Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When she came to her senses, she was watching a girl run. An outsider looking in, floating above it all, yet she was this girl at the same time.

Running…

Running…

Running…

Endlessly, through the streets of her hometown. Buildings towered around her, enclosing on her every step like sentinels bearing down on an adversary encroaching upon their lord. And that too felt all the more real—for Hwaseong Fortress rose in the near distance. A shadow of the old ready to suffocate the new.

The rain pounded on her back, dripping salty tears into her eyes, and stinging their corners. Her sneakers slapped on the cobbles of the old streets, and mud splashed her jeans. But she didn’t seem to care.

One of the fortress’s gates was a welcoming silhouette, alight with a careful glow. The invitation from the gate’s other side made the hairs on the back of her arm rise as she grasped for its light, and so she made another desperate attempt to reach its archway.

Someone panting behind her made her pause, just for a second—just enough time for that same person to grab onto her arm.

“Dae! Where are you going?” the woman yelled. Her voice was muffled behind the curtain of rain. The sound was thin, like strings cutting through the deep tenor of an orchestral track.

Dae, she thought. So, her name was Dae.

“Away from here!” The response tore from her throat. “I shouldn’t have gone! I should’ve stayed here, home…never gone to Seoul! Maybe if I did…if I just didn’t go to SNU—” Her body trembled, her fingertips colder now.

“Do you really think Su-jin would still be alive if you didn’t go?” the woman whispered. Her fingers tightened around Dae’s wrist. Stifling. Her grip was harder than steel.

Dae ripped her arm away from her. If the woman was steel, Dae was diamond. With a snarl, she shrieked, “Don’t talk about her as if you understand!”

The woman stepped into a puddle, water splashing high until it looked like a glass barrier between them.

“I have to understand,” the woman insisted. “You are my daughter.”

Dae growled and inched backwards toward the gate. Its glow pulsed, flickering. Her eyes flashed from black to gold.

“Why did you do that, Dae? You threw away your future! Stealing exam papers from your professor? Threatening your classmates? You were already a good student so why—”

“You didn’t understand me before. You didn’t understand us.”

The woman stomped closer. “You were supposed to be a role model for your younger brother—”

“Su-jin is gone now and can’t do what she wanted. I will do whatever it takes to be the best for her.” Dae spat. “You care for my brother, that’s fine. But I never went to SNU for him. I went because I knew that you would never understand me and Su-jin. Now that she’s gone…”

The light at the fortress grew brighter. Ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum. Radiating from the archway, a fire blazed to life. Pink, then purple, then blood red.

Dae walked forward, ignoring the calls from her mother.

“I don’t have to feel shame for who I am,” she said out loud. Then, under her breath, “Just for what I did.”

Suddenly, lightning burned hot and blinding.

A different girl with hair black as the sky that threatened to engulf her stood at the edge of a tall building. She wore a white dress that flapped in the screaming wind. Her bare feet scraped against the concrete, her legs backed up against the railing.

In the night, the streets below were brimming with energy.

This girl took a single shaking breath, and then she let go.

“RUMI!”

When Rumi came to her senses, she was gasping for air.

Mira’s voice rang in her ears, pounding on her eardrums, and echoing her name. The night air whistled through her braid, and that made her friend’s yell somehow sound even louder.

Rumi leaned from the hotel balcony, so far forward that if she let go of the handrails, she’d fall ten stories to the asphalt below.

“What are you doing?!” shouted Zoey from right behind her.

Rumi felt a violent tug, and she realized that Zoey had latched onto the back of her hoodie and yanked her away from the railing.

The two of them screamed as they tumbled to the floor in a jumbled heap. With some luck and careful maneuvering, neither of them had gotten a scratch either. Still, the momentum and the seconds leading up to it had pumped the air full of adrenaline, and the girls were heaving on their hands and knees by the time they could catch their breaths.

Mira stood over them, eyes wide and shoulders shaking. Her hands were clenched into fists on her hips, defiant as always, even if the rest of her belied the front she had put on.

“What are you doing?” Zoey repeated. She refused to look at Rumi, and her words now were laced with what could only be described as fear. She stared at the ground, still on her hands and knees, breathing hard.

Rumi, trying to make sense of what had just happened, sat heavily on the ground. “I-It’s not what it looks like,” she gasped out.

“Then what does it look like?” Mira snapped. Her knuckles turned white.

“I saw something,” Rumi replied. Everything she said sounded rough, as if she had not spoken in days. “I don’t know what it was. It was weird and…I-I don’t know. There was the fortress and light and—”

Lightning cracked across the sky. The steady downpour that had begun earlier in the evening continued, and rain sluiced off the balcony’s awning.

Rumi bit her bottom lip. “I wasn’t trying to—I felt something outside and then I just…blacked out.” She touched her bare arm. The patterns zigzagging on her skin prickled with unnamed energy. They were pearlescent, even in the darkness.

Mira sagged and Zoey finally stood up. It was as if someone had released all the tension in the air.

“You’ve been acting weird ever since we arrived in Suwon,” said Mira. She held out her hand and Rumi grabbed onto it. “And it’s been over a month since…”

Mira didn’t meet Rumi’s eyes.

But Rumi knew what she was about to say. It had been a month since they defeated Gwi-Ma. A month since the Saja Boys vanished that night at Namsan Tower.

A month since Jinu.

Through the rain and dark, she could see the shadowy outline of Hwaseong Fortress snaking through the hillside of the city. Before, she didn’t think she’d be able to see any of that. But her night vision had improved. A perk, she supposed, for being half-demon.

Rumi watched as the others walked back into their hotel room, and she was not far behind. The cooler air of the indoors felt refreshing on her skin. The muggy, heavy heat of late summer was a hefty cloak.

When the three friends sat down on the couch in the living room area, Rumi explained what she saw.

Mira nodded along, folding her arms tightly across her chest. “I think it’s…the demon part of you,” she said, her gaze drifting from Rumi’s arms to her face. “You’ve embraced both sides of yourself, but that means—”

“That they’re equal now,” Rumi finished softly. The truth settled deep within her, a cold weight that spread through her like winter frost. “So…what now?”

Mira glanced at Zoey, who was fiddling with her journal and pen. “Something’s out there.”

“But I thought we defeated Gwi-Ma,” interjected Zoey. She moped and chewed on the clicker of her pen.

The three of them sat in silence for a while, listening to the pitter-patter of rain against the windowpanes. Outside, thunder rumbled.

On her forearms, the patterns on Rumi’s skin glinted. “Gwi-Ma is defeated, but demons will always exist.”

In her chest, the familiar beat of her heart—whirring beneath it, the warmth of her spirit calling out to her to reach for the sword born from her soul. Beneath even that, something that made her soul shine brighter.

I’m still here for you.

A whisper in the dark.

-

Glazed by twilight, the sloping tiled roofs of the former royal family’s temporary palace peeked out from behind the other newer structures that peppered the remnants of Suwon’s old city. To the west, the ancient stone structure of fortress walls glistened with dimming pink and orange light. Here, the past came alive, and what was once a thriving temporary residence during the Joseon dynasty remembered its former masters.

“Why did we decide to film at such a weird time again?” Zoey said with a grimace. She stuffed a handful of prawn crackers in her mouth. Her chewing was loud enough that Rumi could hear it over the song playing on the van’s radio. She reached for a choco pie from the bag next to Mira.

From the driver’s seat, Bobby hummed along with the tune. He turned briefly to glance at Zoey, then back on the road. “Because this is the best time to beat out the tourists, which sadly even our filming permit can’t beat. Anyway, the vibes we’re going for will fit sunset and twilight better, remember? We’re going for mysterious and triumphant.” He waved a hand in a vague direction for emphasis.

“I guess,” Zoey grumbled. “I wish we could’ve stayed in Seoul though. Gyeongbokgung has visual appeal too.”

“…And all the fans will know exactly where to find you,” Bobby added with a shake of his head. “Suwon is much more unassuming, and I want what’s best for my girls.”

Rumi sighed. She didn’t ask for a choco pie, and that might have been a sign to Mira that something was off because her friend nudged her in the side.

“What’s up?” Mira asked. She raised an eyebrow and flicked back a few strands of her hair that had snuck over her shoulder. She was done up, just like the rest of the girls were. In her own version of a modern hanbok which went with their concept of black and red—the black embroidered cropped top and an open sheer crimson jeogori.

Rumi shook her head. She played with the end of her braid, where a crisp red daenggi—smooth, satin-bright, and neatly tied—lay pooled in her lap, its clean lines catching the light like lacquer. “Nothing,” she answered, “Just thinking about the song. I want to do it justice when we perform it.”

Mira didn’t look convinced, but Rumi refused to press the topic. The truth was, something felt wrong, and the feeling grew worse as they got closer to the fortress and its palace.

“That was ‘Golden’ by HUNTR/X!” crackled an upbeat voice from the radio. “Before we go on a commercial break, we have some news I hear?”

Rumi blinked. She must have been out of it if she had not realized that they were playing their own song on the way.

“That’s right! We have a teaser for HUNTR/X’s upcoming single, which I hear is serving as a sequel to ‘Golden.’ All we have is a title, and a little rumor that they’re filming the MV for it soon.”

“Oh? What’s the title?”

“‘Throne.’ I wonder what kind of song this one will be. We can only speculate!”

Bobby grinned as he pulled into the parking lot in front of the palace entrance. “They won’t have to speculate for long!” he sang. He got out of the van and slid the door open for them. “Now get out there and knock ‘em dead!”

True to Bobby’s word, the set at the temporary palace was much more unassuming than if it were in Seoul. As far as any of the girls could see, there was no room for sneak photography from stalking fans. Although, Rumi wouldn’t put it past them to figure out that something interesting was happening here.

The camera crew was set up in the corner of the palace where the throne room was. With the natural light, the set was lit in soft colors and accentuated more with artificial light.

At the back stood the throne itself. The seat appeared ethereal, its wooden back cascading with painted gold and silk. The backdrop a colorful explosion of three mountains and the sun and moon. All of it was a replica, of course. Even if the originals did still exist, there was no way any permit would allow for them to use furniture that precious.

The site supervisor tapped her clipboard with the sharp rhythm of authority, her expression the universal scowl of someone tasked with protecting a national treasure. “Remember your time limit today!” she barked. A moment later, she was already mid-argument with a cameraman over tripod placement, her tsking audible even over the drone of equipment. She raised her phone as if threatening him.

The camera went around shooting artistic shots first, and that gave the girls about twenty or so minutes for touch-ups.

Rumi was done with her touch-ups first, surprisingly enough. Her long hair usually gave them the most trouble. She decided she’d walk around on the edge of the set. The strange feeling had continued since they arrived, and at this point she wanted to see if some time to herself would help.

“Come back in ten!” the director shouted. “We’ll need all of you by then!”

“Got it!” Rumi said over her shoulder.

She went around the back of the throne room’s building, watching as the stark red pillars seemed to glow as the sun’s rays bled more into soft orange. For a moment, she was at peace. The summer’s heat was cooler now, and a gentle breeze caressed her cheeks.

Then, the humming started.

The change was slow at first, then extended into a gradual tune that filtered through the scuffed stones of the palace, charging the air. Electric and fizzling, crawling along the grooves of her skin until she shivered.

She swiveled on her feet, heart beating fast. The pillars burned into a more fiery red. A tinkling, singsong laugh echoed from the walls of the palace’s buildings that surrounded her, engulfed her. Closing in.

She could see the strings of the new Honmoon now in all its glory, hovering just above her. Blue, then pink, then suddenly violent fuchsia. Pop, pop, pop, and the cracking sound of the Honmoon tearing open resounded in her ears.

She stiffened, turning again to see if anyone else heard. But no one came.

“Who are you?” she called.

Laughter again. This time, it was all-consuming. As if the notes of it bounced off invisible walls.

"Do you know the story of Crown Prince Sado?" a hysterical voice rang out, its sound high and coiling like a snake preparing to strike. "Nearly three centuries ago, his father, King Yeongjo, ordered him sealed inside a rice chest. No trial. No last rites. Just wood, silence, and the slow decay of precious royal blood.”

“Where are you?” Rumi asked. She felt herself tremble.

She gritted her teeth anyway and reached for the fold of the Honmoon known only to her. Out of it her sword materialized into her hands. The constellations on its blade shimmered like stars at midnight—the sword forged at the hour of the tiger in ancient times, willed by her ancestors to ward off evil spirits, and beating now with the remembered power of the constellations along its metal. The Big Dipper gleamed with saturated light. The constellation begged her for release, to remind the world that this set of stars was the symbol of the gods who occupied them—managers of humanity’s life and destiny, capable of extending or reducing one's life, blue and deep and—

No. Something was different with her sword.

She had never heard the Big Dipper’s engraving calling out to her before, nor had she known its old meaning. It was as if someone was whispering these things to her, echoing them inside her head.

Listen, it said. What is your wish? Longevity, fortune, safety, a cure? Whose fate do you wish to change?

The fact that she had not used her sword since Gwi-Ma weighed on her suddenly now.

We have helped you all this time. We can change this demon’s fate.

The blade was wider, more pronounced than it used to be. Heavier, yet lighter at the same time. It felt more powerful.

“The Crown Prince’s child watched, desperate to let his father out, and the Crown Prince’s wife too—all wanting to win a losing battle. But no one could save him. No one dared. He died inch by inch, alone, while the palace went on pretending they didn’t just betray him,” the voice said. Lingering now with sweet, cloying words.

Rumi clenched her hands around the hilt. “Show yourself!”

“That’s the kind of love power gives us. Cold. Final. And forgotten."

The demon appeared in her path with a puff of vivid smoke. It stung her eyes as she swung her blade, but the demon only giggled as it avoided her.

She couldn’t see its face, only its outline. Black hair ribboned across her vision, and she slashed at that too.

Grunting, she ran to a corner in hopes that she’d catch it. The smoke still blocked her eyesight, obscuring what was in front of her.

She heard nothing but laughter. This demon was different.

Holding hands as they walked across the bridge, swinging in silence. The smell of market food sizzling with oil, and picking out a place to buy tteokbokki to share—

Rumi gasped. The vision prickled the black behind her eyelids.

A shadow flashed into her sight, sharp claws bearing down on her, one gold eye and one black eye widening as the smile on its face lengthened into a grin.

The sword quivered with her every frantic step.

The front of a university campus on a bright spring day. Textbooks in hand, dialing her number knowing that they had not spoken since last night but being so excited to hear her voice—

The claws swiped toward her in a silvery, scythe-like arc.

But in front of her was not a demon at all.

This was a girl. A girl with patterns, jeans, and half-formed demonic features pulsing along with the rip in the Honmoon that she had created.

Rumi realized too late that she had not moved out of the way.

“NO!” someone screamed, and Rumi’s insides broke to a million pieces because this should not be possible. But she would remember that voice wherever she went. The deep tenor of it, the soft and hard edges that sought shelter in a fleeting dream of freedom.

From what was once her sword, Jinu erupted into existence. He was no longer steel, but flesh and breath and fury.

His form shimmered with a diaphanous light, the same otherworldly blue glow that laced her blade. He was human, but he was not.

Jinu didn’t hesitate.

With a raw, murderous breath, he lunged forward. His hands found the shoulders of the half-demon girl, squeezing them with a crushing grip, and he drove her backward with so much force that the electric air snapped. The two of them crashed to the ground in a blur of tangled limbs and snarls.

With a furious shout, he twisted the half-demon’s clawed arm back. The girl thrashed and screamed beneath him, her cries sharp with pain. But still Jinu didn’t let go, his hold on her unyielding.

“Jinu, don’t!” Rumi bellowed, her voice cracking as she sprinted toward them.

For a heartbeat, the girl met her eyes—something wild and wounded flashing through her—before she vanished in a burst of curling smoke. The sudden absence sent Jinu crashing to the ground, limbs sprawling, breath knocked out of him.

Rumi skidded to a halt just next to him. Heat surged up her throat, stinging her eyes. “Jinu,” she whispered, reaching out with a trembling hand.

He took it.

He took her hand, and as if nothing happened, he stood before her. Brand new and there, and decidedly not dead. Changed, perhaps, but that was enough to be a miracle.

He chuckled…like an idiot and said the stupidest thing Rumi had ever head. “You could take her soul if you wanted. It could be easier,” he suggested. He shrugged, nonchalant. As if he wasn’t a dead man come back to life.

Rumi dropped her hand and stared.

“King Jeongjo’s palace,” Jinu said, his gaze sweeping the walls. He let out a low hum. “It’s been centuries since I’ve visited. It happened after my time as a human, but I remember Crown Prince Sado’s son. He built this place for his father’s remains after his grandfather’s reign…something about wanting Joseon to know who he really was.” A shadow crossed his face. “He kept collecting tragedies. I guess that’s why many in his court eventually found their way to Gwi-Ma too.”

She couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“Jinu,” she repeated. His name was a drop of mercury on her tongue, pressing down cold while impossible to swallow.

Finally, he paused. He looked at her now with an unreadable look on his face. And, with a shuddering breath, Rumi realized that he looked at her with human eyes.

“How are you here?” Rumi asked. The heat in her throat expanded, and her eyes burned. “How could you start with all of that…like you showing up here was nothing?”

His body relaxed. “It wasn’t nothing.”

She reached for him.

“Rumi!” Zoey’s voice cut through the air, but Rumi didn’t flinch. Her eyes stayed locked on where Jinu was.

“Mira and I felt something—the Honmoon, it’s reacting to something weird. We saw the demon leave and…” Zoey trailed off, tilting her head. “Wait—what are you looking at?”

Mira appeared right beside Zoey, her woldo drawn. The persistent glow from the blade lit up her face as if it were the moon itself.

Rumi turned to them, slowly. Her answer came out quiet, distant. “You don’t…see him?”

“See who?” Zoey looked nervous.

“Rumi are you okay?” added Mira. She lifted her weapon higher. “Is there a demon we still need to fight? What is it?”

Rumi glanced in Jinu’s direction. “I’m fine. I…” She blinked hard, forcing the words out. “I’m fine.”

Her friends let out a sigh of relief, though it was clear that they were more concerned about the fact that the director was calling them now.

“We should go, or Bobby will need double the vacation time,” Mira said. Her woldo dissolved into the Honmoon. She gave Rumi a small nod. “Don’t forget to put yours away too.”

When Rumi looked down at her hand, her sword had rematerialized, but Jinu was gone.

Chapter Text

Rumi sat on the edge of her bed. The darkness of her room in their hotel suite was welcoming after so much confused her tonight. The only light was the inviting radiance from her blade now laying across her lap. She tried not to think too hard about the fact that her sword was not just her sword anymore—that this weapon was not only hers.

“Jinu,” she murmured. Just loud enough that she knew he could hear. “Come out.”

Like the whispered rustle of a turning page in a forgotten library, the silence folded into itself, and he was there kneeling before her. His eyes locked on hers, impossibly soft. His gaze took her breath away.

She opened her mouth with the intent to berate him, tease him, anything. But all that came was a quiet sob and tears that welled from her eyes until her cheeks were damp with them.

“Rumi.” He said her name like a caress, and it angered her so much that she was shaking with frustration.

Because how could this moron come into her life and abruptly leave it on the coattails of his own self-sacrifice, only to come back as a soul entwined with the very manifestation of hers? Without warning.

She wiped her tears quickly, furious that they came in the first place. “Don’t look at me like that,” she spat.

Jinu tilted his head and his hand hovered inches away from the side of her face. Warmth radiated in that space between his hand and her cheek. “Like what?”

Rumi turned away from him. “Like…I don’t know.” She heaved a sigh. “Like that.”

He scoffed, because of course he did. She didn’t need to explain what she meant, but she saw the way his eyes shifted from side to side. Even in a glowing, human-not-human form, she could tell that Jinu was at least somewhat embarrassed.

Well, good.

“So, you’re my sword now,” she said carefully, unsure of what to make of it.

“Hm, it looks that way. I gave you my soul.”

She sat up straight. Jinu’s hand that had hovered near her face dropped to his side. “Why did you do that?” Her voice was softer than she meant it to be, but she couldn’t help it.

He looked at her then, again with that look she was starting to resent, and not because it was cold, but because it wasn’t. This time his gaze lingered until her skin felt like it was prickling.

He sat on the edge of the bed too, not far from her. The mattress creaked beneath his weight. Light from his body glowed against the white linens, gentle and pale blue.

“You know why,” he said. Then with another breath, “I’m still here for you.”

Her body stiffened and she remembered that voice from the night before, probing on the outskirts of her spirit. I’m still here for you.

In the darkness, that distant part of herself wavered. Shivering on a minor chord, strumming the strings of the Honmoon—her soul at the door. And that once unknown extra thing that interlaced with it pulsing in response.

She knew now that it was him.

Rumi shifted, pulling her knees in slightly, her gaze fixed on anything but him. “Can no one else see you?” she asked, her eyes staying on the bedside lamp. It glowed dimly, the bulb barely strong enough to cast a soft halo of light across the frame of the bed.

“Any human with the sight could, even your friends.” She felt him looking at her. “But they won’t unless you want them to. I’m yours.”

A breath hitched in her chest. She folded her arms tightly, as if trying to shield herself from the meaning behind his words.

What could have been.

What wasn’t.

What feeling had been growing since the first night they met.

“The demon part of you can take souls,” Jinu explained. “You can use them however you want.”

She shook her head. “I don’t want that.”

“I know you don’t.”

She didn’t know what to say after that. But the silence stretched for only so long before Jinu interrupted it himself. Not with words, but with his arm hanging in front of her face like a stupid, annoying tree branch and—

A bracelet caught the light. Purple and blue threaded together, and a chrysanthemum knot. It hung from his wrist, teasing her, taunting her. The elderly woman who had tossed it to Jinu before would be happy.

She could almost hear Celine’s voice too, telling Rumi and the other hunters the importance of choosing the right knots to decorate each member’s norigae. A chrysanthemum knot meant longevity and prosperity. But now, its meaning made the fact that Jinu kept this knot feel like a joke.

She turned, finally, just to tell him off—for what? She didn’t know. His face entered her vision, and there was that look again.

He smirked. “At least your pants have improved,” he commented, pointing at the pajama bottoms she was wearing. “Is that real Chanel or knockoff?”

Rumi scowled and refused to mention the fact that Zoey’s mother had sent them pajamas as a gift…Zoey’s mother who was notoriously frugal with her spending. In any case, the pants had pockets.

“Gwi-Ma is supposed to be dead,” Rumi retorted, ignoring the infuriating smirk tugging at Jinu’s lips. "So, why are these kinds of demons escaping the Honmoon?”

He had the nerve to chuckle as he leaned back, but when he finally spoke, his voice lost its lightness.

“He is,” Jinu said. “For now. But demons don’t stay dead forever. Sooner or later—decades from now—he’ll claw his way back. Humans don’t stop feeling. Demons don’t either.”

“I know that, but—”

“You’re wondering why you’re having trouble defeating this one,” Jinu finished for her.

Rumi shrugged. “This Honmoon is new. The other hunters and I knew that we’d run into things we haven’t encountered before.” She sighed, and the weight in her chest seemed to grow heavier. “I was sure that this new Honmoon would be better for everyone—humans and demons. I thought it would give demons who wanted to be free a second chance. But if we’re running into demons like that girl now, what does that mean for the world?”

For a moment, it was quiet. She heard the sheets rustle as Jinu shifted in his spot.

“Maybe she exists because she doesn’t want to be free.”

Rumi blinked. “What?”

Jinu stared at the ceiling. “Not every demon wants to be saved. Some don’t even know what freedom is supposed to feel like, or if they were human, they’ve forgotten. If all they’ve ever known is serving Gwi-Ma or their guilt and shame, then anything else feels fake.”

Rumi narrowed her eyes.

“Some people don’t want to be saved," Jinu added quietly.

Her heart pounded. The heat inside her simmered—slow at first, then sharper, hotter, until it boiled over, and surged up her neck.

“What about you?” she snapped, voice tight.

“I couldn’t be.”

And just like that, the bubble burst.

“That’s not fair, is it?!” she yelled. She stood up, staring at him in the eyes. “How could you lecture me on who wants to be saved when you still believe you couldn’t be in the first place?”

“That’s not—”

The Honmoon around Rumi trembled with a faint pink light.

“Was that the real reason you sacrificed yourself for me, Jinu? Because you never thought you could be free?”

Jinu rose from the bed, standing so close to her that his breath curled hotly with hers. “Maybe I don’t deserve it!” he hissed.

In his eyes, she saw the reflection of the Honmoon’s shimmering threads, glowing pink in response to her voice. His own aura flickered at the edges, stained with violet, darkened by guilt that wasn’t only hers.

That guilt surged through her like a wave. Her throat closed. Her chest ached.

Rumi squeezed her eyes shut. “Jinu,” she said, “return to the sword.”

His eyes widened, and then, with a sound like a disbelieving gasp swallowed by wind, his form collapsed into light and vanished into the weapon.

-

The next morning went more smoothly than the last—they even woke up early without meaning to. It turned out that living a life where the day started at 6 AM on a consistent basis had become habit.

The last of the shoots wouldn’t start till late afternoon, and that gave some time for Rumi and her friends to lounge around on the couch before things got chaotic.

They had finished at nearly midnight the previous day, and all of them had been too exhausted to do anything else but bathe and pass out.

Still, Rumi was grateful that Zoey and Mira had been too tired to hear her and Jinu speaking to each other. Not that it had been much of a conversation.

In his infinite wisdom, Bobby had booked them a hotel that was generally out of the way from most of the busy parts of Suwon, but that also made it more difficult not to want to go outside and explore. They couldn’t, of course. Not without being swarmed by fans and recognized by the press.

So, Bobby had also made sure that the hotel had adequate room service. Breakfast was immaculate.

Afterwards, Rumi and her friends watched reruns of Running Man in the living room area. While it was funny enough watching contestants on the game show trying to knock each other over while hopping on one leg, Zoey suggested they stream a romcom film next.

Needless to say, 20^th Century Girl, had all their hearts. A cute coming-of-age romance was exactly what Rumi needed to distract her, and she was having a good time. Though by its end, Rumi had never felt so betrayed by a movie in her life.

“I—Netflix labeled that a romantic comedy?” sputtered Mira. She still had a shocked expression on her face.

Zoey sobbed into a decorative pillow. “I want to have words with whoever decides on what genres a movie is.”

Rumi winced. “Okay, I’ll choose a show next.” They still had a few more hours. She was determined to keep Jinu out of her head. It turned out that anything romantic wouldn’t quite do.

She swiped the remote off the table and clicked through the Netflix menu. “What about Kingdom?”

Mira looked skeptical. “A historical drama? That’s not really my thing…”

“But it’s a historical drama with zombies,” Rumi added.

And, most importantly, decidedly unromantic.

(Not that she’d admit the real reason. Not that she was thinking Jinu had once lived in a world that might’ve looked like this, that maybe watching something set hundreds of years ago would help her understand him a little better. But—no. She was here for zombies. Just zombies.)

Zoey cringed. “That sounds a little scary,” she said. She squinted at the screenshot of the actor who played the Crown Prince. A mischievous twinkle lit up her face. “…but maybe it will help us get into character? We are shooting an MV in a palace.” She stuck her hand into the bag with the choco pies and grinned.

The rest of the day before the shoot went on like that. Getting ready with hair and makeup in the room was quick and efficient, given the number of times they had done it. Rumi even felt more comfortable wearing a different iteration of modern hanbok, especially since they wore one the day before. This time, the fabric shifted between midnight blue and silver. They’d tell another part of their song’s story wearing these.

Bathed in the orange hues of the late afternoon sun, the temporary palace had a different atmosphere to yesterday’s sharp edges. The stark colors of the pillars and intricate slats were softened by the light.

“Make sure you look like you own the throne, girls,” called the director. She lifted her chin in demonstration, her gaze angled downward in a commanding way as if she was looking over a crowd that already belonged to her. “Remember the feeling of ‘Golden’ and amplify it. You’ve embraced that feeling. You are royalty.”

“Got it!” replied Zoey. She shifted to a position on the throne.

Next to her, Rumi straightened her spine, while on her other side, Mira moved her shoulders into a more regal pose. The throne was wide, large enough to fit the three of them.

“That’s it!” The director nodded with approval.

The camera rotated around them as they mouthed the final lyrics to “Throne” while the track played in the background.

“And, cut!” The director clapped once. “Okay, almost done. Let’s get everyone ready for the final shots at Hwaseong Fortress. I want the camera crew ready and on deck in thirty. Girls,” she said as her head whipped toward them, “get a quick touch up and then head over.” She clapped again. “Chop, chop everyone! The lighting must be beautiful!”

The final shots they needed were of the girls entering the palace with wide angles capturing them as they stepped through one of the fortress gates. Overhead, a drone hovered to take in the full scope. It was the opening scene of the music video, meant to set the tone and begin the story.

But it was here as they were filming at the fortress that Rumi thought she could hear the Honmoon pulsing—and it wasn’t just that either.

Rumi.

She shook her head. No, she needed to focus. She couldn’t be distracted by him again.

She pressed her hand on the stone wall just as directed, skimming her fingertips along the cold, grainy surface.

Rumi, listen.

Shut up, Jinu, she thought. She lifted her leg and stepped as gracefully through the gate’s tunnel as she could manage.

Soft, eerie laughter resounded through the passageway, thin as glass about to shatter. Rumi swallowed hard, forcing herself to stay focused. It tinkled like a haunted music box. Each note was a jingle bouncing from wall to wall sounding more distant and warped with each passing second.

The Honmoon screamed.

There it was—more blinding images flashing across her thoughts as she struggled to stay upright in the passage. The world tilted sideways. She wasn’t sure if she was standing straight anymore.

A smile, delicate and breaking as she scrolls through the pictures on her phone just to see her one more time. Tears welling in her eyes, the echo of her father’s voice yelling obscenities at her, telling her she is wrong and that their family should never have had a child like her—

“Hold that pose, Rumi!” the director’s voice called.

Okay, it seemed like no one noticed.

Focus. Breathe.

She knew what she had to do. In this scene, the opening beats of “Throne” will begin, and the string quartet that swelled up and mingled with subtle bass.

But as she heard the track playing, all she could imagine was that the music was building up to something. A warning for what was about to come.

Something was coming.

The camera moved away, and she could see Zoey in position for her turn. Mira glanced at something over Rumi’s shoulder, her eyes wide.

Something was here.

Purplish-pink smoke exploded out of nowhere, thick and reeking of an aberrant scent that shouldn’t belong. A strong perfume of sulfur and flowers roiled through the chilling air.

In that instant, Rumi barely had time to react before the smoke sharpened into a demonic figure.

The Honmoon screeched at her to move, and the folds of it unfurled as her soul’s sword begged her to do something to protect herself. She wasn’t sure how much of that was her own soul’s instinct or Jinu’s.

Fast and fluid, a shadow moved within the haze. Then came the glint of claws.

Rumi ducked—too close. The pointed edges of the enemy’s talons slashed through the air where her neck has been. She somersaulted forward and the Honmoon pulsed so violently that she felt its effects pounding so hard against her chest that it felt like the sheer energy radiating from it might crack her ribs.

Mira’s woldo sliced the ground, forcing the demon to leap back.

“Get back here!” Mira yelled. Her eyes were wild, and her teeth clenched. She tried to chase after the enemy, but somehow, she kept evading her. “Argh!”

Clack, clack, clack—Zoey had entered the scene now, and the knives she had just thrown embedded themselves onto the wall. Once again, the demon jumped to the side.

Hopefully, the site supervisor would forgive them for the damage this one time.

Rumi, let me help you! Jinu’s voice rang in her head.

She screamed back, Then help me by making this sword actually hit something!

The smoke cleared just enough to reveal their attacker: the same girl from before, patterns running along her arms and now encroaching along her neck. One eye bright gold, the other dark almond.

“Found you,” the girl hissed, voice distorted like a radio out of tune. Switching from one station to another—FM, AM—crackling with static.

“You’re looking for us?” Rumi answered, her sword held high. The other girls paused behind her with their weapons ready.

“No. Just you.” The girl grinned. “You have her. Give her back!”

The half-demon girl lunged, and soon Rumi’s body was dodging another strike. A sweep of the girl’s hand that cracked the stone wall behind her.

Zoey winced. “Oof, let’s not wreck a UNESCO World Heritage site, yeah?” she muttered from behind. She threw another knife which the girl avoided.

“Rude.” Zoey frowned in annoyance.

“Stop playing with us,” commanded Mira. “Who are you looking for?”

The air trembled with the strings of “Throne” still playing. The lyrics shook through Rumi like a scratching record.

The girl did not respond. She tried to strike Rumi again, but Mira blocked with the shaft of her woldo, the impact reverberating through the ground. Rumi could feel it in her bones even though she had not taken the hit.

Mira didn’t have time to recover before a kick landed on her stomach and sent her sprawling into the wall.

“Mira!” Rumi shouted.

She and Zoey rushed forward, but before they could reach her, the demon girl whipped around. A burst of raw energy sent Zoey flying back, skidding across the stone floor.

Zoey coughed, winded, and rolled to her knees. “Okay,” she grumbled, drawing another pair of knives from the Honmoon with a snap of her wrists. “No more Miss Passive-Aggressive.”

She flung the blades, aiming for the legs.

The girl managed to dodge, but this time, only just.

C’mon, Rumi, Jinu’s voice urged. You can stop her.

“Give her back!” the girl screeched, her voice splintering like the wall she had just damaged. The gold in one eye stretched unnaturally, and in the other, golden flecks darted into existence, zigzagging like veins on cracked porcelain.

How? Rumi pressed.

You know who she is.

The Honmoon wasn’t just screaming at her now, it surged through the earth like a call. Energy enveloped her and her sword, raging through her veins.

I do?

You do.

Rumi hit the wall hard, pain flaring instantly as the bruise began to form beneath her skin. The girl pinned her there, her breath hot on Rumi’s face. Her eyes were crazed, shimmering with something desperate and unhinged.

The sword in Rumi’s hand caught the light. Sunlight filtered through the haze like floating gold, and in that moment, her soul stirred—rising, resonating—intertwined with Jinu’s.

It wasn’t just her pain anymore. It was his, too.

Together, they burned.

She was a girl in a white dress, the same dress she had worn on their first date. Tonight, the wind whipped through her hair. She thought that Dae would have loved to see the stars with her, but it was so high up that—

“Dae,” Rumi gasped. Her eyes burned.

The passageway stilled. Even Zoey paused, and her hand froze mid-throw.

“What did you say?” The girl dropped Rumi as if she was slapped, and Rumi sagged against the wall.

“Dae,” Rumi repeated. “That’s you, isn’t it?”

The half-demon girl took a step back and her expression flickered. The atmosphere shifted.

Rumi’s sword flared, and so did the Honmoon, its strings flowing with fiery heat and feeling—grief, love, something else forgotten. The manifestation of her soul bled into a brighter blue, then darker, and something inside the Honmoon cracked open.

From that crack, light spilled out.

The smoky clouds around them ripped apart and rippled, and with both a sudden gust and a melodious breeze, a figure stepped into being.

With each step, the figure formed.

A girl with long, black hair that reached past her shoulders, a small face, dark eyes, and a sorrowful air about her appeared.

“Su-jin,” whispered Dae. Rumi had not noticed that she had turned around.

The ghostly figure stood between Rumi and Dae, and her body flickered around the edges like a dying flashlight, light stuttering in and out, barely holding its shape.

The ghost’s mouth moved, but nothing came out. Whispers of gibberish layered with both familiarity and distance was all Rumi could hear, two opposing things clashing, as if a quiet sound had traveled a long way to get there.

Dae clutched her head, stumbling backward.

Rumi stepped forward and around Dae. She looked the ghost in the eye.

“They were your memories, your visions you sent to me, not Dae’s,” Rumi said. Her sword glowed even brighter.

A soul, she supposed, was not just something she could take. Now, it was something she could hear.

The ghost did not reply.

“You saw your friend turn into a demon.”

Again, Su-jin’s spirit said nothing. Instead, she crouched next to Dae’s trembling form. She touched her beloved friend’s lips, then her forehead, then touched her own heart.

The gold in Dae’s eyes started to wane, dimming and flashing between natural brown and otherworldly gold.

Rumi turned to Dae, a startling realization billowing through her. “Crown Prince Sado’s son built this fortress and this palace so he could move his father here to honor him,” she said. “He made sure the world would remember who his father was, even if history tried to look away.”

“That’s the kind of love power gives us. Cold. Final. And forgotten."

Jinu’s soul stirred through the sword in her hand, pulsing with quiet understanding. And suddenly, she understood Dae’s pain and what she’d really meant.

Dae started. “But—”

The ghost laid her palm on Dae’s heart. Her translucent fingers did not waver nor tremble.

The Honmoon sang, gentle and slow, and Rumi knew the power like she knew the back of her hand. She started to join in the notes too, a hesitant hum at first, then a careful crescendo. Zoey joined in, and then she heard Mira’s deeper tones.

A new song, an old song. Fixing the world, reinventing it. An ancient tune reimagined.

Her sword pulsated with every beat. She could feel Jinu humming along with them.

Wind stirred around them, though the passage was still.

The smoke that had clung onto Dae began to loosen, tugging away ribbons and binds. Blackened claws retracted, the gleam of paranormal power in her skin faded away.

Dae collapsed to her knees. Her face crumpled. She glanced at her hands, shaking, but human again. Patterns gone.

Su-jin’s spirit seemed to sigh.

“I didn’t mean to become that,” whispered Dae. “I don’t know…”

“It’s okay,” Rumi said on instinct.

“You have us,” Zoey added.

“Just don’t freak out,” Mira joined in.

Su-jin smiled, and it was a faint line. She melted into the air and appeared again next to Dae. She pressed her hand on Dae’s heart again as if to say I know.

Rumi and her friends watched in silence. Her sword did not stop glowing. Jinu’s soul brushed against hers, and she felt his presence encouraging her.

This wasn’t their moment, though.

It was theirs.

For a moment, the passageway was peaceful.

Then, Dae swayed. Her entire body slumped as if the weight she’d been carrying had finally lifted. Her eyes unfocused, then fluttered shut. Whatever energy had fueled her before had dispersed in one fell swoop.

Dae keeled over with a soft thud on the dusty ground.

The ghost did not move, but Rumi and the other girls did.

“She’s out,” Rumi murmured.

Zoey slid to her knees with Mira right next to her. They both looked tired.

“She’s spent,” Mira said, sounding spent herself. “That wasn’t just a fight. That was a full exorcism.”

“We need to get her somewhere safe,” Rumi said quietly. “Before we get any questions.”

Mira huffed. “This happened in the middle of our shoot,” she hissed. She leaned closer. “You don’t think this already looks weird?”

Around them the music from the shoot had finally stopped.

Su-jin’s spirit rose now, listless and hovering. She stared at the opposite end of the gate where the sunlight pooled onto the path.

Rumi and the others watched in silence.

There was something in Su-jin’s expression, something far away. Not anything Rumi could name nor understand, but it was a stillness. The kind that arrived after everything that could be said and done had been finished.

The ghost turned her head, just slightly, as if sensing Rumi’s gaze on her. Their eyes met.

“You got this,” Rumi said. She walked up to Su-jin. “You should move on.”

Su-jin blinked lethargically, as if time was catching up to her.

Light formed a circle on the other side of the gate where a view of the parking lot should have been. Su-jin turned to it, mesmerized. The air shimmered around her as she began to drift forward, walking on air. With each step, her outline shrunk and thinned.

In the circle of light, Rumi caught a glimpse of a field of blooming flowers, all bright white. Emerald grass swaying, petals fluttering.

The golden edges of the setting sun caught Su-jin’s form like a final embrace, and then—

She was gone.

Rumi exhaled, gradual and deep. The warmth did not leave her body. The gate was empty now. She did not know if the crew was still there, nor if the cameras were rolling.

“Jinu,” she whispered into the air, “Come out.”

Her sword’s form morphed and twisted, and from its sharp edges came Jinu. He stood before her with an unreadable expression.

“You can do this too,” said Rumi. “Maybe it isn’t about what you think you deserve. Maybe, you can still choose to be free.”  

She held out her hand.

“You’re a good person, Jinu. But you don’t have to be perfect to be good.”

He smiled sadly.

For a moment, it was just the two of them. The aftermath of everything suspended them in silence. The air still shivered with a faint buzz where Su-jin had disappeared, and Rumi’s hand remained outstretched, steady and unwavering.

Jinu stepped forward and took it.

His touch was like waking up, as if she had finally opened her eyes that morning and pulled back the curtains.

And as their fingers met, she knew this was different. Between them, something shifted, like the ache that had been knotted between them began to loosen.

Rumi gave his hand a gentle squeeze, then turned.

“Jinu,” she said, glancing back at the others with a small smile, “These are my best friends…Mira and Zoey.”

“Hello,” he remarked with an awkward smile.

As if the world had been waiting for that meeting to pass, sound and motion resumed—the world around them came back to life—and far off, the distant chatter of the crew reminded them that time hadn’t stopped after all.

They’d deal with that later.