Chapter Text
It starts, like so many things do, with a thought.
She sits back and sips her tea. It’s been two weeks since the world almost ended. Two weeks since her adopted daughter offered up her saingeom and begged for her death. Two weeks since everyone found out. And one week since everything was fine. She has to give Bobby credit, he’s good with PR. They claimed it was a skin condition that she’s been hiding for years out of shame, which isn’t untrue, but that she’s tired of hiding it. Everyone seems to have forgotten the implications. People thought they were tattoos, now they think they’re a benign medical issue, and everyone has moved on to talking about the Comeback tour. She almost couldn’t wish for a cleaner ending.
But still… if that’s all it took, she wished she had known years ago. It would’ve saved her a lot of trouble.
She can picture the day so very clearly. “Celine, if you’re building the group around me, what if the other two see my patterns? What if the public does?”
She turns and she can see the anxiety. The fear. The shame. “We can tell them it’s a skin condition, and people will move on.”
But that’s not what you did.
It’s not. She wishes she did. It would’ve made everything so much easier. But she didn’t. “Celine, if you’re building the group around me, what if the other two see my patterns? What if the public does?”
Her mouth moves without her thinking. “You just can’t let that happen. You need to be vigilant and make sure that no one finds out. Your faults and fears must never be seen.”
Exactly right. What you always told her.
The air stills. But she thinks back even further.
She’s braiding Rumi’s hair, sitting in front of Mi-yeong’s grave. “So everything that has patterns?”
She pauses. Considers. Doesn’t push Rumi’s sleeve down. “Not you. You’re not a demon. You’re a Hunter, like your mother was. We’ll—”
Try again.
She’s already pushing Rumi’s sleeve down. “Cover those up. You only have those because...”
“My dad was a demon?”
“Yes, but that doesn’t make you one. You want to help people and protect—”
Don’t delude yourself.
“You’re not one of them, Rumi. You’re a Hunter, like your mother was. You’re still good and you can do right—”
But what did you really say?
“You’re not one of them, Rumi. You’re a Hunter, like your mother was. When the Honmoon is sealed, all demons will be gone from this world. And then there will be nothing—”
You know you didn’t comfort her in any way that mattered.
“And so will your patterns.”
Good. You do remember.
Her tea has gone cold.
Rumi, seventeen and still hesitant, walks around the corner. She can hear the other two chattering in the distance as they leave. “Maybe they’ll understand.”
Celine sips her tea, the warmth briefly filling her chest. “Maybe they will. We just have to do it caref—”
No.
“We can warm them up to—”
Try again.
“No, they won’t, at first. But we—”
You know what you said.
“I can be there to reassure th—”
Your line is “No, Rumi.” From the top.
Rumi, seventeen and still hesitant, walks around the corner. She can hear the other two chattering in the distance as they leave. “Maybe they’ll understand.”
Her mouth obeys an unspoken command. “No, Rumi. Nothing can change until your patterns are gone.”
Rumi looks as dejected as she remembers. But she can’t do anything but sip her tea and let the heat scald her throat. She could’ve saved herself so much trouble if she just said yes once.
But you didn’t. You never could when she was involved.
She’s standing over a corpse. She’s standing over a disintegrating demon body.
No. She’s standing over Mi-yeong’s slowly fading body, as she holds out an infant. “Please, Celine... Please take care of Rumi.”
She takes the child in her arms, looks down at her closest friend, a full third of her soul, and swears to her. Swears that she will raise this child as her own. Swears that she will know every bit of love her mother had for her.
And then she looks down. She sees the marks. Ice boils in her veins. She swears she can see that demon smirking. But they’re both gone. They’re both gone because of her.
You never even bothered to learn his name.
He was a demon. He didn’t deserve it.
“Celine?” Rumi is sitting on the floor and paging through a book of illustrations with as much care as a seven year old holding a centuries-old tome can muster. “Which one was my dad?”
She lies. It’s as easy as breathing. “I don’t know.”
“Oh. Do you know what his name was?”
She hesitates and looks down at her tea. “I don’t, I’m sorry—”
You were doing so well.
—what his name was?”
“I never learned—”
—name was?”
“No, and it doesn’t matter, all demons are the same, Rumi. He wasn’t special.” She snaps. She doesn’t want to. But her body moves without her willing it. She can see the heartbreak on Rumi’s face, and she can see Rumi slowly starting to dig her nails into her skin, right where her patterns are. She wants to say something, tell her she’s not actually a demon, but instead she turns away and pours her tea down the sink.
Some noise comes from down the hall, and she’s outside.
The three girls are sparring. Rumi, as always, in long sleeves and a turtleneck, despite the heat. She used to think it was better this way.
“Rumi, come here. Girls. Let’s go inside so you don’t all get heat stroke.”
Now you’re not even trying.
“Rumi, drink some water, I don’t want you to overh—”
Take this seriously.
“Rumi, you don’t have to push yourself—”
Time plays itself backwards, and she can’t move. She just watches, silently, as Rumi sweats and gets pale and is only saved by her higher resilience due to her years of training and her demonic heritage. They train until dusk, then they come in.
“You did well, Rumi, you should be proud—”
Proud?
“You did well, Rumi, you shouldn’t feel ashamed—”
Shouldn’t?
“You did well, Rumi, but that was reckless—”
What did you really say?
Celine can’t speak as Rumi walks past her. She’s itching at her arms where she knows her patterns are. She sets her tea down. The other two walk in.
“Good work today, everyone.”
She sets her tea down. The other two walk in.
“Everyone did well—”
She sets her tea down. The other two walk in.
“I can see how you three are starting to work as a team—”
She sets her tea down. The other two walk in.
“You still have a long way to go, but you three—”
She sets her tea down. The other two walk in.
“Good form today. You two are improving. Soon enough you’ll be able to fight in sync with Ru—”
She sets her tea down. The other two walk in.
“Good form today. You’re improving. Keep at it.”
A radiant smile peeks out at her, still shy after eight months of training.
If you’re not going to say your lines, I’m just going to have to direct you more closely.
She’s suddenly looking at three girls sitting on the floor, while she’s about to shatter two of their illusions about reality. “I suppose you two have suspected that this isn’t normal idol training.”
“I mean, yeah, I’m not super familiar with the whole process or anything, but all the fighting and—”
“Zoey.” Celine raises a hand, and she stops mid-thought, with a look of embarrassment and horror on her face. “You have been training together for two months. It’s time you know the truth. The world will know you as pop stars, but you will be much more than that.” She silently hums, and the Honmoon stretches back, giving enough play to pull an ancient weapon from its weft. “You will be Hunters.”
As if on cue, she sees a glimpse of magenta out of the corner of her eye. Rumi sees it too, and instinctively starts to sing, “we are Hunters, voices strong”.
The tear reacts: it can only grow so much against a Hunter’s song. The demon that rises two measures later barely has a beat to step foot onto the earth before its head is severed and its body is disintegrating into twisted sparks. Rumi is still singing. She hasn’t stopped. Celine joins in, a third below, “when darkness finally meets the light.” The tear mends itself, drawing strength from the harmony of two of its chosen. The patch is unstable, but good enough for now. She dismisses her weapon, and the Honmoon hums as it absorbs the energy.
Rumi slumps down, unreadable. Except Celine has seen this before, and she knows that expression is shame. Zoey and Mira, for their part, are stunned. So she continues, “Demons have always haunted our world, stealing our souls and channeling strength back to their king, Gwi-ma. Until heroes arose to defend us. Born with—”
“Wait wait wait, hold up, sorry, wait, what?!” Zoey’s energy has finally bubbled over and spilled out in a medley of confusion and concern. “You mean demon demons? Like demons?? From the stories parents tell to scare kids? You’re not serious, you can’t—”
“Zo, we saw her pull a sword from thin air and some guy explode into confetti.”
“Mira, have you ever been to a birthday party? So Celine’s a magician; it all makes sense now, oh no that’s why, why is it always magicians, oh it all makes sense, oh I—”
“Zoey.” Celine puts a hand on her shoulder and freezes Zoey mid-thought. “I’m sorry. But it is true. Demons are real. But there’s more to the story.” She takes a careful step back. Zoey, for her part, has been nearly frozen in either shock, panic, or both. “Yes, demons terrorized the world. Until heroes born with voices that could drive back the darkness emerged, singing songs of courage and hope.”
She’s still stunned, but Zoey seems attentive. Mira is playing her part and is entirely unreadable. So she continues. “But Hunters are more than warriors. Our music ignites the soul and brings people together. With this connection, the first Hunters created a shield to protect our world, the Honmoon. Every generation, a new trio of Hunters is chosen to fulfill our duty.” She gestures. “The Honmoon has chosen you three to defend it, strengthen it, and perhaps, one day, seal it to prevent demons from ever entering our world again.” She points back to where the demon emerged. “What did you two notice about that demon?”
“Died fast.”
“Kinda scary.”
“Rose from the ground.”
“Weird arm tattoos.”
Celine points at Zoey, “yes. Those patterns. All demons have them. Sometimes they can hide them, but they can never hide for too long.” She pauses for a second, and says what she wishes she did. “But not everyone with patterns is a demon. Sometimes good, honest humans end up with them—”
And you were doing so well. Take that again.
Celine points at Zoey, “yes. Those patterns. All demons have them. Sometimes they can hide them, but they can never hide for too long. And they’re always evil.” Rumi shifts slightly, almost imperceptibly. She was already gripping at the patterns underneath her sleeves, so the slight tension in her hand wouldn’t read to anyone, not even a Hunter. But Celine raised her. And she noticed. “Demons are clever and fierce. And humans can get caught up in their schemes. Like Rumi, here.” Rumi’s eyes widen in fear. Celine does what she wishes she did, and smiles, “it’s okay. Rumi’s mother was—”
No.
“And humans can get caught up in their schemes. Like Rumi, here.” Rumi’s eyes widen in fear. “Rumi’s father was a demon, and passed these—”
No.
“—get caught up in their schemes. They can and will manipulate anyone for any purpose. Even Hunters, if they can. Rumi’s mother—”
If you need your line, I can give it to you. But you know what you said.
“—in their schemes. They can and will manipulate anyone for any purpose. Even Hunters, if they can.” She doesn’t want to. She wants to fix her mistakes. But her body continues for her, “so it’s your job to stay vigilant and keep humans safe.” She takes a breath. “You three will need every advantage you can get. Like Rumi,” who shrinks at the sound of her name, “whose father left her with—”
Try. That. Again.
“So it’s your job to stay vigilant and keep humans safe.” She watches herself lecture these girls. “You three are the weapons and the shield. You protect and heal the Honmoon. And one day, you three will seal it for good. Our victory is almost in reach.” Rumi shifts. Her body is here, but her mind isn’t. The shame is overwhelming. Celine wants to say something, anything else to defuse the situation, to prevent future catastrophe, to help Rumi, but she can’t. Her body is frozen, and the conductor has not set a tempo.
Zoey’s hand shoots up. Celine nods at her. “Okay so I know... I guess I get that demons are real. And that we’re some kind of... magical girl team to beat them back and protect humanity. But,” she casts her eyes to the ground, “where do they come from? Like, back in America people think they’re either like evil people who died or fallen angels, and if you take Supernatural lore then they’re both that and just things that emerged on their own, and sometimes witches can have kids that are demons, but maybe—” She cuts herself off mid-sentence. “Um. Sorry. But yeah, where do they come from? How many do we have to beat?”
Celine is able to speak. So she does. Slowly and carefully. “Some are made there, I assume. And some demons can... reproduce. Rumi’s father, for instance—”
You’ve about hit the limits of my patience.
“Some are made by Gwi-ma, I assume. But we know that half-demons can exist, so it’s not unreasonable to assume that demons can reproduce.” She gives Rumi a brief smile and nod, “Demons can have children with humans. Take Rumi—”
“—How many do we have to beat?”
Her mind jerks as if a puppet on a string. “I don’t know. All I know is that everything with patterns is evil, and must die. And we Hunters need to kill as many demons as it takes to protect humanity.”
Was that so hard? If you’re going to keep trying to delude yourself, I’ll just have to give you a firmer hand than I have been.