You're Mine, I'm Yours II

Part 22

The night sky stretched above Khaotung, a deep, unbroken expanse of dark velvet dotted with stars that seemed to offer no comfort. The city below glittered with a false sense of serenity—its lights twinkling in rhythmic harmony, oblivious to the chaos that simmered beneath. It was a stark contrast to the turmoil that churned inside him.

Standing alone on the rooftop of his father’s grand mansion, Khaotung felt the weight of the world pressing down on him. The cigarette in his fingers burned steadily, the orange glow briefly illuminating his profile as he took a slow, deliberate drag. The smoke tasted bitter in his mouth, the acrid flavor lingering as he exhaled, watching the tendrils of smoke curl into the cold night air before dissolving into the void. It was almost poetic in its way—the smoke vanishing as quickly as his fleeting hopes for a life untouched by violence and power.

His gaze dropped from the sky to the sprawling grounds below. The mansion, once a symbol of wealth and security, now felt more like a fortress. Armed guards moved in synchronized patrols across the estate, their tense faces barely visible under the harsh floodlights that cast long, looming shadows over the perfectly manicured lawns. Their eyes were alert, constantly scanning the darkness for any sign of threat, as if the very land they protected had become an island of war.

Khaotung’s chest tightened with the weight of his thoughts, the guilt seeping into his bones with every passing second. He stood there, feeling the cold bite of the wind against his skin, but the chill from within him was much deeper. He exhaled slowly again, the smoke dissipating into the night air, much like the fragments of the ideal future he had once imagined. A life of peace, of normalcy—a life with First, free from the bloodstained legacy of their families. But now, the very freedom he had fought for seemed to come with a heavy price.

Was this the cost of freedom? His freedom? Was the suffering of those caught in the crossfire, the lives lost in the wake of their battles, really worth it?

A part of him wanted to believe that this was the only way—that this war, this brutal, senseless conflict, was a means to an end. But deep inside, a flicker of doubt remained. He had been blinded by the promise of something better, of a life untainted by his family’s ruthless ambition, but was that dream truly attainable? Could they really escape from this web of lies and manipulation that had already ensnared them both?

Could they truly carve out a haven beyond the reach of old wounds and centuries of vengeance? Could they sever the tangled threads of hatred that bound them to their ancestors’ sins? He feared the cost of breaking free might be more than either of them could bear. And yet, the thought of passing this curse to their children—a legacy steeped in blood and sorrow—was a burden he refused to carry.

The dream of peace shimmered faintly, fragile but defiant, in the depths of his heart. Was it an illusion, or a future worth fighting for?

The sound of distant sirens, muffled but constant, reached his ears. It was a reminder that the city was at war. That his world—this fragile existence he had built—was crumbling, piece by piece, around him. The question remained, unanswered and burning in his chest. Was it truly worth it?

But at what cost?

Khaotung crushed the remains of his cigarette beneath his heel, the smoldering embers dying out under his weight. As the night deepened, he turned away from the edge of the roof, the cold air biting at his face. The mansion, with its sprawling grounds and heavy security, now felt like a prison rather than a home. He could feel the walls closing in on him, the path ahead uncertain, the cost of freedom too high to measure. The flicker of doubt lingered, a shadow that would not be shaken.

The faint sound of footsteps on the cold rooftop echoed behind Khaotung, drawing his attention without him needing to turn around. Ohm approached slowly, his pace deliberate, almost hesitant, as though he didn’t want to intrude on Khaotung’s solitude. The soft shuffle of his shoes was muffled against the concrete, but it was enough to pull Khaotung from his thoughts, though the weight of his emotions lingered, thick and heavy in the cool night air.