Chapter Text

Prologue

Past

The sun beat down from the sky, and Taehyung loosened his tie and unbuttoned the first two buttons of his shirt. The heat was unbearable, and a drop of sweat slid down his temple. He despised the summer heat because it often made his skin itch uncomfortably. The wind from riding his bike failed to cool him down, and he wished he hadn’t forgotten his cap. As he passed people working in the field to his left, he waved in greeting, secretly relieved that he didn’t have to help his Halmeoni in the vegetable garden later.

He jumped off his bike when he reached the Hanok owned by his family and pushed it up to the old wooden gate. As usual, the door lock jammed, and he jolted the door until he heard the lock give way. He couldn’t understand why his grandparents never bothered to fix it.

The door creaked as he opened it, and he carried his bike over the threshold.

The sound of cicadas immediately greeted him from behind the house, their chorus emanating from the old trees in the garden. They were always loud in the summertime, providing a constant soundtrack to the warm months of the year.

The inner courtyard had been freshly swept, and his eyes wandered to the left.

His Harabeoji sat under the huge old plum tree on the wooden platform where they often gathered, crouched over a few pages, deep in thought. He ran a hand through his unruly gray hair, making it more messy than before.
Taehyung caught sight of several colorful symbols, arranged around a circle. He knew those symbols by heart, having seen them countless times drawn for customers who came to his grandfather to discuss their destinies and seek advice.

His Harabeoji was the Musogin (shaman) of the area, and many people visited him, some openly during the day, and others secretly under the cover of night.

Taehyung pushed his bike closer and wiped another drop of sweat off his forehead.
„Hello, Harabeoji,“ he greeted loudly, and grinned widely when his grandfather twitched in surprise.

His Harabeoji looked up, and it seemed to take him a moment to focus on the figure before him, as though he had been deep in thought, too distracted to notice his surroundings.
“Oh, Taehyung-ah, you are already back from school?” he asked, his tone laced with mild surprise.
“Yes, it’s already late afternoon. Did you lose track of time again?” Taehyung replied with a knowing smile. His grandfather was well-known for getting lost in Saju.

“No… it was… just a quick look… I…,” his Harabeoji said tentatively, and almost a bit lost.

Taehyung felt his brows rise a fraction at his grandfather's demeanor, which seemed unusual. “Okay,” he said slowly, though he smiled. He didn’t know how to interpret his behavior. “I will go inside, I have homework to do,” he added and turned to leave.

“Wait, Taehyung-ah, sit down,” his Harabeoji called, his voice now stronger and determined, and he patted the wooden floor beside him. Taehyung hesitated, wanting to decline and retreat into the cooler house, but his grandfather patted the floor again, more insistently.

“Sit, come on,” the older man prompted again.

“Harabeoji, I’m not supposed to see those,” Taehyung sighed. “You know Eomma doesn’t like it when you show me these things,” he said, but despite his protest, he took off his backpack and sat reluctantly down. The shade felt nice on his overheated hair and he sensed a light breeze under the tree waft over them.
His grandfather shook his head. “Hush, it’s not a Saju for a customer,” he replied quietly and pushed the pages closer to him.

Taehyung furrowed his brows in irritation. “What do you mean?”
“It’s yours,” the older man replied matter-of-factly and stared into his eyes. “You need to know your Saju to fully receive the gift,” he added huskily.

Taehyung groaned in exasperation and glanced up at the canopy of leaves. “Harabeoji, I’m not accepting the gift, and I’m not becoming a Musogin,” he replied adamantly and looked back at his grandfather. “I want to be a painter. An artist!” he exclaimed.

His grandfather didn’t flinch. “A painter…,” he said slowly. “You can’t paint if you don’t see the world. The colors will be pale if the fire doesn’t consume you.”

Taehyung felt his hackles rise. They had revisited this conversation countless times over the past few months, and he was eager to end it as quickly as possible.
“Well, I have…” he said, and began to stand up.
“Taehyung!” his Harabeoji growled in a commanding voice, and Taehyung sank back down respectfully.
“Yes,” he acknowledged and glanced at his balled hands in his lap. His nails dug into his skin, grounding him in his anger.
“Look at the charts,” his grandfather demanded, leaving no room for arguments.
“Yes,” Taehyung replied dutifully and turned his gaze to the page with the circle of symbols.

His anger and stubbornness willed him to purposely not understand what he saw, but suddenly the symbols glinted in the sun, the colors vivid to his eyes. The connecting lines drew an image in his mind, but their meaning still didn’t seem clear to him. All he could decipher was that he appeared to be out of balance and that he needed something.

“I’m not in balance?” he asked hesitantly, scratching his head in confusion and glanced up.
“Yes!” his grandfather growled again. “Your water line is too dominant. You flow and don’t settle. You’re easily distracted. You need more fire in your life.”

Taehyung furrowed his eyebrows. “I need fire? I don’t like heat.”
“Don’t be dense,” the older man chided. “You know the elements can be balanced by people, not literally."
“Yeah…,” Taehyung muttered.
“The fire will come to you during a difficult time,” his grandfather said ominously and Taehyung felt a shiver down his spine. “You will suffer, but your destiny will be fulfilled,” his Harabeoji said solemnly.

Taehyung looked affronted. “You are telling me I will suffer? I don’t want to know that!” he said, standing abruptly, clearly upset. “You always say that destiny isn’t fixed, it is moving… it’s only suggestions.”

The eyes of his Harabeoji softened. “Taehyung-ah, it will be hard, but…”
“I don’t want to hear it!” he interrupted, nearly shrieking, shaking his head in frustration.
“He will find you,” the older man said firmly. “You are bound to the fire, I can see it.”

Taehyung’s eyes widened in shock and another shiver ran down his back. His mouth went dry and he could feel his pulse beating in his ears. “He?”

“A man made of fire will find you,” his Harabeoji said darkly. “He is your destiny. There is no way around it. The only way it can change is if you marry. But it seems it is not like that with you,” the older man concluded, his tone final.
Taehyung took a step back, agitation and confusion etched on his face. “I need to do my homework,” he muttered.

His grandfather looked at him, his lips pressed into a flat line, clearly displeased by his behavior. “It is your destiny,” he said firmly.
They locked eyes for several long seconds until Taehyung could no longer hold his grandfather’s piercing gaze. He turned abruptly and ran into the house, leaving his bike and backpack forgotten behind him.

That night, he dreamed for the first time of a blazing flame, but he chose not to tell his Harabeoji the next morning.

Over the following months, the flame reappeared in his dreams, rising higher each time. It grew into an enormous inferno, illuminating the darkness of his dreams, brightening the sky, and enveloping him in warmth, yet it never burned him.

One night, he saw a shadow moving within the flames. It was human-shaped, that much he could tell, and his curiosity was piqued. He wanted to know who could walk into the fire untouched.

Taehyung didn’t know if his grandfather’s words had left a deep impression on him or if his mind was simply playing tricks. He didn’t know what to believe. Yet, despite the uncertainty, he found himself yearning to see the person that could walk within the flames.
With each dream, the figure drew closer and the shadow’s edges became sharper, more defined.

On a cold spring night, the flames parted and the shadow stepped out of the inferno. It was a boy, not much older than Taehyung himself.
The flames swirled around him with a roar, shooting up into the darkness, and yet they did not scorch his clothes or skin. The fire seemed to generate a powerful wind, causing his hair to whip around his head. But the boy’s large, dark eyes locked onto Taehyung’s, his piercing gaze powerful and impossible to look away from. Taehyung felt himself becoming utterly lost in them, they were hauntingly beautiful.

Suddenly, the boy’s head turned to the side, as though someone had called his name and Taehyung unfroze. Without a word, the boy stepped back into the flames, leaving Taehyung alone and shivering in the cold.

He woke to a commotion in the house. He could hear his parents rushing around, their hurried footsteps echoing through the halls. Before long, the old gate jolted open, and blue lights flashed against the dark night.

Taehyung stood back, frozen, as the paramedics wheeled his grandfather away.

After the incident, Taehyung no longer dreamed of the blazing flames or the mysterious boy, so he didn’t tell his grandfather when he came back.

Yet, the boy’s face lingered in his thoughts, relentlessly. At school, his hands would wander across the pages of his notebook, sketching the features that haunted him: the doe-like eyes, the full lips, the distinctive nose, and that small mole. The slightly curly hair came last. No matter how hard he tried, the face refused to leave him.

The dream came as a surprise, somehow pleasant. Taehyung saw a tiny flame flickering on the ground, growing rapidly in size. A surge of giddiness welled up in him at the thought that he might see the boy again, and his heartbeat seemed to pick up.
The fire swelled into an inferno, surrounding Taehyung in its center and he felt engulfed in a pleasant warmth, like a gentle touch on his skin. The boy appeared through the blazing wall of fire yet again untouched. The flames swirled around him, illuminating his face and Taehyung felt a pull like never before.
The boy stepped out of the flames and approached Taehyung in the circle. Their eyes met, and the boy offered a shy smile before extending his hand toward him.

Taehyung hesitated, his heart pounding in his chest, but curiosity and something deeper, like an unspoken yearning, drove him forward. He reached out, his fingers trembling as they brushed against the boy’s. The touch was warm, comforting, and grounding despite the destructive inferno surrounding them.
Their fingers intertwined and Taehyung sensed the connection between them flare to life, powerful and ancient.

For the first time in his young life, he felt whole and content.

But when he woke up, his world crumbled to ashes, because his grandfather had left this world.