Work Text:
“Stand up.”
Rumi panted heavily as her hands and knees dug into the ground beneath her.
“Stand up and try again, Rumi.”
She bit her cheek, trying to suppress the frustration bubbling within her as her gaze fixated on the dirt. She could feel Celine’s expressionless stare boring down on her.
Swallowing hard, Rumi climbed to her feet, breathless as sweat streamed down her face, stinging her eyes.
“Try again,” Celine insisted, her voice steady but firm, her eyes narrowing in expectation.
Rumi squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head in defeat. “I can’t,” she rasped.
“Yes, you can,” Celine replied immediately, her tone leaving no room for argument. “And you will. We’ll work on this all day if we have to. Try. Again.”
Suppressing a groan, Rumi stood tall, forcing herself to relax. She kept her eyes closed, feeling the warmth of the sun on her skin, before reaching out her hand, palm open.
“Now, focus on the Honmoon—” Celine instructed, pacing around her, “Feel its strings at your fingertips,”
Rumi listened, calling out to the Honmoon in her mind, searching for that elusive connection.
“And then pull,”
Rumi pulled, and she felt a soft light grace her fingers, a gentle warmth that sent shivers down her spine.
She tried to peek her eyes open, but Celine stepped forward, covering her eyes with her hand.
“Do not peek,” Celine ordered, her voice firm. “Your focus will waver.”
With her vision obscured, Rumi focused back on the task at hand. When Celine’s hand finally fell away, she could sense the energy around her shifting.
“Concentrate on the light—let it manifest on its own,” Celine guided, her voice steady. “Then, and only then, can you look.”
Slowly, the light began to coalesce, transforming into a firm metal nestled in her hand. The weight of the weapon began to grow heavier, the sensation both thrilling and intimidating. As the weight tapered off to a steady grip, Rumi finally opened her eyes.
What she saw took her breath away.
In her hand was a sleek, single-edged saber, glistening with constellations that danced along its blade. The tip glowed a light blue before fading into a deep magenta, the colors swirling together in an enchanting display.
Rumi gasped. “It’s—”
“—A saingeom,” Celine finished, her eyes glued to the blade, awe and reverence mingling in her expression. “The Four Tiger Sword,” she whispered.
Her eyes lingered on the weapon before lifting to stare at Rumi’s face. “Just like your mother’s.”
Rumi’s breath hitched in her throat, her own eyes drawn to the shimmering blade. The two of them said nothing, sharing a moment of silence with their gazes locked on the weapon in her hand.
Celine sighed, and Rumi looked up to look at her, her foster mother’s fingers slowly unraveling from the fist they formed.
“That’s… enough for today,” Celine finally said, her voice returning to its usual calm.
She pushed her hair back and out of her face, her demeanor shifting as she turned away, heading back into their little hanok, her navy blue hanbok flourishing behind her.
Rumi watched her foster mother disappear into the building, her grip tightening on the handle of the saingeom.
She spent the next five hours working on releasing and summoning the blade.
Celine stood in her garden, the night air cool and fragrant as the flowers gently swayed in the breeze. The moon hung high above, casting a silvery glow on the vibrant blooms that surrounded her.
Yet, despite the beauty of the scene, her gaze was fixed ahead, unwavering, on the grave before her.
She didn’t understand. She couldn’t understand.
What had Mi-yeong seen in him? What had she seen in a demon?
Celine’s hands balled into fists, the knuckles whitening under the pressure.
It didn’t make sense.
Demons were heartless monsters who devoured souls without a second thought, and Mi-yeong had fallen for one.
She still remembered that night vividly. The night she had stumbled upon them beneath the sungwhangdang tree. Mi-yeong’s hand had been gently—tenderly—placed against his chest, caressing it lovingly as she whispered sweet nothings.
Celine had felt her heart pounding in her ears, a frantic rhythm of fear and disbelief. Afraid that somehow, somehow they would hear her, she remained hidden, paralyzed by the sight before her.
But that didn’t stop her hands from moving.
That didn’t stop her from pulling the strings of the Honmoon.
That didn’t stop her from summoning her ssangeom.
The twin blades had never felt so heavy in her hands until that moment. In a surge of protective instinct, she rushed out and tried to slice into the demon, but Mi-yeong had seen her first.
Celine shivered at the memory, instinctively closing her eyes against the haunting echoes of that night. The steel slicing through skin, the sickening sound that rang in her ears—a sound that would forever be etched in her mind.
She opened her eyes, staring at the grave once more, the cold stone a stark reminder of her loss. That was in the past now.
Now.
Now she needed to focus on taking care of her late friend’s daughter.
“I will teach her right,” Celine declared softly, her voice firm against the gentle rustle of the leaves. “I will teach her to hate what you wanted to love.”
Demons were meant to be slain, and that would not change.
The Honmoon would guide her in finding the other two hunters of the next generation, where they would all receive formal training under her supervision. The Honmoon would become golden with their voices, unified against the darkness, and the demons would finally be banished from this world. And Rumi… Rumi’s patterns would be erased, and she could live a normal life, free from the burden of her heritage.
She would make sure of it.