Bound in Blood & Fire (Heeseung ff)

Hatred

Elara

Heeseung was everything I despised. The smirk on his face, the way he acted like nothing could touch him. He was born into a life of privilege, and while my people had been slaughtered in the name of his empire, he had lived in luxury.

My blade clashed with his again, sparks flying in the cold, foggy night air. Every strike I delivered, every move I made—it was all a reminder of what he had taken from me.

I fought for the lives lost, for my parents' screams as they were ripped from me during the Reclaimed's purge.

Heeseung represented everything I'd sworn to destroy. And yet...

I couldn't shake the maddening fact that he was good. Too good.

He moved with the kind of grace that came from years of training,
a training that only the elite could afford. His reflexes were sharp, his skill undeniable.
Every time I thought I had him cornered, he'd slip away with that damn grin of his.

It made me want to scream.

"Getting tired?" he taunted, that smirk still plastered on his face as we circled each other.

I sneered. "I'll stop when you're dead."

The funny thing was, he didn't flinch at that anymore.
He knew I meant it, but he'd come to expect it.

For years, we'd been playing this game. Every encounter, every fight was a reminder that we were stuck in this endless cycle of trying to kill each other, neither of us willing to back down.

I hated him. I had to hate him.

But... there was something else. Something I couldn't quite put into words.

It wasn't just hatred driving me anymore, not when his eyes met mine like this,
as if he were waiting for me to prove him wrong.

I hated that more than anything.

---

Heeseung

The ruins where we fought tonight used to be part of the old world. A city long forgotten, overrun with vines and decay, remains of the civilization that had been obliterated in the war.

This place was a ghost of the past, a reminder of what the Reclaimed had once ruled.

I barely ducked as her blade slashed across my shoulder, drawing blood.
Not deep, but enough to sting. She was getting better at this.

"Nice one," I muttered, wiping the blood off with my sleeve.

Her lip curled in satisfaction.
"You're slipping, prince."

I chuckled, enjoying the way she said it like an insult.
"Nah. I just like giving you hope."

Elara didn't respond, but the intensity in her gaze spoke volumes.
There was more at stake in our battles than just victory or defeat.

It was personal for her, and I got that.
Hell, sometimes it felt personal for me, too.

She was different from the others in her rebellion.
She didn't fight just for freedom; she fought because she'd lost everything to my people.

I couldn't blame her for that. If I were in her shoes, I'd probably hate me too.

But somewhere along the line, this had become less about
survival and more about something else.
Our fights had become a language of their own—violent, yes, but intimate in a strange way.

I could feel it every time our blades met, every time her breath hitched when I got too close,
every time I found myself wanting her to come after me with that
deadly look in her eyes.

---

I should've seen it coming—the blade hurtling toward me, a glint of silver slicing
through the night air.
But, of course, I didn't dodge on purpose. Instead, I just grinned.

"Missed," I taunted, stepping forward as the knife embedded itself in the wall behind me with a soft thunk.

"Gonna try harder than that, Elara."

Her eyes narrowed, lips curling in disgust as she drew another dagger from her boot.

Gods, she was stunning when she was mad. That fire in her eyes? Yeah, that did things to me. It always did. Every attempt on my life only made me more fascinated by her.

And maybe—just maybe—I liked the thrill of her trying to kill me.

The fact that she hadn't succeeded yet? Well, that was just proof we were destined
for this deadly dance.

"One day, Heeseung," she hissed, her voice low and venomous,

"I will bury that smirk of yours six feet under."

I laughed. "I'll look forward to it, darling."

She lunged. Fast. But not fast enough. I sidestepped, catching her wrist and twisting her body until her back was pressed against me, her weapon hand caught in my grip.

"Do you always get this feisty when you're flirting?" I whispered against her ear.
She stiffened, her breath catching for a moment before she let out a sharp laugh.

"Flirting? In your dreams, prince."

I could feel the heat radiating off her skin, the way her muscles tensed,
ready to break free from my hold.

But this close to her, with her hair brushing my face and the scent of her—
like wildflowers in a storm—it was hard to think about anything other than how
dangerous and intoxicating she was. I felt like I was already dreaming.

"Let go of me, Heeseung, or I'll—"

"Kill me? Yeah, yeah. Heard it before, sweetheart."

She wrenched her arm free, spun, and aimed a punch at my face.
I barely dodged it, laughing again as she glared daggers at me.
Elara was all fire, all rage, and for some inexplicable reason, I loved it.

One day, I would stop finding her murder attempts attractive.

But today was not that day.