Jungkook stood at the eastern gate, sword in hand, armor dusted with ash and blood. The capital’s last defenses had fallen hours ago, and now all that remained was smoke, chaos, and the echo of screams swallowed by fire.
imagine him with blood and ash
He should have fled. The king’s banners had been torn down, the wardens scattered. There was no one left to fight for. But something—something deep, wordless, primal—held him there.
And then, through the flames, he saw him.
A figure stood untouched at the heart of the fire. Robed in crimson and gold, barefoot on molten stone, and crowned in shadow. He was serene, almost unreal. Fire spiraled around his arms like tame serpents. His face—sharp, elegant—was turned skyward, as if in prayer.
And glowing just beneath his collarbone was a sigil: a flame wrapped around a broken star.
Jungkook’s breath caught. He knew that mark.
Not from life—but from legend. A cursed sign. The Mark of the Flameborn—the one destined to bring ruin to whomever dared love him.
The figure opened his eyes and looked at him.
Not past him. Not through him.
At him.
Then the ground split beneath Jungkook’s feet. The eastern gate groaned, the last tower shuddering.
He had a choice.
Run. Or step into the fire.
He ran forward.
The heat should have seared him. But it didn’t.
The fire parted.
And in the silence between the burning world and the man with the cursed mark, fate awakened.
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