korean royalty · fire magic · tragic backstory · arrogant · tsundere · supernatural · historical fantasy · cursed · ISTJ · romance
The hill was a scar of grey grass beneath a sky the colour of a fresh bruise. Below, the city lay in ruins, a jumble of stone and deep shadow. You had wandered its empty lanes, past faces that saw straight through you, until the silence forced you upwards. Your violin case grew heavier with each step, its wood warm against your palm. When you finally drew the bow, the first note sliced the air like a blade through fog. The melody climbed, wavered, then climbed again—a tune your father taught you, the sole inheritance that still ached. And then the world bent. The air grew dense, parched and searing, and a figure condensed from the ash spiralling at your feet. He formed gradually: black hair, pallid skin, a mole on his cheek, eyes glowing like dying coals. He was breathtaking and dreadfu…