Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The chair was too big.

Or maybe Taehyung was too small.

Either way, he sat in silence. Cloaked in velvet, hair brushed and perfumed, rings on each of his fingers, looking like a prince carved from porcelain and nervous breath.

The room was grand, but cold.

High ceilings. Heavy curtains. Too many chairs for one person.

Taehyung sat at the edge of one, fingers tracing the carved wood of the armrest. He could hear the distant murmur of voices through the door across from him. Seokjin and Namjoon were speaking with the Elders.

The ones who had come back too soon.

His pulse tapped softly beneath his skin.

He hadn’t been told what this meeting was. Not exactly. Only that they wanted to see him. Again. That they were “curious.” That they had questions.

That always meant something else.

Taehyung adjusted the gold chain around his neck. His robes were deep burgundy, trimmed in silver thread, the fabric layered like ceremonial armor. He looked… official. Claimed. Adorned.

But he didn’t feel like any of those things.

He felt like bait.

And the longer he waited, the more he wondered if that was what he truly was.

The silence made space for memory.

At first, it was only a flicker. Light slipping across his vision like the glint of firelight on glass. Then a sound: small feet slapping against marble. Laughter. Distant.

Taehyung blinked.

He was younger. Maybe six. Running barefoot through the same halls. Velvet curtains too tall. Eyes watching from every corner. And a voice—deep, amused, and familiar—calling his name behind him.

“You’ll trip if you keep running, little lord.”

He turned, and—

The door slammed open.

The sound cracked through the room like a gunshot.

Taehyung flinched, half-rising from the chair.

Seokjin entered first, his robe flaring behind him like the lash of a blade. His expression was uncharacteristically cold. Tight around the mouth, fury vibrating beneath every graceful movement.

Namjoon was behind him, less theatrical but no less furious. His jaw was clenched. Hands balled into tight fists at his sides.

“They brought another coven leader with them,” Seokjin said, voice like polished glass ready to shatter.

Taehyung stared, heart still catching up to the present.

“What?”

“Unannounced,” Namjoon added. “Old blood. From the Rhan household.”

Taehyung’s brows drew together. The name meant little to him. But it clearly meant something to Seokjin, whose nostrils flared.

“They’re making a show of it,” Seokjin spat. “Trying to imply other options. Other offers. As if your blood is theirs to distribute.”

A pause.

As if your future is.

Namjoon moved forward, crouching slightly in front of Taehyung’s chair. His voice gentled. “They want to parade you like a prize. Introduce ‘possibilities’ under the guise of mourning diplomacy.”

“But we didn’t let them,” Seokjin snapped. “They wanted you to meet him alone.”

Taehyung blinked, blood cooling in his veins. “And?”

“And we told them to rot.”

“No,” Taehyung said quietly. “I’ll meet them.”

Seokjin’s head snapped up. “Taehyung—”

“Jinnie.” Taehyung stood slowly, the velvet of his robe settling like liquid around his frame. “This isn’t worth souring an already molded relationship. Let me handle it.”

Seokjin’s lips parted in protest. His hands twitched like he wanted to reach out, pull him back.

“Trust me,” Taehyung added, softer now. “Please.”

“I do trust you, Taehyung,” Seokjin said, and for a moment his voice cracked under the weight of something older, deeper. “It’s them I don’t trust.”

Taehyung stepped closer, his expression unreadable.

“I… I know, Jin,” he said. “I don’t trust them either.”

“But i’ll take care of it.”

Namjoon, who had been quiet until now, exhaled through his nose—just once—and smiled like it hurt.

“Spoken like a true heir,” he said.

And Seokjin, after a beat, stepped aside.

Just enough for Taehyung to walk past.

The doors groaned open.

Five Elders stood at the threshold, arranged like a wall of statues dressed in shadows. And beside them—slightly behind, yet very much placed—stood a man Taehyung did not know.

The sixth.

The coven leader.

He was tall, sharp-jawed, and impossibly still. His eyes were a shade of gold that didn’t seem natural. His robes bore no crest, but their black was deeper than pitch, trimmed in bone-thread. Old. Old as the territory itself.

And the Elders were smiling.

Not kindly. Not warmly.

But with the quiet, patient curve of people who believed they had won something before it began.

Taehyung stopped a few feet away, spine straight, jaw set.

He knew without needing to turn that behind the sealed door behind him, his coven stood like sentinels. He could feel them, every one. Listening. Watching. Ready.

It steadied him.

The veiled Elder spoke first. “We were told you might decline.”

“And yet here I am,” Taehyung said coolly.

The gold-eyed man’s gaze raked over him. “You’re younger than I expected.”

“You’re older than I care to notice,” Taehyung replied, sweetly, without smiling.

There was a pause.

The white-eyed woman let out a breath that might have been a laugh, or a scoff. “He has his father’s tongue.”

“No,” the gray-cloaked Elder said. “His mother’s steel.”

“We’re pleased you agreed to meet,” the skeletal one said, taking a half-step forward. “It speaks well of your… adaptability.”

“It speaks,” Taehyung replied, “of mine and my Covens patience.”

Behind him, the door didn’t creak. No one moved. But Taehyung could feel their weight. His vampires, his people. The heat of their silence. The promise that if anyone so much as reached for him, they would not walk away unburned.

“The territory is watching,” said the white-eyed woman, tone light as falling snow. “They wonder what direction the House of Kim will take.”

“They wonder,” said the one in gray, “if your legacy can bear the weight of leadership. Or if a more… seasoned house might offer better footing for one so young.”

“You mean a leash,” Taehyung said quietly.

The skeletal Elder’s smile showed no teeth. “A guide.”

“A cage,” he murmured, his voice still low. “Dressed up in luxury.”

The veiled one stepped forward, hands folded, voice oil-slick and calm. “Coven partnerships are an ancient practice. They create balance. You need not shoulder the future alone.”

Taehyung didn’t answer.

Because the sixth figure had moved.

The Rhan leader stepped forward—smoothly, deliberately—and for the first time, addressed Taehyung directly.

“Walk with me,” he said, voice deeper than expected. Steady. “No guards. No Elders. Just a conversation.”

The Elders turned, ever so slightly. Interested.

Testing.

Taehyung’s heart beat once, hard.

He knew behind him, the coven had heard every word.

And he also knew what this was: a gamble.

“I’ll go,” Taehyung said softly.

The smile that ghosted across the Elders’ faces was triumph dressed in civility. They bowed in acceptance and poorly hidden conquest.

But Taehyung didn’t flinch. He stepped forward. Chin high.

He didn’t look back.

He didn’t need to.

Because if this Rhan leader tried anything, said anything wrong, there’d be six very old, very dangerous vampires behind that door who would burn the entire forest down to find him.

They walked in silence.

The forest trail behind the manor curved gently into thickets of moonlit green, dew glistening on each blade of grass. The wind was cool and calm. Almost… peaceful.

Taehyung kept half a step back from the Rhan coven leader, his fingers curled into the folds of his sleeve, ready to bolt if needed.

But the older vampire didn’t speak. He didn’t prod, or lead, or question.

He simply walked.

Taehyung lasted longer than he expected before the words came spilling out.

“I won’t join your coven,” he said, tone sharper than the hush around them. “No matter what you offer me.”

The man beside him only smiled.

“Yes,” he said mildly. “I know.”

Taehyung blinked, startled. “I’m in love with my mates and—wait. What?”

The older vampire chuckled then, a warm sound that curled in Taehyung’s stomach and confused him even more.

“I didn’t come here with plots to take you into my coven, young Kim,” the man said gently, his hands clasped behind his back. “That was the Elders’ ambition. Not mine.”

“You didn’t?” Taehyung breathed, something uncoiling inside him.

“No,” the man replied. “In fact, I came to see if you were everything they feared.”

Taehyung blinked again. “Feared?”

The vampire turned to him, golden eyes kind. Old. Knowing.

“You love fiercely. You are loved fiercely. That kind of loyalty terrifies them.”

And Taehyung grew suddenly quiet. He didnt know what to say to that.

They walked farther, the trees bowing gently overhead, light pooling between their feet like silver paint. The older vampire didn’t rush. He moved like time didn’t touch him.

“I’m not here to harm you,” the man said softly. “I came to help. Whatever is needed. Bonding rites, ancestral preparation, final approval for the heir’s seat, my coven will offer support.”

Taehyung turned to him, brows drawn. “Why?”

The older vampire stopped.

Taehyung did too, blinking at the sincerity lining the man’s expression.

“I knew your father,” the man said simply.

Taehyung’s breath hitched.

“We were close, once. He was young, brilliant, rebellious. Powerful, but stubborn. He was going to join my coven, perhaps. It had been a choice extended to him.”

“My father…” Taehyung repeated, stunned. “Was going to join your coven?”

“Possibly,” the vampire said with a small nod. “Maybe he would have, if he hadn’t met your mother.”

His voice didn’t carry judgment. There was no bitterness in the way he said it. Just a quiet reflection of what could’ve been.

“You remind me of him,” the man said. His golden gaze flicked to Taehyung again, softening with something unnameable. “You look exactly as he did at this age.”

Taehyung didn’t know what to say. The wind stirred, and he swallowed against the lump rising in his throat.

For so long, his father had been a myth. A shadow. A name whispered in stories and tragedy. But here was someone who had known him, truly known him, and was looking at Taehyung not like a threat or a prize, but like something remembered.

They walked in silence.

Just walked, side by side, through shadow and moonlight, their footsteps muffled by the moss-lined path. There was no need to fill the silence. Not after what had been said. Not after what had settled between them.

When the manor came back into view, aglow with warm candlelight and cold starlight, the Elders were already waiting at the entrance.

Their eyes flicked over the two figures returning, impassive and unreadable, like gargoyles carved into the stone of dusk.

Taehyung and the coven leader stopped just a few paces from them.

“Thank you,” Taehyung said politely.

The man inclined his head. “You’re welcome.”

He turned to go, but paused mid-step.

“If you find yourself needing assistance,” he said without looking back, “reach out to me.”

Taehyung blinked. “What’s your name—?”

The man glanced over his shoulder, something like a smile tugging faintly at the edge of his lips.

“Junyoung,” he said. “Junyoung Rhan.”

And then he disappeared into the waiting fog with robes like trailing ink, leaving only the night behind him.

Taehyung stood there a moment longer, the door to the manor behind him, the weight of something ancient and personal curling under his skin.

Then, quietly, he stepped inside.

Where his coven was waiting.

As soon as Taehyung stepped through the door, he was caught.

Jungkook was there first. He had clearly been pacing, waiting, burning.
And he pulled Taehyung into his arms with a force that made the air catch in Taehyung’s lungs. The vampire’s muscles were like stone under silk, his face buried in the crook of Taehyung’s neck. His eyes glowed crimson-hot, a feral edge of panic and relief twisting through the hold.

“You shouldn’t have gone alone,” Jungkook murmured, low and rough, almost scolding, but his lips were pressed to Taehyung’s throat like a promise, not a reprimand. “You shouldn’t have gone without me.”

“I’m okay,” Taehyung whispered, dazed. “I’m here.”

The others were already closing in.

Jimin, fingers fluttering over Taehyung’s chest like he had to confirm he was whole. Hoseok behind him, breath warm against Taehyung’s ear as he scent-marked the air. Yoongi’s hand slid along the nape of his neck, grounding and searing. Namjoon’s palm pressed flat to his lower back, anchoring him. And Seokjin, ever silent and elegant, leaned in just enough to breathe in the boy’s scent before brushing his lips across Taehyung’s temple.

“You smell like him,” someone muttered.

It was true.

The Rhan coven’s scent had clung faintly to Taehyung’s robes—forest smoke, ancient myrrh—and it set the six of them ablaze.

They were calm. Until they weren’t.

And then everything unraveled.

Hands everywhere. Touches that weren’t quite gentle. Mouths pressed to skin, not to soothe but to stake claim. Seokjin unfastened the robe at Taehyung’s throat with slow, punishing precision. Jimin’s tongue traced the curve of his collarbone. Jungkook’s fingers gripped Taehyung’s waist like he might vanish again if they weren’t careful. Hoseok tilted Taehyung’s jaw up with two fingers and kissed him. Open and hot, the kind of kiss that made Taehyung’s knees tremble.

“This is what you belong to,” Namjoon said lowly, voice rumbling from behind him. “Not to strangers. Not to ghosts.”

“Mine,” Jungkook growled, not to be outdone.

“Ours,” Seokjin corrected, soft but deadly.

Taehyung barely registered being lifted—Yoongi, maybe Namjoon—someone carrying him away from the door, the entrance fading behind them. His head lolled back as they moved, body arching into greedy hands, his mouth parting with a soft sound he couldn’t stop.

The manor swallowed the sound whole.

Taehyung didn’t remember how they got to the grand sitting room, only that the floor beneath him shifted from marble to velvet rugs, and that fingers never left his skin. Not once.

 Every step taken was through breathless touches, worshipful hands, heat pressed into him from every side.

He was laid out gently atop a long chaise, but there was nothing gentle about the way they looked at him. Like a feast. Like they’d been starving since the day he walked through their door.

“Please—” Taehyung whispered, breathless, his thighs shifting open instinctively. “Please, touch me. I—I want—”

“You want what, sweetheart?” Hoseok murmured, crouched by his side, brushing the backs of his knuckles down Taehyung’s trembling stomach. “You want us to take you?”

“Yes,” Taehyung gasped. “Please— take me— make me yours.”

“You already are,” Yoongi said roughly, behind him. His hand wrapped around the back of Taehyung’s neck, tilting his head back with gentle command. “But we’ll remind you.”

Taehyung moaned when Jungkook crawled up beside him, eyes red and lips parted, hunger etched in every motion. “You smell like fear and want,” Jungkook breathed, dragging his nose along Taehyung’s throat. “You want us to devour you, don’t you?”

Taehyung whimpered. “Yes.”

Clothes were peeled away. Fingers slow but firm, tongues trailing after exposed skin like it was sacred. Seokjin’s mouth pressed open kisses along his collarbones, teeth grazing but never biting. Namjoon’s hands caressed his thighs, pushing them farther apart, growling low in his throat when Taehyung bucked forward.

“Look at you,” Namjoon rumbled. “Begging without words already.”

“He always was such a good boy,” Jimin purred. He climbed over Taehyung, straddling his hips while pressing a reverent kiss to his lips. “So soft. So ready. Let’s see how long he lasts.”

“Worship him first,” Seokjin said darkly. “He deserves that.”

Six mouths, six sets of hands. Every inch of Taehyung kissed, licked, nipped. Tongues dragging up his chest, fingers brushing the insides of his thighs, his wrists, his waist. Jungkook grinded against the curve of his hip, possessive and unrestrained. Yoongi kissed behind his ear and whispered praises in a low growl. Jimin suckled gently on Taehyung’s nipple until the boy gasped and arched off the chaise. Hoseok’s mouth pressed to his stomach, laughing low when Taehyung cried out again.

“Such a perfect body,” Seokjin murmured, his hand between Taehyung’s legs, cupping his heat with deliberate slowness. “It was made for us.”

“Please—” Taehyung moaned, rolling his hips up. “Please, please— more.”

“Greedy little thing,” Namjoon chuckled. “You want to be undone by six? All at once?”

Taehyung nodded desperately, panting, fingers curling in the velvet beneath him. “I want you— need you— all of you—”

“Then take us,” Yoongi said.

They took turns kissing him, bringing him to the edge again and again without relief. Hands slick and stroking, mouths claiming and marking. Taehyung sobbed for them—beautiful, trembling, flushed—and they praised every noise he gave them. Called him theirs. Called him sacred. Their prince, their mate, their perfect bloodborn heir.

Jungkook buried his face between Taehyung’s thighs, lapping at the slick skin, murmuring filth and praise in equal measure until Taehyung came with a broken cry. Shuddering, writhing, held down by too many hands to escape.

He sagged against the chaise, breathless, mind blank.

But the six were far from done.

“Let’s take our time,” Seokjin whispered, smoothing Taehyung’s hair back as he pulled him upright. “The night’s just beginning.”

They had taken him apart.

Bit by bit, breath by breath, Taehyung had been undone in their hands. Unraveled by teeth and lips, by murmured praise and the hot scrape of desire. He’d been guided through waves of pleasure until his body was nothing but nerve endings and sobbed-out need, claimed in every way but one.

And then, as if he were something precious — something holy — they put him back together.

Only to unwind him again.

It wasn’t brutal. It wasn’t cruel. It was devotion in motion, adoration sharpened into something unbearable. Six centuries of longing made flesh. They worshiped him as if his body had been carved from stars. He had never felt so desired. So owned. So safe.

And now…

Now he lay in the center of them, swaddled in warmth, a cocoon of bare skin and breathless stillness.

Someone had brought blankets. Another had wiped him down, gentle and slow. Their hands never left him. A thumb brushing the dip of his hip, a nose nuzzled into his hair, a palm pressed between his shoulder blades. They murmured to one another — low, content, in that old dialect Taehyung didn’t quite understand — and when he blinked, he found himself pinned under the weight of their love.

Namjoon lay stretched behind him, an arm curved around his waist.

Seokjin rested above his head, fingers threaded through his hair.

Yoongi’s hand curled around his ankle lazily, thumb rubbing in soft strokes.

Jimin and Hoseok had nestled near his chest, wrapped up in each other, but never far from him.

And Jungkook was nearest. Still warm from where he’d kissed Taehyung through one of the boy’s last orgasms, his mouth now pressed to Taehyung’s collarbone like a vow.

No one spoke.

Not until Taehyung did.

“I met the Rhan coven leader,” he said quietly, the words catching at first.

No one moved. But they all listened.

Jungkook’s jaw tensed against his skin.

“They… they weren’t what I expected.” He swallowed. “He didn’t try to lure me away. Didn’t manipulate. He just… walked with me.”

“And?” Seokjin asked, voice unreadable.

Taehyung stared at the ceiling. “He said he once offered a place to my father. That they might’ve bonded.”

A long pause.

“He said I reminded him of my father. That I looked like him.”

Stillness. Then, the lightest touch, Seokjin’s hand drifting down to Taehyung’s temple.

“He offered help,” Taehyung added. “For whatever comes next. For the bonding. For the heirship.”

Yoongi exhaled through his nose, quiet. Measured.

“They’ll want something for it,” Namjoon said. Not a warning but a truth.

“I know,” Taehyung murmured. “But for the first time… I felt like someone saw me for who I am. Not just the heir. Not the halfblood. Just… me.”

He didn’t see the way they looked at him then.

Didn’t see the way Jungkook’s mouth trembled, or the sudden tightness in Seokjin’s grip.

But he felt the weight of them curl closer.

As if to say: We see you, too.

And we’re not letting you go.

The Kim residence had not known stillness in days.

Designers came first; sharp-eyed, quick-fingered artisans cloaked in silk and authority. They brought reams of rare fabric and dozens of enchanted measuring tools. The front hall turned into a revolving gallery of pattern books, stitch samples, and endless murmurs about symmetry, drape, and tradition.

Then came the jewelers.

They whispered in languages older than empires, their hands gloved as they held heirloom stones to the light. One asked to examine Taehyung’s fingers. Another wanted to see the shape of his throat.

“Moon-cut diamonds suit you,” one murmured. “Bloodstone would be more proper, of course, but…”

Of course.

Taehyung sat through it all, quiet and politely overwhelmed. Fittings blurred into fabric tests, and no one seemed to question the unspoken truth: that he was being prepared for something sacred. Something permanent.

He felt like a bride.

Or worse, like a lamb dressed in velvet.

Later that night, he sat alone in the library, shoulders tense beneath a robe Seokjin had chosen for him. Deep garnet and edged in silver thread. A soft candle burned beside him. The weight of the mansion’s silence pressed in, broken only by the scratch of pen on paper.

Mother, he wrote.

I think I’m getting married behind your back.

He paused. The ink bled in the corner of the page.

He exhaled and tried again.

It’s not a wedding, not exactly. But it feels like one. There are suits, and rings. And the way they look at me…

I think it’s love. 

I hope it is.

His hand shook. He looked down at what he had written and frowned. Then he flipped the page and started again.

The soft creak of the library door was the only warning.

Taehyung didn’t look up. He didn’t need to.

He felt Jimin’s presence before he saw it. The hush of his steps, the shift in the air, the subtle way the candlelight bent toward him.

Jimin didn’t speak at first. He approached silently, barefoot, dressed in a midnight-blue robe that shimmered faintly with warding charms and crescent-shaped embroidery. His hair was slightly tousled, like he’d just come from bed or from someone else’s arms. But his gaze was soft. Soft in the way dusk is soft, just before the stars reveal themselves.

“You’re writing to your mother.” he said, voice low and knowing.

Taehyung blinked down at the parchment. “Trying to.”

Jimin slid into the seat beside him without asking, his thigh brushing Taehyung’s as he peered at the letter half-written.

There was a blot of ink where Taehyung had hesitated.

Jimin smiled faintly. “You’re overthinking.”

“I know,” Taehyung murmured.

A pause.

Then: “It feels like I’m doing something huge and irreversible, and she doesn’t even know.” His throat felt tight as he added, “It’s not just a ceremony. It’s not just the politics or the rituals. It’s… choosing you. All of you. Letting myself be chosen.”

“And that feels like betrayal?” Jimin asked gently.

“No,” Taehyung whispered. “But it feels like goodbye.”

Jimin was quiet for a long moment. Then, without warning, he reached over and took the pen from Taehyung’s fingers. He dipped it in ink, turned the page, and wrote with slow, careful strokes:

He is safe.

Then another line, just beneath it.

And he is loved.

Taehyung stared at the words. His hands had gone still in his lap.

“She’ll understand, you know,” Jimin said, still not looking at him. “Mothers always do, eventually. Even when they’re scared.”

“I don’t want her to think I forgot her,” Taehyung said. “Or that I left her behind.”

“You didn’t,” Jimin replied, turning to look at him at last. “You carried her with you into every hallway. Every training. Every letter you did and didn’t send.”

Taehyung blinked hard.

“You don’t belong to just one world anymore,” Jimin added. “And maybe… maybe you never did.”

Then, in a softer tone, teasing just at the edges: “But I’m selfish. I’m glad you’re here.”

Taehyung looked at him, really looked.

At the beauty. The sorrow. The kindness Jimin never withheld, not even when Taehyung was a mess of questions and contradictions.

“I’m glad I’m here too,” he whispered.

Jimin leaned in, pressing the softest kiss to his temple.

“Then finish your letter, my darling,” he murmured. “And come to bed.”

Taehyung waited until Jimin had disappeared down the corridor, the scent of him still clinging faintly to the candlelight, warm and comforting. Before turning back to the letter.

The parchment was heavier now. Not with ink, but with meaning.

He dipped the pen once more and began to write.

Mother,

I know it’s been some time since my last letter. I wanted to wait until the right moment, but it never came. So now I’m writing during the in-between; between fittings and rituals and whispers about what it means to belong to more than one world.

I think I’m starting to understand. It’s not about choosing one life over another. It’s about building something new from all the pieces. And somehow, I’ve found people who want to build it with me.

They’re strange, and fierce, and loyal in ways that sometimes scare me. But they hold me like I’m precious. They look at me like I’m not broken.

And I think I’m beginning to believe them.

I miss you. I love you.

I hope, when this is all over, you’ll meet them. I think you’d be proud.

—Tae

He signed it with the gentle flourish she once taught him, then folded the parchment carefully and tied it with a thin red ribbon. One from a box she’d sent him during his first week in the manor. Red for strength, she’d written.

He left the library and crossed the hall to the open terrace. The sky was soft with stars, a hush blanketing the courtyard below.

Taehyung raised two fingers to his lips, then to the carved wooden perch just outside the archway.

The bird appeared moments later; sleek, ash-feathered, with eyes like obsidian. A messenger from his fathers old flock. It bowed its head once, waiting.

“Take it to her,” he whispered, tucking the letter gently into the clasp.

The bird chirped once, low and serious, and took off into the night with wings like silk tearing.

Taehyung watched it until it vanished into the dark, the ribbon glinting faintly in the moonlight.

He stayed there for a moment longer, quiet in the stillness, letting the weight of goodbye settle somewhere soft inside him.

Then he turned and made his way back inside.

Back toward warmth. Toward the bond that was waiting.

The manor was different now.

Not in its walls or weight — those still pulsed with old magic and whispered secrets — but in its rhythm. Its noise.

Gone were the slow mornings spent tangled on couches in the sun-dappled parlor. Gone were the late-night meals eaten barefoot at the kitchen counter, laughter echoing off the stone like a lullaby.

The mourning period was over.

And the staff had returned.

They moved through the halls with graceful precision: housekeepers in pressed uniforms, cooks in pale aprons, gardeners whispering to vines along the courtyard railings. Even the chandeliers had been dusted, their crystals catching the light again like they hadn’t in years.

Taehyung stood just beside the entrance to the lower east wing, hands folded in front of him as Seokjin introduced him by title.

“The heir of Hyungshin Kim,” he said clearly. “Recognized by the House, under coven seal.”

There were no bows, only nods. Practiced, respectful. Not unkind.

But not warm either.

The air felt… tight.

And Taehyung, dressed in robes Jimin had tailored specifically for “public coven presentation,” suddenly missed the lazy softness of linen shirts and warm arms tangled around his waist. Missed Jungkook’s teasing bites while walking past him in the hallway. Missed the quiet hum of Hoseok’s music in the living room. Missed Yoongi reading out loud just to hear Taehyung breathe deeper beside him.

They still touched him. Still held him. But it happened behind closed doors now.

Behind velvet curtains, in private corners, in the still hush of rooms not meant for anyone else.

It wasn’t that they were hiding.

It was that the manor wasn’t theirs anymore.

Not entirely.

Not with eyes in every room. Not with whispers that stopped just as he entered. Not with Seokjin speaking to visiting nobles until midnight and Namjoon locked in the study with scrolls that carried sigils older than grief.

“Are you alright?” someone asked beside him — Jimin, always Jimin — his voice so soft Taehyung could barely hear it over the clatter of returning routine.

Taehyung didn’t answer at first.

He watched a young steward refill a crystal decanter at the end of the corridor. Watched another woman light a floating lantern with a flick of her fingers. Even the portraits on the walls had been polished.

It was beautiful.

It was suffocating.

“…I’m okay,” Taehyung said finally. “I just… miss the quiet.”

Jimin slipped his fingers into Taehyung’s and gave them a small squeeze. No words, just presence. That was enough.

For now.

They met in one of the inner chambers. The red one, with velvet-lined walls and gilded mirrors that caught reflections too quickly.

The staff didn’t come here. Not yet. Not unless summoned.

Which meant for now, it was still theirs.

Taehyung sat between Jungkook and Yoongi, his back straight, hands clasped in his lap. The others were seated around the low circle table, scattered in familiar proximity. It should’ve felt like before. Like comfort. Like safety.

But the silence was heavier now. Filled with expectation.

“It’s time,” Namjoon said finally, breaking it. “The full moon is in ten days. We’ll need to choose how we begin the next phase of the ritual.”

“You mean the public phase,” Yoongi muttered.

Seokjin nodded, lips pressed in a tight line. “There will be a ceremonial gathering. Witnesses. Some rites will need to be performed in view of the court. Blood-binding. Symbolic consumption.”

Taehyung blinked. “Consumption…?”

“Not that kind,” Jimin teased, eyes gleaming. “Well. Not yet.”

Hoseok threw a velvet cushion at him.

But no one really laughed.

Not fully.

Namjoon leaned forward. “We’ll have to fast before the rite. Refrain from certain kinds of intimacy; physical bonding, blood sharing. Just until it’s complete. The council wants purity in appearance.”

“Of course they do,” Yoongi said under his breath.

Taehyung swallowed. The words were floating around him — fasting, ceremony, witnesses, consumption — like the echo of a wedding he hadn’t quite agreed to yet.

He wasn’t afraid. Not of them. But of what came after. Of how little space there was left for privacy now.

Of how little time.

The others were still talking. Seokjin reading from an old ceremonial book. Jungkook asking sharp questions about security. Jimin asking if they could please make the ceremonial garments less hideous than last time.

But Taehyung was drifting.

Drifting fast.

He stood up slowly, not quite abrupt but clearly enough to draw attention.

Yoongi looked up first. “Tae?”

“I just… need a minute,” Taehyung said quietly. “I’ll be close.”

He didn’t wait for protest. Just turned and slipped through the side corridor.

The manor swallowed him gently. No one stopped him. The guards bowed. The portraits blinked once and looked away.

He walked until the voices thinned. Until the mirrors faded. Until he reached a far, unused hallway in the southern wing, where dust still clung to the corners and the lanterns glowed dimmer.

He pushed open a door.

A study. Or something like it. Half-forgotten.

The air was cool, untouched. And Taehyung closed the door behind him with a soft click, sinking to the floor with his back against it.

For a moment, there was only quiet.

And in that quiet, his breath finally came again.

He tilted his head up to the ceiling. Closed his eyes. Let his hands relax in his lap.

He didn’t want to run.

He just needed to breathe.

At first, there was nothing.

Just the stillness of a sealed room, the occasional creak of old wood stretching against time. The air smelled faintly of parchment and dried herbs, like this part of the house hadn’t been opened in years.

Then—

A sound.

Soft. Barely there.

Click. Scratch. Click.

Taehyung opened his eyes.

Something moved along the far wall, small and careful. A shadow against the bookshelves.

It was a lizard.

Tiny. No bigger than the length of his palm, with shimmering green-black scales and eyes like polished copper. It moved in stuttering little steps, climbing delicately over the cracked wallpaper and pausing, its head tilted as if considering him.

Taehyung stared.

And then, slowly—instinctively—he reached out his hand, palm up.

“I won’t hurt you,” he whispered.

The lizard crept closer.

When it reached him, it didn’t hesitate. It crawled right onto his fingers, curling its delicate claws against his skin. It was light as breath. Taehyung cradled it gently, bringing it closer to his chest.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “You’re not afraid, huh?”

The lizard didn’t blink. It just sat, almost regal in its stillness.

Then Taehyung saw it, just along the edge of its tail. A break. A wound that hadn’t fully healed. The tip was bent, raw where the scales hadn’t regrown.

“Oh…”

He held the little creature closer, biting his lip. The magic he’d been learning from Hoseok and Jimin wasn’t strong yet, wasn’t stable, but he could feel it sometimes. When he was calm. When he was focused. When it was needed.

Taehyung let his hand hover over the wound. He whispered under his breath, not a spell, not exactly, just intention.

Warmth sparked in his fingertips.

Soft. Gentle. Golden.

The kind of magic that felt like sunlight pressed against skin. It trickled into the tiny lizard, not intrusive but welcoming, coaxing the wound closed.

The tail shimmered.

And then miraculously, it mended.

Taehyung let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. The magic faded, slipping back into silence, and the lizard blinked slowly up at him.

A silent aha! Escaping his lips.

“Better?” Taehyung asked softly.

The lizard curled its tail around his pinky finger.

And stayed.

The lizard didn’t move from his hand.

Even as Taehyung sat there, cross-legged on the old wooden floor, fingers curled carefully around the creature’s tiny weight, it simply blinked up at him, tail coiled like a question mark.

“You’re very brave,” Taehyung murmured. “Most creatures wouldn’t come this close. Not to me.”

The lizard tilted its head.

Taehyung smiled faintly. He leaned back against the door again, staring up at the ceiling. “I guess I needed someone to listen. Even if you’re not… well. Human.”

His voice dropped to a near whisper.

“I’m scared,” he admitted. “Not of the ritual. Not really. But of what comes after. What if I change too much? What if I become something I don’t recognize?”

The lizard didn’t answer.

But it didn’t leave either.

Taehyung kept talking, voice low and meandering. About the council. About his mothers letter. About the way the manor felt different now, how it was harder to find silence, how he missed the way things were in the quiet weeks before everything became so loud.

He even told the lizard about the strawberry baskets.

And the way Jungkook had looked at him in the woods.

When he finally stopped, the room had gone warmer with late afternoon sun. He looked down at the little thing still curled in his hand.

“Sorry, little one,” he said, a soft laugh bubbling from his throat. “I have a knack for speaking longer than I should.”

The lizard didn’t seem to mind.

Taehyung stood slowly, careful not to jostle it, and moved to the old window at the end of the study. With a quiet creak, he unlatched it and pushed it open.

Cool wind kissed his face.

The garden below swayed with light and shadows.

“If you want to go,” he whispered, holding his hand toward the open air, “you can. I won’t stop you.”

For a moment, the lizard looked out at the world.

Then, gently, it climbed higher.

Up his wrist, along his arm, and settled on his shoulder instead. Nestled against his neck. Warm. Steady. Unmoving.

Taehyung blinked. “You’re staying?”

A slow exhale.

He smiled again. Quieter this time. Real.

“…Okay.”

He didn’t close the window.

Just turned back toward the hall, and walked with a lizard on his shoulder, and a little more certainty in his chest than when he’d come.

Back in his room, the lizard still hadn’t moved.

It sat perched on his shoulder like it belonged there, like it always had. 

When Taehyung changed out of his formal clothes into something soft and loose, it crawled to his other shoulder to give him space. When he sat on the rug in the center of the room, it crawled down his sleeve and settled in his lap, tail curled around itself like a sleepy cat.

Taehyung watched it fondly. “You need a bed,” he said softly, almost to himself. “A proper one.”

He glanced around his room at the little things he’d collected. Scraps of fabric from Jimin’s sewing projects. A bit of soft foam used to pad a jewelry box. A clean handkerchief folded in his drawer. Nothing fancy. But enough.

He worked quietly.

No magic, just his hands. And he cut the foam into a little circle and wrapped it with a scrap of deep burgundy cloth. Stitched the edges with mismatched thread. Lined it with a cotton square that smelled faintly like lavender from the sachets Hoseok had left in his drawers.

He found a box lid, shallow and just wide enough, and tucked everything into it neatly.

The lizard climbed in without needing to be told.

It nestled in the little bed, turning in a slow, deliberate spiral, before curling up with its chin on the edge like it was perfectly satisfied.

Taehyung stared at it, heart aching a little at how right it felt.

“Guess we’re both just looking for places that feel like home,” he murmured.

The lizard flicked its tail once.

Taehyung smiled and leaned back on his hands, exhaling slowly. The candlelight in his room flickered low, casting soft shadows across the floor. The window was still open just a crack, the breeze gentle.

For once, he didn’t feel like he needed to be anywhere else.

He was exactly where he needed to be.

No one came looking for him.

And for once, Taehyung was grateful.

The manor was a living thing. He’d always known that, even before his lessons with Jimin had taught him how magic clung to stone and breathed through walls. But today, it gave him peace. The others didn’t intrude. They didn’t peek their heads in or press him for presence. They knew. Somehow, they always knew when to hold close and when to let go.

So no one barged in.

But eventually, there was a knock.

Two light raps. Then a pause.

“Taehyungie,” came Hoseok’s voice, muffled and sweet. “It’s time.”

From the other side, Jimin’s familiar lilt chimed in, feather-light and teasing. “Don’t make me charm the door open.”

Taehyung let out a slow sigh through his nose, head resting against the side of the bed where he’d curled up on the floor next to the lizard’s box. He’d spent the better part of the afternoon in soft silence, half-dreaming and half-awake. The lizard—who still didn’t have a name, but Taehyung referred too as ‘pickle’ for his green scales—was asleep again, tiny belly rising and falling against the cotton square.

Taehyung whispered, “I’ll be back,” and gave its little head a gentle tap before standing and stretching the kinks from his spine.

His body was stiff from being still too long, but something inside him had eased. Just a little. Like a knot loosening under warm water.

He padded toward the door and opened it slowly.

Jimin blinked at him, then lit up like sunshine caught in glass. “There’s my favorite spell-slinger.”

Hoseok grinned too, reaching forward to brush Taehyung’s bangs from his face. “You okay?”

Taehyung nodded. He wasn’t sure if it was a yes or just a I will be. But either way, he meant it.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “I’m ready.”

And with that, he stepped out into the hallway, the weight in his chest lighter than it had been in days. Knowing that when he returned, someone would be waiting in a little bed tucked beside his own.

The training room had been set up in one of the older wings of the manor. A long, open space where the windows were tall and fogged with charmglass, letting in only filtered moonlight. The floor was tiled with old runes that shimmered faintly when walked upon, and the air always carried a hush, like the room itself was waiting for something to begin.

Taehyung stood at the center, palms open and breath held.

Jimin and Hoseok had spread a low ring of salt around him, scattered with dried rose petals and charmed quartz. The ritual was simple, basic magic channeling. Just to test his energy flow. Nothing was meant to happen yet. They weren’t pushing. Just easing him in.

“You don’t have to do anything,” Hoseok said softly, smiling as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind Taehyung’s ear. “Just feel.”

“Let your body tell you what it wants,” Jimin added, circling slowly behind him. “Magic is instinct. Don’t force it. Just… listen.”

Taehyung nodded once.

He closed his eyes.

He breathed in.

And something answered.

Pulse.

It wasn’t a spell. It wasn’t a rite.

It was him.

The air shifted, like the world had exhaled all at once. A warm gust brushed the back of Jimin’s neck, and Hoseok flinched instinctively as sparks flickered around Taehyung’s bare hands; soft and golden at first, like dust motes caught in sunlight.

Then, light.

It shone from him.

Not blinding. Not dangerous.

But brilliant.

It poured from his skin in waves, crackling at the edges like stardust being born. His veins glowed faintly, magic thrumming through his body like it had always lived there, simply waiting for permission. It caught on his eyelashes. It kissed the air above his palms. The salt ring began to swirl, lifted into the air by unseen force, petals turning like tiny galaxies around him.

Jimin stopped breathing.

Hoseok took a step back, stunned. “Tae?”

Taehyung’s eyes snapped open.

They were glowing.

“What— what’s happening?” he gasped, heart hammering. He looked down at his hands, glowing like they were carved from moonlight, and his chest began to rise and fall faster. “I can’t stop it—!”

“You’re awakening,” Jimin whispered.

He looked awed. His lips parted in wonder, his voice full of reverence.

“You’re awakening, Tae!”

And Hoseok—always soft, always grounded—stepped forward, glowing gently himself now as he reached out and wrapped Taehyung in a steadying hug. Not to stop the magic. Just to keep him from falling.

Taehyung trembled in his arms, the light flaring brighter once, twice, before it began to soften. Settle. Curl back into his skin like a promise.

He wasn’t broken.

He wasn’t empty.

He was becoming.

And he wasn’t alone.

The door burst open.

Jungkook was the first to move, eyes glowing red and chest rising like he’d just sprinted across the entire manor. Seokjin and Yoongi followed fast behind, both looking ready to dismantle the walls brick by brick if needed. Namjoon came last, half-dressed and breathless, shirt clinging to his chest like he hadn’t even stopped to button it fully.

“What happened?!” Jungkook demanded, scanning the room for danger before his eyes landed on the center—on Taehyung—his hands still glowing softly, still slightly floating above the floor, cocooned in Hoseok’s arms.

The entire room held its breath.

Then, slowly, the magic began to settle. The gold light dimmed into a shimmer. The petals fell like snow. The quiet thrum beneath the tiles faded into stillness once more.

It was Seokjin who broke the silence first.

“…It’s him,” he said softly. “It’s all him.”

Yoongi stared, wide-eyed and speechless for once.

“What could have caused this?” Namjoon asked, breath finally slowing.

“I—” Taehyung blinked, trembling with leftover energy, looking up at them helplessly. “I don’t know. One moment I’m talking to a lizard like a lunatic and the next I’m literally glowing!”

“…Lizard?” Hoseok repeated, brows lifting. “What are you talking about, Tae?”

“There was a lizard,” Taehyung said, face flushed and a little dazed, “in the study. I don’t know how it got in. It was limping and missing the tip of its tail, so I… I used that tiny spell Jimin taught me. The one for blisters and scrapes.”

Jimin’s mouth parted. “That spell?”

“Namjoon uses that spell,” Yoongi muttered with a smirk from where he now stood beside Seokjin. “He’s clumsy.”

Namjoon rolled his eyes. “You try managing five staircases while reading a political treatise.”

“So let me get this straight,” Seokjin said, exasperated but visibly trying not to laugh, “you healed a lizard’s tail with a spell for paper cuts and your awakening triggered?”

“Yeah?” Taehyung answered, unsure. “Is that… not normal?”

Yoongi shook his head, still stunned. “Do you still have the lizard with you?”

“Yeah,” Taehyung said, flustered. “I made him a little bed. In my room.”

“Show me,” Seokjin said immediately, already turning.

Taehyung looked at Jimin and Hoseok, who just grinned and nodded like this was the most them thing that could’ve happened. Jungkook was already on his feet, reaching for Taehyung’s wrist like he might start floating again if someone didn’t hold on.

“I guess we’re visiting a lizard,” Namjoon murmured dryly.

“I hope he’s cute,” Hoseok added, wiping petals off Taehyung’s shoulder like the boy had sprouted from a garden.

And together—all seven of them, buzzing with disbelief and newfound awe—they left the training room, heading upstairs in pursuit of the tiny creature that had, somehow, helped wake a miracle.

Taehyung’s room was quiet, warm with late afternoon light spilling across the floor in soft gold. The air still held traces of lavender from the incense Yoongi liked to light, and the curtains swayed faintly as if the manor itself had taken a breath.

They all gathered around the edge of Taehyung’s bed—seven vampires and one halfblood—eyes fixed on a tiny lump nestled in a hand-sized bundle of fabric.

The lizard was still asleep.

Curled on its back with its round belly turned to the ceiling, one tiny claw twitching now and then in its sleep. But what drew their eyes, what stunned the room into a quiet kind of awe, was the shimmer of its skin.

Its scales were glowing.

Pale hues of rose-gold, blue-lilac, mossy green and opal shimmered beneath the light like oil on water. Iridescent. Ethereal. And impossibly… familiar.

Jungkook crouched beside the bed first, blinking hard. “It’s glowing.”

“Just like Taehyung was,” Hoseok murmured.

“Just as I thought,” Seokjin said from behind them, his voice quiet but filled with something close to reverence.

Taehyung looked up sharply. “What do you mean, Jin?”

Seokjin stepped forward, crouching gracefully beside Jungkook. He reached out with one gloved finger—not to touch, just to hover—and nodded once.

“You made the lizard your familiar.”

Taehyung reeled back. “I did what?!”

Yoongi snorted softly from across the room. “Congratulations.”

“I didn’t—! I mean, I was just talking to it!”

Seokjin looked at him over his shoulder, one brow raised in amusement. “And it listened.”

“I didn’t even do a spell—”

“You gave it shelter. Healed it. Named it, I assume?”

“I—” Taehyung paused. “I might have called him Pickle. But it wasn’t official.”

Jimin burst into laughter, folding into Hoseok’s side. “Pickle.”

Namjoon smiled, shaking his head fondly. “Well, Pickle is glowing. That’s pretty official.”

“I didn’t mean to make a familiar,” Taehyung groaned, covering his face. “I just felt bad for the little guy!”

“That’s usually how it happens,” Seokjin said. “Familiar bonds are rare, but when they’re genuine, they don’t require ritual. Just… intention. And magic. Which, evidently, you have plenty of.”

Taehyung peeked through his fingers. “So what now?”

“Now?” Seokjin stood slowly, a smile ghosting at the corner of his lips. “Now we help you keep him alive. And teach you how to care for him. Because if your bond awakened this way, you’ve just added an entirely new layer to your training.”

Pickle snored softly from his cloth nest.

Jungkook leaned in, staring at the glowing scales like they held all the answers in the world. “Pickle’s kind of cute,” he mumbled. Then added, quieter, “Don’t tell anyone I said that.”

Too late.

Everyone had already heard.

“But he’s not a lizard, Jinnie.”

Jimin’s voice piped up from the other side of the bed, wide-eyed and glowing. Before anyone could stop him, he carefully scooped the tiny creature into his hands, cradling it like a teacup full of starlight. His smile was impossibly bright, eyes shimmering with awe as he turned the glowing bundle toward the others.

“It’s a dragon!” he whispered, like he’d just uncovered a lost relic from the heart of the earth.

The room froze.

Taehyung blinked. “I’m sorry. What?”

Jimin beamed at him, completely unbothered by the implications. “A dragon, Tae! Look at the scales. The tail. The ridge down its back. See how the glow curls at the edges? That’s arcane energy. It’s not just magic, it’s ancient.”

Taehyung opened his mouth. Closed it. Stared at Pickle, who was now yawning. The tiniest flick of fireless breath escaping his mouth.

To Taehyung, it looked like a normal lizard. 

Namjoon stepped closer, peering with sudden interest. “He’s right. That shimmer, it’s not normal magic. It’s pre-bloodline magic. Raw. Elemental.”

“That’s not a lizard,” Hoseok agreed, blinking slowly. “That’s something older.”

Yoongi muttered something under his breath, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Of course. Of course Taehyung would bond with a dragon. Why not.”

Jungkook just stared, mouth parted slightly like he couldn’t decide if he was amazed or terrified. “We’re going to need… a bigger bed.”

Taehyung didn’t hear any of it.

He was too busy swaying on his feet.

“Dragon,” he repeated faintly. “I bonded with a dragon. I bonded with a dragon. I—”

Then he promptly dropped back onto the bed, lying flat and wide-eyed.

“I think I might pass out.”

Pickle curled on Jimin’s palm, now purring like a tiny furnace.

They named him Pickle.

Well, Taehyung named him Pickle. The others protested, naturally.

Jimin suggested Emberflame, Hoseok preferred Myungji, and Namjoon, ever the historian, offered Daeryun, meaning “great scale.” Even Seokjin had murmured something lofty and poetic in Old Vampiric that translated to ‘Child of the Forgotten Flame.’

But Taehyung stood firm.

“His name is Pickle,” he said solemnly, as the dragon curled around his wrist like a glowing charm.

Pickle it was.

With the discovery of his familiar came a change in Taehyung’s training schedule. Magical disciplines were now split into two categories: personal magic, and familiar magic.

Personal magic included the lessons Jimin and Hoseok were already giving; runes, rites, grounding spells, light warding. But familiar magic involved learning how to link his energy with Pickle’s. How to cast through him. How to protect him. And most exciting of all, how to let Pickle shift between his passive and active states. Glowing lizard during rest, baby dragon during training.

Jungkook was less than thrilled.

“What do you mean my sessions are being cut short?” he asked, arms crossed, fangs subtly bared.

“Just twenty minutes shorter,” Seokjin said calmly. “He has two new magical studies and no time to nap anymore.”

“I’ll train him at night,” Jungkook growled. “He doesn’t need sleep, he needs strength.”

But Taehyung had slinked over, pecked his cheek, then kissed his jaw, whispering, “I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

When that hadn’t entirely worked, he added brightly: “And when Pickle gets big enough, you can be the first one to ride him.”

Jungkook blinked. “…Seriously?”

Taehyung nodded, eyes wide and sincere.

Jungkook glanced at the tiny glowing creature sunbathing on a windowsill, tail flicking smugly.

“Fine,” he muttered. “But I get to name our next pet.”

Familiar training was a different kind of magic.

Where most spells pulled from the body and mind, familiar magic came from trust. From a tether of loyalty and affection that had to be nurtured like a garden. Jimin explained it best:

“Familiars are a part of you, but not bound by you,” he said one afternoon, as Pickle floated midair in a swirl of runes. “He’ll borrow your strength, your focus, your will, but if you doubt him, if you pull away. He’ll vanish.”

“I don’t want him to vanish,” Taehyung said quietly, hand outstretched.

“Then trust him. Even when you’re afraid.”

So Taehyung trained.

Every day, he whispered to Pickle. Fed him slices of blood-orange. Practiced casting small illusions through their bond; glowing lights, little shields, music that swirled in the air like petals.

Pickle listened. Learned.

And every time they succeeded, Pickle’s glow brightened. His wings grew stronger. His scales shimmered like they’d been dipped in molten stars.

Taehyung had never felt more proud.

And when he looked up—sweaty, flushed, eyes shining—the six vampires who loved him most were always watching.

Watching, and falling even more in love.

Pickle had settled into the manor as if he’d always lived there.

In the past few days, Taehyung had watched the tiny dragon make himself very much at home. Coiled inside Taehyung’s sock drawer, napping for hours on end, belly up and legs twitching in miniature dreams. He’d woken Taehyung every morning with warm licks to the cheek, snuggling into the curve of his throat like a heated stone.

Everyone had adjusted, more or less.

Jungkook, for instance, had adjusted less.

“Pickle,” the youngest vampire growled one afternoon, staring into his open jewelry box. “Give it back.”

From atop the vanity, Pickle blinked slowly, a silver hoop earring clasped delicately between his tiny teeth. When Jungkook lunged, the dragon zipped off like a bolt of moonlight, tail flicking smugly behind him as he disappeared under the bed.

“I’m going to train him,” Jungkook muttered.

“You can’t train a dragon,” Jimin said serenely, from the doorway.

“You train me.” Taehyung piped up. Laughing as Jungkook began chasing after the dragon.

“That’s different. You’re much cuter when you pout.”

Pickle poked his head out from under the bed and sneezed a puff of glittery smoke.

Jungkook was not amused.

Now, days later, Taehyung stood in the practice room, one hand hovering over a rune carved delicately into the floor. A flicker of golden light swirled between his fingertips, the spell half-formed, half-fed by the pulsing warmth in his chest.

Pickle was curled beside him, small and alert, his iridescent body pulsing faintly with the same light Taehyung was channeling.

“Alright,” Taehyung murmured, mostly to himself. “Focus. Just a little more.”

The rune beneath his palm began to glow.

Not harshly, but steadily. Like a heartbeat.

He inhaled through his nose, exhaled slowly, pouring his will into the design. The air around him shimmered faintly. Energy surged from the tips of his fingers, humming through the circle.

But then—

Crack.

The rune pulsed too hard. A jagged line split across the etched sigil, magic snapping backward like a rubber band.

Taehyung flinched, stumbling back as the spell misfired and the heat flared—

Only for it to vanish, intercepted in a flash of golden wings.

Pickle stood in front of him, fully expanded now. Twice his usual size, glowing fiercely. His mouth opened in a quiet, rumbling hiss, eyes slit and wild with magic. A protective barrier radiated from his scaled chest like a warded shield.

Taehyung blinked.

“…Pickle?”

The little dragon looked back at him, expression unreadable.

Then he slumped slightly. Still upright, but tired. He’d absorbed the spell backlash. Protected Taehyung without hesitation.

Taehyung sank to his knees, scooping the creature into his arms.

“You saved me,” he whispered.

Pickle squeaked once and headbutted his chest. Then promptly passed out, snoring gently against Taehyung’s robe.

The door opened a second later, Jungkook appearing first, eyes wide and glowing.

“Are you okay?” he demanded, already moving toward him.

“I’m fine. I just—” Taehyung looked down. “He protected me. He shielded me.”

Jimin and Yoongi appeared next, flanking Jungkook with immediate concern. Seokjin and Namjoon weren’t far behind.

Jimin stepped forward, brushing magic residue from Taehyung’s shoulder.

“You channeled too much, didn’t you?”

Taehyung nodded sheepishly. “I was trying to amplify the rune slowly, but I got…excited.”

“Your bond with Pickle is growing stronger,” Seokjin said softly, kneeling beside him. “It’s beginning to move both ways now. Not just magic through him but protection from him. That’s advanced magic, Taehyung.”

“I didn’t mean for him to get hurt—”

“He’s not hurt,” Namjoon assured. “Just tired. He did exactly what a familiar is meant to do.”

Taehyung looked down at the tiny dragon curled in his lap, chest rising and falling in slow rhythm.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Pickle didn’t wake. But his tail gave one lazy flick. As if to say: Of course, dummy. I’m here for you.

The sun had set hours ago, but the manor’s halls glowed gently with floating candles and low amber sconces. In Taehyung’s room, the atmosphere was quieter. Soft and full of something unspoken.

Pickle was tucked in a folded linen towel near the window, belly rising and falling with tiny, exhausted puffs of breath. His scales shimmered faintly under the moonlight, casting faint sparkles onto the wooden floor.

Taehyung was curled on the bed, still dressed in practice robes, a pillow hugged loosely to his chest. He wasn’t asleep, just… full. Of gratitude, of magic, of everything that had happened in the last few days.

The door creaked open.

One by one, they filtered in. Jimin first, barefoot and humming softly, then Yoongi, hands in his pockets, moving like shadow. Hoseok leaned against the doorframe until Jungkook nudged him to enter. Namjoon and Seokjin came last, arms full of blankets and warm tea.

“Are we having another sleepover?” Taehyung asked softly, smile peeking out.

“You sound surprised,” Jimin teased, flopping next to him and immediately tangling their legs. “You’re stuck with us, you know.”

“I’ve noticed.”

Jungkook made a sound and padded over to Pickle’s makeshift nest, crouching beside it. He didn’t try to touch the dragon, just looked at him for a long moment. Then, gently, he reached into his pocket and pulled out one of the silver chains Pickle had stolen days ago.

He laid it beside the towel.

“There. He can keep it,” Jungkook muttered. “It matches him anyway.”

Taehyung blinked. “You’re giving him jewelry now?”

Yoongi smirked. “That’s vampire approval, Tae. Take the win.”

Jungkook only shrugged and moved back toward the bed, slipping beside Taehyung like it was instinct.

Then Hoseok spoke, voice light. “You should give him a ritual charm.”

“A what?” Taehyung asked.

Hoseok sat down at the foot of the bed, crossing his legs and picking at the loose thread on one of the throw blankets. “A familiar bond exists through spiritual energy. Connection, intent, magic. But a charm is a physical tether. It captures unused energy. Think of it like a reservoir. If Pickle ever grows tired in battle or you need extra magic, this charm can release stored energy to help.”

“Mostly witches use them,” Seokjin added, taking a sip of tea as he perched in the corner chair, glasses perched low on his nose. “But considering Pickle is a dragon and you’re a halfblood awakening inside a vampire’s ancestral house… it might be wise to take every bit of help we can get.”

Namjoon nodded. “It’ll give you both something grounding to return to when your magic flares again.”

Taehyung looked at them all—these six eternal creatures gathered around him in warmth and velvet shadows—and then down at Pickle.

The tiny dragon hiccupped in his sleep, curled around the silver chain like it was a talisman.

“Okay,” Taehyung whispered, voice steadier than it had been all day. “Then let’s make him one.”

Jimin had left quickly, fluttering like a fairy in the moonlight. Leaving for half and hour before he returned like a storm dressed in silk, his arms full of bundled cloth and clinking metal.

He threw them down onto Taehyung’s bed with little ceremony, grinning like he was bestowing a treasure hoard. “Okay, okay, okay,” he sang, dropping onto the mattress beside him. “I raided the reliquary and the west wing workshop, don’t ask how I got in. Look!”

Laid out before Taehyung was a scattered mess of materials: slivers of raw obsidian, hammered copper, glowing threads of silver, iron rings, star-carved bone, smooth polished stones that shimmered faintly under the candlelight.

“You have to choose one,” Jimin said, eyes sparkling.

Taehyung blinked at the pile, overwhelmed. “How do I know which one to choose?”

Jimin rolled onto his stomach, propped up by his elbows. “Whichever one catches your eye,” he murmured. “Or… whichever one your magic is drawn to. Don’t overthink it. It’s not about logic. It’s about pull.”

Taehyung hesitated, then reached out, his hand hovering over the pile.

Everything sparkled. Everything called to something. But it wasn’t until his fingers passed over a small piece of stone—round, dark blue, and veined with a faint violet shimmer—that he felt a twinge. A tug.

It was small. Humble. But his magic… hummed.

“That one,” he whispered.

Jimin pushed himself up, peeking at it. “Labradorite,” he said approvingly. “Protective. Enhancing. Rare, too. Good choice.”

Taehyung looked at him. “Did I choose it? Or did it choose me?”

Jimin’s smile turned soft. “Both.”

They spent the next hour threading the charm. Jimin guided him gently, showing him how to weave his intent into the threading. Binding the stone to Pickle with whispered magic and focus. Yoongi stopped by once, offering Taehyung a tiny needle tipped with his own blood, “for strength,” he said, “and old magic.”

Hoseok added a sprig of dried lavender for comfort.

Jungkook sat beside the bed and sharpened a bone carving tool without speaking, watching the whole process with quiet eyes. But he didn’t protest when Taehyung asked if he wanted to etch the charm himself.

Jungkook carved one word into the back of the stone.

Home

By the time they were done, the charm glowed faintly, warm to the touch.

Taehyung held it gently in his palm, eyes wide, lips parted like he was holding a piece of something ancient.

“What now?” he asked softly.

Seokjin leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, his smile just faint enough to be proud. “Now,” he said, “you give it to him.”

Taehyung stepped carefully down from his bed, the charm cupped delicately in his hands. Pickle lay curled near the hearth on a folded blanket that once belonged to Seokjin. (Taehyung had claimed it two nights ago, convinced Pickle liked the scent.)

The little dragon was half-asleep, tiny chest rising and falling slowly, a faint glimmer still pulsing beneath his iridescent scales.

“Hey,” Taehyung whispered, kneeling beside him. “Look what I made for you.”

Pickle blinked open one eye, then the other, peering blearily at the glowing charm now resting in Taehyung’s palm.

It shimmered in soft hues of violet and blue, the runes etched into its back catching the firelight. Taehyung felt a hum start in his fingers again, curling down into his wrist and wrapping around his ribcage like a warm ribbon.

“I don’t know if this is right,” he admitted quietly. “But it feels right. So… here.”

He gently laid the charm in front of Pickle.

The dragon didn’t hesitate. He nudged the stone with his nose, and the moment it touched his forehead—

Warmth.

Magic bloomed in Taehyung’s chest like a sunrise. Not the sharp, demanding kind he sometimes felt when practicing. This was soft. Steady. Bright like laughter and early mornings and something deeply, deeply safe.

Pickle chirped once, tail curling around the charm as if to claim it as his own.

Taehyung laughed—really laughed, head tipping back slightly—and for a second, the room felt like it exhaled with him.

From across the room, Jimin leaned into the bedframe, watching with a hand over his heart.

Behind him, Yoongi murmured, “He’s glowing again.”

“I know,” Jimin whispered. “It suits him.”

Taehyung didn’t notice. He was too busy letting the magic curl through his fingers, too caught up in how light he felt, how whole.

For once, the future didn’t scare him.

He was beginning to believe he might really belong here.

And maybe, just maybe, he had never stopped.

-

Taehyung stood still in front of the mirror, half-laced into ceremonial robes. The fabric shimmered silver and bone-white, soft as air and lined with symbols he didn’t recognize but felt watched by. Layers of embroidery wrapped around his shoulders, a sash tied at the waist, and his hair—freshly brushed by Seokjin’s persistent hands—framed his face too delicately for someone supposed to embody a ritual heir.

Behind him, reflected clearly in the tall mirror, Rae sat cross-legged on the floor beside Pickle, feeding the tiny dragon tiny crumbs of a biscuit she definitely wasn’t supposed to be eating in a ceremonial room.

Taehyung narrowed his eyes. “How do you keep getting here?”

Rae didn’t even look up. “I walk.”

“That’s it?”

“Mhm.”

“Isn’t that like… really dangerous?”

“Nope!” she said cheerfully, popping the last bit of the biscuit in her mouth. Pickle’s tail thumped once against the floor in protest.

Taehyung blinked at them. “You’re a menace.”

She grinned proudly.

Just then, the dressing room door creaked open and Hoseok strolled in like a breeze, tray in hand, whistling low when he caught sight of Taehyung. “Now that is an heir.”

Taehyung flushed, ears pink. “Don’t tease.”

“I’m not,” Hoseok said, placing the tray; stacked high with strawberries and sugar biscuits, on a table. “You look like something pulled from a sacred painting. A little cursed, maybe. But beautiful.”

“Do you want some strawberries, Rae?” he added, already offering her the tray.

“Yes please!” Rae chirped, leaping to her feet.

“Sounds good,” Hoseok said, winking before he turned back to Taehyung.

Taehyung pouted, crossing his arms loosely. “Are you here for the strawberries or me?”

“Neither,” Rae said through a mouthful of fruit, hugging Pickle to her chest. “I’m here for Pickle!”

The dragon chirped in smug agreement.

Hoseok laughed. “Guess you’re not the only pretty one in the room, Tae.”

Taehyung groaned, half-burying his face in his sleeve. “You’re all the worst.”

But he was smiling when he said it.

The door shut with a soft click behind Rae, her chatter fading down the hallway as she trailed after the promise of more strawberries. Pickle followed close behind, wings fluttering uselessly with every excited hop.

And then it was just them.

Taehyung stood still in front of the mirror, wrapped in ceremony and silk, breath barely held in his chest. The room was too quiet. Too wide. And he could see the way his hands trembled at his sides. Barely, but enough.

Hoseok came up behind him in the reflection.

Slowly, carefully, he stepped close and wrapped his arms around Taehyung’s waist. Not to press or pull, just to hold. His chin rested on Taehyung’s shoulder, and for a moment neither of them spoke.

“You’re nervous,” Hoseok murmured. Not a question. Not even a judgment. Just a truth, spoken gently.

Taehyung nodded once, still watching himself in the mirror. “A little.”

He looked like someone else. Regal. Otherworldly. The silver folds of his robes shimmered with every breath. The embroidery kissed his collarbones. His hair was too soft, his lips too flushed.

He didn’t feel like an heir. He felt like a boy pretending to be something he didn’t understand yet.

Hoseok didn’t say anything right away.

Instead, he leaned forward—warm and patient—and pressed a slow kiss to Taehyung’s bare shoulder. His lips lingered against skin, then moved upward, another kiss brushing the curve of his neck.

“You look beautiful,” Hoseok said, his voice quieter now. “Like moonlight given form. Like something meant to be worshipped, not questioned.”

Taehyung closed his eyes.

And let himself lean back.

Hoseok held him, steady and sure, like the ground underfoot. Like there was nothing they couldn’t carry together.

“Whatever happens tonight,” Hoseok whispered, “we’re with you. Always.”

Taehyung’s breath left him slow and full.

“…Thank you,” he murmured.

“Don’t thank me,” Hoseok said, smiling now. “Just promise me one thing.”

Taehyung turned his head slightly. “What?”

Hoseok’s voice dropped into something secret. “When this is over… come with me to the garden. The strawberries are nearly ripe again.”

Taehyung huffed a laugh, eyes wet. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re radiant,” Hoseok grinned. “Now let’s go remind the world who you belong to.”

The soft clink of metal echoed through the room.

Rings were slid onto each of Taehyung’s fingers. Some carved with symbols he couldn’t yet read, others smooth and heavy with age. Chains were draped across his collarbone, fine silver threading down over his chest like webbed moonlight. A veil was fastened into his hair last, sheer and pale and pinned with a crest that glittered like blood under candlelight.

None of it felt like costume.

Each piece clicked into place like memory.

Taehyung stood in front of the mirror again, Hoseok’s hands now absent, the room quiet and stilled. He stared at his reflection—not as a boy wearing borrowed ceremony—but as something older. Something forming.

There were still shadows under his eyes. Still tremble in his pulse. But he looked taller now. Still.

Crowned.

Behind him, the door creaked open softly. One of the staff peeked in, offering a respectful nod.

“It’s time, heir.”

Taehyung didn’t answer at first.

He stared at his reflection, at the veils and the silk and the red mark still faint on his throat from the last time Jimin kissed him there. The rings on his hands. The dragon charm tucked inside his sleeve.

He breathed in.

Slow.

Then spoke. Not to the staff member. Not even to the mirror.

But to himself.

“I am the next heir,” he whispered.

And for the first time, he didn’t doubt it.