I've come to take my crown

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Only a couple of beats pass before the excitement thrumming in his veins morphs into something else—thicker. Uncomfortable. What was once a rush of anticipation sours into dread. Even as Jungkook turns away from the counter, the memories come in a vicious onslaught. Flashes of scorching heat against his tanned skin; remnants of a fight gone wrong.

His eyes dart over the tile beneath his feet, but his mind doesn't register the details of it. At his side, he feels Yoongi's shoulder brush against his own. Barely there. Brief. It's enough to root him to the present when his mind has wandered faraway.

Jungkook's gaze falls over his cousin's stiffened posture, catching hardened irises beneath shadows provided by the fabric of the hood. Whitened knuckles peek through cloth wrappings, gripping the wood of the bow in a death grip hard enough to splinter. Anger floats between them, heavy and noticeable in the tense silence that has descended upon the room.

He can't say he blames Yoongi for those feelings, though. He harbors them too.

There was once a time where he considered the Kim family good acquaintances. A time where he and Kim Taehyung were more than that—friends, even when their parents had their differences. Eight years ago changed everything between them. Now, Jungkook can't stomach thinking about the Kims. About what would have happened if they had only listened to the warnings. If only they had tried to see reason in the chaos.

The past comes back in another brutal flash. Tightened grips on his shoulders and forearms, pushing him out of the colosseum. Deafening thunder crashing all around them, painting the sky in darkened clouds. The screams. The cries.

Exile. Exile. Exile.

Blood for blood.

A hand wraps around his wrist in a bruising grip. It sends fresh jolts of pain through his forearm, pulling him out of the trance. Out of the memory that consumed his mind. By the time Jungkook's gaze shifts, Yoongi is already staring at him. Darkened irises pierce into his own, painting a picture only he can decipher. Through the haze of resentment, he understands the message that drifts between them: It isn't worth it.

Deep down, he knows it isn't worth the anger. The bitterness. The grudge. But Jungkook can't let go of the past that easily. He's hung onto it ever since that day. It's the first thing on his mind before sunrise—the last thought before bed. It comes back to him in haunting nightmares. Fear-filled dreams of his brother being taken away. Tormented by The Proper. Killed.

It isn't worth the scene they'll cause if he holds onto his anger. If he gives into it. He knows that.

Jungkook manages a nod. The slightest dip of his head, but it's enough for his cousin. Half-focused, he watches Yoongi sign his name in a quick scribble. The quill drops against the parchment, and the air changes around them. Likely the magic of their agreement at play. Coming to life. Solidifying.

Their guide—The Proper—takes the sudden shift in the atmosphere as a cue to cut through the silence. "Very well. Allow me to show you to your dormitory," he states. Something lingers in his tone, similar to curiosity, but it doesn't last for long.

They head for another set of doors, adjacent to the entrance they stepped through moments ago. Jungkook focuses on the soft tapping of his shoes against the tile. Rhythmic. Even. Despite the fact that his heart still thunders in his chest, pounding like war drums. Heat pulses through him, mimicking the molten temperatures back home.

"It's you."

He knows he shouldn't turn—knows he should just ignore the words. Brush them off as if they mean nothing. Pretend as if he never heard anything at all.

Yet he turns anyway, eyes lifting from the grey tile to Kim Taehyung.

Blond hair flies in quick movements. As if brutal wind whips through the building. Hazel eyes flash blinding white—mimicking the lightning that haunts him in his dreams. The flashes of light he can't seem to forget. For a moment, Jungkook swears he hears the fresh roar of thunder.

"How dare you show up here?" Taehyung spits the question. Anger coats his tongue, laced in every syllable he forces between gritted teeth. A furious stomp sounds against the floor. Jungkook's attention is drawn to it, gaze shifting down for a second before it trails back up.

Besides Taehyung's sudden outburst, the room is dangerously quiet. The group that followed the blond inside the building doesn't utter a single word. Looks of confusion and shock plaster their faces—torn between choosing not to believe the reality and genuine bewilderment.

His own movements halt, adrenaline filling his veins. Whispering temptations. Easing into his muscles as the challenge rises. Still, Jungkook stares directly into the eyes that continuously shift from hazel to blinding white.

He watches Taehyung take hasty steps forward, closing the distance between them in quickened strides. "What are you doing here?" He questions, but it comes out angrier than before. Louder. Bordering along the lines of a shout. "Why have you come back?"

"Kim Taehyung," The Proper warns. Clear. Dangerous.

It doesn't stop the words—doesn't erase the anger. The blond is set on expressing his apparent disdain for the situation. It's unmistakable.

Jungkook shares the sentiment. It burns within him. Raging like the infernos on Erimos. Blistering beneath his skin. Pain comes with it, but he barely registers the sensation over the scorching heat in the pit of his stomach.

Taehyung stands mere feet away from him. Hands fully electric. This time, he feels the rumble of thunder that sounds just outside the building. "You don't belong here."

The words brand into his skin with more strength than he ever thought they would, yanking the breath from his lungs. Rooting him to the floor beneath his feet.

"Enough," The Proper commands with an unfamiliar air of authority.

He's tempted to rise to the challenge—so tempted to meet the bait that ruthlessly dangles in front of his face. He wants nothing more than to prove Taehyung wrong. Prove that he does belong here, in the only way he truly knows how. Through fighting. Through battle.

Antsy fingertips brush against the necklace against his chest. It pulses with the desire that courses through his own body. Yoongi's grip on his right hand is stronger than before. A clear warning he can't ignore. Jungkook would be stopped by his own cousin before he could land a single blow to Kim Taehyung.

Despite himself, he lets his hand fall in a slow movement. Forced. The cloth wrappings brush against his whitened knuckles in the process.

His gaze burns into Taehyung's, even though he knows he should control his emotions. He knows the threat is evident. Noticeable. But it's the most he'll give the blond right now. The only sort of message he'll convey.

Jungkook pulls away, averting his attention back to the doors. Even though each sharpened inhale brings a stinging ache. Despite the fact that his rage makes the bloodlust hard to control. There's plenty he wants to say. Words he wishes to spit with the same amount of hatred, but he refrains from doing so. Instead, harsh teeth clamp down upon his tongue until blood is drawn.

It isn't worth it.

He forces his mind back to all those years ago as he steps through the doorway, surroundings passing in a blur. Back to the same incident he's seen in his head too many times to count—each detail he can remember engrained in his memory. Even though it brings pain. Sorrow. Misery.

It also brings more than that. It brings motivation—determination. Purpose.

Sometimes, even hope.

*

The dormitory building towers over him, stretching for meters into the darkened sky. Marble pillars ascend into the pointed rooftop, thick and sturdy. It's an L-shaped structure with multiple floors. Thunder still rumbles in the distance, but whether that's a result of the impending weather or Kim Taehyung, he isn't sure. Not that it matters. The moment they step through the entrance to the dorms, he whisks aside any lingering thoughts of the blond.

A lobby sits at the entryway, donning several lounging spots. Tables line the walls, with raised stools. Likely for studies. In the back, there are multiple doors that lead somewhere he can't see. Maybe private rooms or kitchens. Much like the counter in the previous building, another sits in the center, but no one stands behind it this time.

Tall ceilings stretch above them. Windows are pasted into every wall, bringing in natural light from every direction. There are a couple of chandeliers—the main one being above the front desk. Along the walls hang sconces, lit up despite the hour. They provide a warm glow of light that Jungkook almost considers homey. Except this place is unfamiliar, in every aspect, and brings no sense of comfort. Regardless of its appearance.

His eyes drift from surface to surface, taking in little details of the first floor while they walk through. It's empty. Abandoned. Their footsteps against the grey tile—exactly like the other building—is loud enough to echo in the silence.

On both sides of the first floor are two, grand staircases. They ascend in a half-spiral, with stone steps and thickened railings. Somehow, it looks ancient but untouched. As if thousands of years of history were carved into the very architecture, yet it somehow has remained uninhabited. At the foot of the stairs, Jungkook stares longer than he should, cloth-covered fingers brushing over the cool stone.

His dad attended this academy over thirty years ago. His mother did too. Yoongi's parents—his aunt and uncle.

His brother.

Swallowing thickly, he shoves the thought aside before it can stir up more emotions. The anger ripped everything out of him, and he's pushing through the last bits of strength for the day. Jungkook can tell he isn't the only one, either. Beneath the cover of their loose-fitting clothes, Yoongi's shoulders slouch forward—aching under the pressure and the exhaustion of their travels.

Their guide doesn't exchange much conversation. Not that there's much to say. This is a job—just another task—and nothing more. They're not here to make friends, and it certainly wouldn't be with the same organization that banished his brother.

Tiredly, Jungkook ascends the steps. One by one. Up the floors until he loses count. By the fourth set of stairs, his lungs burn a little, but it's as far up as they're going.

The layout of this floor is similar to the lobby. A lounge, with several couches and chairs thrown about. A couple of desks lined along the walls. More sconces mounted to the grey and white marble. A single chandelier hangs in the center of the loft-like space.

There are two separate hallways of the L-shaped dormitory. One on his left—another on his right. Both look identical to one another. Small, cramped spaces with multiple closed doors and dim lights. A window sits at the end of both hallways, stretching from the floor to the ceiling.

They're led down the right corridor. Yoongi walks ahead of him just a bit, grasping the bow in his right hand with a tight grip. Still, nothing is said as they pass closed doors. One by one. Names are scribbled on a plaque beside each. Jungkook only recognizes some. Taehyung's, unfortunately, is one of them. About halfway down the hallway. Just two doors away from the bathroom.

At the end of the corridor, The Proper finally slows his steps, turning slowly to face them both. For a moment, Jungkook wonders if the man can detect what he's feeling beneath the cloth that covers everything but his eyes. If, perhaps, his gaze is enough to tell every thought—share every secret. But if it is, the guide says nothing.

"This is your dormitory," The Proper states, motioning with a hand towards the closed door on the right-hand side of the hallway.

His eyes flicker over the wood for a second. The plaque mounted beside it reads his name and Yoongi's. Jeon Jungkook. Min Yoongi. His gaze averts a moment later when their guide's hand lowers in a slow motion.

"Breakfast is served in the mess hall from sunrise to midday. Lunch is from then until mid afternoon. Dinner is after sunset," the man says, pausing only for a moment. "You are free to roam where you please, as long as the rules are abided by. Studies begin in a day."

Beside him, his cousin crosses his arms, draping the bow over his shoulder by the string. "What are they, exactly?" He questions.

The Proper turns to him in a fluid movement, eyes falling over Yoongi. He doesn't give much of a reaction. "The rules," his cousin clarifies, tone sharp.

"They are posted on a plaque in your room, as well as in your welcome packets." Jungkook knows his cousin is glaring, even when he doesn't meet Yoongi's gaze. Still, for a moment, nothing else is said between them.

It must be a cue, or their guide simply takes it as one. Jungkook watches him dip his head in a half-bow, robes creating a scratchy shuffling sound. "I shall take my leave, then. I bid you farewell, gentlemen. Good luck to you both."

Footsteps retreat down the hall, loud at first. They grow quiet as he stares after The Proper, until, finally, they don't exist at all. Leaving just him and his cousin left standing at the end of the empty corridor. The silence descends thickly, and Jungkook finds it uncomfortable.

So must Yoongi, because shuffling is heard, followed by the sound of the doorknob being twisted. He turns at the noise, watching the door swing open in a slow, powerful movement.

Once inside, the wood falls shut behind him with a firm sound—not quite a slam but solid. The dorm itself is relatively small. There is a space big enough for a couch, a little table, and a chair. Then there are two doors, separated by a thick wall. Their rooms, it seems.

Despite the fact that they're finally alone, nothing is said between them. Instead, Yoongi simply settles himself into the plush, navy-colored couch with a heavy sigh. The exhaustion is obvious in his cousin's posture, and he shares the feeling. After a week of traveling across the continent with little rest, he has been battling it, too. But the idea of sleeping isn't as appealing as he thought it'd be.

"Which room do you want?" Jungkook asks quietly, antsy fingers cracking his knuckles.

A groan comes from the couch. "Right one. You take left," his cousin grumbles.

Much like the hall door, this one closes with the same weight as before. Solid. Loud, but not angry. The room itself is small—much smaller than what he has back home on Erimos, much to his surprise. There's enough room for a bed, a dresser, a desk, and a chair. A lamp sits on the surface of the wood, and a sconce is mounted to the opposite side of the room.

The only benefit, it seems, is the windows. Four of them, all beside one another. Floor to ceiling.

Jungkook drops the pack he's been carrying throughout their journey. It lands at the foot of the bed with a muffled sound. It's not much. Just whatever clothes he could fit. No personal items. No mementos. There is no reason to pack his life away for a place he never intends to call home.

He falls on the bed, dropping the entirety of his weight onto the plush material. It springs back just a bit, before it evens out entirely. As much as his body begs for sleep, he doesn't feel the desire to. Even though he wants nothing more than to forget about everything—to ignore the thoughts in his head as they circle ruthlessly.

Still, they come. Words of anger. Of fear. Dread. Flashes of haunting memories. And, despite not wanting to, he thinks about Kim Taehyung again. Once an old friend. Now—the realest thing to a true enemy.

Jungkook had been excited about returning to the capital. This was the moment he was waiting for. A chance to start over. A chance to prove what he learned all these years, regardless of the exile. A chance to participate in the biggest event of the continent. It only comes around every four years.

But now he's here, and the excitement is gone. Not fully. It exists, deep within him. Buried underneath everything else. All the other worries and ill-feelings. Under the frustrations and the dread.

Somehow, it feels like he isn't prepared after all. Even though he knew what coming back would mean. Even when Jungkook knew it meant facing every issue head-on. Seeing familiar faces. Encountering old friends. Standing before his enemies. He thought he was ready to face it all. He'd been convinced of it.

Yet something about seeing Taehyung again has him uncertain. Afraid. Maybe because it brings back the past and makes it real.

And... maybe he isn't quite over it. Not like Jungkook thought he was.

His gaze shifts to outside, beyond the buildings sitting below him. People walk up the steps, or down the concrete paths. Some sit by the fountain. Other gods-in-training. Others like him.

He wants to whisk the thoughts away, but it isn't easy. It feels impossible to. Especially when they bear down in his mind like an anthem. Reminding him of reality. Shattering the fantasy he tried painting in his head.

Beneath it all, he knows he needs to push forward. Persevere. For his family. For Yoongi—regardless of what he faces. Despite all the obstacles. Because he worked hard to get here, and after eight years, Jungkook refuses to lose this opportunity.

Lightning strikes. In the distance, thunder rumbles. A heavy exhale wrenches from him.

His studies start in a day, and for the first time, Jungkook isn't excited about it.

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Things just get better from here (:

For those who remember the original, how are you enjoying this version?

Just curious<3

I purple you

~Pisan