Chapter Text
The world had an abundance of magic and power, and at first many power struggles happened where everything just fought to be on top. Until six powerful houses came to the top and brought peace and order to the land.
Each has total control over their respective lands, citizens, and political power. And each of those 6 houses lived and ruled powerful families with their own affinity for magic, with their children inheriting those powers and becoming the future rulers.
They were Jungwon, Heeseung, Jay, Jake, Sunghoon, and Ni-ki.
All from unique lands and a powerful family, which were promptly named—
The House of the Sacred Earth
The House of the Phoenix
The House of the Dragons
The House of the Beasts
The House of the Blood Altar
Lastly, the House of the Spirits
There was once a 7th house. The House of the Rose Moon and their son, Kim Sunoo. Before it fell, all 7 families used to come together for a summit gathering while their sons played. Back when all 7 of them were still young and oblivious to how cruel the world can be.
And Sunoo was part of that childhood. In fact, he made their childhood worth remembering. To everyone else, the other six were the soon-to-be rulers who would become untouchable sovereigns who could easily wipe out the realm and rebuild it to their image if they so desired. Maybe a bit too much power in their hands, but their families always try to cause minimal problems, reinforce peace between each other and other lands, and improve the quality of life in their country as much as possible. They can easily can strike down and kill anyone who opposes them, but the kings just wanted to rule over their kingdoms as best as they could.
But to Sunoo, even though he was also part of a powerful family. It wasn't extremely powerful compared to the other six in many people's eyes but powerful enough to keep its position at the same level as the others. They were just kids who were forced to mature long before any of them could enjoy life. Everyone didn't know how amazing Heeseung could sing and play any instrument, how Jay was an amazing cook who also loved spoiling Sunoo by buying him anything he wanted, how Sunghoon loves ice skating and artistry, how Jake was a total golden retriever who loves reading and is physically affectionate behind the domineering and violent front he shows, how Jungwon loves cats and just relaxing in an open fields, or Ni-ki was just a kids who mimics his hyungs and was an amazing dancer and used to be shy. All six were extremely protective of him even before ascending to the throne.
But of course, THAT night happened. The people call it the 'Fall of the Moon' and the day the six of them changed.
The once lush and large home of the Kim family burned to the ground. The sparkling sky had this pillar of rising smoke and ash. All servants, staff, and family were found dead or presumed dead due to the many bones that turned to ash the second a person touched them in the ashed remains of the collapsed estate. The Rose Moon house was a gentle, and more than just a status of wealth and power. Their citizens lived peaceful lives under their kind and open guidance. Instead of the smell of flowers that always lingered in the air, it was the suffocating scent of burning.
On the night when the fires blazed and ate at the lush pink roses and the gazebo Sunoo used to work under, Jay and Heeseung tried to run into the fire the second they arrived at the scene, but they were stopped by their mother, father, and the gathering civilians who were trying to put out the flames.
Citing that they were not fireproof, they weren't strong enough to withstand the roaring flames that ate the pink walls and flowers. That their control and powers were still unrefined, but the two refused to calm down, causing their magic lineage deep in their blood to flare out in uncontrollable rage. "SUNOO! SUNOO!!! LET ME GO- HE'S STILL IN THERE! PLEASE! SUNOOOO!!!" Jay screams as he fights against his father's hold, his body partially shifted into the dragonoid form that he hasn't mastered yet. His arms were covered with weak scales, his nails grew into sharpened talons, patches of scales crawled up his neck, and small horns sprouted from his head. Heeseung, on the other hand, was pinned down by both his mother and father, his voice hoarse as he kicked and cried in anguish as he tried to free himself.
Phoenix fire covered half his body, which was starting to become an inferno in all directions, which didn't affect his parents, who also have phoenix blood in them, and wings flapped wildly on the ground, leaving scorchmarks. Phoenix fire and regular fire were drastically different, and since Heeseung hasn't mastered anything yet, running into the burning mansion would burn and affect him like any other human.
They had to be taken away and sent home before they did something more stupid and caused more collateral damage. While Jake, Sunghoon, Jungwon, and Ni-ki watched as the House of the Rose Moon burned to the ground.
When the fire was finally put out, the search began for survivors, but all of them knew that not one soul came out alive.
What broke the six even more was when the fires died out, among the ashes and burned furniture in the area where Sunoo's room used to be. They found 6 music boxes in a chest under the remains of Sunoo's bed. The music boxes had slight damage on the outside, were dirty, and had burn marks. Other than that, they were intact and made beautifully.
Each box was handmade beautifully by Sunoo himself. Each box bearing the name and house insignia of their homes played the same melody when wound up and opened. It was the same melody Heeseung used to sing to all of them when they slept over at each other's homes. The phoenix prince named it '1009' which, in everyone's opinion, was a bad name.
In each music box was a small spinning pink diamond shaped like the crescent moon, along with a picture of all of them together on the lid.
Those music boxes were handed to their intended recipient and became the most secure and protected treasure they have ever had.
Even after the incident, life had to go on. After a formal mourning period, a procession was organized as they carried the remains of the family and workers they managed to gather with all their families and the citizens of the fallen family. The six were forced to say their goodbyes to empty coffins as they buried them in the partially intact garden to become a memorial.
The moon never turned pink ever again after that day.
They were forced to move on physically as they took their houses' head position, but inside, they became unstable, darker, and more ruthless. Because back then, they were too weak, useless, and pathetic, if they were strong enough to save Sunoo, stop the fire, and find the culprit. What pisses them off even more is that they still haven't found them.
After the years had passed, as they got older, they trained hard, fought, and forced themselves to surpass even their parents in terms of power and authority. They were anything but weak.
The grand hall of the neutral summit pavilion still smelled faintly of old roses and smoke, even years later. No one else noticed it. Just the six of them.
Jungwon leaned back in the carved obsidian throne that dominated the center of the room, one leg hooked lazily over the armrest, fingers tapping the hilt of the dagger he always kept at his hip. The House of the Sacred Earth’s magic hummed under his skin like roots digging deep, ready to split the marble floor open if anyone so much as irritated him.
“Another year,” he muttered, voice low and rough. “Another fucking summit where everyone pretends the Rose Moon never existed.” He says with a scoff, throwing the dagger at the wall. Heeseung stood by the tall window, arms crossed, staring out at the moonlit gardens. His phoenix flames flickered faintly at the edges of his crimson robes, never quite dying. He didn’t turn around. “They can pretend all they want. We don’t.”
Jay was sprawled across one of the long couches like he owned the entire pavilion (which, technically, with their combined power, they did). He was sharpening a knife with slow, deliberate scrapes, the sound echoing. “I still taste ash when I cook sometimes. Funny how that works.” He snickered before his face dropped into something cold. His cooking tastes wrong to him unless Sunoo tastes it.
Jake paced near the entrance, golden retriever energy twisted into something feral now. His beast magic made the shadows around him twitch like living things. Every few steps, his hand brushed the small music box tucked inside his jacket pocket, thumb rubbing the scorched insignia like a worry stone. In fact, the lid had whitened, and the colors faded slightly due to how much he pushes his thumb over it. “If I ever find who lit that fire… I’m ripping their spine out through their throat and feeding it to my hounds.” He growled, his hand gripping the music box, which made it creak ominously from the pressure, before he immediately loosened his grip, because the box was the only thing that was keeping his beast side on a leash.
Sunghoon sat on the edge of the long table, legs swinging, ice crystals forming on the table and melting on the wood beneath his fingertips. He was sketching absentmindedly on a scrap of parchment. Delicate roses, the curve of a gazebo, a boy with soft eyes and a brighter smile than any of them deserved. “Make sure you save me a piece. I want to freeze their screams into pretty little sculptures.” He smirked, always fantasizing about the day he got his hands on the person who started the fire.
Ni-ki leaned against the wall closest to the door, arms folded, looking every bit the deadly patriarch he’d grown into. His spirit magic made faint wisps of silver swirl around his form like restless ghosts. He was the youngest, but the look in his eyes was ancient now. “Hyungs,” he said quietly, “you’re doing that thing again. The ‘we’re untouchable gods who’ll burn the realm if we feel like it’ thing.”
Jungwon snorted. “Because we are.”
“Yeah, but Sunoo never let us get away with that shit,” Ni-ki shot back, voice cracking just a little at the name. He pushed off the wall and walked over, dropping down beside Jay on the couch. “He would’ve smacked the back of our heads and told us to stop being dramatic little shits and go play in the fields instead.”
A heavy silence dropped over the room.
Heeseung finally turned from the window. His voice was soft, dangerous. “He made us music boxes. Hand-carved. Each one with our stupid house crests like we were worth remembering.” He reached into his robes and pulled his out. The phoenix insignia was slightly blackened from age and the times his control over his flames wavered, but the mechanism inside was still perfect. He wound it slowly. The familiar melody spilled out, delicate and heartbreaking, the little pink crescent moon spinning inside and the his eyes scanning the same group picture on the underside of the lid.
One by one, the others followed.
Jay set his knife down and took out his, the dragon roaring silently on the lid. Jake’s fingers trembled as he opened the beast-etched one. Sunghoon’s ice-blue box gleamed coldly under the lights. Jungwon’s earth-toned box rested heavily in his palm. Ni-ki’s spirit-swirled one looked almost too fragile for his calloused hands.
Six music boxes playing the exact same gentle tune in slightly imperfect unison, filling the grand hall with something that felt dangerously close to hope.
Jake’s voice came out rough. “He knew us. Really knew us. Not the future kings. Not the monsters we became after that night. Just… us. Heeseung singing off-key in the gardens, Jay burning pancakes but still making me eat them, Sunghoon dragging us to the frozen lake at midnight, Jungwon falling asleep in the tall grass with stray cats curled on his chest, Ni-ki copying every dumb move we made and somehow doing it better.” The corner of his lips twitched up from the bitter memory. He wanted to smile at it, but just...can't.
Heeseung closed his eyes, flames licking higher around his shoulders as he breathed deep. “And we couldn’t even save him.”
“We will find who did it,” Jungwon said, voice like grinding stone. His eyes glowed with raw earth power. “And when we do, the six of us are going to make sure their entire bloodline wishes they’d never been born. Slow. Personal.” Jay smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll cook them something special first. Parts of their body I'll cut off, not enough to kill them, but enough to keep them alive. Force feed it to them.” He chuckled despite the dark statement.
Sunghoon’s laugh was sharp and cold. “I’ll freeze their hearts mid-beat so they can watch us tear everything else apart. Maybe freeze their blood, although it wouldn't be as satsifying feeling warm blood drip.”
Ni-ki spun one of his throwing knives between his fingers, the motion fluid and deadly. “And I’ll make their souls dance and serve us until they beg for the void.”
Jake stopped pacing. He looked at each of them, then at the spinning moons in all six boxes. His voice dropped into something softer, almost broken. “But first… we keep breathing. For him. Because if he somehow made it out, if there’s even the tiniest fucking chance that idiot is still alive somewhere…” His voice trailed off. It's been years, and he always repeats the same thing, giving them hope, planting the idea that maybe Sunoo was still alive.
He didn’t finish. He didn’t need to.
Heeseung snapped his box shut. The melody cut off. “Then we’ll tear the realm apart until we find him. And when we do, he’s never leaving our sight again."
Meanwhile, in the deep forest, in the elven territory just outside the house of the Sacred Earth's territory. Just barely outside of Jungwon's eyes.
The great elf elder lay on her grand bed as she reached her last days of life. She accepted she was growing older despite the elves' long life span, almost 5000 years of life. In all honesty, she believed the greatest downside of the elves is their long lifespan, no matter how egotistic and powerful they seem to be.
Besides her bed sat a young man, sitting patiently as he fine-tuned and strung the drum against the music box's comb. Moonlight filtered through the ancient trees, casting silvery patterns across the woven rugs and the elder’s grand bed. She looked small there, swallowed by furs and silk, but her eyes still held that ancient, gentle spark. He winds the full music box, the soft tune playing the exact lullaby the elven grandmother had hummed hours before. Sunoo had the uncanny ability to always remember any exact song sang to him and turn it into a music box. It was one of many crafts he made for people. He was in the elven kingdom for only a week, and on the last day before he left, the elven court, specifically the great elder, summoned him.
Sunoo visited what was once his land, and the people were doing well. Jake's been taking care of them well, but the scent of roses and pink hue that used to cover the land was gone. Beasts guarded the people and borders. After the House of the Rose Moon fell, their territory was absorbed by the neighboring kingdom, which was the realm of the Beasts.
Sunoo sat cross-legged on a low cushion beside her, the finished music box resting in his lap. It was simple. A polished oak, the color of warm honey, inlaid with a single delicate rose carved into the lid. No flashy jewels, no royal crests. Just something honest. Something personal. "The music box's done. Now, I want you to think of the most precious memory you can think of with your family, and then I'll put it into the music box. The memory will play every time the box is played, along with a pain-soothing spell when you play it." Sunoo explains gently, putting the simple music box down, rubbing his hands together, making the familiar pink glow of a pink moon from his hands.
He wound it once, letting the soft lullaby she’d hummed earlier drift into the air like smoke. The elder’s smile deepened, wrinkles folding like old parchment. “Who knew the last heir of the Rose Moon would be sitting here, making trinkets for an old elf who’s lived too long,” she murmured, voice like rustling leaves.
“You’ve grown kind, Sunoo-ya. Gentler than the world deserved after what happened to your house.” Sunoo’s fingers paused on the box. He didn’t look up right away. His hair had grown longer, falling soft over his forehead, and the once bright, noble robes were replaced by simple traveling clothes dyed in faded tones. A thin silver chain with a small crescent moon pendant rested against his collarbone. The only thing left from that night.
“I’m not really the heir anymore,” he said quietly, voice calm but carrying that same warm timbre the six boys used to fight over who got to hear first. “Just a craftsman now. People pay me in stories and songs instead of gold. It’s… easier this way.”
The elder reached out, her frail hand brushing his. “Easier... or safer? You think those six wild beasts don’t still burn for you?” She says softly, knowing deep down how Sunoo felt but choosing to hide it.
Sunoo let out a soft laugh, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “They’re kings now. Powerful. Untouchable. They have their houses, their duties, their people. I saw what Jake did with my old lands—the beasts keep everyone safe, the harvests are steady. The pink roses are gone, but the people are safe and sound. That’s enough.” He shrugged one shoulder as he added the finishing touches to the music box. “They don’t need some ghost from their childhood showing up and reminding them of the night everything burned.” He admitted, despite the faint crack in his voice at the end.
Sunoo cleared his throat as he picked up the music box again, pink moonlight magic glowing faintly between his palms like captured dawn. “Anyways. Think of your most precious memory with your family. Something that still makes your heart feel warm when you remember it. I’ll weave it in. Every time the box plays, you’ll see it, hear it, feel it like it’s happening again. No pain. Just the good parts.”
The elder closed her eyes, breath slow and peaceful. A single tear slipped down her cheek, but she was smiling.
“I remember the first time my daughter brought her newborn son to me under the oldest oak,” she whispered. “The leaves were golden that autumn. She placed him in my arms and he laughed, actually laughed, at the sunlight filtering through the branches. I sang that lullaby to him… the same one you just put in the box. For a moment, the weight of centuries lifted. I felt young again.”
Sunoo nodded, eyes soft. His hands moved with practiced grace, the pink glow brightening as he channeled the memory. Threads of soft light spun from his fingertips, sinking into the music box like silk into water. The mechanism inside clicked gently, accepting the gift. “There,” he said after a minute, voice barely above a whisper as the glow dies down. “It’s done. Play it whenever the pain gets too loud. It’ll help.” He set the box on the small table beside her bed. Then he stood, brushing dust from his knees.
“I should go. The forest paths are safest before midnight, and I have a new commission waiting in the northern villages.” He says as he starts to pack up, and not wanting to stay anywhere near Jungwon's territory, where his presence could be detected. The elder opened her eyes, watching him with that grandmotherly pride that made something tight squeeze in Sunoo’s chest.
“Sunoo.”
He paused at the door.
“If you ever decide you’re tired of running from the boys who used to follow you around like lost puppies… the Sacred Earth borders are only a day’s walk from here. Jungwon still leaves the southern meadows open. Wildflowers grow there year-round now. He says it’s for the stray cats, but we both know better.” She chuckled, her sharp eyes reading the tiniest body language.
Sunoo’s hand tightened on the doorframe. For a second, his shoulders trembled for a second before he forced them still.
“They’re not children anymore, Elder. They’re dragons and beasts and storms wrapped in royal blood. And I’m… just the kid who made music boxes.” He smiled, small and sad. “Take care of yourself. Let the music box do its work.” He slipped out into the moonlit forest before she could reply, boots silent on the ornate hallways of the elven castle, the faint scent of roses trailing behind him like a secret the trees refused to forget.
Back in the elder’s room, the music box sat waiting.
She reached for it with shaking fingers, wound it slowly, and let the lullaby fill the chamber once more.