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When Zoey and Rumi saw her walls for the first time, Mira was bracing herself for battle. She prepared herself expecting to constantly patch these walls, until no holes were left. But she was surprised, they didn’t push, they let them be. It took them a while to discover there was an entrance to the labyrinth, one that could eventually lead them to Mira’s heart. Mira hid the entrance well. Either through sheer luck or her unconscious desire for them to find it, they eventually did. They learned Mira’s labyrinth wasn’t completely impenetrable. They wanted to get closer to her. They needed to, not just because of their duties as idols and hunters, there was something else. Curiosity? The desire to make a new friend? Perhaps. But they also saw how Mira wanted it too, even if she didn’t know it herself. To have a connection. To feel the warmth of compassion that had become so alien to her.
Over time, they tried navigating the winding corridors that were Mira, carefully discovering the path leading deeper into the labyrinth. But still in the early days, they ran into dead ends plenty of times. Moments where Mira had seemingly rejected them and kicked them out of the labyrinth entirely. Moments where she was hurt. Moments where she felt too vulnerable having people she didn't trust to even attempt to navigate her confusing corridors of emotions. But they kept coming back, and they kept trying. Only on Mira’s time, only when she allowed them to try again. They never tried when she wasn’t ready for them. Even when they failed, she never completely sealed herself off, like she had always done in the past. It was like she wanted them to find their way to the center, hoping they were the ones that could be what no one ever could have been—a real family. A family where she belonged, where she felt wanted. Hoping they were the ones to never give up, no matter how deep and convoluted these pathways get.
Mira knew she was a difficult person, overly blunt, short fused, highly aggressive, but these were all defense mechanisms. Tools she created to protect herself after she repeatedly got hurt—by people she thought genuinely cared for her. These carefully crafted defenses also acted like wards and deterrents, to prevent people from getting too close. Close enough to see that she had a soft side.
Showing weakness was tantamount to inviting pain—a harsh lesson she had learned again and again. Yet none of her defenses worked on these two. This had never happened before. She always made sure to act in ways that warned others: it was dangerous to get close, dangerous to cross her. But with them, it didn’t work. Why? Why did they keep trying? Why were they not put off? Why did they… care so much? They were only bandmates forced to live and train together for a greater purpose. There was no need for closeness, certainly not for friendship. She could've focused on her duties as an idol and hunter, and been content. Who needed friends anyway? They will only disappoint you in the end.
Yet they kept trying. Her deterrents were not enough to scare them away. Once those two knew there was an entrance, and now a goal in sight, they only grew more persistent. And it was that persistence that would carry them the rest of the way. Now they were navigating this perilous labyrinth with no fear, and no hesitation. They never forced their way in or through, and they never tried to force Mira out from the labyrinth. No, they took their time. As if they knew this was the only way to reach what they truly sought, without damaging or losing what they were after in the first place—Mira. Every misstep, every stumble, they took in stride and never allowed it to discourage them. In fact, it was as though the challenge of navigating the labyrinth was meaningful, satisfying, perhaps even sometimes… fun?
There were times they ran into some very tricky dead ends, times where there seemed to be no right path forward. They didn’t know why Mira was upset with them. Didn’t know what set her off. Didn’t know how to repair their relationship—if they even could, leaving them wondering if they had veered too far in the wrong direction. There were disagreements on choreography, conflicts of lyrics, fighting strategies and dynamics, just to name a few. There were many, many things that created strife between her and the two other bandmates she was stuck with.
Their duty as hunters and idols did push them to reconcile when things went awry. Celine was the driving factor during the early days, but now there was something else, something even more important that pulled them together as time went on. None of the three knew what it was—not until recently, at least. But it was there, unmistakable. A deep want to fix things, not just because they had to. A hope, a desire, to not lose their still fragile connection. Because they all knew it was something special: something to be cherished, something to be nourished, something to be delicately cared for and strengthened.
Nobody knew why, it just was, and they all felt it. So, Mira gladly let them back into her labyrinth to try again, and again, and again. Mira once thought she could be an idol and hunter without needing to become closer to the other two. Things changed once they started going out hunting, when they were putting their lives in each other's hands. She learned to put more and more trust in her two fellow hunters. Not because she had to, since all their lives were on the line now, but because it felt like she could for the first time in what felt like forever. Felt like she could start trusting again—albeit slowly. What better place to build trust than a battlefield, where their lives were balancing on a delicate thread? She noticed they had grown to trust her also, to trust she would protect their lives. And that responsibility, having not one but two souls in her hands changed her; how could it not?
There were moments when they faltered, and someone got hurt. At times, she lashed out at the other two for being reckless, for not being careful enough. But more and more often she found herself turning the blame inward, even when she knew it truly wasn't her fault. She got better with finding ways to twist it into her failure and only hers. They were meant to have each other’s backs, and that also meant sharing their failures together as well as their successes.
They all saw how they cared for one another—not because they had to, not just as hunters or idols—but because something unspoken pulled them together, a bond that quietly refused to be ignored. For Mira, that care was terrifying. She had already lost so much—her family, her friends, and perhaps what she thought was the ability to love. So when these three souls came together for a greater purpose—to protect the world—and forged a bond unlike any she had ever known. Mira couldn't let them get hurt, or worse, and if they did, it was her fault for letting it happen, her fault for not being strong enough to protect them, to hold them close and tight. She promised to herself that she would not let anyone or anything take them from her either. She was terrified of losing this new warmth she had grown comfortable with.
She thought if she maintained a sliver of distance between them, that it would lessen these unbearable fears of losing someone she cared about. She felt how these fears of losing them were affecting her ability to fulfill her duties. She didn’t fully reject them, kick them out of her labyrinth, but she also didn’t let them move forward, closer to her. But it didn’t help, it only made it worse. And yet they keep coming back, attempting the labyrinth, attempting to get closer to Mira, one step at a time, not caring how many times they had failed or if they were set back again. They always came back.
Why? Was this persistence really from a place of caring? Doubts started to grow, stemming from fear. She tried doubting their sincerity to justify her maintaining this buffer between them, not allowing them any closer. Did they only care to get close to Mira so they could use Mira, to make sure she did her idol and hunter duties properly? To control her so she didn’t screw everything up herself, like she always had in the past. They had learned so much about her: habits, quirks, her past, the way she thought, the way her emotions worked. But they never used it against her, never even tried.
No, they didn’t—couldn’t—actually care for her. For someone like her. No one had ever. Even Celine only saw her as a means to an end—to seal the Honmoon. As a child, her parents grew colder every passing day, until they couldn't even spare a shred of sympathy or love for her. Not even when she begged them to, even when she did everything they asked of her, even when she tried to be their perfect girl they wanted her to be. They never did, it was never enough. The more she gave herself to these people, the more they only used it to control her, to use her for their own gains. They only cared about her well-being if it affected their profits; that’s when they yanked the chains to set her back on the ‘right’ path. When she disobeyed or showed any emotion not to their liking, they guilt tripped her into obedience, they pulled her strings like a puppet because she was dancing out of step to their tune. Why wasn't she grateful for what they had given her? Why wouldn't she just do what they demanded of her? It was all in her best interest wasn't it? Parents know what's best for their child, don't they?
Zoey and Rumi, they were different. When she faltered, they never chastised her, never tried to twist and manipulate her emotions, to shame her into doing what they wanted. They were always soft and delicate. Treated her like a human. A person with feelings, a person with a soul. Not just a tool. Not just a means to an end. Even when she acted cold towards them, trying to pretend she didn’t have feelings or emotions to be used against her. Nobody could hurt her if she didn’t let them, if she pushed them away first.
After years of trial and error, Zoey and Rumi had found their way further and further into these twisting halls. Zoey seemed to be further along than Rumi, only a little, perhaps because Zoey was more daring. Not that it was Rumi’s shortcoming, just that Zoey’s personality was weirdly the best fit for finding her way through this labyrinth. Mira saw how Zoey had become bolder and more brazen with her attempts to find her weaknesses. Each habit of Mira’s that their hyperactive lyricist uncovered became a key, unlocking a new boldness in her steps, her words, her gaze—all brimming with unspoken feelings. Their little maknae initiated skin contact more often, and she always seemed to want to cuddle now. She would tease Mira about things she wouldn’t have dared to years ago, hell, even a few months ago. Why had she gotten more brave with these ever more daring attempts to get closer to Mira? What changed? And why was Mira letting her? She didn’t push back, or resist Zoey’s bolder and bolder attempts at getting closer, quite the opposite in fact.
Mira was just beginning to grow comfortable with the warmth in her corridors—these souls that never gave up, always searching for a path deeper into her heart. Each passing day, that warmth drew closer, brighter, harder to ignore. Some days it burned so hot she could barely stand it. Not because they pushed too hard or did anything wrong, but because she feared she didn’t deserve it—or that, like in the past, reaching for it would only burn her.
Still, over time, she allowed herself to ease into that closeness. Slowly, cautiously, she let her guard down, opening her heart further than she had in decades, though always keeping a little distance. Old habits didn’t vanish so easily, not when the scars left behind never fully healed, standing as reminders of what happened when people came too close—close enough to wound her in ways that could never fully mend.
Yes, she had let them nearer than anyone since her early childhood, before her parents grew cold, before their expectations crushed her. And yet, she clung to that sliver of distance—just enough so that, if betrayal ever came again, the wound might not cut as deep as it had in the past.
In the days before everything came crashing down, Mira truly believed she could entrust her heart to others again. She longed for a bond unshakable, unbreakable. She wanted to feel warmth that could ignite her soul—not to reduce her to ashes as she had always feared, but to let her burn brighter than ever before, shining in a way she had never dared to dream possible.
Rumi—Rumi, she betrayed her. Her trust. Her love. Her—everything. WHY! How could she?! HOW COULD SHE! Their leader, their friend, their everything, lied. She lied. She wasn’t who she said she was. Did this prove what Mira feared most—that trust was nothing but an illusion?
Usually Mira loved being right, but this time, she desperately wanted to be wrong. She needed to be proven wrong. This couldn’t be how it all came crashing down. The life she had built with them, the connections she had made, the love she had let seep through little by little, day by day, because she thought she finally could, she thought she finally found a family she could trust, that wouldn’t betray her. It was all forsaken. She wasn’t meant to have friends, trust, or love. Those were dreams that would only betray her in the end.
Rumi's day of reckoning. Her lies and secrets were forcefully exposed right in front of Mira and Zoey. Rumi's deepest, darkest secrets laid bare for the whole world to see, traumatizing and humiliating. Mira still wished it was just a nightmare almost everyday, that it never happened. She was thankful the truth came out. Mira only wished it was revealed in a more gentle manner, and sooner—much sooner. Instead it was explosive, like her whole world shattered into a million pieces in an instant. The truth was out for everyone to see, there was no going back. The trio had lost their harmony. They had lost each other. The breath that snuffed out Rumi’s light nearly smothered Mira’s and Zoey’s as well—it almost did. All the beauty in her life vanished in an instant.
Rumi. She came back. She saved her and Zoey—from the flames of damnation. She came back. And yet… she still lied. She still betrayed their trust. What was shattered could never be rebuilt like it once was. The damage had been done. Life was not so forgiving to offer such things as undos or redos.
And yet… you can mend. You can heal. You can reforge. It will take time. It will take effort. Above all else, it requires desire—burning, relentless—the kind of desire that refuses to let go, that chooses again and again to fight through the hurt, to reach for each other even when trust feels shattered.
Between the three of them, there was more than enough will, more than enough love, to reach into the ruins and try to piece together what was thought unfixable. Their love—fragile, fierce, undeniable—was worth every scar, every struggle, every heartbeat.