Chapter 82 || BOUND AND TORN BY PROPHECIES

 

Wrath of the Broken Flame and Final Farewell

 

The sky turned black as thunderclouds twisted above the ruins of the Neravan stronghold. Ash drifted like snow. The air crackled with fury. Taehyung stood at the center, unmoving, his long white hair soaked in blood and ash, his eyes molten with devastation. Around him, the last remaining defenders of Nerava screamed as dragon fire swallowed them whole. The palace had fallen days ago—but his vengeance was not yet complete.

Not when his mate was gone.

Not when he could still hear the echo of his whisper—Taehyung...

 

A roar exploded from his chest, primal and unrestrained. The sound cracked through the sky like a celestial wound, sending a tremor through the world. Villages trembled in the distance. Forests ignited from his heat. Time itself seemed to pause.

 

He had slaughtered every soul tied to Iravelle’s twisted cult. And yet it wasn’t enough. The fire wouldn’t stop.

His rage would not be quenched.

 

From the sky, his wings expanded in blinding brilliance. White-gold and vast, they cast shadows like a god descending. His claws were soaked in blood. His mouth curled in a sneer.

The boyish smirks, the teasing tones—gone. Burned away.

 

The Taehyung that now soared through the clouds was war incarnate. And he turned toward the place he once hated to remember: the village where Jungkook was born.

 

Below, the villagers looked up. They had known. Whispers had reached them of the wrath of the dragons. Of the mate who had died in a far-off land.

But no one could have imagined what it meant for Taehyung to be broken.

 

His flames were blue-hot. Pure destruction.

He rained fury upon the village. Houses that once mocked Jungkook for his eyes collapsed under waves of fire. Screams filled the air, helpless and human. Statues of old gods cracked and crumbled. The church bell fell and shattered against the cobbled square.

 

He did not stop.

He did not want to stop.

He wanted the world to burn like the hole carved in his chest.

 

Then—

 

"Taehyung!"

 

A voice.

 

He froze in the sky, panting, smoke coiling from his mouth.

Mili.

She hovered beside him in her dragon form, though she felt smaller now, dimmer, barely holding herself together. Her wings fluttered weakly.

 

"Enough. Please."

 

He growled.

"They hurt him. They called him a curse. They threw him to die—"

 

"I know," Mili said gently. "But would he ever want this? You killing people like this?"

 

He looked down. A child cowered in the remains of a stable, clutching a doll. A mother sobbed over the body of her husband. People who had never known Jungkook’s truth.

 

His claws trembled.

"I was too late, Mili... I was too late."

 

She flew closer. Her scales flickered like fading starlight.

"Then come back with me. Spend these last days with me. I don’t want to go feeling alone like he did."

 

He looked at her—really looked. Her eyes, bright once, were dulling. Her fire wavered.

Something inside him shattered anew.

 

Without a word, Taehyung turned.

The light dimmed. The sky cleared.

And they flew back toward the palace.

Leaving a burning village behind.

 

 

The skies mourned.

Dark clouds loomed heavy over the Dragon Palace, casting long, solemn shadows across the courtyards. Even the sun dared not shine on this day. Not when the heart of the realm had stopped beating.

 

Jungkook’s final farewell was not whispered. It was declared.

 

The grand courtyard, once alive with laughter and dragon fire, stood still, draped in cascading white silks and silver threads—colors of mourning for a dragon’s chosen. The marble floor had been polished until it gleamed like ice, but even its beauty could not reflect the light that had once lived in his mismatched eyes.

 

Thousands gathered: nobles, dragons, even foreign creatures who had good ties with the dragon realm—all who had once feared him, misunderstood him, or secretly admired him now stood together in silence.

 

But Taehyung did not come.

 

The royal mate, the prince who had burned half a continent for him, did not rise from his chamber.

 

Instead, it was Yoongi who stood before the carved pyre, trembling but composed, dressed in black. His hands shook as he laid a single flame lily atop the carved obsidian coffin where Jungkook’s preserved form rested, untouched by decay, preserved by Taehyung’s desperate magic.

 

“He was my brother,” Yoongi said softly, voice cracking. “Not by blood, but by bond. He saved me when the world wanted me gone. And he gave me a family when I had none. I promised myself to protect him. I failed.”

 

A hush fell deeper.

 

“He gave everything. And in return, this world gave him chains, fear, and pain. But he still fought. He still smiled. And he loved—” He paused, breath hitching. “He loved with a heart bigger than this realm.”

 

His eyes turned to the upper chamber’s balcony, where no one stood.

“I wish he could say goodbye. But I understand why he won’t.” He turned back to the crowd. “So, I will do it. For him. For both of them.”

 

Then, gently, he lit the edge of the pyre with dragon fire conjured from a pendant Jungkook had once gifted him.

 

The flames caught slowly, as if hesitant to touch him, reluctant to erase what little of him remained. Smoke rose in soft swirls, curling into dragon shapes that shimmered and broke apart in the wind.

 

Nyla wept silently.

Varian bowed his head, hand over his heart.

Mili, weak and curled in a corner of the chamber above, trembled. Her body was nearly translucent now, her scales brittle and dim.

 

She whimpered softly, nudging the side of the bed where Taehyung sat—unmoving.

The chamber was a tomb.

 

Taehyung hadn’t left the room in days. The bed still held the faint trace of his scent. His cloak was still folded on the chair. The pillow still bore the indent of his head.

 

He sat on the floor, back against the wall, legs folded, staring at nothing. His golden eyes—once fierce, mischievous, alight with power—were hollow.

 

"He’s not gone," he whispered.

 

Mili gave a soft, sorrowful cry.

 

"I still feel him."

 

But even he knew it was fading. The guardian bond had unraveled. The mate mark was growing cold. Only fragments of his essence remained inside Mili—and they were weakening by the hour.

 

His body, once unshakable, was now gaunt. Shadows hung beneath his eyes. His magic pulsed in fits, uncontrolled. He hadn’t eaten. Hadn’t spoken to anyone. The royal court had tried. The queen. King. Nyla. Even Yoongi. None had broken the wall around him.

 

He reached for the pendant still hanging from his neck—his. A simple thing, silver and stone. It pulsed faintly, but each hour, the pulse dimmed.

 

"They burned him," he said softly, as if Mili didn’t know. "They turned him to ash."

 

He pressed his hand over his heart.

"Then let the ash be me."

 

Mili whimpered louder. She tried to get closer to him, tried to remind him that he wasn’t alone. But even her touch could not reach him fully.

 

"Go," he whispered to her. "Sleep. If you must die... let it be with him."

 

But Mili stayed, loyal to the end.

 

Outside, the fire dwindled. The wind carried the ashes across the sky. Some claimed they saw dragons in the smoke. Some swore they saw a streak of blue and gold, like his mismatched eyes blinking goodbye.

 

When the final flame died, the crowd remained a while longer. In silence. In mourning.

 

Yoongi looked at the palace once more. To the balcony that had remained empty.

"Goodbye, Jungkook," he whispered.

"Wait for me... in the stars… and… say hi to Bam for me."

 

He turned away.

 

The palace was quiet.

Too quiet.

 

And within the highest tower, the Prince of Dragons held his head in his hands and wept like a man undone.

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