Chapter 78 || BOUND AND TORN BY PROPHECIES

 

The Mind’s Prison

 

Darkness. Then cold.

Then—Pain.

 

Jungkook gasped awake, his body stiff, his mouth dry as ash, his limbs trembling with exhaustion. His back ached from the stone floor beneath him. His tongue felt thick in his mouth. He blinked slowly, trying to adjust to the dim, bluish light flickering from a torch in the far corner.

 

The dream—the escape, the fire, Taehyung’s arms around him—it had felt so real.

Too real.

 

He sat up sharply. Stone walls. The scent of rot and mildew. Chains hanging loosely from hooks on the wall. A rusted bowl with old water in the corner.

 

No.

 

“No… no…” his voice rasped. “We escaped. He came for me…”

 

His breath came faster. He reached for his chest—where the bond should burn like a sunbeam, a warm thread tugging him toward Taehyung.

Nothing.

 

It was silent.

Still.

 

He stumbled to his feet, catching himself against the wall. His knees wobbled under his weight—weeks of starvation and dehydration reducing him to skin and bones. He touched his own arms—thin, bruised. His once-glowing skin dulled, his hair unwashed and tangled.

 

What is happening?

 

Then a sound echoed from the shadows beyond the bars. Low. Feminine.

Laughter. Soft and sharp like broken glass.

 

A figure stepped forward, heels clicking against the stone. Pale silver robes flowed like water around her frame. Her platinum hair was braided into an elaborate crown. Her eyes gleamed like a serpent’s.

 

“Iravelle,” Jungkook whispered.

 

“Good morning, sweet Jungkook.” The Neravan princess smiled, her red-painted lips curved into a triumphant smirk. “Did you enjoy your little... illusion?”

 

Jungkook didn’t move. Couldn’t. His mind was spinning.

 

“It was you,” he breathed. “You manipulated my mind.”

 

“But of course,” Iravelle said, lifting one elegant shoulder. “You didn’t really think we’d let him find you, did you? The great Prince Taehyung storming our palace like a knight in a fairytale? Please. That entire scene was a crafted delusion. One you were so eager to believe.”

 

Jungkook’s stomach twisted. “You made me think I was saved…”

 

“Hope,” Iravelle said, circling the bars, “is the most delicious form of torture.”

 

Jungkook gritted his teeth, rage burning through his hollow limbs. “He’ll find me. You can’t hide forever.”

 

That earned another laugh—this one darker.

 

“Poor thing. He did find you,” Iravelle said. “He even reached the outer edges of our realm, and called fire down upon our gates. But the thing is…” She leaned in, her silver eyes glowing. “He never crossed into the real prison.”

 

“What…?”

 

“You’re not in the palace anymore, darling. You’ve been taken to our sanctuary. Hidden from this world. A realm carved in the folds between time and place. Protected by ancient veils, woven by blood and bone. No one can see it. No one can break through it. No one can save you—not until I wish it.” She straightened. “This place does not exist on any map.”

 

Jungkook’s heart pounded against his ribs like a trapped bird.

 

“Even your precious prince,” Iravelle continued, “with all his fire and fury, cannot find what no longer exists. For him, you are simply… gone. Like smoke.”

 

Jungkook shook his head, chest tight. “He’ll feel the bond. He’ll follow it.”

 

“Ah,” Iravelle said, stepping back, “that bond?” She snapped her fingers.

 

Two pale-skinned Neravan maids entered, each cloaked in ash-colored veils. Between them, they carried a bowl of black stone etched with ancient runes—and inside it, a pulsing red crystal, barely glowing.

 

Jungkook’s eyes widened.

 

“That,” Iravelle purred, “is the last heartbeat of your connection. Faint, weakening… and soon to be extinguished.”

 

“You can’t—” Jungkook took a staggering step forward, hands shaking. “You can’t break a sacred dragon bond.”

 

“Watch me.”

 

She turned to the maids. “Bring him.”

 

The guards moved with brutal precision. Jungkook tried to resist, but his body betrayed him—too weak, too drained. They dragged him like a ragdoll through the narrow corridor.

 

He twisted, kicked, and clawed, but his hands barely moved. His strength was gone. His breath rasped. His vision blurred. But he could feel it—the place they were taking him. A hall filled with whispers. A room drenched in magic older than even the dragon kind.

 

They dragged him into a circular chamber, lit by floating black candles and blood-red crystal lanterns. Strange sigils were drawn on the floor in thick black paint—or was it blood?—and a platform of obsidian stood in the centre, ringed with iron spikes and carved bone.

 

A cloaked figure stood beside it—hooded, faceless.

 

“Place him on the circle,” the figure said in a voice that was neither male nor female.

 

The maids obeyed. Jungkook collapsed to his knees inside the ritual circle. His limbs trembled violently.

 

Iravelle stood over him, arms crossed, smiling like a satisfied god.

 

“Today, we begin,” she said softly, “to set him free. And you? You will watch as everything you cherished is unmade—starting with the very soul that loves you.”

 

Jungkook looked up at her, eyes blazing with defiance, even through the tears.

 

“I will never let him go.”

“You won’t have a choice.”

 

And then—

The ritual began.

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