Lilac : A Curse and A Prophecy
Ep 05 : “Shadows Of Childhood”
Seven winters had passed since the cursed prince’s birth, yet the whispers in Lunareth had not dimmed. If anything, they had sharpened.
Wherever Taehyung Kimithare walked — pale hair like spun moonlight, wide eyes too soft for the hatred that followed him — stares trailed him like knives. Servants bowed with trembling hands, but their eyes brimmed with disgust.
Children were pulled away by their mothers when he neared. To them, he was not a boy. He was the Doom Mark given flesh.
Taehyung learned silence early. His days were filled with lessons, yet few teachers dared touch his hand when guiding a quill.
At meals, he sat at a long gilded table, surrounded by nobles who avoided speaking to him unless required.
The only voices that reached him without venom belonged to two men.
Prince Eun-Woo, his uncle, who often entered the halls with a booming laugh, sitting beside the lonely boy, ruffling his hair despite the glares of courtiers.
Eun-woo Kimithrae/Prince/Alpha
“They’ll look at you and see the doom,” Eun-woo said once, kneeling, so his stern eyes met Taehyung’s fragile ones.
Eun-woo Kimithrae/Prince/Alpha
“But I see strength. You will endure, little moon. You will outlast their whispers.”
And then there was Yoongi, his elder half-brother. Eight years older, sharp of tongue and sharper of blade, Yoongi’s presence was a shield Taehyung didn’t have to ask for.
He trained with knights yet always returned to sit by Taehyung’s side — sometimes in silence, sometimes with small things: sharing a plum, teaching him how to hold a wooden sword, scolding him gently when tears welled in his eyes.
One night, when the palace feasts roared beyond their chamber doors, Taehyung sat alone at the pavilion, staring at the moon, that shined back in his blue sapphire eyes.
With low footsteps stepping near him, a hand patted his shoulder, and Taehyung whispered
Kim Taehyung/Omega/7 yrs old
“They say I'm a curse.”
His eyes still did not gaze away from the moon, as if he wanted the moon goddess to answer herself.
Kim Taehyung/Omega/7 yrs old
“Why do they hate me, hyung?”
To his age, he was still a kid, but he could feel those eyes who always carried fear, hate or disgust for him. He could still hear those murmurs that those halls whispered when he walked through them.
But he was always told to indure this, he was a curse, a doom to his own empire.
Yoongi paused, his hand still on the boy’s shoulder.
Yoon-gi Kimithare/E./14 yrs old
“They don’t hate you,” he said softly. “They fear what they don’t understand. And when fear grows, it rots into hatred.” He tipped the boy’s chin up, eyes steady. “But you’re not alone, Taehyung. Not while I breathe.”
Yoongi sat there, beside him on the pavilion. And Taehyung leaned his head on his brother's arm, sleep drifting in his eyes slowly. While Yoongi stayed wide awake watching the moon with an unusual calm.
And though the palace was filled with a thousand eyes watching, condemning, Taehyung clung to those few hands that held him steady.
Far to the west, behind the obsidian walls of Velcravia, another boy was growing — not under the weight of hatred, but under the crushing mantle of expectation.
At eight, Jungkook Jeonravyn could already wield a blade better than men twice his age.
His mornings began in the training yards, sword clashing until his palms bled. His evenings drowned in the study of strategy, law, and diplomacy.
His nights — what little was left — were consumed by whispering recitations of ancient texts under candlelight.
King Sylard Jeonravyn watched all of it.
To the outside eye, he was a father who stood by his son’s side. He placed a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder after each duel, nodded at his victories, rewarded his progress with rare words of praise.
But his love was not of warmth — it was a love of strength.
Sylard did not see a child first. He saw a future king, a vessel carrying Velcravia’s ambition to one day claim the Monarchy of Five Kingdoms.
Sylàrd Jeonravyn/Vampire King
“Do not stumble, Jungkook,”
His father told him one evening as the boy struggled to rise from the dirt, his training blade heavy in trembling hands.
Sylàrd Jeonravyn/Vampire King
“You are not merely a prince. You are Velcravia’s blade. And one day, you will be the world’s crown.”
Jungkook swallowed his tears. For tears, had no place in Velcravia. He lifted the blade again, striking until his arms burned, until he collapsed in exhaustion.
And when Queen Krayan reached for him at night, cradling his face with soft words, he forced a smile — because he knew he could not show weakness. Not even to her.
But in the quiet, when he lay awake, Jungkook wondered: if his strength faltered, even for a moment, would his father still love him?
Thus, the two children grew — one drowning beneath the weight of fear and isolation, the other beneath the chains of expectation and ambition.
Neither knew the other’s name. Neither knew their paths were already written, threads winding ever closer.
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