment, his usually distant eyes looked more human. Vulnerable. Frightened.

Then he looked away again, off into the distance, where the light was dying behind the trees.

"You should go back to the others," he whispered. "There’s nothing here."

Jungkook stood, but didn’t turn right away. He remained beside him, as if to say he would wait as long as needed. Then he murmured:

"Even nothing needs company, sometimes."

---

Taehyung walked a few steps behind Jungkook.
His boots crushed the grass still unsettled from the fight, scattered with broken leaves, uprooted stones, and the now-dry blood of the assassins who had attacked them.
His hands were tucked beneath his cloak, clenched into fists—but not out of anger.
It was the curse.
It was burning again.

He felt it pulsing along his spine, like a thread of black water rising slowly, steadily, relentlessly. Every time he let go—every time something truly pierced him, whether fear, rage, or relief—it came back to life.
And now... after Jungkook, after those words... the chains around his heart felt a little looser. And that was not a good thing.
He breathed carefully, as if a breath too deep might wake the monster.

Jungkook walked ahead in silence, a broader shadow than his own, back straight and steps measured. He hadn’t tried to speak again—not after that—and Taehyung was grateful.
He needed the silence to settle back over him like a rough blanket.
He needed to put himself back together.

When they stepped out through the thicket, the group was still there: huddled together, seated on rocks or the ground, each tending their wounds as best they could.

Yoongi was inspecting the bloodied edge of his sword.
He lifted his gaze briefly toward them, eyes cold and calculating. Then, wordlessly, he returned to his weapon.
Jin, on the other hand, smiled at once.

"Look who came back from the dead!" he said, eyeing them from head to toe. "Still in one piece? No broken bones or broken hearts?"

"Just a bruised ego," Jungkook muttered, more to himself than to the others.

Taehyung stood beside a rock, eyes cast elsewhere, away from the group.
He only sat when Jin gently nudged him down with a tilt of his chin and a small smile, as if caring for him was the most natural thing in the world.

No one said much.
Jimin had stopped muttering. He sat a little farther off, wrapping a strip of old cloth around his arm. From time to time, he cast quick glances toward Taehyung, but said nothing. Maybe he was waiting to be scolded again.
Or maybe—Taehyung thought—he was wondering if it was still worth staying.

Jungkook moved over to Yoongi, sitting down beside him.

"I’ll watch the eastern side," he said, practical and calm, "but if you see movement to the west, give me a sign."

Yoongi nodded. He didn’t reply.
Then, when Jimin drew breath to speak, Yoongi raised a hand without even looking at him.

"Not now."

The sun was low.
Shadows stretched long across the trunks, jagged and shifting.
Taehyung stood again, pulling his cloak tighter.
The group understood without a word that it was time to move.

They set off without haste, slow but alert.
This time, there were no sharp jokes, no careless words meant to hurt.
Only footsteps, breath, and fleeting glances.

Every so often, Jin would hum an old, cheerful tune under his breath and slip a compliment to Yoongi every few lines—enough to make him grumble “stop it” at least three times.
But he never really stopped him.

Taehyung brought up the rear.
Now and then, he looked at the backs of those ahead of him, as if still searching for a reason to leave—or perhaps... to stay.

And beneath his skin, the curse burned quietly,
a silent reminder that affection is poison.
That closeness is dangerous.
That no one stays.
But he didn’t leave.

Chapter Text

Two days later, the horizon had changed.
The mountains loomed closer now, a stern bastion cutting across the sky, while the forest had thinned into stretches of grassy hills and clear streams. The five of them rode on horseback, sometimes at a trot, more often at a walk, following side trails and old, forgotten roads.

The days passed in much the same way: long stretches of silence, broken only by brief exchanges of essential words. The nights, instead, were made of small fires, tents pitched with effort, and weary shifts on watch.

Taehyung often rode at the back of the group.
The horse responded well—docile yet strong. It was one of the few things he could rely on, something steady beneath him.
And yet, even as his eyes stayed on the path, his mind wandered elsewhere.

"Why did you send me away, Father?"
The thought had surfaced slowly, somewhere between one stop and the next. At first, it was only a discordant note in his mind—a feeling more than a question.
But with each passing hour, with every new hardship—every glance from the others who didn’t know who he truly was—the question grew more insistent.
"Did you really want to prepare me... or were you just trying to be rid of me?"

There was no answer.
Only the image of his father giving the order—no embrace, no farewell glance.
As if he were just a package to be sent away.

During breaks, Taehyung often kept to himself, checking the horse’s tack or staring at the map Jin had taught him to read more carefully. He spoke rarely.
Jungkook watched him. But he didn’t push.
Every now and then he would approach, offering a piece of fruit or a bit of water without a word, then return to his place, as if he were trying not to startle a wild creature.

Jimin said little.
He had stopped provoking him, even though his eyes—when they met Taehyung’s—seemed to speak more than he was willing to admit.

Yoongi and Jin often discussed strategies, directions, as if they had known each other for years—even though it was clear they were still learning about one another.
Jin, ever cheerful, kept praising Yoongi’s skills with light-hearted remarks.
“You’re an enigma, my dear. A sharpened mystery with legs,” he’d say, while Yoongi simply sighed and shook his head.

One evening, by the fire, while the others slept or rested in turns, Taehyung stayed awake, knees pulled to his chest, his gaze lost in the flickering embers.
The crackle of burning wood seemed to echo the dull noise of his thoughts.
There was something in the air—the silence of the forest, Jin’s soft snoring nearby, the quiet breath of Jungkook—that made the moment feel sharper. More real.

For the first time since he had left, he wondered if his father was thinking of him.
If he had even noticed his absence.
If he truly cared at all.
Why hadn’t anyone stopped him?
Why hadn’t there been orders, soldiers, letters?
A part of him—the part that still hoped—wondered if his father was simply too proud, too severe to show concern.
But a darker, older voice whispered another truth:
What if he had never truly wanted him within those walls at all?

The thought coiled inside him like a serpent.
It stole his breath.
His heart, as if in response, clenched in a violent, painful beat. That familiar grip.

The curse.

It wasn’t just a burden.
It was a prison, tightening around his chest every time he allowed himself to feel too much.
Every time he thought of others.
Every time he... hoped.

He looked at his sleeping companions—indistinct shapes cast in the flickering firelight.
He didn’t want them there; he had repeated it to himself a thousand times.
He didn’t want them close.
He didn’t want to protect them, or be protected.

And yet...
Some part of him wondered if they were all right.
If they were cold.
If Jimin had dressed his wound properly.
If Jungkook was still keeping watch.
If Yoongi was still in pain.
If Jin was truly asleep—or just pretending, like he was.

And without meaning to, his gaze settled on Jungkook.
The boy’s head was bowed against his chest, one hand still resting lightly on the hilt of his sword.

Taehyung remembered the words he’d spoken to him a few nights before.
They had just finished setting up camp, and Taehyung had wandered off, unable to breathe.
Jungkook had followed him without a word, placed a hand gently on his shoulder, and with that calm, steady voice of his, had whispered:

"Even nothing needs company, sometimes."

Taehyung hadn’t answered.
He hadn’t known how.

But now, in the dark, with the fire at his back and the curse under his skin, he closed his eyes for just a moment.

Thank you, he thought.

A fragile thought, almost a caress—one he would never speak aloud. But it was there.
And for an instant, just one, it made him feel a little less alone.

“Damn this damnation…” he murmured, barely a whisper, aimed at no one.
A curse not against any god, but against the blood in his veins.

“Why did you make me like this? Why do you punish me every time I feel anything?”

He was tired.
Tired of holding back every impulse, every gesture, every thought.
The curse punished him for every emotion, as if loving—or simply caring—was a crime.
A heart that could not beat freely was no heart at all: it was a weapon.

And he didn’t want to be a weapon anymore.

With a trembling breath, he lay down on his bedding, cloak pulled up to his chin, his back turned to the others.
He looked up at the stars—still, cold.
He wished that at least they could look at him without fear.
That they could see him for who he was, and not for what he carried.

He did not close his eyes.
He did not sleep.
Only silence and the curse kept him company, woven together like thorns beneath his skin.

He rose before the others the next morning.
Not because he wanted to—he hadn’t slept in hours—but because sleep had finally abandoned his body, like dew fading from the leaves at first light.He washed his face with the cold water from the stream, his hands trembling, muscles stiff from a night spent in the freezing air. He didn’t look at anyone as the others began to stir in their bedding, rubbing sleep from their eyes or muttering half-formed words.
He had learned to avoid their gazes—even Jin’s gentle one, or Yoongi’s too-perceptive stare.

Soon, they were on the move again.
The horses picked their way along paths that grew narrower by the hour, flanked by ancient, silent rocks. The vegetation had changed—drier, darker—almost as if the land itself knew what they were trying to reach.

The ruins.

No one spoke much.
Words had become scarce, like coins saved for necessity.
They exchanged quick glances—Jin checking on Jimin whenever he coughed, Jungkook glancing back often to see if Taehyung was still in the saddle, Yoongi scanning the horizon as though he could predict the future with his eyes alone.

Taehyung felt watched—but never truly seen.

And yet… a part of him had begun to notice the details.

Jungkook’s calloused hands holding the reins with silent steadiness.
The way Jimin pressed a hand to his side when he thought no one was looking.
The soft songs Jin hummed during breaks, as if trying to fill the space between them with something that resembled home.
And Yoongi.

Yoongi, who rarely spoke to him directly, but studied him quietly, with those dark eyes that seemed to weigh every breath, every unsaid word.
There was something in his gaze now—not just suspicion anymore, but perhaps... doubt?

Taehyung lowered his eyes to the horse’s neck.
He didn’t want to feel protected.
He didn’t want to believe in illusions.
And yet—for the first time—the idea that someone, anyone, might stay frightened him more than the thought of being alone.

The path opened into a small clearing, and Jin called for a break.
The hooves came to a halt, bodies eased down from saddles, and the first words of the day were spoken in a tired whisper.

“We should start seeing the ancient stones soon,” Jin said, pouring water into a shallow bowl. “They say there’s still magic in the air down there. Old magic.”

“Or ghosts,” Jimin added with a weary smile as he sat down. “Old kingdoms never die. They change.”

Yoongi said nothing.
He simply stared out toward the horizon.

Taehyung stayed apart from the group, hands clasped around his knees.
Magic. Ghosts. Forgotten kingdoms.

Everything seemed to speak of them.
And everything, somehow, seemed to speak of him.

The forest had thinned, trees sparse and twisted.
Ahead of them now lay sweeping fields of grass, rippling in the wind.Ancient steppes, scorched by sun and solitude.
No trace of villages.
Only the memory of time, and of wars long forgotten.

Silence became a second skin.
Only the sound of hooves, cloaks brushing against legs, and the occasional word exchanged in a whisper. The sky felt wider here, as if even the gods had long since abandoned these lands.

The mountains rose ahead like jagged stone teeth, still veiled in mist and distance.

They didn’t talk much.
Each one seemed swallowed by their own thoughts, and the silence stretched between them like a thin thread—one that connected and separated them all at once.

Taehyung rode a short distance from the others.
Not quite at the edge, but never at the center. A shadow among shadows.

And yet, even then, he couldn’t help but notice.
To observe.

Jin kept casting subtle glances toward Jungkook, as if measuring him for some joke he’d never actually voice.
Yoongi stared at the horizon, but now and then, his gaze flicked toward Taehyung from the corner of his eye.
And Jungkook and Jimin…
They were different.

There was something in the way they moved that spoke of an old, familiar story.

When they stopped to rest—while the sun dipped into a sky painted in layers of sand and blood—Taehyung saw it.

Jimin had seated himself against a rock, his cloak hanging loosely from his shoulders, his breathing uneven, as if trying to mask some discomfort.
His hand clutched his side, fingers tight against the fabric, his expression carefully neutral.
Too neutral to be real.

Jungkook approached without a sound.
He didn’t speak.
He didn’t call his name.

He crouched beside him and placed a folded cloth next to him, damp herbs tucked inside.

Jimin looked at him, eyes narrowed.
“It’s not necessary.”

“I know.” Jungkook’s voice was simple. Not challenging.

He stayed there.

Jimin dropped his gaze to the other’s hands.
“I don’t want you to treat me like I’m broken.”

Jungkook moved slowly, extending a hand toward him.
He didn’t touch the wound.
He only brushed his bare arm, just above the elbow—a slow, open, almost hesitant touch.

“I’m not doing it because you’re broken,” he said. “I’m doing it because I know it hurts. And because I can.”

A blink.

Jimin didn’t answer right away.
Then, simply, he didn’t move.
He let the touch remain.Taehyung watched from a distance, unnoticed.
A knot tightened in his stomach.
It wasn’t jealousy.
It was… the bitter awareness that between those two existed a language made of shared silences and known wounds—one where no explanations were needed.

A language he didn’t speak.
And maybe never would.

The day was slowly collapsing into the arms of twilight.
The air had grown colder, and the colors had blended into uncertain tones—somewhere between rust and blue. The steppes stretched behind them like a grassy sea, now quieted by the wind. Ahead, the mountains loomed closer, clearer.

They hadn’t spoken in hours.
Evening had descended without hurry, painting the sky in deep indigo.
The air smelled of trampled grass and burning wood; smoke drifted lazily above the fire at the center of their small camp. The steppes behind them gave way to the first signs of rising terrain, as if the earth itself was preparing for ascent.

Jimin and Jungkook had slipped away not long after dinner, under the pretense of refilling the water skins.
Jin had let them go, focused on arranging the blankets and checking the dried herbs they had left.

Yoongi remained seated by the fire.
After a moment’s hesitation, Taehyung had taken a place nearby, curled in on himself, arms wrapped around his knees.

For a while, there was only silence.
The crackling of flames.
The whisper of grass under the wind.

“You know, you could at least pretend a little better.”

Taehyung barely lifted his gaze.
There was no provocation in Yoongi’s tone—just a kind of worn-out disdain.

“I’m eating quietly. Doesn’t seem like acting to me.”

“Exactly. Always too quiet. Too composed. As if even your guilt needed to be graceful.”

Taehyung didn’t respond right away.
He turned slightly toward the fire, watching it, as though searching for something in the embers.

Then, calmly, he spoke.
“You’d rather see me in pieces, I suppose. That way you could stop wondering why I’m still here.”

Yoongi tensed.

“You’re not here by choice. No one wants you here.”

Taehyung smiled, but it never reached his eyes.
“Not even my father.”

Yoongi turned sharply, perhaps to reply, perhaps to strike him with another cutting line—
but Taehyung spoke first.“I know what you think.
That I’m just a symbol—a living memory of the pain still clinging to you.
That I’m guilty just for breathing.”

His voice trembled slightly, but there was no plea in it.
Only a kind of ancient weariness.

“But have you ever thought,” he continued, “that I, too, might be carrying a shadow I never chose?”

Yoongi scoffed, but didn’t interrupt.

“Jin told me what you lost. What was taken from you. I’m not asking for your understanding.
But at least don’t pretend you don’t know what it’s like to live with death wrapped around you.”

Silence.
The wind slipped between the light fabric of the tents, brushing through the leaves like curious fingers.

Then Yoongi spoke, voice low.

“I don’t hate you because you’re a prince.
I hate you because you’re alive.”

Taehyung bowed his head.
Not like someone defeated, but like someone who recognizes a truth too heavy to fight.

“I believe you.”

Yoongi clenched his jaw.
Then, suddenly, he stood and walked away from the fire, leaving behind only a trail of broken footsteps in the dirt.

Jin, who had been watching from a distance with an unreadable expression, stepped forward and added another branch to the flames.
Taehyung remained still, silent.
For a few long minutes, the crackling fire was the only sound that felt honest.

Yoongi hadn’t made it far.
The fire still crackled behind him—but now the flames cast their light on a figure that hadn’t been there a moment before.

Jin.

He stood between the two of them, as if he had stepped out of the fire’s shadow itself.
His tunic stirred gently in the wind, his gaze sharp and clear, like cut glass.

“Enough, Yoongi.”

The voice was quiet, but left no room for argument.

Taehyung lifted his eyes slightly toward him.
Jin didn’t look at him—not yet. His eyes were fixed on the other.

Yoongi froze.
His breath still uneven, fists clenched tight at his sides.

“You’re the one who lets him stay among us.”

The words were low, scraped raw.

Jin nodded—slowly.

“Yes.
Because I know his curse.
And I know yours, too.”

A flicker of heat crossed Yoongi’s face.
But Jin stepped forward, his voice still calm.“You’re not the one who throws blame on others, Yoongi. Not you.
Not you, who fought for years against the same rage you’re letting win now.”

“I’m not winning anything!”

Yoongi’s voice rose, his shoulders drawn tight like a bowstring.

“You don’t understand, Jin. You can’t—”

Jin raised a hand.
Just a small illusion—but powerful in its simplicity.
The sound of a distant bell.
An echo neither of them had heard in years.

Yoongi froze.
His eyes widened, as if he recognized something only he could hear.

Then, all at once, he looked down—
as though struck in the chest.

“I’m not asking you to forgive him,” Jin said softly, “but I am asking you not to let pain become your only voice.”

Yoongi didn’t answer.
He turned slowly, leaving Jin and Taehyung behind.
He vanished into the camp’s shadows without a sound.

For a moment, only silence remained.

Jin finally turned to Taehyung.
His eyes had softened, but their gravity remained.

“You shouldn’t have told him like that.”

Taehyung lowered his gaze, fingers clenched around his knees.

“He already knew. I just confirmed what was obvious.”

Jin sighed and crouched beside him, picking up a stick to draw slow circles in the dirt.

“Sometimes the truth hurts more than a lie. But…”

He looked up and gave a faint smile.

“…it causes less damage in the long run.”

Taehyung stared at the embers.

“Do you think he’ll forgive me?”

Jin shook his head—not to deny it, but out of honesty.

“I don’t know. But you took the weight off him. Now he has to decide what to do with it.”

Yoongi had walked away from the fire, from the sound of voices, from shadows that were familiar yet suddenly distant.
He moved through the rocks and low shrubs of the steppe until he was far enough that nothing remained but the wind’s breath in his ears.

He stopped, hands on his hips, eyes lost in the horizon darkening before him.
The mountain loomed in the distance, sharp as a blade poised to cut the sky in two.

That boy.
Taehyung.

He didn’t need to say it aloud.
The name was already burning in his mouth.He had recognized the curse in him from the very first day.
Not because someone had told him.
Not because it was declared on parchment or carved into sacred relics.

But because of the look in his eyes.

The same look he had seen in the eyes of his King—
when, on his knees, he surrendered to ruin.

That day, the sky hadn’t wept.
But he had.

Yoongi closed his eyes.
His chest rose in silence, almost trembling.

The kingdom he had sworn to serve had fallen, devoured by a quiet darkness.
It had come from beyond the walls—faceless, nameless.
It had stolen the light from the land, and with it, hope.

And when the court had crumbled,
he had survived.

At the cost of his heart.

And now…
Now that pain had returned.
It walked among them.
Ate beside them.
It wore the face of a boy far too young to bear such a burden.

But he bore it.
And he bore it alone.

Yoongi ran a hand over his face, shivering.
His anger had been his armor.
But it no longer protected him as it once had.

Every time he looked at Taehyung, his instincts screamed—
to accuse, to condemn.
But then he saw the boy’s hands tremble when he thought no one noticed.
He saw the way he lowered his gaze to avoid confrontation,
the solitude carved into the way he never asked for help.

And in some uncomfortable corner of his heart,
Yoongi felt pity.

And more than anything… he felt fear.

Because if that boy truly was what he appeared to be,
then this wasn’t just the end of another kingdom.

It would be the end of himself.
Of whatever part of him still remained.

Yoongi opened his eyes.
The wind was colder now.

He looked toward the camp, toward the faint glow of the fire.
And even from that distance,
he saw Taehyung still awake—
curled in on himself,
his face turned toward the embers.

Yoongi held his breath.

Then he turned around.

He went back.
The camp had grown quieter.
The footsteps of the watch rotated just beyond the edge of the tents, and the fire’s crackle was now a distant whisper.

Jin sat nearby, on the edge of a flat stone,
carefully mending the hem of his cloak with a thin, near-invisible needle that seemed to have appeared from nowhere.

He didn’t look up when he heard the footsteps behind him.

He didn’t need to.

“Did you get lost?”The voice was light, a smile weaving between the words.
Yoongi stopped, standing with his hands buried in his cloak.

“...No.”

Silence.

Then Jin sighed and put down the needle. He turned his face toward him, the firelight softly brushing his profile. His eyes gleamed faintly—watchful, warm. As if he’d been waiting for hours.

“So you just came looking for me. Admit it, you’ve gotten sentimental.”

Yoongi scoffed, lowering his gaze. “Don’t start.”

“Oh, but if I don’t start, you never do,” Jin said, rising and stepping closer. He stopped just a few paces away.
“I know you, Yoongi. From before the world decided to turn against us.”

Yoongi looked at him, a hesitant shadow in his eyes.

And when Jin drew nearer, his gaze growing more serious, more honest, his voice dropped to a whisper.

“Did I hurt you?” Jin asked, truly this time. Without barriers.

Yoongi swallowed. His eyes looked elsewhere.
But the answer came anyway.

“No. Or maybe yes. But I allowed it. Because I didn’t want to face what I knew I had to face.”

Jin didn’t speak right away. He watched him silently, then stepped closer still. Slowly, he lifted a hand and gently placed it on Yoongi’s shoulder.

“You want to save the world and then die alone. But it doesn’t work that way.”

A smile touched his lips.
“Sorry, knight, we’re not letting you escape that easily.”

Yoongi laughed softly. A brief, almost broken sound—as if he wasn’t used to it.

“God, you can be unbearable sometimes.”

“Only sometimes? You’re actually starting to be fond of me.”

Jin tilted his head and, without giving Yoongi a chance to reply, gently pulled him close.

Yoongi didn’t resist.
He stayed there, in the other’s arms, his chin resting lightly on Jin’s shoulder, closing his eyes for a second.

Just a second.

That was all he needed.

“Will you stay with us?” Jin asked softly, his voice careful not to scare the answer.

Yoongi didn’t speak immediately. But his breathing grew calmer.

“Yes.”

Jin smiled, wider this time.
“Good. Because I intend to torment you for a long time yet.”

Chapter Text

Twilight caressed the steppes with fingers of amber and purple, and the wind had quieted for just a few hours, as if honoring the weariness of the journey.
They had found a small hollow among the rocks, where the grass grew less wild and the ground was dry. That’s where they decided to set up camp.

Jin was the first to settle in, removing his cloak with a theatrical flourish and announcing,
“Tonight, we’re eating something decent. I want to remind my teeth what chewing feels like.”

Jungkook immediately offered to help, only to nearly slice off two fingers trying to peel a root vegetable.

“Leave it,” Yoongi said with a grimace.
Taehyung had kept to himself, as usual, sitting cross-legged a little ways off. But when he saw Jin calmly working, mixing spices he carried in a jar far too well-kept for a mere traveler, he stood up.

“Can I help with something?” he asked.

Jin looked up, studied him for a moment, then pointed to a bowl of water.
“Wash the herbs without destroying them. I know it’s complicated, but I have faith in you.”

The meal, simple but fragrant, was served with a certain flair. Jin handed out the bowls as if they were goblets at a royal banquet, and the group gathered around the fire, each one leaning against a sack or a rock.

The stars had begun to emerge in the velvet sky, and for a few minutes, there was only the sound of spoons and the wind through the grass.

It was Jin who broke the silence, without anyone prompting him.
“Once, I traveled with a caravan for five whole weeks just to taste a fruit.”

Jimin raised an eyebrow.
“A fruit?”

Jin nodded, smiling softly.
“It was a rare kind, only grew on the hills of Myan-Ker. I’d heard about it from a merchant, and... I didn’t have much else to do at the time.”
He paused, his eyes lost in the fire.Yoongi was watching him closely.
“Was it at least good?”

Jin laughed.
“Terrible. It smelled like rotten fish. But the journey to get there was worth everything.”

Jungkook smiled.

“You were out tasting strange fruits at thirteen…”
He paused briefly, his eyes clouding just a little.
“I was trying not to die at thirteen.”

Jimin, sitting beside him, touched his shoulder — a gesture subtle enough to go almost unnoticed, but Jungkook didn’t miss it.

“One time,” he added in a lighter tone, “I pretended to faint during a fight just to steal a piece of bread from under the stands.”
He let out a soft laugh. “Got a kick in the ribs for it, but at least the bread was warm.”

Jin slowly turned toward him, his expression more serious for a moment.
“Was it good at least?”

“Way better than the rotten fruit,” Jungkook replied, and the others laughed again.

Laughter erupted once more, more genuine this time. Even Jimin chuckled, before adding:
“I didn’t know that one. I thought your biggest hunger was for attention.”

“Hunger is hunger,” Jungkook shot back, giving him a defiant glance — but the smile they shared was more tender than confrontational.

It was Yoongi who shattered the lightness, his voice deep and sharp in the silence that followed:
“It’s fucked up. Forcing kids to fight like beasts. Owners, gamblers, generals... all sons of the same sewer.”
He stared into the fire. The flames danced in his eyes, but his gaze was far away.
“I’ve seen gladiators who had talent for art, for music, for maps. Reduced to broken bones and scars to entertain people who’ve never worked a day in their lives.”

A heavier silence settled for a moment, as the flames crackled in the makeshift brazier.Then Jin let out a quiet sigh, without taking his eyes off the stick he was using to stir the food.
“Luckily, now we cook that piece of bread together, don’t we?”

Jungkook looked at him. “Yeah. But don’t you dare add any more weird spices.”

“It was an experiment!”
“It was poison.”
“It was seasoned!”

They all laughed again, and this time even Yoongi allowed a faint smile to form.

Taehyung, sitting apart, watched them. His hands rested on his knees. His eyes shimmered with something he couldn’t quite name.

When the laughter faded and the fire once again became the center of the scene with its familiar crackling, Jin gently blew on the wooden spoon he was using and turned naturally toward Taehyung.
He did it without any intent to make him uncomfortable — only with that gentle curiosity that was so typical of him.

“And you, Tae?”
A pause. “Do you have a story to tell?”

All eyes turned to him.

At first, Taehyung seemed not to hear him. He was watching the flames, as if searching for an answer within them. Only after a few seconds did he blink and slowly lift his gaze.
He looked surprised to have been addressed.
Then he gave a faint smile — more automatic than genuine — and looked away.

“I don’t know.”
He rubbed his hands together, his fingers trembling slightly, almost imperceptibly. “I haven’t… had many chances to live the kinds of things you talk about.”

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy, but it wasn’t fully light either. Jin said nothing, didn’t press him. He simply waited.

Taehyung closed his eyes for a moment. Then he said, in a softer voice:
“Maybe… there’s something. But I think I might have dreamed it.”Yoongi, from the other side of the fire, barely lifted his gaze. He didn’t speak, but he watched.
There was something in Taehyung’s posture, in the way he avoided the others’ eyes.

Taehyung inhaled slowly.
“There was a field. Huge, full of tall wheat, all golden. The sky was blue, clear… and I was running.”
He paused, a shadow of hesitation crossing his face. “I was… free. No one was looking for me. No one was waiting with an order. No one… was controlling me.”

His voice broke slightly. Not enough to make a sound — but enough for anyone paying attention to notice.
Yoongi’s eyes fixed on his hands: they were gripping the edge of his cloak, as if he didn’t even realize it.

“There was also a dog. White. I don’t know where it came from. It was running after me and barking, like we were playing. And I was laughing. I don’t remember ever… laughing like that for real.”
The last words came out almost like a breath, a whisper.

Then he lowered his head. “But I don’t think it really happened. I think I just… dreamed it. Or wished it so strongly I started to believe it.”

No one spoke for a moment.

Yoongi looked away, his chest imperceptibly tight. Taehyung’s words — so simple — had pierced something he didn’t know was still tender.

Jin smiled softly. Not forced. Not pitying. Just the kind of smile you give when you recognize pain, but don’t want to invade it.
“That’s a beautiful image,” he said. “And who knows… maybe it’s more real than you think.”

Jimin lowered his head, and Jungkook simply stared into the flames.
No one laughed this time. But there was an understanding, quiet and shared. A space left open so that fragment could breathe, could exist.

As if all of them, at least once, had dreamed of a golden field just to hear the sound of their own laughter.

Time had slipped by without anyone noticing.The plates were almost empty by now—leftover crumbs of bread and a few forgotten spoonfuls here and there. The warmth of the fire had softened the air around them, and the silence — this time — was comforting. Like a light blanket over their shoulders.

It was Jimin who broke it.
“Ugh, I want something sweet.”
He let himself fall back with a dramatic sigh, hands resting on his stomach. “Like… a honey cake. Or those cream-filled pastries they sell at the Erelas market… you know the ones?”

Jungkook, who had just finished licking his fingers, gave him a sideways look. “You ate those? They cost a fortune.”

“Who said I paid for them?” Jimin shot back with a guilty grin. “I once stole so many I stuffed my pockets full. Lived off them for a whole week.”
He paused, amused just by the memory. “I think I ate so much cream I smelled like vanilla even in my sleep.”

Jin laughed softly. “I bet even the warehouse rats were trying to court you.”

“They didn’t stand a chance,” Jimin replied, pointing a theatrical finger. “I held them off with a wooden spoon and the pure terror of losing even a crumb.”

Even Yoongi smiled. A small smile, but real.

Jin peeked into the sack beside him, then stood with a light movement. “Wait here. Maybe I can make you dream a little.”

He disappeared behind a fold of his cloak, and with a few subtle finger gestures, made a spark dance between his hands. When he returned, a small tray appeared from nowhere, holding three golden pastries that smelled of honey and hazelnuts. An illusion, of course — but so well done that their mouths fell open in perfect unison.

“They won’t fill your stomachs, but maybe they’ll fool your minds,” Jin said, handing one pastry to each with a proud smile. “And this time, it’s free. No theft required, Jimin.”

Jimin lit up. “It’s the first time I’ve ever stolen with a clear conscience.”

Taehyung chuckled softly, bringing his fingers to his lips. It was a timid sound, but sincere. Not fully free, but closer to it than he had been in a long time.

And in that moment — between an illusory treat and the scent of a dreamed-up memory — the group found themselves bound by something that was neither hunger nor battle.
But home. Even if just for one night.

The fire still crackled gently as their conversations faded. A warm stillness settled over the camp, and one by one, the boys arranged themselves for the night. The shapes of their blankets blended with the tall grass, each breath measured by the steady crackle of the last few flames.

Jungkook had volunteered for the first watch. He sat a little ways off, a half-eaten apple in one hand and a dagger resting on his knees, his gaze alert but calm. From time to time, he glanced back toward the group to make sure all was quiet, then turned back to scan the darkness.

Taehyung watched him for a few minutes, eyes half-open, until sleep slowly pulled him under — lulled by the sounds of the night and the quiet safety of someone else’s presence.

When Taehyung woke, dawn was still just a promise behind the horizon. The air was sharp and damp, the ground beneath him hard but by now familiar.

He sat up slowly, silently — and noticed something at once: Jimin, who was supposed to be on watch from three onward, was slumped against a tree trunk, asleep at an angle, cloak pulled high over his shoulders. Maybe sleep had claimed him near the end of his shift… or maybe he hadn’t managed to stay awake at all.

Taehyung stood still for a few seconds. He didn’t feel anger or disappointment. Just a curious pang, soft and strange — somewhere between understanding and… willingness.

He looked toward the scattered sacks, the saddles left on the ground, the horses shifting lightly in the cool morning air. No one else was awake yet.
He could do it.
He could help.

Despite the way Jimin treated him — the scornful glances, the coldness — Taehyung hadn’t forgotten how he’d thrown him an apple when he thought he wasn’t eating enough.
Small gestures. Unclear. But sincere.Thus he began to tidy up.

In silence, he gathered the saddles and laid them on the logs. He tightened the sack ropes and tied them as best he could. Every now and then, he glanced at Jimin, still curled up, his dark hair tousled by the wind and his face relaxed.
Maybe he hadn’t slept well the night before. Maybe he had worn himself out.
Or maybe he was just human.

The sun slowly peeked through the trees, tinting the moor with a dull gold. And when the others began to stir beneath their blankets, the camp was already in order.

The sun was high when the path between the trees opened onto a small clearing. A couple of wagons moved slowly, drawn by sturdy mules and surrounded by cheerful voices, the scent of dusty fabrics, beaten metal, and the lingering smoke of a breakfast fire.

Jin was the first to spot them, raising a hand. “Merchants,” he said. “And the real kind.”

They were about a dozen: men and women of various ages, some with their hair braided tightly, others with hands blackened by charcoal or dyes. They came — as they revealed between words — from the Encircled Lands, a region of lush hills and walled towns in the South, known for aged cheeses, hand-woven textiles, and stories told in markets under lantern light.

The caravans carried medicinal herbs, raw fabrics, iron tools, and a small covered cart filled with collectibles: tribal masks, old bone dice, colored glass spheres, and ancient cloak pins.

“Lively people,” Jin murmured with a smile, “and maybe something to eat that doesn’t taste like saddle leather.”

One of the men raised a hand in greeting. He was sturdy, with a sun-worn face and a craftsman's apron.
“Travelers! If you're looking for some company and a few good stories, you're in the right place!”

He walked forward with a calm stride, letting his cloak billow behind him as if he were used to being watched. He made his way through the curious stares of the elders sitting on the ground, the children running barefoot between the carts, and the women hanging herbs to dry or checking the wheels.

An old man with a hollowed face watched him approach, leaning on a gnarled cane. Jin gave a slight bow, offering a respectful salute with two fingers.

“Forgive our intrusion, sir. We are travelers passing through. I’d be honored to exchange a few words... maybe a bit of news.”

The old man studied him carefully, then let out a quiet snort, amused. “By the way you speak, you surely weren’t born in the dust.”

Jin smiled. “But I’ve grown used to it.”

The old man pointed to a nearby crate. “Sit. One never refuses breath to a polite traveler.”

Jin sat down gracefully, crossing his legs. The others slowly dispersed, each drawn by something different — a smell, a sound, a memory.

“We’re headed to Terys,” said the old man, his hands weathered by sunburns. “But the winds come from the south now. The beasts are more restless, the raiders better armed. Something’s stirring beyond the Encircled Lands. They say the minor kingdoms are seeking alliances. Others speak of old sorceries, awakened. But it’s the silence that’s frightening, my boy. The silence before the thunder.”

Jin nodded, thoughtful, eyes fixed on some undefined point. “And the capital?”

“The capital watches. As always.” The old man scratched his chin. “Like a hawk waiting for the rabbit to stray from the burrow.”

A few meters away, Jungkook was attracting unwanted attention. Not that he was doing anything to prevent it — his mere presence was enough. The sculpted body beneath his travel clothes, the lowered, focused gaze, the hands tightening and loosening the straps of his backpack as if it were the only thing keeping him from fleeing.

A young merchant woman had been watching him for several minutes before she found the courage to approach.

“You…” she began, her voice full of wonder. “You’re Jeon, right? From the Hwan arena. I saw your fight with the general — you knocked the breath out of him with a single punch!”

Jungkook barely looked up, visibly uncomfortable. “It was just a well-placed hit.”"Well placed? You knocked him flat like a sack of coal!"

Behind him, Jimin had gone still. His gaze slid from the girl to Jungkook, then back to the girl. A barely noticeable flicker, nothing more. But enough.

The young merchant stepped closer, her voice softer. “I didn’t think you’d be so... real. The stories don’t do you justice.”

Jungkook took half a step back. “I’m not a story.”

Meanwhile, Jimin slowly turned and spotted a young bread seller. He had a round face, red cheeks, and flour-covered hands. The pastries neatly arranged on waxed cloth were drawing more attention than they should.

“That cream pastry,” Jimin said, leaning casually against the cart, “has been staring at me for five minutes. I think it’s in love.”

The boy laughed, surprised. “Then it’s yours, traveler. On the house, if you promise to come back.”

Jimin took the pastry with theatrical gratitude. “One should never refuse such a sweet invitation.”

When the vendor turned to arrange other goods, Jimin swiftly grabbed three more pastries and slipped them into his bag without anyone noticing. A small bounty of revenge, sugar, and silence.

Taehyung had slipped away without anyone noticing.

He walked slowly between the carts, hands clasped behind his back, face serene and distant. He seemed to move in a different time, as if every step followed an inner rhythm no one else could hear.

He stopped in front of a modest stall. A woman was carefully arranging small wooden carvings: amulets, combs, little boxes with lids decorated with leaves and moons, pins carved with finely etched runes.

Taehyung picked one up between his fingers. The surface was smooth, but the rune stood out—sharp and deep. The unspoken honor. The silence of someone who does the right thing without seeking recognition.

“How much?” he asked.

The merchant looked at him, curious. “Who’s it for?” she asked with a slight smile.

Taehyung didn’t answer. He placed a few coins on the table, then walked away without another word.

Later, when everyone was distracted—Jin still deep in conversation with the old man, Jungkook sitting in the shade with a distant look, Jimin pretending not to care as he shared the pastries—Taehyung approached Yoongi’s pack.

He opened it gently, as if by chance, and let the pin slip inside. He closed it with the same care.

Yoongi hadn’t noticed how Taehyung had set everything in order that morning. He hadn’t seen that the water was already boiling when he woke up, or how his boots had been cleaned from the previous night’s mud. But he watched him—often. With hard eyes, full of unspoken things.

Memory. Anger. And something else.
Something Taehyung wasn’t ready to name yet, but he knew Yoongi had protected them more than once. He knew that behind all that pain was a person, a golden knight like the ones in fairy tales.

The day was shifting toward something new, and no one said it—
But they all felt it.

Chapter Text

The sun was still low when they left the small encampment. The morning air, crisp yet already laced with the promise of warmth, shimmered faintly over the scorched rocks of the dirt road. Behind them, the merchants' wagons creaked and rattled away, colorful and noisy, leaving behind the scent of stale bread and travel ointments.

It was just past eight.

Jungkook yawned theatrically from atop his horse, stretching like a cat, then glanced at Jimin, who rode beside him with the smug air of someone hiding something.

“I bet you kept the best sweets for yourself.”

Jimin raised an eyebrow, eyes narrowed against the sun. “I have nothing to declare, soldier. Check your own bags, not mine.”

“Why would you hide sweets?” Jungkook leaned toward him. “It’s not a crime… unless it’s chocolate. Then we’re talking war.”

“Oh? So you want to start a war?” Jimin grinned sideways, then gave a sharp whistle and kicked his horse forward, making it rear up.

Jungkook didn’t need an invitation. He chased after him at full gallop, laughing as the wind tangled his hair and the dust stung his eyes.

“Children,” Yoongi muttered behind them, lowering his hood and tugging the reins to avoid a large stone. “Too early for this much energy. Too hot. Too flat. Too bright.”

Jin chuckled softly. “You miss the trees, don’t you?”

“I miss a roof. A door. A bed. I miss the days when we didn’t have to cross miles of nothing to get to more nothing.”

“The Wastes are making a poet out of you, Yoongi. It’s almost romantic.”

“They’re giving me a headache.”

Jin exhaled and turned slightly toward Taehyung, who trailed behind the group at a calculated distance, eyes fixed on the thin line of mountains in the distance. They were getting closer now. The peaks stood like cold promises against the clear sky.

Jimin had climbed onto Jungkook’s horse and was jabbing him in the sides with his heels, pretending to try and unseat him. Jungkook was laughing—truly laughing—and his hands moved strongly to keep them both steady.

“You won’t see those again if I throw you off!” Jungkook growled, pointing at the sweets Jimin guarded like treasure.

Jimin held up the pouch defiantly. “And you won’t taste them if you make me fall!”

Jin, who rode just ahead, turned with a sly smile. “Are we still talking about sweets, or should I start worrying about the chastity of that saddle?”

Jimin tossed a piece of flatbread at him. Jin caught it mid-air, sniffed it suspiciously, then bit into it with exaggerated hesitation.

“Too little sugar and too much sexual tension. Disappointing.”

At the rear of the group, Yoongi let out a long sigh. “Too much sun. Too much dust. No trees. No mercy. And I’m sweating in all the wrong places.”

“My soul is sweating,” Jin added gravely.

“I just want to die,” Yoongi concluded.

Taehyung wanted to smile.

He really did.

There was something in Yoongi’s words that had almost pulled him out of himself. Almost.

Instead, he felt the usual bite behind his sternum.

That thin thorn that warned him. That punished him.

He forced himself to look away, toward the horizon, but the view shimmered with heat and fatigue.

Unexpectedly, Jimin turned toward him. He cast him a long, thoughtful glance, with a flicker of regret he didn’t bother to hide.

“Hey, statue… do you think that map I stole says if there’s any decent shade or water before the mountain?”

Taehyung looked up slowly.

He couldn’t tell if Jimin was joking or genuinely curious.

But that wasn’t the point.

The point was—he was talking to him.

Again.

As if he had never hurt him.

As if...

“Check the left margin. There’s a pass marked between the black rocks. They call it the Turquoise Water Gorge.”

His voice came out steady. More than he felt.

“If it’s not dry, we should find a stream. North-west. Two leagues from here.”

Jimin rummaged through his sack, pulled out the parchment, and unfolded it over the saddle, searching for the spot. He said nothing for a few seconds. Then he nodded.

“Found it. Good job, rightful owner of the map.”

And he smiled. Genuine, this time.

Taehyung didn’t smile back.

He couldn’t.

Not without feeling that tightness in his chest.

A pang that came from nowhere and everywhere.

A warning, like a needle to the heart: you felt something, now you pay the price.

They kept riding between laughter and complaints, through a desolate land that stretched like a held breath. The terrain began to change. The rocks grew sharper, the dust turned redder. Now and then, fragments of broken columns or half-buried statues rose from the ground like fingers forgotten by a dead civilization.

The day wore on, and with it, the distance between them and the mountains.The light was changing, and the air grew thinner.
In a day and a half, they would be there—at the foot of the peaks they had been watching for days. Forgotten monasteries, ruins suspended between history and myth, and perhaps—just perhaps—some truth.
And something in the air was beginning to feel different.
A sense of waiting.

The sun rose slowly in the clear sky, and the Wastes grew sharper under its light. Shadows shrank. The horses moved forward through dust and stone, and the world seemed to pause in that long crossing toward the mountains.

Taehyung rode in silence.

The sound of hooves on rock mingled with the voices of his companions: light laughter, jokes, exchanged glances. Jimin and Jungkook still chased each other now and then, teasing with the carefree ease of those who feared nothing. Jin joked in that voice of his that could cut through even the heat. Yoongi grumbled in return, but it was clear he felt better than usual.

Taehyung watched them from beneath lowered lashes, his posture composed and rigid, as if even on horseback, he were standing upright.

His gaze brushed over the figures ahead of him, one by one, never lingering too long. He couldn’t afford to.

It must not happen.

He had already let his guard down.
He had already smiled—unintentionally—at one of Jimin’s jabs.
He had already slowed his pace when he saw Jungkook rubbing his shoulder from the strain of travel.
He had already noticed the way Jin made sure everyone had water before taking any for himself.

Good people.
Real people.

And he...

Taehyung closed his eyes for a moment.
The sunlight filtered through his eyelids. When he opened them again, the world was still there—
—and so was the pain.

It was a thin sting, like a shadowed pin threading through his bones. Not physical, not at first. But it only took a kind thought—an image of one of them laughing, or worrying about him, or even just calling his name with sincerity—for the curse to begin twisting inside him.

It was like something digging.
As if every emotion too warm, too human, was punished from within.

The sun began its descent westward.
The sky slowly turned amber and rust, and the heat of the day gave way to a coarse wind that carried sand and weary memories.

The horses kept a steady pace.
Jin hummed a tavern song.
Yoongi silenced him every third verse with a deadly glare.

Jimin bit into one of his sweets with theatrical slowness while Jungkook tried to steal it from his hands, giggling.

They were simple images.
Ordinary, even.
Almost happy.

And it was exactly that—
—that broke something in Taehyung.

He closed his eyes for an instant, breath just a little shorter, as the steady rhythm beneath him made every thought tremble.

Inside him, there wasn’t just pain.
There was also the beginning of joy.
A tiny crack of light.
A fracture in the dark.
A warmth that wasn’t his—and that, for this reason, hurt even more.

Because joy opened the door to affection.
And affection, for him, was danger.
A weakness.
A blade that didn’t cut outward, but sank directly into the heart.
An invitation to condemnation.

There was no need to form bonds.
No need even to admit them.
It was enough to feel something real—even for just a moment—for the curse to awaken.

As if it were alive.
As if it had a cruel sense of humor.

A creature beneath the skin, ready to punish him for every small flicker of humanity.
Every unrestrained laugh, every softened glance, every word that grazed honesty.

Taehyung felt it now.
Like a dull bite against his ribs.
A punch to the stomach.

A pain without a visible cause, but one that stole his breath all the same.

He had only watched Jin laugh with Jimin.
He had only listened to Yoongi scolding someone for being too loud, with that same rough, tired voice that—for one second—had almost felt like home.
He had only seen Jungkook smile, cream smudged at the corner of his mouth.

And now he was paying the price.

There was no fire.
No visible wounds. No blood.

Only that strange and terrible feeling of something unraveling inside him, cracking slowly apart, while the world outside kept turning as if nothing had changed.

So he forced himself to look at no one.
To breathe slowly.
To count the horse’s steps like a mantra.

One, two, three, four—pain.
One, two, three, four—pretend.But even that was a lie.
A useless little theater.
Because the truth—raw and unvarnished—was that he was growing attached.
Despite everything.
Despite his heart telling him to run.
And he already knew, somehow, that it wouldn’t end well.

He could never forget the day, as a boy, when he grew fond of a monk from the lower valleys.
A kind man who had taught him how to read the stars. One day, the man had come too close. Had touched his shoulder with sincere affection.
Two weeks later, he was found dead in the temple, heart stopped cold.

Taehyung had learned.
He had learned to keep his distance. Polite, yes. Precise, yes. But never honest.
Never truly close.

The sun had barely dipped, and the golden evening light softened the edges of the world, making everything slower, gentler.
The group had stopped along a wide bend in the path, between some faded boulders and a small hollow where the grass grew thicker—vibrant green against the brown of the Wastes.
They would have dinner there, under a sky turning orange, before setting up camp for the night.

Jungkook lay on the grass with his arms behind his head and a blissful expression.
Jimin sat beside him, knees pulled to his chest, speaking softly.
They laughed now and then—giggled, really—like two boys instead of figures to be feared.

Jin was fussing with yet another stash of supplies, muttering to himself about the definition of an “acceptable” dinner, while Yoongi sat with his back against a rock, eyes half-closed, listening without seeming to listen at all.

Taehyung hung back a few steps.
He had helped gather firewood, handed out the last rations, followed Jin’s instructions… all in quiet diligence.
No one had asked him to do any of it. But he had done it.

And the skin beneath his shirt had begun to burn.

At first, it was just an itch.
Then a dull heat beneath the collarbone.
And finally, a familiar sensation: flesh tightening, irritated.

The rough red marks were forming beneath the skin, near his heart.
A rash, like a tattoo taking shape—nervous, impatient. The lines were thin, like claws held back.

“If you get attached,” it seemed to say, “you’ll pay.”

Taehyung slipped behind a rock, loosened his shirt.
He exhaled softly, staring at the reddened edges of his skin.

The burn wasn’t from a wound, but from something deeper.
More cruel.

When he returned, paler than before, Jin looked at him for a moment.
Just a moment.

Taehyung dropped his gaze and sat apart from the group, near the horse.

Jimin, still curled up beside Jungkook, noticed him.
Just a fleeting glance. Then he lowered his voice, whispered something into Jungkook’s ear.
Jungkook grimaced and hit him with a leaf.

There, in the middle of those quiet laughs, Taehyung found himself smiling.

And immediately, his skin responded.

A shiver down his spine, as if the curse whispered: You are not allowed.

Night fell slowly, bringing with it the coolness after the heat of day.
Jin carefully arranged the blankets near the fire, folding them with precise, almost ritual movements.
Yoongi approached silently, checking the embers, ready for the first watch.

Jungkook, still carrying the lingering energy of youth, was adjusting the horse’s bridle, his gaze drifting absentmindedly toward the edge of the forest.

In the midst of that quiet rhythm, a nearly imperceptible movement caught Jin’s attention.

Taehyung, seated on a distant rock, lowered his head for a moment and scratched at his chest with sudden urgency, as if something beneath his shirt was tormenting him.

It wasn’t a casual itch—it was persistent, almost painful.
Taehyung squeezed his eyes shut for a second, trying to ignore the rising burn.

Maybe I touched something… or that dried fruit, he thought, but even as he did, he didn’t believe it.

Maybe it’s just the sweat, or today’s sun… I’m allergic, that’s all.
He repeated it like a prayer. But every part of him knew it was a lie.

The redness beneath the fabric was spreading—hot, painful—an invisible flame licking at his skin.

Every attempt to calm himself only seemed to make it worse.

In those moments, Taehyung always tried not to be noticed.
He’d lean forward slightly, pretending to adjust his tunic, fingers moving discreetly across his skin—quick, furtive gestures of discomfort that betrayed his distress.

But he couldn’t stop. The rash blooming beneath the fabric was relentless.

Jin paused for a moment, his eyes meeting Taehyung’s, perhaps seeking an explanation.
But Taehyung looked away immediately, straightening with a blank expression, as if it were just some mild irritation.

Yoongi, not far off, caught the gesture.
He didn’t speak, but his brows tightened—just a little.
A glance that said more than words.

Jungkook finally looked up from the horse and glanced at Taehyung with curiosity, as if he’d noticed the odd motion but hadn’t yet made sense of it.

Silence settled again, but that movement—that frantic scratching—lingered in the air like an unspoken promise.

As if the curse, invisible and relentless, was starting to leave visible marks.
Signs that the others, perhaps, would soon have no choice but to notice.

That night, the fire crackled softly, now reduced to faint embers.
The first watch had just begun, and Yoongi sat with his back against a boulder, legs stretched out and a light blanket across his knees.
The world felt suspended between the echo of crickets and the slow, steady breathing of the sleeping group.He liked that silence.
It wasn’t empty.
It was full of small things: the whisper of wind through the trees, a horse softly pawing the ground, the irregular crackle of embers. And the way dreams moved beneath the skin.

It was a minimal sound, almost a rustle, that made him lift his gaze for a moment.
Nothing obvious. Just a shift in the blankets, a figure turning onto his side with barely restrained restlessness.

Taehyung.

Yoongi remained still, his pupils half-lidded in the darkness.
There was nothing strange. No cries, no nightmare. Just small movements, like gently scratching his chest under the tunic, in a precise spot. Again. And again.

Nothing that could justify a word.
But Yoongi wasn’t watching the gesture—he was watching what came before it.

That kind of unease wasn’t born of bad dreams or physical pain.
It carried a different quality, a tension that felt more... rooted.

He couldn’t name it. But he felt it.

He shifted his eyes slightly, returning to the embers.
It wasn’t the time to ask questions.
Not yet.

Something inside his chest paused, like a mark drawn on an invisible map.
No words were needed.
It was enough to remember.
To record.

And then, if time demanded it, to understand.

So he stayed seated.
Alert. Silent.
With one more thought—
not yet fully his.

Chapter Text

Dawn slipped softly through the trees, a gentle light veiling the fatigue of night with a promise of renewal.

Jimin had only just risen, his hair still tousled from sleep as he moved among the bags with a familiar grace. It was his turn to prepare breakfast. He crouched beside the cold fire from the night before, already busy rekindling the embers. His movements were quick but precise, absorbed in a dance he knew by heart.

Taehyung had woken early as well. Without saying much, he had offered to go find some dry grass and twigs for the fire. He did it every time, as if it were a chosen task, though not a required one. One of those small things that helped him stay on the sidelines without truly being absent.

“Take the field knife—if you go too deep into the thicket, you’ll find thorns everywhere,” Jin replied without looking up, carefully folding a cloth to use as a work surface.

When Taehyung returned, carrying a neat bundle of twigs tied together and some aromatic leaves between his fingers, Jin glanced up for just a moment—but it was enough. As Taehyung bent to place the firewood by the hearth, Jin noticed something: a faint redness, an irritated patch on his chest, barely visible beyond the neckline of his tunic, open from the heat.

With the ease of someone used to caring without intruding, Jin opened a small pocket in his backpack and pulled out a tiny jar sealed with amber wax.
“Here. It’s just an ointment made of mallow and calendula. If it stings too much, it’ll help.”

Taehyung hesitated for a moment, then gave a quick, faint smile. He accepted the jar with a slight bow of his head—a respectful gesture accompanied by a half-forced smile.
“Thanks... must have been something I touched in the bushes. Nettles, maybe. Nothing serious.”

Jin didn’t ask questions. He looked at him a moment longer than necessary, then returned to his preparations as if nothing had happened.

But Jimin, who had overheard the brief exchange while stirring herbs into hot water, couldn’t resist a jab.
“Nobility doesn’t recognize nettles, huh? They do look quite alike, those two.”

Taehyung barely lifted his eyes, his gaze searching for patience.

Jin, however, chuckled softly, shaking his head.
“Ignore him. It’s just his way of making you feel included.”

Yoongi, nearby and hidden behind his silence, allowed himself an almost invisible smile.

“Hey, stop bothering everyone first thing in the morning,” came Jungkook’s fresh voice as he joined the group, stretching his arms in a lazy yawn. “Just because you want someone to put ointment on you with delicate hands.”

Jimin shot him a glare, but it was more theatrical than sincere.

Jin turned toward Jungkook, pressing his lips to hold back a laugh, then reached out to ruffle his hair like a grumpy puppy.
“Aww... our jealous little kitten. I’ll spread it on you myself if you want.”

“I care about my dignity, thanks,” Jimin muttered, but the blush on his cheeks betrayed him.

Taehyung watched the scene with that strange half-smile that always appeared on his face when he didn’t quite know how to fit in with all of this. But when Jimin, feigning offense, stepped away a few paces muttering incomprehensible words, Taehyung silently thought, Serves him right.

Voices mingled with the scent of herbs in hot water and the first sunrays filtering through the trees. And even if the words were light, the shadows beneath the skin remained—barely noticeable, but present.

No one said it aloud. But each one, in their own way, was noticing.

The small camp, set up with a simplicity born more from habit than disorder, was slowly dismantled under the skilled hands of Jin and Yoongi. After finishing the infusion—a mixture of bitterness and something strangely soothing—Jimin stepped away to check their route.

With a fluid motion, he pulled the map from his bag, folded neatly against his chest and protected by a waxed case. His fingers traced the outlines of ancient sacred roads, old pilgrim paths long swallowed by dust and silence. The map was the one he had taken from Taehyung at the start of the journey, and though the boy hadn’t mentioned it since, Jimin couldn’t ignore how he sometimes watched it when Jimin unfolded it.

“If we stay on this path, we should reach the Three Stones Pass before sunset,” he said, glancing up at Yoongi nearby. “There we should find water. Maybe even shelter.”

“‘Should,’” Yoongi repeated neutrally. He still carried the scent of morning herbs on his breath.

“Maps don’t account for landslides, storms, or demons on the hunt,” Jimin replied, but without bite. It was almost a joke. Almost.

“Let there be water at least. I don’t want to spend another night with a tongue dry as bark.”

Taehyung, carefully adjusting the reins of his horse, lifted his gaze just slightly. He had heard. As always.

When Jimin folded the map, he tucked it away in an inside pocket with a quick, almost theatrical gesture. Maybe it was for himself, maybe for Taehyung. Or maybe it was simply the way he naturally handled things he didn’t want slipping out of his control.

The group set off shortly after, the sound of hooves softened by the cracked dry earth of the plains. The vegetation grew sparser, lower, and the wind began to shift. The breath of the mountains was drawing near.

They rode in silence for long stretches, as if each were lost in thoughts not yet ready to be shared.

Yoongi kept a hand on his hip, his light cloak stirred by the breeze. His eyes settled on Taehyung now and then, slow and deliberate, like someone noting a detail without yet deciding what to do with it.

Taehyung rode well. Quiet, present, attentive. But there was a stiff tension in his shoulders that spoke of an untold past and a present he tried to keep under control.

At one point, Jin rode up alongside Jimin. The sun caught his hair with coppery highlights.

“Next time... maybe ask for the map,” he said with a faint smile.

Jimin shrugged.
“I only borrowed it. It’s still with us, isn’t it?”“It is. But it’s not the same.”

Silence settled between them again. The dry stretches of land unfolded like an ancient desert, mottled with stones and withered roots. The path grew less distinct, and only Jimin seemed truly able to read it.

In the distance, the shadow of the mountains began to sketch dark lines along the horizon. The Three Stones Pass was still far off, but the group moved with an unstable rhythm that somehow worked.

And even though no one spoke openly of trust or belonging, there was something in the way the horses advanced in unison, or in the way one slowed when another stopped to drink. Something quietly beginning to resemble a bond.

The air had grown drier with the altitude, and the wind carried the scent of rocks and distant water. They had been riding for hours, in silence. The horses, tired but docile, climbed the slopes with steady steps.

Yoongi rode a little behind the others. He didn’t speak, as usual. But he watched.

He watched Taehyung.

Not with hostility. Not anymore, at least. But with something quieter. More vigilant. After the night they had just passed, after hearing him toss and turn beneath the thin blankets and scratch at his chest without pause — a dull, steady sound, almost guilty — Yoongi had begun to notice other details. Small ones. Invisible to the others.

The glance Taehyung shot at Jin when he spoke, as if wanting to intervene but holding back. The way he slowed his pace to fall behind, creating a space just for himself, as if his very presence could disturb. The quick, almost imperceptible flick of his tongue across his lips every time he forced himself to stay silent.

He wasn’t just the bearer of the curse, Yoongi told himself. He was… something broken. Contained. A boy who had learned to withdraw so as not to hurt.

Yoongi would never say it out loud. But he recognized it.

They reached the Three Stones Pass in the mid-afternoon. The three rock formations stood like forgotten sentinels at the edge of the path, worn by wind and time. Next to one of the stones, a narrower trail led to a hollow where water from a small mountain stream formed a clear, still pool. The sound of water slipping over stones was more a relief than a pleasure.

“Let’s stop here,” Jimin said, pointing to the natural shelter between the rocks. “There’s still enough light to set up a small camp.”

The horses were freed from their saddles. Jin began setting up the tents. Jungkook had already taken off his shoes and slipped his feet into the icy water, flinching at every splash. Jimin walked off to gather branches for the evening.

Yoongi didn’t immediately join any of them. Silently, he crouched beside the stream. He wet his hands, then took the cloth from his belt, dipped it in the cold water, and wrung it out. The water dripped through his fingers — clear, light. The gauze was old, a little dirty, but still clean enough to be useful.

He wasn’t sure why he was doing it. He hadn’t decided. He just stood, the wet cloth clenched in his hand, and approached Taehyung, who had remained a little behind, off to the side, as usual.

Taehyung turned when he heard the footsteps. He looked at him with a neutral expression, perhaps a little surprised.

Yoongi said nothing at first. He held out the cloth.

“For your irritation.”

Taehyung blinked. He looked at the piece of wet fabric. Then at Yoongi. He took it slowly, almost hesitantly.

“Thanks…” he murmured. “It’s just a rash. Nothing…”

“I know.”

That was all. Yoongi turned and walked back toward the stream. He didn’t look at him again.

But as Taehyung squeezed the fabric between his fingers, a sharp pain struck his left leg. Like a prick at first, then a deeper burn. Thin, sharp. The curse was reacting.

He breathed quietly, biting the inside of his cheek.

He still held the gauze in his hand — damp, cold — pressing it against the reddened skin on his chest, where faint patches already showed beneath his tunic.

No one was watching him.

Yet, without knowing why, he felt exposed.

Later, while the others were busy setting up camp or checking the saddles, Taehyung slipped away discreetly. He still held the gauze between his fingers, damp and cold, gripped with an almost unnatural delicacy. He walked slowly among the rocks, searching for a sheltered spot, a corner of shadow where he could stop for a moment. He found it between two slipped slabs, where the sun barely filtered through.

He sat down. He rested the gauze on his knee. Then he closed his eyes.

That sudden sting had not been accidental. He could still feel it, like a line of fire extinguished halfway. A burning that left no visible wounds but lived beneath the skin.

He knew what it was. He had felt it before, though never quite like this — never in response to such a simple gesture.

The curse reacted to kindness.

This was what he had understood, or begun to sense, for some time now. When someone touched him with affection, when he was included without having to earn it, when he was not excluded by principle — the pain came. Silent. Invisible. But real.

Maybe it was the curse’s way of punishing him for forgetting his place. For trying, even if only for a moment, to feel worthy.

He looked at his legs, covered by rough linen trousers. There were no bloodstains. No obvious traces. But the flesh burned inside. Like scratches left by invisible fingers.

“For your irritation,” Yoongi had said, handing him that cloth. A simple phrase. Perhaps said absentmindedly, or maybe not. But enough to make him feel seen, if only for a moment. As if that torment that kept him from sleeping, that skin always on fire, wasn’t something to be ignored but something to notice. To tend to.And maybe that was what hurt the most. The fact that someone had noticed. That someone had taken a step—for him.
He clenched his teeth.
Because even though that gesture had warmed him inside—more than he could say, more than he could handle—it was also the cause of the pain now piercing through him.
Affection and suffering. Closeness and punishment.
Every good thing came with a price. And in his case, that price seemed etched onto his skin.

He opened his eyes. The sky beyond the rocks was pale, still.
He stood up slowly. He picked up the gauze, now drying, and clenched it again in his hand.
Then he returned to camp, as if nothing had happened.

The afternoon faded away slowly between folds of silence and the steady clatter of hooves on dry earth. After a brief stop to eat their rations and drink from the stream, the boys mounted again. The chatter was sparse, their energy focused on what lay ahead.

The path narrowed as they climbed toward the mountain slopes. The land grew more barren, rocks protruding like bones beneath thin skin. Only a few thorny bushes resisted, and the air grew colder with the coming dusk.

They reached a small clearing nestled beside a bend in the trail: there they stopped for the night, the mountain standing guard in silent watch, the dying light painting the sky copper-red.

The fire was lit without a word. Blankets spread, weapons laid on the ground. Jin sliced hard bread with a small, sharp blade; Jimin arranged his saddle nearby like a pillow. Taehyung, exhausted, lay down a little further off, wrapped in his white tunic that the wind moved gently. His eyes closed almost immediately.

In the dream, there was light. The clear light of early summer mornings at court, when he was still a child.

His mother was there, kneeling before him with her hands on his small shoulders, her face pale like mist and a veil of water in her eyes. She did not speak at once. She looked at him as if she did not want to forget a single detail.

Then finally, her lips moved.

“Not everything you have been told is true, my love,” she whispered, but the voice seemed distant, broken by layers of time and melancholy.
“You were born with something inside you. Something frightening… but it is not only pain.”

Her hands trembled.

“Do not listen to the voices that speak of your blood. Trust only your companions, those who see you even when you hide. The past… the past wants to swallow you whole. But you can break it.”

Taehyung opened his mouth to speak, but the dream shifted. Suddenly the floor was cold, the walls too high, the servants’ gazes lowered.

He saw himself, small, curled up in a corner. He heard the cruel laughter of another boy, a noble peer, shoving him away. He remembered the smell of marble, the burning silence.

Then, his father. Stern face, hands clasped behind his back.

“You will stay locked here until you learn to control yourself.”

The door closed. Darkness. Crying. The dull scratch of solitude.

A shudder made him toss beneath the blankets. His breath quickened, sweat pearled on his forehead. He groaned softly, a sound that seemed to come more from his soul than his throat.

Jungkook was the first to notice.

“Taehyung…” he murmured, moving closer. His fingers brushed Taehyung’s arm. The others turned; Yoongi was already sitting up, Jin still but alert, Jimin hugging his knees to his chest.

“Hey… you’re here?”

Taehyung snapped his eyes open, as if pulled out of water. He took a deep breath, then sat up slightly, searching for breath like one searching for dry land.

Jungkook sat beside him, calm, like one does with a frightened foal. He did not touch him immediately.

“It happens to me, you know?” he said softly. “When I was younger… there were nights I’d wake up screaming. And even as I grew up, sometimes. Not now, but sometimes… it still happens.”

He paused.

“They aren’t real, Taehyung. They hurt, but they stay dreams. And you don’t have to be ashamed. Understand?”

Taehyung nodded slowly, his heart still in his throat, words caught between his teeth. He could still hear his mother’s voice mixing with the present one.

“It was…”

“Something you carry with you,” Jungkook finished. “But you’re not alone.”

The silence stretched between them, but it was no longer the same as before. There was something warmer now, a crack in the armor.

Yoongi lay back down, face turned to the dark. He said nothing, but his eyes were open. Jin wrapped the blanket tighter around himself, tugging it up over his shoulders. Jimin sighed softly but made no jokes.

And that, for once, was almost a kind of peace.

Chapter Text

Taehyung's heartbeat seemed to echo in his ears, as if the night itself were following its rhythm. He sat for an indefinite amount of time, knees pulled to his chest, eyes wide in the dark — but empty, lost in shadows that only he could see.

Jungkook didn’t force him to speak. He stayed close in silence, like one stays near a wounded animal, letting his mere presence be enough. Every now and then he cast a quick glance at the others, but no one intervened. It was as if they all sensed that some things require space, but not solitude.

Then, slowly, with timid, almost childlike movements, Taehyung let himself go. He slumped next to Jungkook, not openly seeking comfort, but from exhaustion, from weight. His head slid against the younger’s shoulder, and he didn’t pull back when a strong, careful hand tucked a lock of hair behind his ear.

“Stay like this, if you want,” Jungkook whispered, barely a breath between them.

Taehyung was still trembling. A subtle, visceral shiver. The memory of his mother’s voice, of his father’s, of that closing door — all still pulsed behind his closed eyelids.

But the smell of fire, the rustle of blankets, the warmth of Jungkook nearby, began to mingle with that past. To overlap it. To offer him a lifeline.

He said nothing. He didn’t have the strength, nor the courage. But the tension in his shoulders slowly started to ease. His breathing grew steadier, still hesitant, but slower. And before he realized it, he drifted back to sleep.

Not the sleep of closed rooms, of dreams full of fear. But the sleep of exhaustion, of a body giving in when it has no breath left, when there is finally someone beside it who stays.

Jungkook stayed awake a little longer, watching him in silence. Then he lowered his gaze and closed his eyes.

Jimin was still staring into the void when he felt a presence sit beside him. No words, just the rustle of a cloak brushing the ground and the faint creak of the leather of the satchel Jin always carried.

Not many words were needed, not between them. But Jin had a special talent for silences: he made them speak, listened as if they held answers. And now, he was looking at him like that.Jimin let out a quiet sigh and lowered his gaze to his hands.

“It’s nothing.”

Jin said nothing, of course.

Jimin ran a hand through his hair, then tilted his chin in Taehyung’s direction.

“It’s just… I don’t get it. I don’t understand what could torment him like this. Everything about him is written on his face, right? Grace, manners… even his voice. People like him shouldn’t even know what fear is.”

The words came out harder than he intended. A hint of envy, or maybe just frustration, climbing up into his chest.

Jin didn’t respond immediately. He let the quiet around them speak for him. Then, in a low voice, he said:

“It’s usually when someone seems like they shouldn’t be afraid… that they’re most afraid. Only no one can see it on them.”

Jimin glanced at him from the corner of his eye, lips pressed together.

Jin continued, but without pushing.

“You look at him and think he’s had it all. But what we don’t see… is always the bigger part. And the scars you can’t see are the ones that burn the longest.”

Silence fell again, like a light cloak.

Jimin swallowed and looked down at his knees. He wasn’t ready to admit that those words had struck something inside him. He wasn’t ready to confess that there was something strange, almost unfair, about seeing real fear in someone like Taehyung. But also something… genuine. Disarming.

Jin stood up, leaving that thought with him.

“When he wakes up, talk to him. Maybe he won’t answer you. But listening to you might help him more than you think.”

Then he turned to the others, without adding anything else.Jimin stayed there, gaze lowered, his heart a little more tired.

And perhaps, for the first time, he wondered if that boy with the large, sad eyes was really all that different from himself.

The sun was already high when Taehyung opened his eyes.

Not abruptly, not with a frightened jerk like the night before. Just a slow, hesitant return to reality. His body still immersed in a fatigue that felt deeper than sleep itself. His eyelids were heavy, his throat dry, and for a moment — just one — he wished to stay where he was, curled up against something warm that still carried the scent of leather and smoke.

Then consciousness surfaced.

Jungkook was no longer by his side, but the blanket someone had pulled up to his shoulders was still there. And his body, though trembling from the cold that the first light of day left on the mountain stones, was less tense. Just tired. Just emptied.

He breathed slowly. Fragments of the dream returned — his mother’s gaze, so sweet yet broken, the words never spoken now buzzing in his chest like prophecies.

“Don’t trust blood. Trust those who look at you without fear.”

He slowly sat up, taking a longer, deeper breath. The ache in his chest had lessened, but on his thighs he still felt that slight, annoying burn.

The sound of light footsteps drew him out of his thoughts.

Jimin was a short distance away, kneeling by the nearly extinguished fire, hands busy arranging leaves into a small pouch. He didn’t look up immediately, but Taehyung sensed — with that sharp awareness he had developed over the years to guard himself from being watched too closely — that Jimin knew he was awake. And that he was deciding what to do.

It was Taehyung who broke the silence, in a hoarse whisper.

“I… I slept too long.”

Jimin turned. The sun barely illuminated the outline of his face, and his expression was neutral. Not cold. Not kind. Just restrained.“You earned it.”

There was a pause.

Taehyung lowered his gaze. His hands tangled around his knees, as if trying to make himself as small as possible.

“Sorry if I…”

“Don’t apologize.” Jimin’s voice was sharp, but not unkind. Just more direct than Taehyung expected. “It was just a dream. You needed rest, like everyone else.”

A dream. As if it hadn’t carved furrows, as if it hadn’t left his soul bare and trembling.

Taehyung nodded. But in his heart, he knew it wasn’t just a dream. It was a sign. An omen.

Perhaps, he thought, perhaps today he would manage to speak a little more. Even if only to say thank you.

They leave the throat of the Three Stones in silence.

Behind them, the ground narrows into a natural passage carved by time: walls of dark rock rise like silent guardians, split by the oblique light of morning. The last whispers of the wind running free across the plains grow faint, almost held back within the cracks of the stone. It is like passing from an open breath to a held heartbeat.

The path narrows. The air grows thinner. Every sound — the clatter of hooves, the rustle of saddlebags, the tinkle of metal — rebounds sharper, keener, between the walls drawing closer.

The vegetation changes.

Farewell to the dry shrubs of the plains, to the rough, golden weather-beaten grasses. Here, the first crooked pines climb the sides of rocks, roots sinking into impossible cracks. Their dark shadows fall across the stony ground, like knotted fingers brushing the path. The air smells of resin and wet moss, with an underlying metallic note reminiscent of snow, even though none is present.

Above their heads, the mountains rise in ever-sharper folds, like the back of a sleeping creature. The clouds begin to move more slowly, as if intimidated by the gravity of the place. Here the sky seems both farther away and closer at once: bare, cold, immense.There are no more roads.

Only traces — trails left by those who passed before them, perhaps monks, perhaps pilgrims, perhaps no one at all. The path opens between loosened stones and frost-hardened mud. The horses tread more carefully, and the boys, one by one, lower their voices. Conversation fades, swallowed by a solemnity that no one comments on, but that everyone feels.

It’s not just the mountain.

It’s what’s in the mountain. Or perhaps beneath it. Hidden in its forgotten sanctuaries, in sacred corridors where men have not set foot for centuries. Jeongha is far away now. The village a faint memory. Even the plains, with their open, ruthless sky, seem to belong to another world.

The wind shifts. It no longer carries the smell of embers or horses, but something ancient. Damp. Almost sacred.

Yoongi is the first to look around more carefully. Jin straightens in the saddle. Jimin brushes his fingers against the sword strapped to his saddle, not in defense, but out of habit. Jungkook, at the rear of the group, keeps his gaze sharp and his body tense. Taehyung, riding among them, doesn’t speak. But in the silence, he feels the mountains watching them. Not with hostility. With judgment.

As if they know.

As if they are waiting.The path narrowed with every step, following the natural slope of the mountain that rose, majestic, beyond the throat of the Three Stones. The air had grown thinner, colder, and even the silence felt different from that of the plains they had crossed until now. It wasn’t empty: it was dense. Heavy with something ancient, as if time itself had slowed to give way to memory.

At every bend, the vegetation grew sparser and more twisted, as if the trees had learned to grow on tiptoe so as not to disturb what rested higher up. Here and there, among the stones and roots, signs of a broken era emerged. Fallen columns covered in moss, ruins blackened by time and carved with forgotten symbols, fragments of altars abandoned in the middle of nowhere. Some stones seemed almost to breathe, so alive they appeared under the dim light filtering through the low clouds.

Jimin led the way, eyes sharp and the horse’s pace slightly slower, as if the landscape itself urged him to move gently. Jungkook, too, remained silent. Yoongi observed everything with narrowed eyes, silent and vigilant, and Taehyung, beside him, seemed to be listening to something that couldn’t be heard with ears.

But it was Jin who spoke first.“When I was little,” he began in a quiet, almost enchanted tone, “they used to tell me a story about these mountains.”

Everyone turned toward him, curious.

“They said that long ago, even before kingdoms formed, before men wrote their names on maps, these lands were inhabited by a blessed people. The Spirit-Men, they called them. They had no temples, no thrones, yet it was said they were the direct link to the gods. To speak with one of them meant being heard in the heavens.”

Jimin raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like one of those bedtime stories for children.”

Jin smiled, but didn’t answer immediately. He let the wind pass through them, rustling the dry leaves beneath the horses’ hooves.

“Perhaps. But every legend has a kernel of truth. The Spirit-Men lived in communion with everything. With the stars, with water, with death and with pain. They didn’t build cities. Only places of passage, sanctuaries like that one—” he pointed to a ruin half-buried in vegetation, an ancient staircase overtaken by thorns, “—to remind travelers that the world doesn’t belong to us. We are only guests.”

Taehyung turned to look at him. There was something strange in Jin’s voice, something that made him sound distant, almost nostalgic.

“Then…” the elder continued, more softly, “they vanished. No one knows how. Some say they were betrayed by those who envied them. Others say they dissolved into the wind because the world had forgotten how to listen to them. But I… I think they’re still here.”

“Here where?” Jungkook asked.

Jin simply gestured to the rocks, the branches, the mist spreading between the peaks like an ancient breath.

“Everywhere. Hidden in the whispers of the mountain, in the way sunlight filters through the trees, in the silence surrounding us now. Perhaps—” and his gaze lingered on Taehyung for a moment, with a sweetness that didn’t seem accidental “—not all bonds with the gods are broken.”

For a moment, no one spoke.

The horses’ hooves echoed against the rocky path, a damp, muffled sound, as the first shadows of evening began to stretch between the stones. The sky above seemed closer.

The journey continued. But the mountains seemed to watch.

Jungkook rode a little behind, in silence. There was something in that story that lingered on him, like a question he couldn’t quite form.

“Hyung, you know those stories… too well. You tell them as if you were really there.”

Jin did not respond. He didn’t turn. He continued to ride, gaze fixed on the mountain, face impassive, carved like the stone around them.

Jimin spoke, low but clear: “Or as if you were part of them. As if you were… bound to those gods.”

The wind slipped through the highest branches, moving the trees with a light whisper.

Jungkook lowered his gaze. “That time, in the forest… When those creatures surrounded us. We couldn’t move. It was like a torpor, a warm, unreal sleep. And you…”

“You burst forth in a light that woke us,” Jimin finished, staring at the back of Jin’s head. “A light that burned them. But it didn’t touch us.”

For a moment no one spoke. Jin remained silent, with the same calm smile he often wears when he doesn’t want to reveal too much. One of those smiles that can’t be fully read, as if it knows far more than it lets on.

Jimin tightened the reins between his fingers. “You know things you don’t say.”

Jin remained silent for a moment longer, then exhaled softly, as if restraining himself. Suddenly, he burst into a muffled, almost childish laugh, oddly out of place in the solemn landscape.

“Are you really believing this?” he exclaimed, finally turning to them with an exaggerated grin, eyes wide as if to mock them. “Oh, my poor gullible fools… a bit of alchemy, some well-placed crystals, and a touch of theatrics. Any second-rate illusionist could create a light like that!”

He made a theatrical gesture with his hand, as if to summon sparks from the air. Of course, nothing happened, but the scene was enough to coax a perplexed smile even from Jimin.

“But it’s not your fault,” Jin continued, feigning compassion, stretching out a hand as if to bless them. “You’re just victims of my charm and my… extraordinary storytelling skills. Happens all the time. Often.”

Jungkook watched him, suspicious. “You’re dodging.”

With a slight tug of the reins, Jin nudged his horse forward, chuckling softly to himself. But no one, not even him, seemed willing to forget what had just been said.

Behind his smile, something remained unspoken. And in their gazes, a doubt that no one truly wanted to resolve.

Behind them, the throat of the Three Stones had become only a blurred memory in the mist. Ahead, the path narrowed, hemmed in by ever-sharper rock walls. The peaks, tall and jagged like fangs, towered above with a silence that tasted of warning.

The clouds, driven by a capricious wind, moved swiftly among the peaks, dancing with such grace they seemed alive. The closer they approached the mountain, the more the world lost clarity: the air thickened, sounds grew muffled, as if they were entering a place forgotten by gods and men.

Among the rocks, shy creatures appeared: a mountain fox slipping into a crevice, a solitary raptor circling silently overhead, a herd of small deer frozen among the bushes, like living stones.

No one spoke. It wasn’t the silence of the weary, but that of those sensing a threshold. A subtle, invisible boundary that, once crossed, changes everything.

Taehyung felt tense, but not from fear. It was a different kind of tension, as if every part of his body remembered something his mind couldn’t yet name. He felt the eyes of the wind, the fingers of the stones, the breath of roots beneath the earth.

And the further they advanced, the more he felt that something was about to happen. Not a trap, not a danger.

An encounter.

The clearing appeared suddenly, as if it had emerged on its own at their passage, hidden until that moment by illusions or mist too dense to penetrate.

The sanctuary was in ruins, but not dead.Broken columns still stood with an ancient dignity, as if challenging time itself to bend them completely. Some were tilted, sunk into the earth, or covered in moss and lichen. The remains of altars carved directly into the rock emerged from the weeds, blackened by fire, perhaps from a forgotten ritual. The bas-reliefs on the walls displayed unknown symbols and figures in procession—human, perhaps. Some were faceless, others had animal heads or ceremonial masks. But none retained a gaze.

The air was motionless.

Taehyung was the first to dismount. He said nothing, but his eyes lingered on a wall worn by time, as if he recognized something he couldn’t explain.

Jin walked away without offering any explanation. His steps were calm, but focused. He stopped in front of a secondary altar, nestled between two broken slabs. He remained there in silence. His face, normally relaxed, had grown shadowed. Something was reading him more than the opposite.

Jimin snapped around toward a mutilated statue, half-hidden by the dry branches of a bush. The features were worn, but the posture was unmistakable: one arm raised in a gesture of offering, the other bent over the heart. The fingers were broken.

“I saw it…” he murmured, barely a whisper. “When I was six… in a dream. I hadn’t remembered it until now.”

Yoongi bent down to pick up a carved fragment, perhaps part of a face. He turned it over in his fingers, then dropped it suddenly, as if it had burned him.

“Do not touch anything sacred unless it has called you.”

Jungkook approached a column with a carving at its base, resembling a seven-pointed star, deformed by roots that had cracked it over time.

“It… seems alive,” he whispered.

Taehyung did not move. He stood motionless before a bas-relief depicting figures in a circle around a fire. All seemed to gaze at a central point, which, however, was completely smoothed. He stared at it without breathing, heart pounding as if he had run miles.

He couldn’t explain what he was feeling. But it was like coming home to a place he had never been. A primordial, deep melancholy, as if his soul had already known this place long before his body did.

Jin approached slowly, still with a dark look from what he had seen at the altar. He spoke without raising his voice, but each syllable seemed to sink into the air like a blade:

“There are places that remember. Temples that hold what has touched them… pain, prayer, blood. Not everything that seems asleep truly is. Some objects, some images… are only waiting to be awakened by the right blood, or the right sin.”

He paused, then glanced at Yoongi sideways, with a hint of bitter sarcasm.

“And our prince of caution is more right than he seems. Some sacred relics… they call to you, but their intent is not always benevolent.”

Yoongi merely nodded, returning his gaze to the ruins, tense and watchful.

“This place… is alive. Not in a way ordinary people can understand.”

“According to some forgotten texts,” Yoongi began, his voice rougher than usual, “this sanctuary was consecrated to deities that do not know linear time. They did not watch over the future… but over memory. Over the truth that changes when you choose who you will be.” He paused, brushing his hand over the edge of a cracked, moss-covered slab, where the faded profile of a faceless visage could be seen. “It was called the Temple of Masks. And here… you came not to ask, but to be seen.”Jin had approached silently, observing the ruins with an inscrutable gaze. His fingers brushed over a broken frieze. “During the rituals,” he continued, as if reading the words from a memory, “pilgrims wore wooden masks painted with rare pigments. Each color, each curve, represented something they could not speak aloud. It was the only place where the soul could reveal itself without being condemned.”

“And what happened to them?” Jungkook asked, voice quieter than usual, eyes fixed on the changing sky. The clouds were drifting like gray oil between the mountains, swollen with storm.

“Declared heretics,” Yoongi replied, flatly. “Two centuries ago. The Unified Cults destroyed the rituals, burned the texts, executed anyone who dared claim that identity is not fixed. But the sanctuary did not die. It only… changed form. Those who return here, they say, do not go mad. They only… remember.”

The wind had risen. The smell of rain grew stronger. The clouds advanced quickly among the peaks, heavy and low. Jin broke the silence: “We should stay here tonight. If the storm catches us on the descent, it becomes dangerous. Besides, in places like this, shadow-creatures do not tread.”

No one objected. There was something protective, unsettling, and magnetic all at once in these stones.

The group spread out among the ruins to set up camp. The heavier blankets were retrieved from the saddles and spread on the ground among the broken pillars. The terrain was surprisingly dry beneath the tall grass, as if this place had been sheltered from everything. Even the horses had calmed. Strangely docile, they allowed themselves to be tethered without protest, ears pricked as if sensing something—perhaps a distant echo, more familiar than the present.

Taehyung approached a ruined altar, following an impulse he could not explain. His breathing slowed. In that moment, without knowing why, he felt that this place knew exactly who he was.

The first thunder rolled through the valleys like a primordial call, deep and distant. Moments later, the rain began to fall—slowly, but insistently, drumming on the ruined stones and the blankets spread out.

Jungkook cast a quick glance at the sky, then at the fire they were trying to kindle between two fallen columns. “Will it hold?” he asked, more to himself than to anyone else.

“It won’t be the first that survives the rain,” Yoongi murmured, seated with his back against a broken slab, hood lowered.

Eventually, the flames took life, small but determined. The crackling of the fire merged with the steady rhythm of the drops, creating a constant, almost meditative background. No one spoke much. Perhaps it was the place, perhaps the journey. Or perhaps they all felt watched.

Taehyung wrapped himself tighter in his cloak, sitting with his knees to his chest, gaze fixed on the fire. His eyes reflected the flickering flames, yet his mind was elsewhere. Every stone of the sanctuary seemed to have a voice. Every shadow, a face.

The rain fell steadily, striking the broken stones like ancient fingers playing a forgotten song. The fire endured beneath the makeshift canopy of waxed cloths and dry branches, yet it had become a beating heart amid the shadows.

Taehyung had stepped a few paces away, just beyond the covered area, and stopped beneath a protruding black stone that perhaps had once been an altar. Before him stretched the ruins of the sanctuary, silent but alive. The landscape was sliced by sheets of rain, and yet… every line seemed purposeful. Every fragment, imbued with intent.His eyes were constantly drawn to the engravings carved into the stones—intricate symbols, designs worn by time. Some seemed to move just beneath the wet surface, as if breathing under his gaze. Others appeared to glow faintly, a luminescence no one else seemed to notice.

Taehyung leaned slightly forward, lips parted. He didn’t even notice the rain running down his chin, his clothes soaked through. The world had fallen silent; everything around him blurred. Only the symbols remained sharp.

The burning sensation he had felt for days along his shoulder blades, arms, and chest—like an invisible wound that flared when he was observed too long, when someone tried to touch him—seemed to ease. Slowly. As if those stones truly saw him. As if, for the first time, he didn’t need to defend himself.

Then a hand rested on his shoulder.

“Taehyung…?” Jimin’s voice, cautious but concerned.

Jungkook appeared beside him moments later. “Are you okay? You’re… you’re acting strange.” His tone was awkwardly direct, yet his eyes held genuine worry.

Taehyung barely turned. His eyes glistened, as if he had seen something no one else could perceive. He inhaled deeply, then lowered his gaze.

But he did not respond. His eyes returned to the engraved symbols, now still and silent again. Yet something inside him had shifted. As if a thin, ancient thread had been drawn between his body and this place.

He nodded, offering a faint, polite smile to the two boys who had worried for him. He paused, unsure whether to return to the symbols calling him or to follow Jimin and Jungkook, but in the end, he yielded to their unusual concern and followed them.

A little later, he lay down beside the fire, using one of the rolled blankets as a pillow. The rain, now heavier, drummed on the fabric of the makeshift tents. His eyelids closed slowly, and the world let him go.

This dream was unlike the others.

There were no memories, no familiar faces. Only light.

A figure awaited him amid the white. Its face had no features, yet it conveyed a profound sense of peace. Its voice did not come from its mouth, but from the light itself, as if it were part of the air.

“They are coming. The bearers of the word. Do not fear them.”

Then, the white dissolved.

Ancient symbols began to float in the darkness, intertwining like threads of a sacred tapestry. He knew them—or believed he did. They had adorned the edges of some books he couldn’t read as a child, but which his father kept as objects of power.

Images of his childhood mingled with the symbols: a garden under the snow, his mother’s hands straightening a tie, a closed window while he screamed in his sleep.

Then, the voices. Dozens, perhaps hundreds. Different in tone, accent, and emotion. But all calling him:

“Taehyung…”

Not as one seeks, but as one who already knows him. As if he were returning.

He awoke with a start.

The fire still burned, the rain pattering on the stone, but something had changed. His breathing was labored, sweat pearling his forehead. Yet… he felt calm.

As if a part of him, buried for years, had just awakened.

He slowly lifted his gaze toward the ruins surrounding them. For a moment, he felt the columns were watching. That something, somewhere within the sanctuary, was waiting.

And then he saw them.

Two figures, motionless, a few dozen meters away, just beyond the broken entrance arch.

They did not advance. They did not speak. But they were there. Waiting.