Chapter 115: Kingdom Come

 

Final Chapter of Book

 

The capital stood in silence, wrapped in smoke and embers. The fires had long been put out, but their ghost remained—carved into the air, etched into memory, and floating through the streets like whispers that wouldn’t fade.

 

But inside the high-rise mansion overlooking the city, it was quiet.

 

Warm.

 

Alive.

 

Jungkook stood at the centre of the massive window in their top-floor apartment, wrapped in a cashmere robe far too large for his slender frame. His bare feet touched the cool marble, but his eyes remained fixed outside—where the skyline, once ruled by monsters, now flickered with stars.

 

It had been three days since the fall of the Black Circle. Three days since the tower fell, and the bodies were cleared, and the kingdom was left empty of war.

 

He hadn’t spoken much.

 

There was nothing more to fight for.

 

Nothing more to run from.

 

And now… he didn’t know what to do with the quiet.

 

Behind him, the soft sound of footsteps moved through the hallway. It was the heavier gait—confident, smooth. V. His presence filled the space like gravity. Always calm. Always collected.

 

“Still not tired?” V’s voice came in that deep, velvet hum, his chest brushing lightly against Jungkook’s back as he pulled him into his warmth.

 

Jungkook didn’t respond right away. Just let his head fall gently against V’s shoulder, breathing in the scent of his skin—clean, masculine, familiar.

 

“I don’t know how to sleep yet,” Jungkook whispered finally, voice barely audible. “It’s too… quiet now.”

 

V wrapped his arms tighter around his waist. “That’s the point of peace, Koo.”

 

Peace.

 

It was such a foreign word.

 

So fragile.

 

So temporary.

 

He closed his eyes and let it in. Let V’s heartbeat become the rhythm to anchor his thoughts.

 

“I dreamed last night,” Jungkook said quietly. “About my father. About that night. It was… different.”

 

“How?”

 

“He didn’t die.”

 

V’s breath halted.

 

“In the dream,” Jungkook went on, “he kissed my forehead and told me to paint again.”

 

V pressed a kiss into his curls, letting the silence answer for them both. He didn’t have to say it. They both knew the truth. Jungkook’s father hadn’t been in that dream for closure.

 

He’d been there to give permission.

 

Behind them, the sound of bare feet hitting the hallway echoed again—softer, lazier. This time it was Taehyung, shirtless, hair a mess of dark waves, his presence golden in the dim light.

 

“Are we brooding again?” he asked, half-teasing, half-genuine.

 

Jungkook turned around in V’s arms, cheeks flushed from the warmth, a small smile curling at the corners of his lips.

 

“Just finishing the final chapter in my head.”

 

Taehyung approached slowly, sliding his fingers under Jungkook’s jaw and tilting his face up with the softest touch. “Then start the next one. You’ve got the pen now.”

 

The three of them stood in silence.

 

And then—like the end of a symphony, like the first breath of spring—Jungkook laughed. Soft, beautiful, real.

 

His robe slipped from one shoulder, revealing the faint scar that crossed his collarbone—a memory of everything he had endured. But neither of them looked at the scar. They looked at his smile.

 

“I want to paint,” he whispered. “Again.”

 

“You will,” V said.

 

“Today?” Taehyung added with a smirk.

 

“Now,” Jungkook whispered, voice steady.

 

The studio had been untouched for weeks.

 

After the exhibition, after the reveal, after the fall of his enemies—he hadn’t stepped foot inside.

 

But now the door opened, and the light poured in like a blessing.

 

His easel still stood there, waiting. The paints still sealed. The blank canvas—a clean slate.

 

V came in behind him, dragging in a stool with one hand and a hot mug of tea with the other.

 

Taehyung followed, sitting cross-legged on the floor beside him, resting his head against Jungkook’s knee like a sleepy cat.

 

And Jungkook picked up the brush.

 

He dipped it in black first. Then gold.

 

He painted not with the rage of revenge—but the weight of peace.

 

He painted their story.

 

Later that night, under the soft lights of the studio, V and Taehyung kissed him—slow, deep, without urgency. It wasn’t hunger now. It wasn’t desperation or grief.

 

It was a celebration.

 

It was love.

 

They kissed him like he was something holy. Like he had returned from the dead.

 

Jungkook trembled between them, breathless, small fingers twisting into Taehyung’s shirt, while V’s lips burned a trail down his neck.

 

“Mine,” V whispered into his skin.

 

“Ours,” Taehyung corrected, voice a growl.

 

Jungkook only nodded, lips parted, heart racing.

 

“Yes.”

 

The next morning, the news spread.

 

The Crown Has Returned.

 

But not in politics. Not in war.

 

Jungkook’s new painting had been unveiled—signed again, simply, as Koo. But this time… this time the face behind the name was no longer hidden.

 

The world saw him.

 

The survivor.

The heir.

The artist.

The prince who had become king.

 

He sat between the Kim twins in a quiet press conference, wearing a white button-up shirt and a shy smile, letting them speak for him when the crowd grew too loud.

 

Reporters asked if he was single. If the rumours were true.

 

He didn’t answer.

 

V simply laid a hand over his.

 

Taehyung leaned over and kissed his temple.

 

And the room fell quiet.

 

Some stories don’t need confirmation.

 

They only need truth.

 

In the years that followed, the mansion bloomed.

 

Koo’s art became more vibrant. V opened a scholarship for lost children. Taehyung quietly funded clinics across the country.

 

The mafia whispered their names with reverence now.

 

Not as rulers of terror.

 

But as the kings of something new.

 

And every night, when the world was quiet and their skin was warm against each other, Jungkook would curl into his favourite place—pressed between the two hearts that had rebuilt his own.

 

“Are we safe?” he asked once.

 

V pressed a kiss to his spine.

Taehyung tangled his fingers through his hair.

 

“Not from the world,” Taehyung whispered.

 

“But always with us,” V finished.

 

Jungkook smiled.

 

And finally, finally, he slept.

 

THE END.

Thank you for reading.