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In the smoldering dusk of the demon world, Yeomji, where the skies never cleared and whispers of the damned clung to ash-heavy winds, Jinu wandered alone.
He was newly made, yet already infamous.
His footsteps left no mark on the scorched earth. He drifted like smoke through the ruins of Yeomji, a shadow with a melody for a heartbeat. And though the demon world devoured most things, sound, light, mercy, it could not quiet the music he carried.
Clutched in his pale hands was a black-lacquered bipa, its strings still warm from the last song he played. It was his tether to memory. His weapon. His grief. He played not to entertain, but to endure. And when the agony inside him swelled too much, Jinu sat beneath a broken archway of fused bone and stone, and let his fingers speak.
The melodies were slow and aching, his voice a ghost of something once holy. He sang in a language older than his human name, spinning stories of sorrow and longing into the grey, stagnant air.
The demon world didn’t cry. But when Jinu played, it listened.
——
Romance was the first to find him.
He had been wandering, not looking for anything in particular, just trying to feel something. He wore a smile that never reached his eyes and walked like every gaze belonged to him. Even here, where faces melted and bones shifted, he was still beautiful, hauntingly so.
The bipa’s sound caught him mid-thought. A strange, melancholic pull.
He found the source beneath a bone arch: Jinu, seated, playing, surrounded by silence as thick as smoke. Romance tilted his head, intrigued.
He had no blade. He didn’t need one. His charm had ruined lives when he was human, and even in death, it clung to him like perfume. He was called “Romance” not for love, but because he had once used it like a weapon, playing hearts like strings and leaving ruin in his wake.
But this song… this boy… disarmed him.
He didn’t speak. He just listened.
And when the song ended, he left without a word, only to return the next night.
——
Abby came next.
He was drawn by the haunting notes that drifted through the crimson haze. He scoffed when he got close. “What kind of demon sings?” he muttered.
And then he saw him.
Jinu, ethereal and still, eyes closed, fingers coaxing sorrow from his strings. His shining purple demon marks shimmered faintly under the bloody sky.
Abby had once been obsessed with beauty, his own. He’d made a selfish wish to be the most handsome man in his village, and he got it… until it turned him into something else entirely. He became Abby, the reflection of vanity and self-obsession. His demon form was still dazzling, though now laced with sharpness.
He meant to scoff again, to turn away.
But instead… he sat.
And stayed until the music faded.
——
Baby followed, not because of the song, but because of the others.
He had noticed Romance and Abby disappearing nightly. He trailed behind them, more out of boredom than concern.
When he arrived, he didn’t expect to feel much. He never did.
But the moment he heard the bipa, he paused.
Something inside him stirred, unwelcome, heavy.
He didn’t understand the song, but it tugged at him like guilt. Like responsibility.
He’d once been a boy who wanted everything without lifting a finger, charming, lazy, persuasive. His wish had been simple: make people obey me when I speak. It worked… until it ruined everyone around him. That sin became his name. Baby.
He frowned at the melody, arms crossed. “Ugh,” he muttered. “That’s annoying.”
But he didn’t leave.
——
Mystery came last.
He was the quietest. The most unreadable.
He arrived without sound or footsteps, already cloaked in shadows. Jinu was mid-song when he stepped into the clearing, his eyes heavy-lidded, his face unreadable.
He didn’t sit. He didn’t speak. He just stood and listened, the red glow of his demon eyes catching the bipa’s reflection.
Mystery had been a keeper of secrets in life, a whisperer behind emperors, a collector of lies. He’d asked Gwi Ma for the power to ruin a king’s name with truth alone. The wish came true, but so did the cost. His secrets consumed him. They made him.
And now, he was Mystery, a name no one dared to decode.
Later, when Romance asked why he stayed, he simply said:
“I didn’t hear a song. I heard someone trying not to disappear.”
——
They weren’t friends. Not yet.
They were five demons, each cursed by their pasts, drawn together by music that refused to die.
They never asked Jinu why he played. He never asked why they stayed.
But every night, under that broken archway, they gathered. Sometimes in silence. Sometimes in tension. Sometimes with laughter forced from clenched jaws.
——
One night, Abby offered to sing along. It was awful.
Romance pretended to swoon. “Tragic,” he said. “Sing it at my funeral.”
Even Baby laughed.
Mystery just muttered, “Don’t quit your day job.”
And Jinu, quietly, smiled. Just once.
——
One evening, Jinu didn’t come.
The archway was empty. The bipa was gone.
They waited.
Abby paced. Baby snapped, “He’s probably gone for good.”
But none of them left.
When Jinu returned, blood on his sleeves, face bruised, no one asked questions.
Romance made space. “You’re late.”
Jinu said nothing. He sat, pulled his bipa close, and began to play.
The song was different that night. Slower. Barely holding itself together.
When it ended, Jinu looked up at them, truly looked, and whispered, “You don’t have to stay.”
Romance smirked. “Too late.”
Abby rolled his eyes. “As if we had anything better to do.”
Baby shrugged. “You’re lucky I’m bored.”
Mystery said nothing, only tilted his head toward the bipa. “Play.”
——
They weren’t a team. Not yet.
But they had already chosen each other, even if they didn’t say it.
And slowly, between broken wishes and quiet songs, they became something like brothers.