Chapter 1: The Seed of Memory

The air inside the flower shop was always warm and filled with the gentle scent of roses, lavender, and soil. Jungkook liked it that way—soft, quiet, predictable. Every morning, he opened the shutters, wiped down the counter, and carefully arranged the blooms in their proper places. He didn’t need much. Just the flowers, the sunlight through the windows, and silence.

His late grandmother had called it The Blooming Hour. It was the name of the shop and the time she claimed flowers whispered their secrets. Jungkook had never heard them speak, but maybe she had. She was a strange woman—kind, but with a knowing in her eyes, like she held stories she’d never tell.

That morning had been like any other—until he found the seed.

It was nestled deep in the backroom, tucked away in a carved wooden box he’d never noticed before. He’d been sorting through old pots when he knocked it down. The lid creaked open, revealing a single black seed resting on a bed of dried petals.

There was a note.

“Plant it on the new moon. Only then will it bloom.”

Jungkook frowned, turning the tiny thing between his fingers. It was darker than onyx, almost pulsing with a strange warmth. It made him uneasy—but also curious.

That night, the sky was ink-dark, and the moon had disappeared, just as the note had said. On a quiet whim, Jungkook stepped outside into the garden behind the shop, dug a small hole near the rose bushes, and planted the seed.

Nothing happened at first. He watered it gently, brushed the soil smooth, and stood back. Still nothing.

Shrugging, he went to bed.

The dream came suddenly.

He was standing in a vast hall of black stone. Flames flickered along the walls, casting golden shadows. In front of him stood a man. Tall, beautiful, terrifying. His eyes were crimson, glowing like embers. His skin shimmered faintly, like it held magic just beneath the surface.

The man stepped closer, his voice a low purr. “You finally called me.”

Jungkook tried to speak, but no sound came. He was rooted to the ground, heart thundering in his chest.

The man reached out and brushed his fingers along Jungkook’s jaw. “Do you remember me, love?” he whispered.

Then everything went dark.

Jungkook shot up in bed, gasping.

His sheets were tangled around him, soaked with sweat. His heart wouldn’t slow down. The man’s voice still echoed in his mind, soft and deadly.

Love.

Shaking the dream off, Jungkook stumbled into the kitchen and poured himself some water. It was just a dream. A weird one, but still a dream.

Except… when he stepped outside to check the garden, something was different.

The black rose had bloomed.

It stood tall in the moonlight, petals as dark as shadow, soft and gleaming. Jungkook crouched beside it, staring in disbelief. Roses didn’t grow overnight. Especially not from seeds. And yet, here it was—perfect and full, like it had always been there.

He reached out to touch it—and the air around him pulsed.

Something shifted. The garden grew cold. The world held its breath.

And then, from behind him, a voice spoke.

“I see you still have a way with flowers.”

Jungkook froze.

Slowly, he turned around.

A man stood just beyond the roses, bathed in moonlight. He looked exactly like the one from his dream—same crimson eyes, same wicked smile, same aura of danger. He was impossibly beautiful, with dark hair falling over sharp cheekbones, and a presence that made the world around him seem dull.

“Who—who are you?” Jungkook whispered.

The man stepped closer, his boots barely making a sound on the stone path. “You don’t remember me,” he said, a trace of sadness in his voice. “That hurts more than I expected.”

“I’ve never met you,” Jungkook said, backing away. “How did you get in here?”

“You invited me.” The man’s eyes flicked to the rose. “You planted the seed. You broke the seal. I am free… thanks to you.”

Jungkook’s mouth went dry. “Seal?”

The man tilted his head. “Centuries ago, you locked me away,” he said softly. “You sealed me in darkness with that very flower. Said it was the only way to save the world. Or yourself. I forget which mattered more.”

“That’s not possible,” Jungkook said. “I’ve never—”

“In this life,” the man interrupted, voice like velvet. “No. But in another… you were mine. And you betrayed me.”

The wind rustled the leaves, and Jungkook’s heart pounded so loudly he thought the stranger might hear it.

“You’re insane,” he said, trying to step around him. “I’m calling the police.”

The man didn’t move. “You can try,” he said casually. “But no one will believe you. Not when you don’t even believe yourself.”

“I don’t know you!” Jungkook snapped.

“But I know you, Jungkook,” the man said, his voice turning softer. “Your soul. Your touch. Your lies. I’ve waited a long time for this.”

There was something in his gaze—not just anger, but pain. Deep and ancient.

“Who are you really?” Jungkook whispered.

The man’s smile faded. “V,” he said. “Prince of the Forgotten Flame. And once… your lover.”

Jungkook stared, unable to move.

V stepped even closer, their faces inches apart. “I don’t know why you did it,” he murmured. “Why you sealed me away. Why you let me burn alone for so long. But I intend to find out.”

“I’m not who you think I am,” Jungkook said, his voice shaking.

V’s fingers brushed Jungkook’s cheek, featherlight. “Maybe not,” he said. “But your soul is. And it remembers me. You will remember me.”

Then, like smoke in the wind, V vanished.

Jungkook stood there, heart racing, the scent of the black rose heavy in the air.

And from somewhere deep within him, a memory stirred—a flash of fire, a kiss in the dark, a scream.

But it was gone before he could catch it.

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