The Fire Life: The Sand Remembers

Year: Forgotten (Ancient Desert Empire)

Setting: A vast golden palace at the edge of rebellion

POV: Jungkook’s Dream (Past-Life Self)

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 “You came to me with blood on your hands and I still kissed your palms.”

“What does that say about me?”

The dream began with heat.

Not the kind of Seoul summer humidity that clung to your collar and made your skin glisten, no, this was ancient heat. Dry. Sacred. The kind that curled beneath the fingernails and whispered of salt and war and gold. The kind that remembered.

Jungkook stood barefoot in a corridor of rose-colored stone. Every inch of the palace was carved with gods older than language. He couldn’t read them, but somehow he knew their names.

This is the place.

The thought was not his.

He looked down. His hands were tan, calloused. Soldier’s hands. There was dried blood beneath his fingernails. He didn’t remember why.

The wind outside cried with sand.

He was waiting.

For someone.

Then,

Footsteps.

Soft leather against ancient marble. The scent of myrrh and crushed poppy. A shadow stretching down the corridor.

And then he saw him.

Taehyung.

But not the Taehyung from the studio. Not the man in black.

This one was clothed in white silk, loose and flowing, cinched at the waist with a bronze clasp shaped like a lion’s fang. His hair was longer, falling past his shoulders in delicate waves, half-bound by a red ribbon. His eyes,

Gods.

They were the same.

Even now. Even here.

“You’re late,” Taehyung said.

Jungkook didn’t speak.

His throat hurt. Like he’d shouted too much. Like he’d screamed someone’s name through fire and ash.

“I had to come alone,” Taehyung added. “They’re watching the eastern gate.”

Still no answer.

Taehyung took a step closer. The light behind him etched gold across his cheekbones.

He was impossibly beautiful. And impossibly calm.

“Will you tell me,” Taehyung said softly, “how many you killed today?”

Jungkook blinked.

“I—”

“You always say ‘I don’t remember,’” Taehyung murmured. “Then you touch me like your hands are clean.”

Silence.

They stood there, two ghosts in a corridor of forgotten gods, while the world held its breath.

Then Taehyung reached out.

His fingers grazed Jungkook’s wrist, featherlight.

It was enough.

The flash came violently,

Flames leaping from a temple.

Steel crashing against bone.

Screams.

The red-soaked banner of a fallen house.

Taehyung pulled away slowly.

“You’ll dream of this later,” he said. “In another life.”

“Why did I come?” Jungkook asked hoarsely.

Taehyung tilted his head, brows softening.

“Because you always do.”

Then he turned.

Walked down the corridor, hips swaying like music lived in his bones.

Jungkook followed.

They slipped into a side chamber lit by oil lamps. Sand covered the floor here, wind had pushed it through the cracks in the stone.

There was no furniture. Only the stone altar at the center.

Taehyung turned and faced him.

His expression was unreadable.

But his voice, when it came, was not.

“You will betray me before sunrise,” he said. “But not yet.”

Jungkook stepped forward. “How do you know?”

“I dreamed it.”

And still, he came closer.

Jungkook raised a hand, hesitated, then touched Taehyung’s cheek. Warm. Too warm.

Their eyes locked.

Taehyung whispered, “If you kiss me now, it’ll taste like fire.”

“I don’t care.”

“You never do.”

And Jungkook kissed him anyway.

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