Chapter Text
Mornings at the sanctuary have always been the same, from the moment she rises with the songbirds until the moon ascends to its throne, Rumi's days have never changed. Meditation with Celine, working on her assignments—math and history that take up much of her time. Too much of it, if you ask her, time that could've been spent training to be a real hunter.
The evenings brought sparring, weapons practice, and everything else that came with being an idol—song etched into her vocal chords, dance thrumming beneath her skin. Celine hasn't gone easy on her during all this, raising her to one day take over her role as the honmoon's hunter.
And as the sun kissed goodnight, her guardian would be forced into action—the honmoon calling for support, demons that made their way past the barrier.
Tonight had been no different, Celine leaving just as the moon reached its peak, its gentle glow spilling across darkened ground. She had gone alone, as always.
All she ever wanted was to prove her worth, she's been training all her life for this. The clashes of her sword, the twist of her body, sweat dripping down her skin—muscle memory engraved into flesh. Bruises from fights not yet from demons, blooms of purple that rivals that of her hair. Celine's been teaching her for as long as she can remember, and yet according to the woman she's still too young, even if she's weeks into being sixteen.
That's ridiculous, Rumi thinks, Celine was even younger when she went on her first solo hunt. But even though her own soul screams out at her, the weight of the honmoon clawing at her skin, dread that builds with each passing second, she can't bring herself to disobey her instructions. She can't bring herself to disappoint Celine, to disappoint her only family.
All she can do is wait, that's something she's good at doing.
Tears to the honmoon usually occur at night, when the world is silent and souls become most vulnerable. Rumi has made peace with the quiet that Celine leaves behind, ever since her childhood. She remembers her guardian sneaking out long past tucking her into bed. Blankets heavy around her chest, a teddy bear tucked beside her. All the riches in the world, and Celine still wouldn't fix the squeak of the front door.
Sometimes, she'd drift off to her dreams, the innocence of her youth made sleep come easy. But then she grew older; she learnt the truth of this world—what demons are, what Celine's real role was, and Rumi couldn't stay asleep. Not when Celine was out there, defending the barrier on her own, the weight of the world on her shoulders. Not when she'd stumble in the darkness of their home, scents of moss and blood diffusing into the air, metallic and earthy, scents that too quickly become familiar. Certainly not when she'd catch her only parent struggling with her wounds.
She's good at waiting, at being alone.
Under the moon's guiding light, she sits on the veranda, where she usually stays if sleep feels impossible, waiting once more for Celine to come back to her. The chill of the north winter winds biting her skin, even under her long-sleeved hoodie and thick fluffy socks.
The hunter's compound in Jeju is large and expansive, with vegetation at every corner. Even though it's usually her and her thoughts, Rumi doesn't really mind it. She likes to walk to every edge, circle the great tree, sometimes visit her mother's grave. Flowers usually sprout along each pathway, she and Celine take great care of each life that takes root in their home. The birds that sing their melodies, the fleeting glances of the deers, down to the earth-dwelling insects, the two would do their best to support each creature—the compound, a sanctuary for the broken and weak to rest. These animals gave her comfort, made Rumi feel less alone, though she's seen them less often ever since the seasons turned.
Those times spent wandering were usually out of boredom, though rarely they start from an argument with Celine—these days, such instances have become more frequent. A pull of her shirt, training sessions that wore her down, conversations that neither can bring themselves to have. Hands that twitch, aching to grab the other's, somehow her guardian always seemed to push her away. Maybe it's because she's older, as her touch came less easily; or maybe it's because of her patterns.
It's not like she asked to be born different. And yet Celine couldn't stand its sight. Every moment they peaked through her clothing the woman would scold her for it, tell her to fix her shirt, that it's for her safety—but is it really necessary when it's only the two of them?
She remembers trying to scrub them off, once when she was younger, maybe eight or nine, a fresh mark jagged across her arm. Every ounce of despair she felt seemed to cause more to sprout, lightnings of purple sharply stinging.
Hours were spent scraping against her skin, blooms of red littering her shoulders. Nothing seemed to work—she would've kept going, even as the layers of flesh wore down, threatening to tear, had Celine not found her. Wide eyes stared back at her own teary ones as her guardian realised what she was doing.
It took a while for her to calm as Celine scrabbled about, eventually she was able to guide her breathing, slowing her fast beating heart. Rumi recalls how the woman held her ear to her chest, trying to match her inhales. Celine told her that she needed to control her emotions, that she couldn't lose herself to them. Faults and fears. She doesn't know if she quite agrees with her, but what can she do anyway? Celine's methods seem to be working enough. At least to the point that they don't spread so rapidly.
But even then, the bolts of unnatural colour continue to expand, slowly over the years, erosions of time that wore into her skin—Rumi wonders if one day these patterns would overtake her. Celine keeps reassuring that she isn't one of them, yet she was still born of one. Is her life even considered natural? She fears the day she may lose herself to her heritage, that those markings engulf her—an ever growing tide.
She has yet to find an answer that satisfies her.
Right now though, she's content with gazing at the stars, mapping the constellations behind the ocean blue of threads. Celine should be back soon anyway, that is if everything went smoothly on her end.
The battle would be faster if she were there. The idea bitter in her mind.
She distracts herself by trying to find Canopus, a rare sight, only visible this time of year, with the frost of the winter months, low in horizon, but one that Celine once taught her about. A symbol of longevity, the woman had told her, back when she was little and the vastness of the inky sky fascinated her beyond understanding.
The shrill noise of the wooden door alerts her. Her feet pad along the floorboards, quick with her steps towards the sound.
“Celine—”
A tug pulls at her soul, she feels her own heartbeat quicken, feelings of nervousness intermingles with excitement. The honmoon pulsing brighter as she moves, and then she sees them.
There's someone else here, unfamiliar, but something inside her knows this is right, that she's meant to know this person.
A girl, no older than herself, although taller, stands a pace behind Celine. In the ambered lamp-light, she barely makes out the head of pink hair, strands that dip below her back.
“Rumi,” she hears Celine exhale, “this is Mira, she'll be staying with us tonight.”
Her guardian steps forward, reaches a hand behind her, beckoning the stranger—Mira, apparently, forward, while bringing the other towards her face, lightly touching her cheek with the back of her knuckles. The short moment of contact pulls her out of her shock, icy fingers that soon pull away. Rumi looks over Celine first, seeing the unsteady gait and shakiness of her limbs. Her clothes show signs of struggle, the battle worn across now dirty clothes. She's injured.
Celine seems to catch onto her thoughts, shaking her head gently, “Can you show Mira the guest room please?”
Rumi doesn't want to leave her guardian all alone, who she knows will wobble herself towards the nearest first aid kit—but currently she has little choice, the unfamiliar girl still hangs back.
“Oh, yeah sure,” she hears herself reply. Remnants of shock giving way to confusion, there's so many questions bubbling on her tongue. But Celine wouldn't answer any right away, with the way she's struggling on one leg.
Turning to Mira, she points towards the staircase, “It's this way,” walking ahead of her, threads of the honmoon still glowing around them.
They're halfway up the stairs before she realises that she needs to properly introduce herself, manners Rumi, seriously.
“I'm Rumi by the way,”
“Mira.” She offers nothing else.
The bedroom sits across Rumi's own, basic in all its furniture, but still as clean as any other room. Flicking on the lightswitch, she guides both into the space. Mira all but drops down onto the bed, her weight dipping heavily into the mattress.
“What the hell is happening.”
All of Rumi's nerves buzzed under her skin, was Mira feeling the same? “I have no clue…but it might be good?” The honmoon pulses erratically, but its strong threads of blues tells her that they're safe, it weaves its form around the two girls, almost like it's trying to bring them together.
“Good? it feels like my heart is fucking exploding!” Her voice rising, a wave crashing down, she quickly loses her energy, leaning back on her palms.
“Celine said she'll explain whatever this is,” the girl murmurs, waving her hand above her, towards the honmoon's excited ebbings.
“You can see the honmoon?”
“The blue thing? Yeah, and it's going crazy.”
Mira's not wrong either, the honmoon has been acting up almost abnormally, in a way that she has never seen.
Rumi is unsure of what to say, she's never really talked to someone her age for long, let alone shared her space with someone other than Celine. Being rather avoidant with her peers for most of her life made her socially awkward—in fact, she considers herself best at her public appearances, it's easy to follow the formula Celine taught her. Shake hands, maintain eye contact, laugh when expected. Every word she needs to speak is preplanned, a script she's meant to follow.
This, however, is completely out of her comfort, she doesn't even know where this girl came from.
She instead tries to study Mira's form, attempting to gather any bits of information that might ease her confusion. There's specks of dirt across Mira's clothes, the jacket she wears is one Rumi recognises—it's the same one Celine grabbed before leaving. A scowl crossed her face.
That leaves her more curious than before, but also equally terrified for what might have transpired. Mira must have been caught up in Celine's fighting, but why bring her all the way to their home? Celine wouldn't normally do something so bold. Is this even legal, bringing a random teenager home? Does her parents even know? Rumi decides that it's not her battle to fight, Celine would figure it out, she always did.
“Well I don't know what happened out there, but if you want to shower, the bathroom is just down this hall. It should have everything you need”
Mira sighs, “I don't have any other clothes.”
“Don't worry, you can borrow some of mine,” Rumi tries to smile, to show the girl that she's friendly, but this whole situation has been so bizarre.
Mira's features soften, giving her as close to a smile that she's seen from her tonight. “Thanks,” she replies quietly, taking her leave towards the hall.
The tightness of her chest loosens as she too moves away, the honmoon no longer blinding her vision. She pulls out one of her oversized hoodies, a dark grey that matches to the green one she wears, another long sleeved undershirt, and a pair of pajama pants, printed with cats. She hopes Mira would be okay with it, the patterns might be childish, but it's the longest one she owns.
Right, she needs to be careful with her own patterns. Rumi counts herself lucky that it's winter, the extra layers she wears aren't unusual.
Folding the clothes neatly on Mira's bed, she writes a little note saying that she'll be downstairs, before searching for Celine.
The kitchen and living room are both clear, and so are any of the surrounding areas. Her guardian must be in the other bathroom then. Knocking on the door she asks, “Celine, are you okay…do you need any help?” Rumi hasn't forgotten the way she favoured one leg.
She hears a deep sigh from the other side of the door, “You can come in.”
Over the years, Celine has become a bit more willing to receive her help, but even then it depends on the woman's mood, who mostly refused to accept her aid. Tonight must have worn herself down, the way she lets Rumi in.
Inside, the cold fluorescents highlight all the weariness on Celine's face. She sits on the edge of the closed lid toilet, left ankle resting on the tub's edge. From where she stands, it looks swollen, redness blooming across the bone, angry and loud. There's some other scrapes, small slashes against paler skin, but nothing dangerous. A first aid kit sits on the counter beside her.
“It's not broken, but I can't wrap it properly,” Celine opens her palms, revealing a few more cuts, calloused skin peeling. The winter air certainty didn't help her already dried skin.
Rumi springs into motion, following Celine's instructions, she stabilises her ankle with one of the rolls of bandages. The woman trying to suppress her flinches with each new pressure of wraps. It doesn't take long for her to finish, and before Celine can stop her, she detaches the shower head, motioning her hands over to wash the remaining blood, avoiding the now secured ankle.
Once they're cleaned, Rumi applies a thick medicated ointment over the cracking skin, wrapping both hands with new rolls of bandages. She then takes small bandaids, gingerly pressing them on the worst of the remaining cuts.
She knows Celine could've done it herself, the way she did for all her life, but she hates seeing her guardian struggle on her own. Rumi has taken to learning first aid, practically begging Celine a few years ago to teach her.
Glancing up, she sees Celine looking fondly at her, a wistful expression resting over her face.
“There's so much of her in you,” she whispers, letting her words fill the air between them. “Thank you, Rumi.” Motioning for her to lean forward, Celine presses a tender kiss to her temple, soft and unburdened, so surprisingly unguarded.
Rumi smiles at the sudden affection, it's rare for her to be so open.
“What happened tonight?” she asks, even though she's afraid of ruining the moment.
Celine lets out another shaking breath, “I believe one of your hunters has found her way to you.”
“Wait…Really?” Rumi has dreamed of this moment since the day she learnt of her purpose, she's heard of the stories of previous hunter groups, the interconnected soul bonds that come with it.
She hesitates again, “if she is a hunter, then can she know about the patterns?” That's not unreasonable right? Shouldn't she know about this too?
Sharp, quick, a sentence practiced time and time again, “Rumi, we must hide this. Nobody else can know about them.”
“But why not? What if she finds out later on?”
“We'll cover them up, just as we always do. It would only be until the honmoon turns gold. You know it's for your safety.” Her voice raises a bit, cutting through the silence Rumi leaves behind.
She doesn't like that answer; her whole life has been spent hiding this part of her, if her fellow hunters can't even know, then how was she supposed to live with them.
Celine must see the disappointment in her face but all she asks is, "where's Mira?”
“She's showering upstairs.”
Still, the thought of another hunter finally being found both excites her and fills her with dread. Maybe now she can finally make a real friend, even if she can't be as open as she wanted to be with her. As little as she likes the notion, her first genuine friendship would be built off lies. It's for her safety after all.
Reaching over to ruffle her hair, Celine continues, “I'll explain what I know when she's done, for now help me to the couch.”