Chapter Text
Jungkook
Jungkook died happy. The day dawned bright and happy, the fluorescent lights of Seoul dimmed under the weight of the shining sun, the wind swaying with cherry blossoms, and the Magic Quarter of Seoul, the hidden part of the city where fairytales, monsters and gods came to barter, to fall in love, to scheme and to kill, was buzzing in the sparkling spring air.
The Magic Quarter lived in a pocket dimension, hidden behind a nondescript blue door on a street like any other, with the slight peculiarity that any mortal wandering down it would suddenly have an insatiable craving to go visit the zoo, on the other side of Seoul, as quickly as possible.
The door had a small brass knocker, shaped like a Griffin, with gleaming eyes that were far too clever to be inanimate.
Jungkook had wandered through that door that day, a day just like any other, for Jungkook was a seer, more mortal than most, but had something in his bloodline, an errant magical creature who had begotten with a human on a torrid day, sufficient to grant their descendants the sight of all magical creatures.
And so, begrudgingly, he had been granted access to the Magic Quarter, as a humorous joke, a human stuck between worlds, caught and unable to escape, like a twitching fly in a spider’s web.
But Jungkook had bonded with his pack, with the fearsome faerie Hoseok, exiled from fairyland for crimes too horrible to speak aloud for fear of retribution, warlock Namjoon, who had ruled the witches’ council with an iron fist until he’d stepped down on a frozen winter’s day a hundred and fifty years ago, with a solemn death curse on the tip of his tongue, djinn Jimin who had enchanted a dozen kings and conquerors to their death, both their slave and their curse, nymph Taehyung, whose roots were as deep and ancient as the slumbering forests of Seoul, and selkie Yoongi, who chose to walk on land but did not hide the sharpness of his fangs.
When it had become known that the little seer had bonded with the Kim pack, well the magical community of Seoul started to take him, perhaps not seriously, for he was still a human, easily torn apart by claws or fangs, but at least perceived him as a beloved pet, of who any harm experienced would be responded to with retribution hundred-fold.
And so Jungkook was given a wide berth as he wandered into the Night Quarter, as he passed the mermaids in saltwater tanks hawking moon-infused seawater glistening like diamonds, redcaps with bloody eyes selling iron flecked swords, Kapres made of bark who sold cigars which smelled of happy summer evenings and roaring waves.
Jungkook bought nightshade for Taehyung from a Green Man whose twisting vines, decaying and blooming in sync, and then wandered back into the busy Seoul streets, his earphones firmly blasting music, his feet dancing to a beat as he searched for the bus stop.
And so he did not notice when the vampire, crazed, hungry, with reddened eyes and a slavering mouth, crept like a moth to a flame and leapt onto him.
Jeon Jungkook died on a random Thursday, as confused humans called for the police, his life force splattering onto the cobblestones, his blood seeping into the sewer.
But this is not a story of how Jeon Jungkook died, but how he was reborn.