Chapter Text
“And now the entertainment news with Choi Min-Seouk!”
“Last night Seoul once more paid host to the International Idol Awards, and once again, there was a clean sweep from international megastars HUNTR/X, who won awards in major categories, including Idol Group of the Year and Album of the Year. This comes hot off the heels of ‘Comeback’, their most successful album release to date, which has broken records the group themselves have set with their own past releases, and marks a surprising change in their sound, particularly with the unprecedented success of their single ‘What It Sounds Like’, a bold change for the superstars.
“Critics generally agree that this is an incredible achievement, especially with the tumultuous events of the Idol Awards in 2025, and the follow-up surprise joint concert at Namsan Tower, which even now continue to be hotly debated in many circles. Especially as the public felt they were receiving an exclusive front row seat to the very public break-up of HUNTR/X and the vanishing of breakout stars the Saja Boys, who have not been seen or heard from since that day”-
The TV clicked off. Mira sat back and tossed the remote down onto the table. “Did they mention last year’s awards?” asked a voice from the kitchen.
“They mentioned last year’s awards,” Mira sighed. “I’m almost impressed. They managed thirty seconds before they brought it up.”
“Must be a new record,” Rumi added, putting a mug of ginger tea down on the table beside Mira, then curled up on the sofa a few feet away with her own.
To be fair, that had been a crazy night. It was honestly a miracle that any of them had made it through. Everyone – including the people of Seoul – had come this close to being lost forever, and then the rest of the world being subjected to a demon apocalypse as Gwi-ma gorged himself on souls.
Luckily, that never came to pass.
Though that didn’t stop nearly every station or brand who interviewed them from bringing up the Idol Awards 2025, or videos taken on the night from ending up on social media. Because regardless of how much you tried to purge something off of the internet, that was almost impossible. Nothing was ever deleted from the internet. At least if an interviewer brought it up to their faces it was easy to drop the ‘this interview is over’ and leave quickly before one of them started to spiral.
“You okay there?” Rumi asked, and Mira turned to her bandmate. “You got this real faraway look in your eye.”
“Sorry. I went back there. Again. Last year,” Mira admitted, playing with the hem of her sweater. “I know I shouldn’t torture myself like that, but…”
“It’s hard.”
“Yeah.”
“I keep going back there myself,” Rumi added. “Not as frequently now, but…well, you know how much noise I was making during my night terrors.”
Mira nodded gravely. Months after that night it wouldn’t be uncommon for her and Zoey to be woken in the dead hours of the night by Rumi yelling as though she was being set on fire, and they’d go racing in to find her tossing and turning, her patterns flaring between red and purple as she was caught in the throes of nightmares. And after waking her and getting her settled, they would all fall asleep together sharing the same bed, sharing comfort. By the morning, the patterns would be back to their usual soft iridescence. It was remarkable how much had changed since then with their half-demon leader. For one thing she no longer exclusively wore hoodies and turtlenecks, with short sleeves firmly back in fashion. Though the hoodie habit was a tougher one to kick. And she was far more open to sharing more of herself and what she was feeling with them both. The day she finally agreed to go with the bath house with them, Zoey’s head had nearly exploded on the spot. Now they kept their visits to at least once a month.
“You’re staring,” Rumi said, drawing Mira out of her thoughts, flashing one of her signature goofy, lop-sided grins. She was dressed in white denim shorts with a green t-shirt with a low neck, and her patterns were shimmering their ‘default’ iridescent rainbow shine. Unlike the ugly, purple, jagged marks that branded Gwi-ma’s servants, these were…softer, quieter. They looked like they were part of her rather than something imprinted onto her. The ones on her limbs were like jagged looping bands, while the ones circling her delicate features emerged from her hairline and curved around her cheeks like jagged bolts of lightning. She’d cut her hair since last year too: though still long, it only went down to the middle of her back now rather than her calves. It saved her literal hours when it came to braiding it, and it also helped match the looser, more relaxed way she lived her life now.
“Sorry,” said Mira, glancing away, flushing a little pink.
“It’s okay,” Rumi said, one eyebrow raised, “it’s hard not to. Everyone’s type, and all that.”
“Careful,” Mira warned, “your head gets too big and you won’t be able to fit through the doorways in the penthouse.” They both giggle at that.
“Mira?” Rumi asked. “Are you really okay?”
“Yeah,” Mira nodded. But Rumi just kept watching her, patiently.
“Mira…you know you can be honest,” she added. “We all discussed it, remember?”
“I know that, it’s just…”
“Old habits?”
“Old habits,” echoed Mira.
“I get it,” Rumi nods, “but also…no more hiding, right?”
“Right.”
The Visual had accepted long ago that she was never the easiest person to get on with. She was abrasive, blunt, and short-tempered. Being raised in an environment where you were made to feel like you had to meet vague, impossible standards would do that to you. Crushing expectations and constant disappointment had turned her into an angry little girl who dyed her hair bright pink and scowled in the family pictures just to get some kind of reaction from her family. Even when she had first come into HUNTR/X years before as an angry and sullen sixteen-year-old, she had lashed out and picked fights with the girls she was meant to protect the world alongside. She didn’t want to be friends with them.
But those jagged edges were easily turned into a gimmick to sell tickets and merchandise. Scalpers would pay stupid amounts of won or dollars or whatever to hoard up merchandise with her composed, nonchalant expression staring out at them. It was something she fully leaned into, being careful not to frame any of it as a fault or a fear. She wore it like armour, instead.
It was harder to accept the fact that she did in fact care: cared so deeply sometimes that it scared her. Their first few official demon hunts, when Rumi and Zoey had taken hard hits as they learned how to be an effective team in the field, Mira had been struck with the realisation that if she had lost either of them she was fairly certain her world would stop turning on the spot. It showed time and again in how she was always aware of her positioning and the angle her gok-do took on each swing so she could put herself between the danger and one of the girls at a moment’s notice.
Last year, she had nearly lost both of them.
The image of Rumi in that dark basement beneath the Idol Awards stage, her skin marred with those damn patterns, begging them not to leave her and insisting she could still fix the world and herself had burned itself into Mira’s memory. Along with the follow up of her raising her gok-do to her best friend. But she had been so hurt, so angry, so heartbroken she had fallen back on her training, those instincts that Celine had drilled into them all: if you see those patterns, do not hesitate. And eternal shame was her reward.
No wonder she fell victim to that traitorous voice in the back of her head telling her she never deserved a family. She knew now it was Gwi-ma’s voice, but it had been layered with a venomous version of her own. Her worst insecurity, turned against her.
And even after all of that, Rumi had still turned around and come back to save them all.
“Mira,” Rumi said again, with slightly more force to it.
“Sorry,” Mira sighed, wiped at her face, and shifted a little closer. “Just thinking about how…how we all came this close to losing each other. And I…I just drove you away so quickly.”
“You were hurt, Mira,” Rumi reasoned, “and I don’t blame you. Anyone would.”
“But family is meant to work things out together,” Mira retorted, “you don’t turn your back on each other! And besides…the way you looked at us in that basement. It was like you weren’t surprised it would end that way.”
Her bandmate grows very quiet. “Why do you think I was too scared to say anything all this time? That was part of it. Like I would tell you both and you would do your duty on the spot. Celine trained us all well.” Mira grimaced and looked away, ashamed. Because she was right: that thought has passed Mira’s mind in that basement, for a treacherous second. And she would carry that with her for the rest of her life.
“And,” Mira continued, “I don’t like the fact you’re going to Jeju. To see her.”
Celine.
Who had given them all so much. Who had given Mira a new purpose and trained her to fight literal monsters and protect the world and keep people safe. And who had taken Rumi in after her mother’s death and raised her to be the badass lead singer and demon hunter that countless people all over the world adored.
And also raised her to hate that demon side of her, to hide it away and be ashamed of it.
When they had all talked through things in the weeks after the Idol Awards, Mira had felt that familiar flash of white hot anger in her core when she heard of just how Rumi had been raised, with a mindset of hiding away the parts of her she was ashamed of, even from her best friends, who would have understood if only they had known. It had taken both of the others to convince Mira not to fly down to Jeju to give Celine a piece of her mind.
“I know how you feel about her now,” Rumi sighed, “you’ve made that clear plenty of times. But Celine…she still took me in when I lost my eomma, she still raised me and gave me much. I just can’t ignore that.”
“You can’t ignore that she made you hide away half of your lineage, either!” Mira shot back, feeling her anger rising again. “Our faults and fears must never be seen? You followed that to the letter and look what almost happened! We all came this close to losing each other, and I’d hate to think what I would have done – no, I don’t have to imagine. It did happen. For a few hours, but it happened, and- ”
Rumi suddenly covers the distance between them and wraps her arms around Mira’s chest, and pulls the taller girl into her, just holding her for the moment. “I know,” she says quietly. “I know, and the thought still terrifies me too. Celine was wrong about so many things…but I still owe her something. I need to at least try to repair it.”
Mira gingerly returns the embrace. She’s still getting used to the idea of a Rumi who is far more open to physical affection after a lifetime of keeping everyone at a distance. But she enjoys it. She’ll admit that much. “I know…if it were me I would never talk to her again. But it’s not up to me, in the end. So I’ll still support you. Doesn’t mean I have to like it, though.”
“I know,” Rumi smiles into the embrace, “but I appreciate your support, Mira. Thank you. For that and everything else.”
“No problem,” the Visual smiles back even though Rumi can’t see the expression, and they just stay like that for a spell. So long in fact they don’t even realise their third has come back home from the Sunlight Entertainment Songwriting Workshop she had been leading that morning.
“Hey, are you guys having a cuddle puddle without me? Rude.”
They both looked up at Zoey standing there, hands on hips, an easy smile on her face. Her dress style was colourful and chaotic as usual: her bomber jacket with all the leaf designs on it, white t-shirt with a school of colourful fish swimming in an ocean graphic, and baggy cargo shorts with so many pockets and blue sneakers, shoulder bag looped around her body. She watches them for a moment longer and then basically dives on top of them.
“Cuddle puddle dive!” she cries, and then is flattening them both as she pulls them into her enthusiastic embrace. Mira just about manages to snatch her mug off the table and get it out of the danger zone before impact.
“Zoeyyy!” protests Rumi with a giggle.
“Zoey, your bag hit me in the face!” Mira announces, with fond annoyance.
“Not sorry,” Zoey says, finally pulling away, still beaming.
“Have fun at the workshop?” Rumi asked.
“Rumi, it was so much fun,” Zoey enthused. “Those kids were so talented! So many naturals there. And…the Honmoon was reacting strongly to some of the girls there. I think it’s eager to find its next generation of Hunters.”
“Well, sooner it does the sooner we can retire from all this,” Mira smirked. “Not that I want this to end anytime soon,” she adds, and they all shared a laugh.
“You all set for Jeju?” asked Zoey, looking at Rumi.
“Almost.”
Zoey’s usual exuberance faded somewhat. “You ready to…well, whatever’s going to happen with Celine?”
“No,” Rumi said. “But I was just saying to Mira I still owe Celine a lot. So, I want to try and make it work.”
“We know,” Zoey says, softly, one hand on Rumi’s, “and we’ll be there with you every step of the way. And…if it doesn’t work out I’ll come down and use her for target practice.”
“Zoey…” warned Mira.
“Kidding!” the maknae beamed, though Mira wasn’t so sure she was. Zoey could be pretty intense when it came down to it, whether it was in a fight or a rap battle or even performing live. So she was convinced that Zoey would easily fly down to Jeju and throw shin-kal at Celine’s head if she felt angry enough.
“Well the car’s due in twenty minutes, so I better finish up,” Rumi says, untangling herself from the cuddle puddle and getting up and taking her mug with her, even though it looked like she was extremely reluctant to do so. “Better finish up.” As she left them on the couch alone, Zoey glanced to Mira.
“Everything okay?” she asked. As chaotic and colourful that Zoey could be, she was also surprisingly perceptive of the mood of her bandmates.
“Yeah,” Mira shrugged. “Just talking about…last year. And other stuff. You know, the usual. I’m not happy about her going to see, Celine, etcetera. No tears this time, at least.”
“Well that’s progress,” Zoey chimed, and the smile faded. “Wanna talk about it some more or…?”
“Maybe later,” says Mira, getting to her feet and stretching out. “Since we’re gonna have a couple of nights to ourselves, what do you say to a movie night or two?”
“Oh! Oh! Studio Ghibli marathon!” Zoey announced, bouncing on the spot.
“Again?” chuckled Mira. “Well, they are masterpieces…okay. I’ll put something nice together for us in the kitchen, what do you say?”
“Say less.”
Mira allowed herself a genuine smile as she began to raid the kitchen cupboards, pots and pans rattling as she lined them up on the counter and stove top. That treacherous voice had told her she had never deserved a family. Her biological family had made it clear they would never accept her, and last year she had been convinced this one was due to fail too and was set to walk into oblivion.
But no. She did get to have a family.
While the kitchen reverberated with the clatter of pots and pans, Zoey made a beeline for her bedroom, eager to clear her head of all those new lyrical ideas which had taken root there since she had left the workshop: those kids showed a hell of a lot of promise, especially the quieter ones once they had opened up a little and grown some confidence. She saw a little of herself in those kids, still holding back so much of herself for fear of how she’d be received.
Her bedroom was just like her: colourful and chaotic, with bright colours and ocean graphics across one wall, and another wall covered with strings of polaroid pictures detailing their numerous adventures over the last six years. From fan meet ups and signings to other public events and live concerts, as well as plenty of more personal moments between the three of them during their down time. There was them visiting the Grand Canyon during their last USA tour – Mira looking suitably panicked as Zoey struck a pose right at the very edge of the safety barrier – and over there was them on Charles Bridge in Prague on the 2025 World Tour, swathed in face masks and coats and shades in the winter as the razor-sharp wind blew through. Bobby had almost had heart palpations when they had insisted on visiting the city centre. And over there-
Focus! New lyrics! Write them down! Before you get distracted! Again!
She headed for her desk, which was strewn with some of her notebooks – new and old – and all manner of scrap pieces of paper that she would scribble random snatches of lyrics on, hopefully to copy into a notebook later or to be secured in the studio. There was even a napkin from one of those food stalls down on the Han River they loved to frequent, still smeared with soy sauce. When Zoey had an idea, she had to get it down, no matter what. Even though the others were endlessly finding her notebooks and scraps of paper littered all over the penthouse in random places. There was that one time Rumi found one of the fabled notebooks stuffed deep down the back cushion of the couch, and she held it up for Zoey and raised an eyebrow as though to say ‘really?’
Zoey was happy because she was sure she had lost that particular one a long time ago. She was very proud of what she had written in that particular one.
She opens up her latest notebook – volume 79 (or is it 78?) by her latest count – and then her eye spots something else within the clutter on the desktop, so much you almost can’t see the actual desktop. She pulls out a square of paper back from last year, but she sees what’s written there and she pales.
So sweet, so easy on the eye-
So quickly she can barely follow it herself she shoves the shred of paper into the little portable shredder she has beside her desk and sets it going, one hand to her mouth. She was sure she had basically erased that song from her memory, from the studio recordings, from her notebooks and her other scribblings. Yet it seemed to keep turning up again and again. Like a bad penny that kept turning up.
In fact since last year Zoey had ‘purged’ her library of notebooks of so much, particularly the majority of writings related to watching demons suffer before they were cut down. Even early on in their Hunter careers, Mira and Rumi had often commented on how Zoey seemed to enjoy the hunting aspect of their duties a little too much, smiling a little too happily as she put shin-kal into demons from across the room. And it bled into her lyrics, and even their songs: verses and refrains about watching those who deserve to suffer be cast down into damnation, anyone bearing those hated marks-
-those same marks that had been on the arms of one of her best friends.
Zoey would fill her notebooks with those aggressive and hateful words, she would show them to Rumi and Mira, and the former would nod and put them into whatever they happened to be working on, and then Rumi would sing those same words time and again, even though they also targeted her. And Takedown had taken the cake: not intended to bring people together, but a statement to cause harm, a diss track that had rapidly evolved into something much more aggressive and hateful. Compared to Golden, it may as well have been written for a different genre altogether. It couldn’t bring their fans together: hell, it had nearly torn the three of them apart.
And when Rumi had told them the day before the awards that she didn’t want to even perform the song, Zoey had been crushed: once again feeling that she hadn’t put enough effort in to be a valuable member of the group, or that she had pushed too much, yet again. And then seeing the others at each other’s throats on that train, she was suddenly back to being to that little girl caught in the middle of her parents, in the run up to the divorce. Except she wasn’t a little girl anymore, and these were her friends, and they were all meant to be adults. But she could see it all going the same way.
And then the awards night. The hopeful change in mood from the night before. Seeing the shimmers of gold in the Honmoon. And then…everything else afterwards. The stage lights bursting. Seeing their friend alone on that stage, hunched, alone, terrified like a cornered animal. The patterns blazing on her arms and legs and across her face. For a few horrible moments she was sure her friend had been replaced by a demon at some point when they didn’t notice.
But no. It was still their Rumi. And somehow that made it more painful. All those years together, and she’d kept this massive thing from them. And instead of confiding in her best friends, she had confided in the demon she had known for two weeks. And that same demon had imploded her entire world on stage.
How can we be together if we can’t tell your lies from truth, Rumi?
And then Zoey had raised her shin-kals, mirroring Mira’s gok-do, falling back on what Celine had drummed into them during training. If you saw those patterns, you did not hesitate. It was a trick. Any demon trying to pass themselves off as human was just as act. Demons didn’t feel. But the absolute devastation on Rumi’s face as she begged for Zoey to be on her side?
There was no way to fake that.
And then she had fled into the darkness, and for a few horrible hours Zoey was sure that was going to be it. The end of HUNTR/X, of the world itself, as the Honmoon unravelled itself without fanfare and the people of Seoul blindly marched to their end. And Zoey had willingly joined them, listening to that voice in the back of her head urging her to walk right into something where she could belong…alongside Gwi-ma’s many victims to burn in those magenta flames. Until-
“Zoey?”
She nearly jumps out of her skin and spins her seat to see Rumi standing in the open doorway, her travel case sat at her feet. She was clearly ready for the car coming, but now she watched with eyebrows slightly raised, her patterns flickering curiously. “…you okay there?”
“Oh, fine!” Zoey insists, turning back to her desk and shuffling some papers around. “My head was just bursting with new lyrics after that song writing workshop and I had to get them all down, you know how I am! And then I sat down and saw how messy my desk was”-
“Zoey”-
“-and some of these scraps are from last year so I thought ‘Zoey, you really need to stay on top of keeping your workspaces clean’ and so I got to cleaning them up and got really carried away with that”-
“Zoey.”
Rumi’s voice was still quiet, but just firm enough to stop the lyricist’s thoughts from spiralling further, and she snapped her mouth shut and got quiet for a spell.
“I still had some papers form last year,” she admitted, “from when we were writing Takedown.”
Rumi stiffens. “Okay…”
“…and I put it straight in the shredder, but it just…23 notebooks, Rumi. I had 23 notebooks of demons insults and threats we put into our songs, and I showed them to you and you just…smiled and said they were good and then you went into the studio and recorded them, and you had those patterns on your skin”-
“Zoey”-
“-and I made you sing all those horrible things about yourself, and you’re one of my best friends, no, one of my only friends, and I did that to you, and you just smiled and acted like it was fine and, and”-
Rumi – for the second time within thirty minutes – comes closer and wraps her arms around one of her best friends, and just holds Zoey into her as the younger girl gasps out a low sob, but she manages to hold the rest of it back. It’s crazy that even a year later, how quickly one of them can spiral again. Though not so long ago Zoey would be shedding buckets of tears at this stage.
“…some friend I am,” Zoey manages finally.
“You’re an amazing friend,” Rumi assures her. “You’re incredible. And besides…you never knew any of that stuff about me, because I kept it to myself. All my life.”
“We would have understood, Rumi,” Zoey says. “You should have trusted us.”
“I know that now, and I know it means nothing to just say the words, but I am sorry. And I will keep saying it as many times as it takes.”
“You’ve done plenty, Rumi,” Zoey insists as they finally break away from each other, wiping a sleeve across her face. “I just love the fact we can all go to the bath house together finally.”
Rumi laughed. “That’s your main takeaway? Well…I do enjoy the bath house visits, too. And being able to be honest with you both. With the world.”
“Us too,” Zoey beams, and she grasps Rumi’s hands, running her thumbs over the patterns that circled her delicate digits. “…and I’ll forever be obsessed with these.”
Rumi’s cheeks and aforementioned patterns flush pink for a few moments. “Zoey,” Rumi chuckles, “stop that. You know I just give away how I’m feeling now.”
“Part of why I love them so much,” Zoey said, grinning, and they shared another chuckle. “My friend’s a walking mood ring!”
Ping!
Both of their phones went, and they both checked their notifications. Bobby had just dropped a link into the group chat, with a short message attached.
Just a heads up girls, found another one doing the rounds. We’ve already issued the usual takedown requests so it should be gone soon. See you all next week!
Out in the kitchen they heard Mira let out a growl of frustration.
They clicked on the link at the same time, and both immediately grimaced. It was another video clip on one of the social media apps (the one that used to have the blue bird symbol), with the title of ‘No way this was just an act’. And it’s the Idol Awards 2025. Again. The grainy feed from someone’s cell phone, taken from the crowd. There’s little sound save for the blown-out backing track of Takedown, and some light murmuring from the crowd. And up there on the stage was Rumi, being circled by Mira and Zoey. Or rather, demons wearing their faces.
Back in Zoey’s bedroom, they both put their phones down at the same time. They’d seen enough of those clips over the last year, and they’d all been there anyway. Had talked about it back to front and inside out.
“It’s been a year,” Zoey whispered. “Why can’t people just let it go? And we can’t even tell them what really happened. ‘Hey, so about last year’s Idol Awards? Well that wasn’t me and Mira, they were demons disguised as us exposing Rumi as a secret half-demon in public so they could tear down the barrier that kept the demons back so they could bring their king through into our world and let him feast on souls’”-
“…and the Saja Boys were demons all along,” Rumi added.
“Very cute demons,” Zoey sniggered, and Rumi gave her a reproachful look, eyebrow raised. “Kidding! We still had to kill them, despite my immense regret.”
“Zoey, you are ridiculous,” Rumi said, scandalised.
“But you love me for it?”
“Of course.”
Another spell of silence. And then, “thanks, Rumi.”
“Anytime,” their leader nods. “Remember, you know where to find me if you need to talk about anything at all, right?”
“Of course. Same goes for you, too.”
“Sorry, we having a moment here?”
They look to see Mira standing in the doorway, leaning against it shoulder-first, arms crossed. “And you didn’t invite me for it? Rude. Just rude all around. I know how Zoey felt now.”
“Hey, we had a moment earlier on,” Rumi pointed out, “don’t get jealous.”
“Too late,” was the reply, the Visual coming over and pulling both of them into her embrace, despite Zoey’s squawked protests. “We’ll get through whatever comes next, whether it’s videos being shared around or one of us feeling down. Okay? We’ll get through it together.”
“Together,” Rumi echoed, like a conversation they had all had before the events of last year. But then her face changed, and she checked her phone. “Car’s nearly here…you guys be okay without me for a couple of days?”
“We’ll manage,” Mira shrugged. “We’ve got a Studio Ghibli marathon lined up.”
“Without me?” Rumi faux-pouted, prompting a giggle from Zoey.
“We can do it again after the next round of events,” the maknae insisted. “Now go on: and if you need rescuing then give us a call. Doesn’t matter what time of day it is.”
“Will do,” she laughs, and gets up. “Okay…don’t have too much fun without me!” she finished, and swept out into the hallway, case dragging behind her.
“No promises!” Zoey called after her, as they heard the ping of the elevator and the swoosh of the doors closing, and finally the hum of its steady descent.
“Everything okay?” Mira asked.
“Yeah, it is now,” Zoey nods. “Just…I found another scrap from when we wrote Takedown and it got me spiralling again”-
Mira scowled, but then fondness came back to her features. “Geez Zoey, you know you are allowed to tidy your room more than once a year, right?”
“I know, easily distracted, you know me,” Zoey chuckles. “Maybe I was going to clean it six months ago, but there was a new turtle livestream that I found, and then everything else got away from me”-
“Uh-huh.”
Dusk is starting to fall by the time Rumi arrives at the compound on Jeju, thanking the driver as he makes a u-turn and heads back to the airport. She takes a breath and looks around at the hanok. Her home for most of her life, as she was moulded into a Hunter, like her eomma before her. And also where she was taught and encouraged to hide away one side of her heritage. Something she had zero control over, but for so long she was convinced that it was necessary: that everything else would collapse if the truth came out. That the others would hate her, would leave…or just strike her down on the spot.
But they hadn’t left. They were still here. They hadn’t struck her down, despite that one horrific moment. The Honmoon had been rebuilt.
Not a Golden Honmoon, but a Rainbow one: she watched the distant trees and rolling hills and saw the iridescent shimmer of yellows, pastel reds, cool blues and everything else in between. And it had largely held. Since last year there had been only a handful of breaches. And some clean-up in the months after the awards, as they tracked down those of Gwi-ma’s servants who had been left behind on this side of the Honmoon after they had sent him back to where he belonged.
And her patterns were still here too. Now covering her entire body, but no longer a baleful purple colouration. They cycled through the same colours of the Honmoon as standard, but they would flare up and take on solid colours depending on intense emotions she felt. It had been a fairly simple reveal to the public: spinning them as a rare condition she had been born with and had hidden it away because of shame, but now had accepted it was part of her and wasn’t hiding anymore. The support from the Hunters (as in their fans in this case) had been overwhelmingly positive, as well as leading to numerous people reaching out to reveal they had been inspired by her own example to be more open with their own conditions: vitiligo, birthmarks, a variety of disfiguring conditions, and much more besides. So that had proven to be a beneficial reveal from a PR perspective.
She turns back towards the hanok and sees a familiar figure stepping out onto the front porch, ready to greet her. Rumi stiffens, steels herself with a little intake of breath, and then approaches.
“Rumi,” Celine says, “I’m glad you’ve come.” She looks the same as she has the last time Rumi saw her – perhaps months ago when she was attending an official Sunlight Entertainment event – but she looks somewhat more worn down, exhausted. Rumi never really remembered Celine looking this worn down before. Not since last year. After…that night.
Celine was in her usual garb of sandals, grey pants and white sleeveless shirt, dark hair streaked with silver tied back into a ponytail. Her toned arms are marked with faint threads and bands, long-healed scars from a long two decades of being the sole Hunter maintaining the Honmoon, after the Sunlight Sisters had fallen apart.
“Yes,” Rumi says, honestly not sure what else to say. It’s hard to know, now. When she realised that her adopted mother who raised her, taught her how to fight and sing and dance…while also encouraging her to hide away half of her heritage. And then that night-
“Did you have a good trip?” Celine continued, clearly struggling with what to say now. Han Celine, CEO of Sunlight Entertainment, former Hunter and Sunlight Sister, and mentor to the current generation, at times more like a force of nature. Seemingly diminished since last year. She could barely make eye contact with Rumi. Or her patterns. No surprises there after that night.
“It was fine, thank you,” Rumi said, the gulf opening further between them with every single awkward exchange. She had meant it what she had said to the others: Celine had given her so much that Rumi wouldn’t have been here otherwise, but in balance with everything else…it was difficult to reconcile. She had been tempted to just walk away and never talk to her again like Mira had suggested, but she just couldn’t bring herself to do so. Not without…trying at least.
“Did,” Celine begins, trailing off, clearly struggling with how to progress the conversation, “did you want to see her first?”
Rumi stiffened again. “Yes,” she said quietly, though with firm resolve running through it. She took her time in dropping her case off inside the structure and then they both made their way up the grassy bank, towards the seonandang tree, unmistakeable with its colourful ribbons dangling from the branches. Last time she was here, the tree was a blazing pink bruise upon the Honmoon as it came apart. Now it shone with the same iridescent hues as the new Honmoon now. And beyond…the graves.
Celine hadn’t said a word since she had suggested them visiting the grave. She had hung back from Rumi instead, after pausing to reroute deeper inside the hanok to retrieve a grey long-sleeved top, and then hadn’t said another word. She still couldn’t look at Rumi directly. No, she couldn’t look at the patterns, even a year after everything had gone down. Even though she could see plain evidence anywhere she looked that the new Honmoon was holding, that her half-demon heritage hadn’t caused the apocalypse Celine feared so much.
Soon, there they were. Before her mother’s grave. As well-tended as usual, with fresh incense and flowers left by it. No doubt Celine had added them before Rumi’s arrival, clearly expecting Rumi wanting to come here. She hadn’t been for over a year, after all. She’d been hesitant to come and stay too long since…everything. Though she and Celine had interacted with each other since that night, it had been standoffish, stiff, awkward. Celine knew full well she had erred significantly in how she had raised Rumi, and while HUNTR/X had operated without her direct input for years by this point, they still needed her approval and aid on certain things.
Hence the meetings. Hence why Mira and Zoey stayed away. Hence why Celine still couldn’t look at her.
She knelt before the grave and managed a small smile. A couple of feet behind her, Celine mirrored the post, the gravel barely making a sound as her knees settled. “Hey, eomma,” she began, finding the words as she went. “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. It’s just…a lot’s happened this year. I…well, you can see things have changed with me.”
She shows one of her arms as if her eomma’s there in the flesh, the iridescent bands there shimmering a yellow hue before reverting to their cyclical default.
“I’m not hiding this part of me anymore,” she continues, “and I suppose that was the point. I was never supposed to hide it away. I was meant to accept it. And…the Honmoon – the old one, that is – came apart, but we made a new one. One built off acceptance, and truth, and embracing every part of yourself. The good and the bad. Me, and Mira, and Zoey and everyone else…that’s what’s important. And I should have realised that a long time ago.”
There’s a pause. Silence, save for the breeze through the trees and the long grass and undergrowth. Celine’s breath hasn’t come for a few seconds.
“…and I hope…I hope you’re still proud of me,” Rumi continues, voice becoming strained. “Even when I was this close to just walking away from it all. But I couldn’t just leave them to their fate. I had to try at least. For them. For me.”
She lifts the incense stick she had brought from the hanok, lighting it from a current one and then setting it within the stand, and offered her mother a short, respectful, bow. She took a breath. Despite everything that had happened this past year, despite how far she had come in accepting herself and being more open with herself and with the others, that ache in her soul from the absence of her mother remained. And it would never be filled.
Though someone else had tried. The gravel behind her shifted. “You cut your hair,” Celine says, the first thing she’s said to Rumi since the latter arrived.
“I wanted a change,” Rumi replies. “And besides…it’s a lot easier to deal with when it’s only this length.”
“I…I can braid it for you, if you wish,” Celine adds, sounding as though she’s been gathering the courage to ask such a question. Once, Celine would have done this as naturally as breathing. The young girl crouched or sat before her mother’s grave, while her adoptive mother did her hair.
“Yes,” Rumi says, slightly breathless, and with another hesitation, Celine changes her position, and begins the act of winding and wrapping the lavender locks around and over and under, as softly as though she’s handling the most precious thing in the world. Then she begins to hum. The Hunter’s Mantra, of course. It had become a habit for the both of them during this act, and through so many other shared moments. She begins to sing as Celine begins to hum in turn.
‘We are Hunters, voices strong
Slaying demons with our song
Fix the world and make it right
When darkness finally meets the night…’
Rumi and the others had fixed the Honmoon, replaced it with a stronger one. As for fixing the world, perhaps that was still a long ways off, but they had done much good that day. And continued to do so, as the fan’s connection with HUNTR/X had reached rabid levels, even after six years.
Celine fishes her work – which turns out to be a lot sooner after taking a good twenty-four inches of hair off – and Rumi passes her one of her favoured orange ribbons from her pocket to tie it off, which Celine does as normal. Then there’s another spell of silence, and she finally speaks up again.
“She would be so proud of you, Rumi,” she says finally.
Rumi says nothing, because she honestly can’t think of anything to say. She was three weeks old when her mother had passed. She barely knew her. Would she be proud of her? Or would
“…and I am too.”
Rumi’s breathed hitched, just slightly, and she turned to look back over her shoulder at Celine. Who still wasn’t looking at her, but past her at the grave.
“Because I was wrong, Rumi,” the older woman continues, “I was wrong about so much. I thought that turning the Honmoon gold would take your patterns away and let you live a normal life…but I was wrong about that. I thought that Mira and Zoey wouldn’t understand, but I was wrong about that, too. You couldn’t have remade the Honmoon and done all of that on the night without them. I was wrong about so much.”
Rumi suddenly feels anger curdle in her gut. “Admitting you were wrong doesn’t change what you did, Celine. All the damage you caused, even though your intentions were good,” she continues bitterly, getting to her feet and moving around to look at Celine directly. “You kept telling me that nothing would change until they were gone…you told me to hide my faults and fears, and I did: I did for my whole life. And look what happened. Maybe everything you taught us – maybe everything you were taught – was a mistake.”
“If you felt so strongly, Rumi,” Celine shoots back, and there’s a flash of anger on her face, “then why did you not come to me? To discuss your feelings? Instead you trusted the literal demon who used your insecurities to tear the Honmoon down and nearly doom the rest of us.”
There it was.
Another of Rumi’s mistakes, thrown back in her face. In hindsight though it had been a catastrophically bad call. Trusting the demon she had known for two weeks over her best friends, her mentor. But back then she had felt like she couldn’t turn to any of them. And Jinu…he had looked at her and seen her, the real her, patterns and all. And if the full demon hated what he was and was desperate to be free, then there was hope for her, surely?
Then he had imploded her entire world on that stage.
And then he had turned around and given up his soul to save her. The hurt of said betrayal would never go away, especially contrasted with the constant hum of his soul, forever infused into her transformed blade. She would have to carry that complexity with her, on top of everything else.
“If I went to you Celine you would have told me what you always did: our faults and fears must not be seen, and I should hide them away. But we all know what happened because of that.”
She felt the anger spike again, and her patterns flashed a warning red, and without a second thought she summoned her blade, and it flashed into being in this world, the heavy point slamming down into the gravel. It was no longer a sain-geom: now a huge, broad and heavy blade with a curved end that tapered into dual points. The surface shone with its natural starlight glow, along with intricate new patterns carved into the enchanted steel.
Celine stared in awe.
“Yes,” Rumi said with bite, “I did trust a demon. He did use my insecurities to destroy the old Honmoon. I was wrong to trust him so easily…but then he still saved me, right at the end. He got his soul back, Celine, and then he promptly gave it up to help me. It’s in this blade now. I can feel him there, but he isn’t saying anything. He’s just there. And if a demon like him felt enough hope to get his soul back…then there was hope for me.”
The blade vanishes, a few motes of starlight hanging in the air, though the crackling tension remains. Celine was at least looking at her now. “…and you still barely look at me. Are you that ashamed of me?”
“Rumi”-
She doesn’t wait to hear anything else. She just turns and walks away.
When Celine had redirected to her office to grab her long-sleeved top, she had paused at the framed pictures on the wall again: two in particular. The first one from the 2010 Idol Awards, when she had first introduced Rumi to the world. Just a tiny, lavender-haired eight-year-old beside Celine on the red carpet, looking into the camera and looking like she wanted to be anywhere else but there. They had started her Hunter training the day after. Starting to mould her into the role she was born for.
And the second from 2020, HUNTR/X’s official debut. Celine in the centre with one arm around Rumi’s shoulder, now fully grown and her signature braid draped over one shoulder, hanging to her waist. On her left, Zoey; hands clasped before her and expression carefully neutral. And Mira on her right, smiling lightly but clearly uncomfortable to be within the full glare of the world media, even with all the media training in the run up to the debut.
Look how far they had come since then. Celine had her doubts about the both of them during the initial auditions: Mira as the angry, jagged trainee who made little effort to get on with any of the others, and Zoey as the colourful and chaotic half-American who barely seemed to take a breath as she spoke non-stop, and bombarded Celine with questions about the Sunlight Sisters. But Rumi had vouched for both of them as they reached the end of the initial trials. She had told Celine Mira was a natural at picking up complex dance routines and Zoey’s notebooks and sometimes stream of consciousness yapping was a strong song writing tool. And that vouching had paid off, ultimately.
They’d been this close to sealing the Honmoon after countless generations had failed before them. And then the Idol Awards 2025. What happened on that stage. The distress and shame tearing through the barrier. The pastel pinks that marred the tree. And then Rumi suddenly appearing there despite being in Seoul, looking utterly broken with her demonic traits on full display, and Celine had suddenly felt as though she were looking upon her worst nightmare. The one she had feared since she had first become guardian to the girl, two and a half decades prior. All of that hard work, all of that clinging to the values she had been taught and had drummed into her head until it was muscle memory.
Our faults and fears must never be seen.
Celine had done the same, for decades. Hiding them the best she could even as the Sunlight Sisters disbanded, after they had lost Miyeong and after Yujin had left, too heart-broken to remain. She held to them even as she saw Gwi-ma’s mark upon Rumi’s flesh, and urged her to hide away her own faults and fears, for the good of the world, to protect it.
Look where that had got them.
“Rumi, please,” she says, following her ward away from the graves back towards the tree, but her ward showed little sign of slowing down. “I…I know I can’t fix what’s already broken between us but I’m sorry”-
“Sorry won’t fix any of it,” Rumi shoots back, finally slowing down and turning finally, her patterns flaring red again like a threat signal. “I did it! I did what you taught me! I hid my faults and fears, I hid my patterns…and it still blew up in my face! You saw me, that night! You saw where I was, and you just couldn’t look at me! You couldn’t even touch me!”
“Rumi”-
“I don’t even know why I agreed to come and visit!” Rumi continued, her patterns cycling to a paler shade now, tears glistening in the corner of her eyes. “I…I know you’ve done so much for me. You took me in and gave me this life and taught me how to fight and protect others…but why did I have to suffer because of your own fears?!”
Celine’s heart clenches. Because Rumi’s right. Even though she hid those fears away, they still harmed Rumi. Especially after she had made that promise to Miyeong, right at the end. And now it seemed impossible to pick through the wreckage left over to rebuild some semblance of the relationship. It would never be the same again, no matter how many stiff, awkward meetings they had, ones where Rumi gave short, clipped answers and Mira and Zoey watched Celine like a hawk from a distance, as if waiting for their mentor to give them any reason to distrust her entirely.
With a start, Celine realises they’re both under the tree now. Subconsciously (or was this some grand cosmic prank?) taking the same positions they had taken that night last year. Except this time it was daytime and Rumi wasn’t on her knees in the dirt underneath said tree, offering up her own blade.
Do what you should have done a long time ago.
But Celine could never bring herself to do that. Not just because of that promise she made.
“That night,” Celine began, slowly and carefully, keeping eye contact with Rumi this time. This time, that mattered. “Do you know why I couldn’t do what you asked me?”
“Because you made a promise to my eomma”-
“Not just that,” Celine interrupts, and takes a step closer. “Because back then, I saw that little girl who begged me to take her to the Teddy Bear Museum for her fifth birthday.”
Rumi’s breath catches. So slightly and quickly, but Celine registers it.
“…I saw that eight-year old starting her training, who needed help to properly tie her gi the first few times so that it wouldn’t get in her way. I saw that girl who practically begged me to teach her how to cook my family’s signature bulgogi. The same girl who was so excited that she had managed to summon her sain-geom finally that she was practically vibrating with excitement when she showed me again and again.
“That’s why I could never do it,” Celine finishes. “Because the simple truth is I did take you in because of a promise I made, but I ended up loving you so much it scared me. And despite that…despite all of that I still hurt you so much because I thought it was keeping you safe, and I can never fix that.”
The silence comes back, save for the gentle breeze, and Rumi’s occasional, shaky breaths, holding Celine’s gaze, with so much going on behind those chestnut eyes, on the verge of waterworks. Finally, she takes a few steps closer.
“I can’t just ignore the harm you caused,” she began, as if carefully picking each word, her patterns shimmering between yellow and blue and red and back again in a kaleidoscopic display that looked to Celine like a threat warning almost. “But…but I can’t ignore all the good you’ve done either. You gave me that feeling of having a mother.”
“Rumi, I could never replace Miyeong”-
“I didn’t want you to,” Rumi interrupts. “You don’t have to replace her. You just had to be yourself, Celine. And I know you could be stern and distant at times, especially when it came to…you know, but I know you still cared. And I want to try and repair what we had. Do you want to do the same?”
Can I even repair the damage I’ve caused? I made her feel that way for so long.
“Of course,” Celine breathes. And Rumi offers a tiny little smile at the same time the breeze picks up, rushing through the grove and around them. Rumi shivers involuntarily, her hands moving to cover her bare shoulders to rub at the flesh. Her patterns shimmer. Without another word, Celine slips out of her top and steps forward to reverentially wrap it around Rumi’s shoulders. A year ago, the same gesture had been a desperate bid to conceal and cover up and hide. But this time, it was just a plain expression of love and care. She looks into Rumi’s full eyes for a second before she speaks again.
“It is beautiful…the new Honmoon,” she says, looking out over the distant landscape, shimmering with a rainbow shine.
“It is,” Rumi agrees, and is then caught off guard by Celine gently cupping her cheek with her hand, like she couldn’t do for so, so long.
“And so are you. All of you.” she says.
Rumi’s eyes fill up immediately and the tears begin to fall freely, before she buried her face into her guardian’s shoulder, and Celine oh so carefully wraps her arms around Rumi and just holds her as she sheds tear after tear. They remain like that for what feels like an age.
Never again, Celine thinks to herself. I’ll never hurt you again like I have so many times already.
When they finally pull away from one another, there’s a significant damp patch against Celine’s chest where Rumi had pressed her face into her, and the purple-haired girl lets out a wet chuckle as she wipes her eyes. Her patterns cycle to a bright golden yellow now. “I’m sorry about your shirt. I got tears and snot onto it.”
“It’ll wash out,” Celine assures her, and they shared a quick laugh. Celine realises that she’s barely allowed herself chances to feel this way, so unguarded, so…happy. “Come on, it’s getting colder. Let’s head back.”
“Okay,” says Rumi, quietly, still holding onto Celine with one arm, as if afraid that letting go will cause this moment to end, like it never existed to begin with.
“Thank you,” Celine says as they begin to slow walk back.
“For what?”
“For giving me another chance,” she explains, “and I know I’ll never be able to fix the damage I’ve caused you…but I’ll do whatever it takes to make up for it.”
“I know you will,” Rumi breathes, her voice so quiet, though still audible over the breeze.
Celine allowed herself a rare, contented smile. That Hunter’s doctrine, ingrained into her for decades, had been almost impossible for her to leave behind, even after the end of the Sunlight Sisters, after losing Miyeong, after Yujin left. Closing off those faults and fears for so long, to try and remain strong.
But Rumi and the others had proved that wasn’t the way to go. That accepting your faults and fears wasn’t the end of the world, that it only made you stronger. The last year had been the most stable the Honmoon had been in decades, one built upon acceptance rather than unobtainable perfection. Perhaps Celine could learn that herself too.