Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The night hung heavy over Seoul, a tapestry of stars piercing the inky sky. Cold air brushed against Rumi’s flushed skin, a fleeting chill that did little to soothe the fevered thoughts racing through her mind. Perched on the balcony of HUNTR/X towering hotel, she stood motionless, her wide eyes tracing constellations she couldn’t name.

The city below hummed faintly, a distant pulse of life, but up here, in the quiet, sleep eluded her. She should be resting—Zoey and Mira were, tucked away in their rooms, basking in the rare stillness of their well-deserved break from the spotlight. After months of sold-out stadiums and covert demon-hunting missions, the pause felt like a gift. Yet, for Rumi, it was a cage, trapping her with thoughts she couldn’t escape.

Her fingers tightened around the bracelet clutched in her hand, its cool metal biting into her palm. She glanced down at it, the delicate chain glinting faintly under the starlight, and a frown creased her face. Jinu gave her this. The demon-turned idol whose betrayal had nearly shattered her, yet whose fleeting moments of vulnerability had saved her voice and her soul.

The man—or demon—from four hundred years ago, his existence a paradox she couldn’t unravel. The bracelet felt heavier than it should, a tether to questions she wasn’t ready to face. Who was he, really? Her patterns, hidden beneath her sleeve, faintly glimmered as if answering her thoughts, a reminder of the heritage she could never outrun.

“Do all demons deserve to die?”

The question slipped from her lips, soft but sharp, cutting through the silence. She leaned against the balcony railing, her breath hitching. It went against everything she’d sworn as a Demon Hunter. The oath was clear: demons were evil, born to feed on human essence, and mercy was a luxury they couldn’t afford.

Celine, their mentor, had drilled that truth into her since she was a child,. Demons are creation of chaos. They destroy. They consume.

Yet Jinu’s face flickered in her mind—his conflicted eyes, his sacrifice for her. He’d felt something, hadn’t he? Regret… perhaps.

But regret was also a human emotion. If a demon could feel, could choose to do other things than consume, what did that mean for her? For the Honmoon she’d helped weave with her voice? For the patterns that branded her as half-monster?

Her spiraling thoughts snapped as something soft bumped against her leg. Rumi glanced down, startled, to find a small creature staring up at her with luminous, oversized eyes.

The blue feline, its black, jagged stripes shimmering faintly, bared its golden fangs in a silent yawn. Beside it, perched on the railing, a tiny bird with a crooked hat tilted its head, its gaze unnervingly knowing.

Rumi’s breath caught. These creatures, Jinu’s companions, or so she assume, had trailed her since his demise at the Idol Awards. She’d never been certain if he was truly gone, but these odd beings lingered, appearing in moments of quiet or chaos, always watching. Once, the cat had knocked over a candle during a special practice, nearly setting Zoey’s lyric notebook ablaze. Another time, the bird had dive-bombed a paparazzi’s camera, saving Rumi from an unwanted headline.

They may be guardians, or the latter. She couldn’t quite decide.

“Hey there, you two,” she said softly, a small smile tugging at her lips despite the ache in her chest.

She knelt, reaching out to stroke the cat’s velvety head. It leaned into her touch, purring low, and bumped its head against her fingers, nudging the bracelet. The bird fluttered to her forearm, its tiny talons gentle but firm, and cocked its head as if puzzled. Rumi’s brows knitted, her smile fading.

“You miss him too, don’t you?”

The cat’s purr deepened, a mournful hum, and the bird’s eyes gleamed like twin stars. Were they demons too? She ponders. They’d never harmed anyone, never shown the hunger she knew of. Instead, they hovered at the edges of her life, silent sentinels bound to her by some unspoken pact. If they’re demons, why do they show affection? The thought gnawed at her, a splinter in her resolve.

She hadn’t told Mira or Zoey about them. After the Idol Awards, after swearing to be truthful with her bandmates, the words had stuck in her throat. How could she explain these creatures, or her doubts—when she didn’t understand them herself? Mira, with her unshakable optimism, would probably laugh and call them ‘cute mascots’. Zoey, ever the pragmatist, would demand answers Rumi didn’t have.

I need to know first, she thought, her grip tightening on the bracelet. What they are. What Jinu was. Celine’s teachings had nearly broken her, convincing her that her demonic patterns was a curse to be buried. Jinu had challenged that, gave Rumi the opportunity to confront her insecurities, to continue singing despite her fear. Now, with the Honmoon glowing strong, she wondered if there were other truths Celine had hidden—truths about demons, about the world.

“I’m not like her,” Rumi said aloud, her voice trembling but firm, as if speaking to the creatures could anchor her. “I want to know the truth. I’m not scared, right Rumi?”

The cat, and the bird chirped once, sharp and clear. Rumi gave the bracelet one last look, its weight a quiet promise of answers yet to come. She slipped it into her pocket, the band warm against her skin, and stood. The lights above seemed to pulse, as if echoing the restless beat of her heart. Turning back to her room, she stepped toward her bed, and slowly drifts to sleep.

-

The morning sun spilled through the penthouse’s floor-to-ceiling windows, casting golden ribbons across the polished hardwood. From the hallway, a pulsing disco beat vibrated, infectious and bright, pulling Rumi from her restless slumber. She rose, her movements mechanical as she went through her morning routine—splashing cold water on her face, brushing her teeth, tying her dark lavender hair into a loose braid. The mirror reflected a familiar face, but the faint shimmer of her demonic patterns, hidden beneath her hoodie. Though it glimmers iridescent pearl across, much different than the demons.

Stepping out of her room, she let the music guide her, a smile tugging at her lips despite the lingering shadows in her mind. It was only the first week of HUNTR/X’s break from the K-pop whirlwind, and Rumi craved an uneventful day—a rare chance to breathe.

Descending the stairs, she caught sight of Zoey and Mira in the living room, their laughter mingling with the thumping beat of their Zumba routine. Their synchronized one-two steps were a burst of color and energy,

Mira’s velvet hair bouncing as Mira spun with exaggerated flair.

“Rumiii!” Zoey called, her voice bright as she stretched her arms wide.

“Rumi!” Mira echoed, mid-twirl, her grin infectious.

Rumi’s smile lifted. In her loose pants and oversized hoodie, she stepped onto the makeshift dancefloor, mimicking their moves with a playful half-step.

“Wait, you’re not in proper attire!” Mira whined, spinning into the beat with mock indignation.

“Don’t mind it,” Rumi shot back, cycling her legs in a quick stretch. “I’m going for a jog anyway.”

Zoey’s frown was immediate, her hands on her hips. “What?! You didn’t tell us you're running today. I could’ve picked out an outfit last night!”

“Damn right!” Mira added, shooting Rumi an irritated glance.

Rumi laughed, grabbing her sling bag from the wooden stand by the door. “I’ll be back for lunch,” she said, flashing a two-finger salute.

“Okay, take care!” Zoey called, waving as she and Mira dove back into their routine, the music swallowing their giggles.

As Rumi stepped into the crisp Seoul morning, she felt a quiet gratitude settle in her chest. If it weren’t for them, where would I be? she thought, slipping her earpods in and cueing up her running playlist—a mix of HUNTR/X hits and old-school anthems.

Mira and Zoey were her anchor, their acceptance of her demonic marks a lifeline she hadn’t expected. When she’d revealed her heritage after the Idol Awards, she’d braced for rejection, but they’d only needed a day to process it. Though the first time wasn’t the best she had seen from them, the second time makes up for it.

“You’re our Rumi, human or demon,” Zoey had said, matter-of-fact. “Well, half demon!”

“That’s all we need to know.” Mira had nodded, adding, “As long as we're together—HUNTR/X, and as Hunters too.”

They’d decided her past didn’t matter, not when the Honmoon glimmered over the city, a testament to their resilience. Still, Rumi wondered how much they could truly understand when she barely knew herself.

I was born with this… demon blood, she mused, her sneakers hitting the sidewalk in rhythm with the beat. But what does it mean?

She jogged through the bustling streets, waving at a few fans who recognized her, their excited squeals a reminder of their group’s stardom. At the entrance to Garden, she checked her watch, a grin breaking across her face at the time.

“You’re back in your element, Rumi,” she mumbled, stretching her calves with a bounce.

Settling onto a rock bench near a stone arch, she let her gaze drift to the horizon. The Honmoon shimmered over the city like a diamond tapestry, its ethereal glow casting like a barrier—for now. A year without demons, without chaos. Her heart eased at the thought, but a nagging question stirred, unbidden. Celine’s voice echoed in her mind: For generations, three chosen women wield the Hunters’ tools.

Ethereal weapons designed in slaying demons on sight. Three to protect the world. It felt like an impossible weight.

“How should we pass down this responsibility?” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the rustling leaves.

The idea of burdening others with their duty felt wrong—she wasn’t ready to let go of her role, not when she still had so much to give. But what if there were others out there, Hunters with the same purpose, just waiting to be found? What if they weren’t actually alone?

Her thoughts dimmed as she pictured Mira and Zoey, their laughter from this morning.

I love them too much to let this break us, she thought, a frown creasing her brow. The life of a Hunter was a double-edged sword—glory and sacrifice intertwined. She’d seen how Celine’s obsession with eradicating demons had nearly consumed her, and she wasn’t her mother’s daughter, she’d probably put her in her demise in cold heart.

Rumi refused to let that fate claim her or her friends. “I don’t want to hate this responsibility,” she murmured, her fingers brushing the bracelet in her pocket, a quiet reminder of Jinu as she pulled it out.

More questions looms. Could there be others like him—demons capable of more than just destruction? The question itched, like a splinter in her resolve.

A soft bump against her knee broke her reverie. The blue cat, its black stripes glinting like obsidian, stared up at her with those unnervingly large eyes, the bird perched on its head, its tiny hat askew.

“Hello there,” Rumi said, a smile softening her face as she reached to pat the cat’s patterned fur. The bird cawed, fluttering to land on her braid, and she let out a small giggle, the sound lightening her heart.

These creatures had become her companions, appearing whenever her thoughts spiraled too deep. They’d never harmed anyone, only watched, their presence oddly comforting. They always know when she’s drowning in her thoughts. Her fingers lingering on the cat’s warm fur.

Glancing at the serene garden, the morning breeze caressing her skin, she spoke softly, “Do you think Jinu lived this kind of peace too?”

The cat’s head tilted, its eyes dilating, and the bird cawed again, sharp and bright, drawing another chuckle from her. The bracelet seemed to hum in her palm, as if echoing her questions earlier.

The Honmoon’s ethereal strings gleams into existence before Rumi, a cascade of light that pulsed like a living heartbeat, interrupting her daze.

She sat frozen on the rock bench, her gaze following the delicate tendrils as they flowed through the stone arch of Garden, weaving into the verdant expanse beyond. The blue cat, its black stripes glinting like polished obsidian, padded after the strings, its golden-fanged mouth parted as if entranced by their playful dance. The bird, its tiny hat tilted jauntily, flitted alongside, darting through the air with a chirp. Rumi’s breath caught at the sight, the Honmoon’s glow reflecting in her wide eyes. The great tree loomed at the garden’s heart, its ancient branches stretching toward the sky, a silent sentry of secrets she’d yet to unravel.

Memories flooded her mind—grueling training under Celine’s unyielding gaze, battles fought with Mira and Zoey, the weight of their oath to protect the world. She rose, her sneakers crunching on the rubble path as she followed the Honmoon’s strings, their misty, patterned glow guiding her toward the tree like a celestial map. Each step stirred a pang of doubt.

What am I chasing? she thought.

Her fingers brushing the bracelet in her pocket, its familiar weight grounding her. The strings spiraled around the tree, weaving wisps of light in a ritualistic dance, and then—suddenly—they blazed, in radiant emerald that made the air hum. Rumi froze, her breath shallow, awe washing over her. The tree’s leaves shimmered with an otherworldly light, and its trunk came alive with intricate patterns, like runes etched by an unseen hand.

“What is this?” she whispered, her voice trembling with unease. “What’s going on?”

Her eyes drifted to the small, weathered gravestone at the tree’s base—her mother’s resting place. The sight tightened her chest, a familiar ache she’d never fully shaken.

You never had the chance to tell me what I truly am, she thought, her gaze lingering on the stone’s faded inscription. Her mother, a Hunter before her, had carried the same burden, but Rumi knew so little of her story—only that her demonic blood came from her father.

What did you know, Mom? Did you see this too?

The Honmoon pulsed brighter, as if answering, but offered no clarity, only the relentless thump of her heart in the silence. She glanced at the bracelet in her hand, the band meticulously hooped almost trembles in her grip, and her brows furrowed. The Honmoon. Were you trying to tell me something? The tree’s glow felt like a summons, but to what? Her resolve wavered, caught in the nagging pull of the unknown.

The cat and bird circled the tree, their movements almost ceremonial, before vanishing behind its massive trunk. Rumi hesitated, then followed, her steps cautious, as if the ground itself might betray her. She’d never explored this part of the garden—not entirely. Under Celine’s supervision, the Garden had been a place of discipline: training grounds, wisdom councils, nothing more. Now, it felt alive, whispering, alluring.

Rounding the tree, her breath hitched. A runic pattern glowed at the trunk’s core, pulsing in sync with the Honmoon’s thread, like a heart pumping celestial ardor. Her first instinct screamed danger—demons had deceived her before—but the Honmoon was crafted to protect humanity, including her. Or so maybe I thought, she mused, doubt creeping in. Her patterns prickled beneath her sleeve.

 Could the Honmoon sense her presence?

Would it reject me?

The cat reappeared, brushing against her ankle, its eyes wide and knowing. The bird landed on a low branch, cawing softly, and Rumi’s lips curved into a faint smile.

“Hey,” she murmured, her fingers grazing the cat’s patterned fur. “Even in uncertain moments, you two never left my side.”

She glanced back at the rune, its pulse steady, almost comforting. The Honmoon’s strings wove tighter around the tree, their light reflecting in her eyes.

Whatever happens now.

-

It’s dark.

Where am I?

A suffocating void that pressed against her senses. The thought clawed at her mind, sharp and frantic, as she tried to move her legs. They felt leaden, unresponsive, as if the world itself had abandoned her. Her breath hitched, shallow and uneven, the silence around her so absolute it seemed to hum with its own presence. Then—a faint sound, the soft crease of grass underfoot, like a whisper from a distant memory.

She took a tentative step, her sneakers sinking into something soft yet intangible, and the sound grew louder, urging her forward. Her heart pounded, a wild rhythm against the stillness, and her steps quickened, pummeling the unseen ground until she was running—aimlessly, desperately—into the blank expanse of darkness.

I don’t know where I’m going. But I can’t stop.

A sudden plash echoed, strident and liquid, halting her in her tracks. Her foot landed on a wet surface, the cold sensation engulfing her legs. A faint glow flickered below, delicate strings of light weaving through the air like fireflies dancing over a forgotten forest. The ethereal strands pulsed faintly, casting an glow that illuminated her surroundings in eerie hues.

Dimmed flora emerged from the shadows—gnarled roots curling like gaunt fingers, petals that shimmered with a pale, spectral sheen, and air heavy with the scent of damp earth and something sweeter, almost wooden. The scene was both beautiful and unnerving, like a dream teetering on the edge of a nightmare.

“The Honmoon.” Rumi mumbled, her voice barely audible.

Her chest tightened, a mix of wonder and fear swirling within her. Am I lost in my own mind?

She crouched, her knees brushing the shallows, and extended her index finger to touch the water’s surface. It rippled beneath her touch, sending vibrations spiraling outward in an endless cascade, each wave echoing with a soft, resonant hum that seemed to vibrate in her bones. The tapestry wove tighter below their light pulsing in sync with the ripples, as if the two were one. Rumi’s breath caught, shivering, alive with a heat she couldn’t ignore.

What are you trying to show me? she thought, her gaze fixed on the water’s hypnotic dance.

The bracelet in her pocket felt heavier, a tether to his memory, to the questions she’d left unanswered at the great tree. Is this where you wanted me to go, Jinu? Her heart pined with the weight of her voice, echoing unnervingly.

But that’s just impossible, it can’t be.

Then, as abruptly as it had appeared, the void dissolved. The environment sheened and shifted, the ghostly flora giving way to the familiar greenery of Garden. The great tree loomed before her once more, its branches swaying gently in the morning breeze, the Honmoon’s glow a faint shimmer in the daylight. Rumi stumbled back, her breath ragged, her hands trembling as she clutched the bracelet.

The passage left her dizzy, her mind reeling. Am I back already? she thought. Or did the Honmoon pull me somewhere else—somewhere it wanted her to see? The garden around her felt too ordinary now, the chirping birds and rustling leaves almost mocking in their normalcy. The breeze was warm, fragrant with blooming jasmine, but her skin prickled with a lingering chill, as if the void’s touch still clung to her.

She glanced down, half-expecting the blue cat and its bird companion to appear, but only the path was empty as wild grass surrounded the great tree. The absence of it sharpened her agitation.

Rumi started to walk towards the arch. Where are they now? The runic pattern on the great tree, glimpsed moments ago, pulsed faintly in her memory, its rhythm echoing the water’s ripples. She can still feel her marks burning softly, as if reacting to the rune,. A quiet warning—or perhaps an invitation? She couldn’t really tell.

Her resolve wavered, torn between the safety of the world she knew and the pull of this oddity around her.

Rumi treaded cautiously through the overgrown expanse of the Garden, her steps muffled by a carpet of moss and tangled roots that seemed to writhe beneath her feet. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and blooming flowers. A labyrinth of ancient trees whose gnarled branches twisted like skeletal hands reaching for the sky.

She passed under the arch, its weathered surface now cloaked in vines that pulsed faintly with a luminescent glow. Her breath caught as she emerged on the other side, expecting Seoul’s skyline to pierce the horizon. Instead, a vast wilderness stretched before her—an endless tapestry of towering trees, their leaves shimmering in unnatural hues of sapphire and amethyst, ambers and rubies. And rivers that snaked through the landscape, their waters glinting like liquid starlight. This isn’t my world, she mumbled.

Where has the Honmoon taken me?

The woods beckoned, their shadows both inviting and foreboding. Rumi ventured deeper, her sneakers sinking into the soft, loamy ground. Strange flora unfurled around her—petals that curled like crescent moons, vines that glowed with a soft, phosphorescent light, and mushrooms of deep teal, as if breathing. Odd creatures darted through the undergrowth: a fox-being of many tails with eyes like glowing embers that dissolved into mist when her gaze lingered too long; a bird with wings of translucent light that shimmered and vanished as she stepped closer. The wind hummed with their presence, a chorus of whispers that shivered her patterns now burning softly beneath her sleeve.

This place feels alive, but it’s not… right, she mused. It’s not trying to hurt me, but it’s watching. Waiting, patiently. She clutched the hem of her left sleeve as she paces.

The roots parted abruptly, revealing an open expanse that stole her breath. A vast field of irises stretched before her, their petals a deep indigo that shimmered under a dim emerald glow cast from above, as if the sky itself were a canopy of emerald light. A gust of wind swept through, swaying the flowers in a hypnotic dance, their soft rustle like a lullaby that calmed the frantic beat of her heart.

Rumi stepped from the shroud of the trees, her sneakers brushing against the velvety petals, and crouched to touch the ground. The earth pulsed beneath her fingers, a rhythmic throb that echoed in the Honmoon stirring above and below, encasing her in a cocoon of celestial light. She closed her eyes, letting the beauty of the land wash over her, a fleeting peace that soothed the storm within. This feels nice. she thought.

A world where beauty can exist without fear. Yet, beneath the calm, a nagging doubt lingered—she feels too connected to this place.

Was it because of the Honmoon’s presence? Or maybe, just maybe… something that has to do with her mother? Her father? Or… Jinu?

She wants to ask many questions, but to whom would she ask them?

Her stupor shattered as a raucous roar split the air, shaking the irises in its wake. Rumi’s eyes snapped open, tensing as a monstrous figure emerged from the far edge of the field.

Her eyes glinted. She has no idea what the fuck is that creature is, but one thing for sure was it wanted her dead. The creature was an abomination—towering, brutish, its body a grotesque parody of an orc, red-skinned with jagged horns curling from its head and fangs that gleamed like polished pearls. Its many arms, muscled and clawed, thrashed as it moved, its eyes glowing with a malevolent resolve that locked onto her. Rumi’s heart lurched, a curse escaping her lips as panic surged.

“Shit!” she chucked, scrambling to her feet, her hand instinctively reaching to summon her blade. But her palm remained empty, the accustomed weight of the weapon absent.

No, no, no—why isn’t it working? Shit. Shit. SHIT. In a frantic plea. Her patterns charred hotter.

The demon charged, its massive form tearing through the irises, crushing them into a pulpy ruin as it closed the distance with terrifying speed. Rumi bolted toward the shroud of trees where she’d entered the field, her legs pumping, her breath ragged. The ground trembled beneath the creature’s pursuit, its claws raking the air inches from her arm.

I can’t outrun it, she realized, terror gripping her chest. I’m not fast enough.

Her mind raced, searching for a plan, but the Honmoon’s pulse seemed to falter, its light dimming as if mocking her helplessness. Just as the demon’s claws grazed her sleeve, a sheen sliced through the air, a sword unsheathing so close it hummed past her ear. In a single, fluid motion, a blade flashed—silver and radiant, etched with runes like the Honmoon’s glow itself. The demon’s howl rent the air as the sword cleaved through its bulk, slicing it into fragments that burned and disintegrated into ash, their cinders scattering like dying star. The creature’s presence vanished, its final wail echoing into the silence.

Rumi stumbled to a stop, her chest heaving, her eyes wide as she spun to face her savior. The field pulses, the irises swaying gently as if undisturbed, dazzling and pulsing softly above. Her patterns throbbed, a mix of adrenaline and confusion coursing through her.

Who was… Her breath caught within her throat.

The air hung heavy with the acrid scent of charred earth, the once-vibrant field reduced to a scorched path of wilted petals and blackened stems, curling like the remnants of a forgotten fire. In the center stood a figure, cloaked in a jeogori of silver and black, baji its intricate patterns shimmering faintly under the dim of the Honmoon.

A traditional gat, eerily similar to the tiny hat worn by Rumi’s bird companion, rested on his head, its dark brim casting shadows over his face. His hand rested on the hilt of a sheathed blade at his hip, its runes pulsing softly, as if still warm from the demon’s destruction. Rumi’s heart stuttered, a wild hope igniting within her. It’s him. It has to be him. She didn’t care if the woods watched, if unseen eyes lurked in the shadows. Her pulse roared, and she ran, her sneakers pounding the ashen ground.

“Jinuuuu!!!”

Her scream tore from her throat, raw and unrestrained, as tears welled in her eyes, blurring the figure before her. Her chest ached with a longing she’d buried since the Idol Awards, since the moment she thought he’d vanished forever. Her trembling hand reached out, fingers straining for the warmth she remembered from their stolen moments—late-night meetups in hidden alleys, shared glances during their rival performances. She stumbled, her weight crashing against his shoulder, and before she could see his face, her arms wrapped around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. The soft fabric carrying a faint scent of cedar and something sharper. And his warmth… She could dissolve in this forever.

“You’re alive,” she mumbled, her words muffled against his chest, her grip tightening as if he might dissolve again.

She lingered in the embrace, her heart pounding against the steady rhythm of his, but a chill crept through her as he remained rigid, unyielding. Slowly, she pulled back, her hands still clutching his arms, and looked up, expecting the familiar spark in his eyes—the conflicted gaze of the demon whom she once met. Instead, a stranger’s face stared back, his features sharp and unyielding, his dark eyes cold with a stern, uncomprehending intensity. Her breath caught, a knot twisting in her stomach.

“I can’t believe it,” she whispered, forcing a smile, her voice trembling with fragile hope. “You’re actually here, Jinu—”

“Who are you?” His voice was low, cutting, devoid of the warmth she’d clung to in her memories.

The words struck like a blade, slicing through her fragile hope. Rumi’s smile faltered, her brows knitting as she let out a nervous chuckle, trying to mask the churn of dread in her gut.

“Stop with the mind games, Jinu,” she said, her tone light but brittle, reaching for his wrist. “I’m not falling for it again.”

Her fingers brushed his sleeve, but he flinched, stepping back with a swiftness that made her heart lurch. In one fluid motion, he unsheathed his blade, its runes flaring with a menacing glow, and leveled it between them. The Honmoon trembles over the horizon, mirroring her rising panic.

“How can you—” Rumi stuttered, her voice cracking as she took a step back, her hands raised in disbelief. “Did you forget about me already? Jinu, it’s me! It’s Rumi!”

Her words tumbled out, desperate, each one a plea to spark recognition. This isn’t possible. You knew me. You saved me. Her patterns pulses, burned beneath her.

“Remember the first time we met? That alleyway behind the studio—you bumped into me, and instead of apologizing, you and your Saja Boys acted like total smugasses!” She forced a laugh, but it sounded hollow, her eyes searching his for a flicker of memory. “We were rivals, Jinu. HUNTR/X versus Saja Boys. We competed at every show, every stage. We even had that joint fanmeet, remember? You even received a sweet note from one of your fans! Jinu, don’t you—”

“Stop speaking my name.” His voice was a low growl, laced with a threat that chilled her to the bone. The blade remained steady, its edge catching the Honmoon’s light, casting fractured reflections across the scorched earth.

“But—”

Rumi’s voice broke, her hands trembling as she took a tentative step forward, defiance warring with dread. You can’t do this to me. Not after everything. Her mind raced, replaying every moments they shared.

Rumi’s gaze dropped, the charred petals crunching beneath her feet, their ashen scent stinging her nose. She looked up, her eyes locking onto the man, his gat casting shadows that danced faint emerald glow.

“You knew me,” she whispered, her voice trembling, barely audible over the whispering breeze.

Her heart a tangled knot of hope and despair. Was this truly him—Jinu, stripped of memory, a hollow shell of the demon? Or was he something else?

A cruel echo conjured by this strange world.

“Jinu,” she said, her voice breaking, a plea to pierce the coldness in his eyes.

“I’ve given you enough chances,”

His devoid of the warmth she’d once known. His hand tightened on the hilt of his blade, the runes along its sheath flaring with a menacing light.

“What?” Rumi’s breath caught, her mind reeling as she took a step back, her sneakers scraping the ashen ground.

“Farewell.”

In a fluid motion, he unsheathed his blade, its silver edge glinting like a shard of moonlight. He lunged, his stance oppressive, the tip of his sword arcing toward her stomach with deadly precision. Rumi froze, her body betraying her as time seemed to slow.

I was wrong, she thought, a bitter scoff at her own naivety. I let my guard down for something stupid. She closed her eyes, bracing for the pain, accepting her fate with a strange, hollow calm. If this is the end, at least I tried to find you, Jinu.

A howling gale roared past her, sharp and sudden, followed by a guttural thud that shook the air. Rumi’s eyes snapped open, her heart pounding as she glanced down at her stomach, expecting a gash of crimson.

Nothing.

She stood unharmed, her patterns flickered as if startled.

“What… happened?” she murmured, her voice trembling with confusion. She spun around, adrenaline surging through her veins, and saw him—Jinu—staggering, his weight buckling as he sank to the ground.

“Jinu!” she cried, rushing to his side, her sneakers skidding on the grass

She dropped to her knees, rolling him onto his back, and gasped. A horrific gouge tore across his chest, crimson blood seeping through his jeogori, pooling in the ashen dirt like liquid fire.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Rumi’s voice cracked with panic.

Her hands shaking as she tore at the fabric of her pants, ripping a strip from the knee. She scrambled to the nearby river, its waters shimmering with an enchanting, starlit glow, and soaked the cloth, the liquid cool against her fingers.

“Okay, shit, Rumi, calm down,” she muttered, “You can do this.”

She hurried back, kneeling beside him, and pressed the damp cloth against the wound, her hands trembling as blood seeped through her fingers. “Just hold still, Jinu, okay?” she said, her voice softer now, pleading.

He coughed, a wet, ragged sound, blood flecking his lips as he tried to rise. Rumi pushed him down, her hands firm against his shoulders.

“I said hold still!” she snapped, her fear sharpening into defiance. “Stop being so damn stubborn and let me help you! At least this time.”

His eyes, clouded with pain, met hers, and for a moment, they held a flicker of something—confusion, perhaps, or curiosity.

“Why… are you helping me?” His voice was weak, but the question cut deeper than his own blade ever could.

Rumi froze, her jaw dropping slightly, her hands trembling against the bloodied cloth. The question echoed in her mind, unraveling the fragile threads of her resolve. She’d grown fond of Jinu, the demon who’d challenged her fears, Her naivety had led her here, to this strange world, to this moment where she knelt over a man who might not even be him.

Stubborn, you say? she thought, a bitter laugh echoing in her mind. Look at me, Jinu. I’m the fool who just can’t let you go.

What am I— Why am I?

Before she could find words, a soft warmth grazed her cheek—his hand, trembling, brushing away the tears she hadn’t realized were falling. His thumb lingered, gentle, tracing the curve of her face, and for a moment, his expression softened, the stern mask giving way to something achingly familiar.

“Jinu,” she whispered, her voice breaking as she leaned into his touch.

“Yes,” he said, his voice barely above a breath, “that’s my name.”

Her heart lurched, hope and pain colliding as she recognized the softness in his eyes—the same look he’d given her in stolen moments, when the world wasn’t watching. But then, with a sudden, pained effort, he sat up, pushing her hands away from his bloodied silk.

The movement was sharp, almost defiant, as if rejecting her help, her hope, her everything. Rumi recoiled, her hands hovering uselessly, the damp cloth slipping to the ground. Emerald gleam casting fractured shadows across the scorched earth, mirroring the fracture in her heart.

Is it really you? she thought. The river’s enchanting waters murmured softly, and the Honmoon’s thread kneeds, as if the woods themselves held their breath.

Jinu, or the man who wore his face, leaned closer, his breath warm against her cheek, close enough that time seemed to pause, suspending them in a fragile, breathless moment.

Rumi’s heart pounded, her eyes tracing the subtle differences in his features. His skin held a faint purple sheen, like twilight caught beneath the surface, and delicate demonic patterns glowed softly along his jaw and neck, their luminescence pulsing in time with the Honmoon’s light. Two large horns curled from his forehead, partially hidden by his tousled hair and the gat, its dark brim mirroring the bird companion’s tiny hat. His eyes, though, were the same—blank, unyielding.

“You say we’ve met before,” he said, his voice low, steady.

Rumi pursed her lips, nodding faintly, her throat dry. “We have,” voice barely audible.

His gaze held hers, unwavering.

“How can you be so certain it was me?” he asked, his tone sharp but tinged with something softer—doubt, perhaps, or a longing he didn’t really understand.

Rumi’s breath hitched, a scoff escaping her lips as frustration flared.

“I know it was you,” she said, her voice rising. “Just— You told me your name, your past. Hell, Jinu, your face is burned into my mind."

The patterns in her body throbbed in a faint glow, seemingly to react with her desperation.

Jinu’s gaze dropped, his shoulders tensing as if her words were a weight he couldn’t bear. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his voice stripped of its earlier edge. “I can’t bring myself to trust anyone anymore.”

Rumi stared, her breath catching at the rawness in his admission. She cussed a bitter lament.

To find you again, only for you to be a stranger. 

“You trusted me once,” she said, her voice softer now, trembling with memory. “You said you didn’t—out loud, but you kept coming back. Every time we met, even knowing my curse… you chose to trust me, Jinu. Though you’d betray me right after.”’

He met her gaze, his eyes searching hers, a flicker of something—recognition, perhaps—stirring in their depths. “Then that Jinu,” he said, his voice a mutter, “must have been a fool.”

Rumi’s lips twitched, a small, bittersweet laugh escaping her. “He was,” she said, her voice warm despite the ache in her chest. “And you still are.”

Stubborn, reckless, impossible, she thought.

To her surprise, a faint smile curved his lips, softening the stern lines of his face. “Is there a version of me that isn’t?”

His tone lighter, almost teasing, a shadow of the Jinu who’d once bantered with her in a dimly lit alleys.

Rumi’s breath caught, hope flaring like a spark in the darkness. There you are, she thought. The swaying grass seemed to hum beneath them, emerald brilliance, their light weaving a fragile bridge between past and present. She wanted to reach for him, to hold onto this fleeting glimpse of the man she’d loved, but the blood staining his jeogori, the wound she’d tried to mend, anchored her in the reality of his pain—and her own.

“So,” Rumi said, her voice trembling, barely above a whisper as she leaned closer, “have you really forgotten me?”

He met her gaze, his eyes—those same eyes that once held a flicker of warmth—clouded with uncertainty.

“In truth,” he said softly, his voice low and measured, “I’ve never met you. Or anyone who looks like you.”

Rumi’s breath hitched, her hand rising to her chin, her nose scrunching as she pieced together the impossible. “Then…” she murmured, her voice catching as realization dawned, “you must be Jinu from the past. So, the Honmoon truly saved you.”

Her eyes darted to the shimmering strings above, their light pulsing like a heartbeat.

“The Honmoon?” he asked, his brow furrowing, the word almost foreign on his tongue.

Tears spilled down Rumi’s cheeks, unbidden, and she surged forward, pulling him into a fierce embrace. She nestled her face against his neck, his skin cool yet familiar, carrying the faint scent of cedar and something sharper, like the air after a lightning strike.

“I’m so glad,” she whispered, her voice hoarse, muffled against his chest.

Her heart thundered, loud enough to drown out the whispers of the Honmoon, but for the first time, her mind quieted, some of the relentless questions easing.

You’re finally free.

The thought was a balm, soothing the ache of knowing he’d been subjugated for centuries, bound to a demon king’s will. Her patterns warmed.

For the first time, she felt his arms encircle her, tentative at first, then firm, reciprocating her warmth with a quiet strength that made her breath catch. The gesture was so unlike the guarded feeling she’s known, yet so achingly familiar, a fragment of the man who’d trusted her despite himself. They pulled apart, and Rumi wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand, offering a quick, shaky nod.

“Rumi, right?” he said, his voice gentle, testing the name as if it were a fragile thing.

“Mhm.” Nodding, a smile breaking through her tears.

He tilted his head, his gat casting a shadow across his face, and his eyes softened, a flicker of curiosity breaking through his expression.

“Would you tell me,” he said, his voice almost silent but earnest, “how you knew the Jinu of your time?"

His brows scrunched.

"I uhh, I won't force you but, there’s just something… missing. A piece of myself that feels incomplete. I want to understand a lot of things, about me. Only if it's okay with you."

Settling by the edge of the river, her heart swelled,

“I love to,”

Chapter Text

Beneath the Honmoon’s spectral glow glimmered, its waters threading through the tangled, overgrown woods like veins of molten starlight. The river’s soft murmurs wove a quiet lament, as if echoing the ache in Rumi’s soul. Each step she took along its bank sank her sneakers into the damp, mossy earth, the air thick with the scent of enchanted flora—sweet, heady, and faintly electric, like the promise of a storm. Fireflies, or perhaps something less earthly, flickered in the undergrowth, their pulses syncing with the faint hum of magic that permeated the night.

Jinu walked a few meters behind, his silver-and-black robe catching the emerald sheen of the Honmoon, its intricate patterns pulsing faintly with demonic energy. His traditional gat tilted slightly, casting jagged shadows across his sharp, purple-tinged features. The glowing, rune-like patterns etched along his jaw were a stark reminder of the chasm between the man she’d once known and the one now beside her—a man both familiar and foreign, tethered to her by memory but divided by time and fate. The distance between them wasn’t just physical; it was a silent, aching void that tugged at her chest, heavy as the bracelet tucked in her pocket.

Rumi’s own patterns, faint silver tracings along her forearms, shimmered in response to the Honmoon’s light, as if sensing the fragility of this moment. She kept her eyes on the river, its surface rippling with reflections of the luminous strings, like threads of a dream slipping through her fingers. Jinu’s presence beside her was both comfort and a wound, his silence louder than the river’s whispers.

He glanced at her, his eyes, those same dark, piercing eyes that once burned with defiance—now unguarded, searching for something he couldn’t name.

“Tell me,” he said, his voice low and rough, that made her heart stutter, “how did you meet the Jinu of your time?”

The question hung in the air, earnest but laced with hesitance, as if he feared the answer might unravel him. Rumi slowed her pace. A bittersweet smile curved her lips, the memory pulling her back to a time when the world felt simpler, even with demons clawing at its edges.

“It’s a long story,” she said, her voice warm but threaded with a quiet ache. “But it started in a grimy alley behind some hole-in-the-wall tonic shop. I was with my band, HUNTR/X, after our appointment, lugging back to our hotel.” She chuckled, the sound bright but tinged with nostalgia, her eyes glinting as the memory sharpened. “Then you—well, that Jinu—came barreling around the corner with your Saja Boys, all swagger and smirks, like you owned the whole damn city.”

Jinu stopped walking, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sheathed blade, its faint hum resonating with the night’s latent magic.

His brows furrowed, a flicker of unease crossing his face. “He… ran into you?” he asked, his tone careful, as if piecing together a puzzle he wasn’t sure he wanted to solve.

“Oh, yeah,” Rumi replied, her laugh sharp and vivid, cutting through the environment’s stillness. She turned to face him, her hands stuffed in her jacket pockets, fingers scribbling. “You were kind of a jerk. Slammed right into me, sent my tonics—those stupid energy drinks came skidding across the pavement. And instead of apologizing, you gave me this grimace, like I was the one who’d ruined your day. You even had the nerve to playfully rub your shoulder off.”

Rumi chuckled, “Your bandmates were no better—they just followed suite.”

She shook her head, her braid swaying, the memory a strange mix of irritation and fondness. That was the first time I saw you, she thought, her thoughts heavy with longing. And even then, I couldn’t look away.

Jinu’s lips parted, his expression teetering between embarrassment and a raw, unguarded curiosity. The Honmoon’s cast shifting shadows across the sleek, obsidian horns curling from his temples, their tips glinting like polished daggers.

The demonic patterns along his jaw pulsed faintly, a stark contrast to the vulnerability flickering in his dark eyes. The night seemed to hold its breath, the river’s murmurs softening as if to listen.

“That sounds… stupid,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost apologetic, as if he were ashamed of a self he couldn’t fully recall. “Why would you hold onto someone like that?”

Rumi’s smile softened, her gaze drifting to the river, where a stray cherry blossom petal drifted on the gentle current, glowing faintly under the Honmoon’s light. The sight stirred a pang in her chest, a fragile tether to memories of a world that felt both distant and achingly close. “That was just our first encounter,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, thick with emotion. “There were other moments—"

She paused, her fingers brushing the bracelet in her pocket, it’s cool metal band grounding her. “There was the time you saved me from getting caught, when I wasn’t ready to tell my friends about my patterns.” Her voice warmed, a flicker of a smile breaking through. “I was terrified, Jinu. My patterns were flaring, giving me away, and my bandmates were oblivious. You pulled me into a hug, wrapped a cloth over my torn sleeve.”

Jinu’s brows lifted slightly, a faint spark of recognition in his eyes, though it was ephemeral.

Rumi pressed on, her voice steadier now, carried by the momentum of memory. “Then there was that fansign event—HUNTR/X and Saja Boys, crammed at one long table, fans screaming so loud. You were insufferable, all cocky grins and sly comments, stealing my seat to sign posters like you were the main event.” She laughed, the sound bright but tinged with pining. “But that’s when I saw it—something different.”

She turned to face him fully, her eyes searching his. Jinu’s gaze dropped, his horns catching the Honmoon’s light, casting jagged shadows across the mossy earth. “Different how?” he asked, his voice low, letting out a small chuckle, almost mocking.

Rumi stepped closer, undeterred by the faint hum of demonic energy radiating from him. “You’ve shown emotions like no other demons I’ve met in my years of being a Demon Hunter. Even I was in disbelief.”

“I should’ve realized it earlier, but I guess, I was just in denial.”

Rumi watched his eyes, “What do you mean?” stepping towards him.

“Even in different worlds, Jinu’s faith will only lead to one ending. “

“Jinu.” She reached out to hold Jinu’s wrist, pulling him forward, “Don’t say that.”

 “But it’s true.” He exclaimed, meeting her gaze. Hesitantly, he called her name, “Rumi…”

He turned toward her, his movements deliberate, and with a slow, almost reverent gesture, he lifted the gat from his head. The traditional hat fell to the grass, revealing the full extent of his true form.

“What do you see?” Jinu’s asks, a plea wrapped in defiance. “Tell me, Rumi.”

Her breath caught, her heart aching at the pain etched into his face. Sharp features fends his head horns curved more sharply in the unfiltered light, their edges glinting like obsidian blades. The demonic patterns seeping from his jaw and neck were darker now, a sinister lattice of inky tendrils that seemed to pulse with a faint glow of their own, creeping toward his temples and down his throat. The truth was undeniable, staring her in the face, but spelling it out felt like betraying him.

“You’re a demon,” she said softly, the words heavy with everything left unsaid.

A variant of his true form. But a demon, nonetheless.

“But that doesn’t mean it’s your fault.”

Jinu’s eyes flashed, a mix of anguish and resignation. “Rumi, I am like this for a reason.” His voice cracked, “My past regrets—my mother, my sister. I could’ve given them a better life. I could’ve been a better son. Instead, I let them down, and now…. now….”

His legs buckled, as if the weight of his words had drained him. He sank to his knees on the damp grass, shoulders slumping, his silver-and-black robe pooling around him like spilled ink. Rumi dropped to her knees beside him, her hands reaching out instinctively. She pulled him against her chest, her arms wrapping around him as the river’s soft murmurs filled the silence. His warmth, his trembling, felt so achingly human, despite the demonic energy humming beneath his skin. The Honmoon’s glow bathed them both, its light weaving through the trees, as if stitching their broken pieces together.

“It killed me in each passing day.” Jinu sobs.

Rumi held him tighter, her arms a steady anchor against the storm of his grief. For a moment, she let him cry, his sobs muffled against her chest, each one a release of the bottled-up torment that had festered in his heart. Her fingers threaded gently through his dark hair, tracing soothing patterns across his scalp as she pulled him closer, sharing the warmth of her presence. The river’s soft murmurs wove around them, a quiet lullaby under the Honmoon’s spectral light, as if the world itself was granting them this fragile pocket of solace.

“Do you remember the moments before you were taken away by Gwi-Ma?” Rumi asked.

Jinu slowly leaned away, turning to meet her gaze with hesitation, just enough to search his face, her hands still resting on his shoulders.

“I… I don’t… I can’t really remember anything, only glimpses of my past.” He confessed. “The painful ones.”

Her eyes went wide. Surprised, then sternly. She took a few steps towards the river’s edge; a hand placed on her chin.

“Rumi?”

“I umm, I realized something.” she said, her voice low but steady, carrying a weight that made the air feel thicker.

“Will you tell me about it?”

Rumi met his stare in a stoic nod,

“Follow me.”

-

The hilltop stretched before them, a windswept plateau where the Garden bloomed in eerie splendor. Twisting gnarled roots through the earth, cradling patches of luminescent flowers that pulsed faintly, as if breathing. At the center stood the great tree, its bark shimmering like liquid obsidian, branches curling toward the sky like skeletal limbs grasping at a bruised, violet dusk. The air thrummed with an unnatural weight, a low hum that sank into Rumi’s bones.

“We’re here,” Rumi said, planting her feet firmly, the soft earth yielding slightly beneath her shoes, and let her gaze linger on the tree.

Jinu’s steps faltered beside her, his steps creases against the brittle grass. He tilted his head, eyes narrowing, his dark hair catching the faint glow of the flowers. “What is this place?” He asks.

Glancing back at him, Rumi gestured toward the tree, her hand sweeping through the air, fingers trembling slightly from the Honmoon’s energy. “That tree—it’s what brought me to this world. It’s… the Honmoon’s passage.”

Jinu’s brow furrowed, brown eyes flickering with confusion, maybe even suspicion. He took a step closer, his shadow falling across her. “The Hon-what?” He looked back at Rumi, “Rumi, I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

She met his gaze, her own amber eyes unwavering. “I don’t expect you to get it all, Jinu. Not yet.” She softened her tone, but there was a steel beneath it. “Just… trust me. Please.”

Jinu leaned forward, his hands clenching into fists at his sides, the faintest tremor in his fingers betraying his agitation.

“Rumi, what are you planning to do?” The tone of his voice dropped, and his eyes searched hers with an intensity that made her breath catch. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

A smile tugged at her lips, defiant and a little reckless. She crossed her arms over her chest, chin tilting upward as she stood.

“Simple,” she said, her voice ringing with a confidence she wasn’t entirely sure she felt. “I’m going to find the Gwi-Ma of your time and beat his ass myself.”

Jinu’s expression flattened, his lips parting in disbelief. “That’s ridiculous.”

“What?” Rumi spun toward him, her braid whipping over her shoulder, eyes flashing with indignation. “So, I can recover your missing memories! Listen here, Jinu. I don’t buy your whole belief of why you just easily accepted that you deserve all of… this. There’s gotta be some way to uncover it, there’s just something—”

“That’s not the point!” His tone sharpened, carrying a warning that made the air between them crackle. He took a step closer, his steps sinking into the soft earth. “Rumi, you don’t know this place. This is the Glade, a realm of repentance, where lost souls wander.” His voice grew quieter, but no less urgent, each word heavy with dread. “Some spirits here look human. Others… they’re twisted, barely recognizable as what they once were. The deeper you go, the more it warps you—your soul, and your mind.”

Rumi lifted her chin, undeterred, though her pulse quickened at his words. “That’s not a problem.” She tried to sound flippant, but the weight of the Garden pressed against her, the Honmoon’s hum growing louder, like a heartbeat in her ears.

Jinu’s hand shot out, grabbing her shoulder with a grip that was firm. He pulled her closer, forcing her to meet his gaze. His face was inches from hers, and the demonic pattern etched across his cheek glowed faintly, pulsing in time with his quickening breath.

“I need you to take this seriously,” he snapped, his voice raw, almost desperate. His fingers tightened, not enough to hurt, but enough to anchor her in place.

Rumi’s breath hitched, her eyes widening at the sudden proximity. “But—”

“No, Rumi.” His voice softened, but the urgency remained, his blue eyes boring into hers. “It’s better to leave things as they are.”

She yanked her shoulder free, stepping back, her glare fierce despite the tremor in her hands. “And you’re just giving up? Just like that?” Her voice cracked, betraying the frustration bubbling inside her. She gestured toward the tree, its branches swaying as if beckoning. “After everything we’ve been through?”

“Rumi—” Jinu started, his hand hovering in the air as if unsure whether to reach for her again.

“No, Jinu.” She cut him off, her voice rising, sharp and unyielding. “I’ve made it this far. I’m not turning back now. There’s no point in giving up when I’m this close.”

“You’ll get yourself killed!” Jinu’s voice broke, hoarse with something that sounded like fear, not anger.

He took a step toward her, his hand clenching and unclenching, the glowing pattern on his face flaring brighter, casting eerie shadows across the ground.

Rumi’s chest heaved as she glared at him, her fists balled at her sides. “Then so be it,” she said.

She turned toward the tree, its dark silhouette looming larger now, the Honmoon’s pull like a tide dragging her forward.

Before she could take another step, Jinu’s hand clamped around her wrist, his grip firm but trembling. He pulled her back, not roughly, but with a quiet desperation that made her freeze.

“Do you hear yourself, Rumi?” His voice etched, almost pleading, his eyes shadowed with pain as he lowered his gaze, only to snap it back to her, searching her face. “I don’t understand.” His jaw tightens, “I’m not even the Jinu you know from your world. You don’t have to do this for me.”

Rumi’s hands curled into fists, her nails biting into her palms as she fought the sting of tears.

“You don’t get to tell me what to do, Jinu.” Her voice trembled.

Jinu’s teeth gritted, a flash of his familiar fangs glinting in the twilight, his expression caught between frustration and something softer. He stepped closer, closing the distance until she could almost feel the warmth radiating from him.

“I don’t get it!” he shouted, his voice echoing off the wide space around them.

Startling a cluster of glowing petals that drifted upward like ash surrounding them.

“Why are you so hell-bent on saving me?”

Rumi spun to face him, her vision blurring as tears threatened to spill. Her heart pounded so fiercely she thought it might shatter her ribs.

The words clawed their way up her throat, raw and unstoppable, before she could think to hold them back.

“Because I loved you!”

The confession hung in the air, heavy and electric, as if the Garden itself had swallowed it whole. The Honmoon’s hum faltered, a sudden silence pressing against them. Jinu’s eyes widened, his grip on her wrist loosening as if her words had struck him like a physical blow. His lips parted, but no sound came, his dark eyes catching the faint glow of the emerald gleam, framing his stunned expression.

Rumi’s hand flew to her mouth, her fingers trembling as she realized what she’d said. Heat surged to her cheeks, her ears burning as red as the embers in Jinu’s pattern.

“What did you say?”

She turned away, unable to meet his gaze, her breath hitching as she stared at the roots glowing through the earth.

“I’m not repeating myself, Jinu,” she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper, thick with embarrassment and defiance.

Jinu let out a sharp scoff, not mocking but disbelieving, as if grappling with the weight of those words. He took a step closer, his shadow falling over her, his presence both grounding and overwhelming.

“Then…” Nodding his head slightly, “At least let me do this.” He whispers.

There was a tremor in his voice, a crack in his usual stoic facade.

Before Rumi could protest, Jinu’s hand found her forearm, his grip firm but careful, pulling her gently to face him. Her breath caught as he leaned in, his other hand brushing against her jaw, his touch cool yet the gesture searing. His lips met hers—not in a rush, but with a deliberate, aching tenderness that stole the air from her lungs. The sensation was unyielding, grounding, yet it sparked something wild in her chest, like diamond crystals shattering and scattering through her veins. Echoing of the Honmoon’s emerald gaze above them.

She froze, her senses overwhelmed. Jinu’s lips were warm, tasting faintly of the bitter herbs he chewed to temper his demonic urges, and his breath was a soft rhythm against her skin. His eyes were closed, his lashes casting delicate shadows across his cheeks, and for a moment, he looked almost human—vulnerable, unguarded. Her mind spun, unable to form a coherent thought, her body caught in the paradox of numbness and fire. Her heart slammed against her ribcage, threatening to burst, as heat flooded her face, her cheeks and ears burning like twin flames.

Jinu pulled back slowly, his breath uneven, his irises dilating as he opened his eyes to meet hers. The glow of his pattern had softened, now a faint shimmer, and his expression was a mix of awe and uncertainty, as if he’d surprised himself as much as her.

“Rumi…” His voice was soft, almost tentative, echoing through the quiet Garden like a question to the realm itself.

Rumi jolted, her senses snapping back like a taut string released. Her eyes darted anywhere but his—to the luminescent flowers, the twisted branches, the violet sky—anywhere to avoid the intensity of his gaze.

She swallowed hard, the sound loud in her ears, her throat tight with a mix of panic and longing. “Will you… give me a moment, please?” she managed, her voice shaky as she turned away, wrapping her arms around herself as if to hold her fracturing composure together.

Jinu stood still, his hand hovering where it had cupped her jaw, hands reaching on its own but it held himself back.

Rumi took a deep breath.

What the fuck was that, Rumi??!!

Everything was so quick. I didn’t even have the time to process it.

I don’t mind it though.

At the same time.

But why am I so bothered with it?

“Rumi—”

Jinu’s voice cut through the haze, soft but insistent, pulling her back.

“What?!!”

Taken by surprise, Jinu gave her a gritted expression, leaning away a little.

“Sorry I, umm—” He hesitated, one hand raking through his hair, fingers trembling slightly, “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” Jinu said.

Rumi’s gaze darted away, her cheeks flaring anew as she tried to focus on anything but him, the twisted roots, the shimmering petals, the emerald sky, anything to avoid the pull of his expression. Up close, he was too much—the sharp curve of his jaw, the faint glow of his demonic mark, the way his eyes seemed to see straight through her. It was maddening how he could unravel her with just a look, and she hated how her heart stuttered at the mere sight of him.

“Stop talking, you demon of lust.”

“Rumi—” Shocked, Jinu placed a hand over his chest at the jab. “Wha-What? Demon of—Arghh!” He let out a frustrated groan, dragging a hand down his face, his fangs glinting as he grit his teeth. “I’m trying to tell you something, alright? Listen.”

“You’re really a huge douchebag! No matter what timeline,” she shot back, her voice rising as she turned to face him fully, her hands balled into fists at her sides. “Can’t you see I’m trying to—”

Her words died in her throat as her eyes landed on the object in his outstretched hand, its familiar weight catching the Garden’s eerie light. Its hilt intricately carved with runes, the blade gleaming with a faint, otherworldly shimmer, lay cradled in his palms, offered to her like a peace offering.

Her breath caught, her anger dissolving into confusion. “That’s… That’s my sword. How did you—?”

“When you tried to summon this sword,” he began, his voice low and halting, “I… I felt something familiar about its presence. I stole most of its energy. Manifested a replica.” He gestured vaguely at the air, his fingers twitching as if tracing the handle with his thumb. “I wanted to test it—against that demon you encountered earlier. It’s… powerful. Immensely so.”

His eyes held a raw sincerity, an apology woven into the way his shoulders slumped, the way his fangs glinted as he bit his lip.

“When I tried to point the sword towards you, it only inflicted harm upon me. That just means, you showed great care with it.”

She gasps, “Wait so, you tried to kill me?”

Jinu’s head snapped up, facing her, his cheeks flushing a faint pink beneath his pattern. “No! Well… It didn’t work, obviously,” He scratched the back of his neck, his gaze darting to the side, his steps shifting in the grass. “It’s… kind of. But like I said, I did that ‘cause I can’t trust anyone anymore. Not after everything.”

“Jinu, what were you doing in this Glade all this time? Slaying demons?” Rumi asks.

He froze, his breath hitching, the air around him seeming to thicken with the Honmoon’s pulse. His shoulders tensed, his hands clenching into fists at his sides, the canary in his eyes flickering briefly. Silence stretched between them, heavy and charged, until Rumi took another step forward, her shoes crunching against the brittle grass.

“Did you believe that through killing demons would grant you the peace that you longed for?”

His eyebrows scrunched as Rumi halted her steps.

“Answer me, Jinu.”

“And if I say yes, then what?” Jinu snaps back at her as he dragged a hand over his face, “How pathetic of me, right? How desperate.”

Rumi felt her heart ache from the aggrieved tone of his words. She reached out instinctively, her free hand hovering near his arm, but stopped short, her fingers curling back.

“Jinu… I—"

“It’s okay, Rumi.” A warm smile curved across his lips, meeting her gaze, “Maybe it’s fate that brought us here, together, even just for this moment. I’m… grateful for you. For staying by my side, even if it’s momentary.”

Jinu told her with a gentle smile finally curved across his lips. He looks more humanly than ever, even with patterns over his face. Rumi’s stomach fluttered.

“Now, go. And save Jinu’s soul… or whatever’s left of it.”

Rumi’s breath hitched, her gaze lingering on him, “Will we meet again?”

“We will, eventually.”

Jinu gave her one last nod of approval before she ventured past the rune pattern, and into the glowing strings of Honmoon.

The environment darkened behind her, the world fading into shadow, until only the purple glimmer remained, guiding her toward an uncertain fate.

-

Carrying the crisp bite, a cool breeze sweeping across the vast, open plain, whispering through the tall grasses that stretched far beyond the shadowed forest Rumi had left behind. She blinked, her senses slowly adjusting to the unfamiliar world around her, the Honmoon’s lingering hum a faint echo in her chest, like a heartbeat not her own. She lay sprawled beneath a towering tree, its bark rough against her back, its leaves casting dappled shadows across her face. Ahead her loomed a walled palace, its stone masonry gleaming in the dawn’s pale light, each brick laid with meticulous precision. Tiled roofs curved gracefully atop polished wooden pillars, their dark lacquer catching the sun’s first rays, while a path of neatly arranged bricks led to an ornate archway at the palace’s entrance.

Rumi pushed herself up, her hands brushing against the dew-damp grass, and froze as she noticed her clothes. Gone were her hoodie, torn pants, and sneakers, replaced by the flowing layers of a hanbok, its muted blue and white fabric draping softly over her frame. The design was simple, practical, more suited to a commoner than a monarch, the sleeves loose but functional. Her long hair, once loose and tangled, was now gathered in a low bun, secured with a white ribbon that fluttered faintly in the breeze. She ran her fingers over the fabric, the texture unfamiliar yet oddly grounding, and glanced down at the basket beside her, brimming with rough, dirt-dusted potatoes.

From the looks of it, it seems I went few centuries back.

She hefted the basket of potatoes, its weight grounding her as she joined the line of workers trudging toward the palace. The scent of earth and woodsmoke filled the air, mingling with the faint sweetness of blooming jasmine somewhere nearby. As she fell into step, a few workers cast sidelong glances on her way, their eyes narrowing with suspicion, their murmurs too low to catch. Rumi kept her head down, her braid swinging slightly with each step, but her senses were on high alert, the Honmoon’s faint pulse urging her forward.

Alright, I need to find Jinu first.

At the archway, two guards stood sentinel, their armor glinting under the rising sun, spears crossed in a silent warning. Their stern gazes locked onto her, one guard’s brow furrowing as he took in her unfamiliar face, the other’s hand tightening on his weapon. Rumi’s heart quickened, but she forced a neutral expression, clutching the basket tighter to hide the faint tremble in her fingers.

The courtyard buzzed with quiet activity—workers hauling sacks of grain, servants scurrying with trays, the clatter of wooden carts blending with the distant chime of a bell. The palace loomed larger now, its walls etched with intricate patterns that seemed to shimmer faintly, as if infused with the same magic that had brought her here

This is gonna be interesting.

-

The palace’s inner workings were a labyrinth of drudgery and oppression, a far cry from the grandeur of its polished wooden pillars and gleaming tiled roofs. The air inside was thick with the scent of sweat, boiled rice, and the faint tang of oil from flickering lanterns that cast long, wavering shadows across the stone walls. Rumi’s hanbok, once a novelty, now clung to her skin, the fabric heavy with dust and damp from hours of hauling baskets under the unrelenting sun. Her low bun, secured with a white ribbon, felt tight against her scalp, a constant reminder of the world she’d been thrust into—a world that seemed to grind down everyone within its walls.

Rumi had pieced together the palace’s hierarchy quickly enough. She was a harvester, tasked with the deceptively simple job of collecting crops—potatoes, radishes, cabbages—and hauling them to the storage rooms in the palace’s underbelly. The work was backbreaking, the baskets heavy enough to make her arms ache, but it was the scarcity of workers that hit her hardest. She could count them on her fingers and toes—less than twenty souls, their faces gaunt, their eyes hollow as they moved in silent, mechanical rhythm. One short vacation a year, she thought, her stomach twisting as she hefted a basket of potatoes, its rough wicker biting into her palms. And paid barely enough to survive. The injustice of it burned in her chest, a spark she had to smother to keep her focus.

God, this time period is brutal.

Infiltrating the palace was proving to be a nightmare. The absence of the Honmoon’s familiar hum left her feeling unmoored, like a ship without a compass. She’d grown used to its threads, its subtle guidance, but here, in this ancient, suffocating place, it was silent. No glowing strings, no whispers in her bones. The sword at her side, hidden beneath the folds of her hanbok, wa mos her only anchor, its rune-carved hilt warm against her hip, a faint reminder of her mission.

To make matters worse, the palace enforced a strict code of silence among the lower-class workers. No talking during work hours, no camaraderie, just relentless diligence under the watchful eyes of overseers. Rumi’s self-control was stretched to its limit, her fingers twitching with the urge to act each time she witnessed an injustice. Earlier, she’d nearly lost it when a landowner—a sneering man with a face like curdled milk—berated a young maid for a quarter-filled teacup, his voice dripping with disdain. Rumi’s tray had trembled in her hands, her knuckles whitening as she imagined swinging it into his smug face.

Hours had passed since she’d entered the palace grounds, her feet aching as she roamed the permitted areas—kitchens, storage rooms, the outer courtyards. No sign of Jinu. Not even a glimpse of his presence. She’d know. Doubt crept in, cold and insidious.

Did the Honmoon miscalculate? Can it even do that? She shook her head.

Shoving the thought aside as she adjusted the basket on her hip, its weight a constant reminder of her disguise. Scrutinizing the Honmoon’s mechanics wouldn’t help. She needed answers, not questions.

So far, Rumi hadn’t spoken to a single worker within the walls as none dares to bat a long stare at her. She wonders how do these people endured such atrocious working environment.

Zero out of Ten! As she yelled in her mind.

When a sudden force slammed into her shoulder—a hard, unyielding object that sent her stumbling back, the hem of her hanbok tangling around her ankles.

“Awh!’ She squealed.

She braced for the fall, her heart lurching.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean—”

Flinching slightly, Rumi opened her eyes, a strong hand already reached her hand and pulled her up from the ground with a firm tug. For numerous encounters, the moment her gaze landed on a familiar pair, her eyes widened in shock.

“Jinu…” She uttered under her breath.

It’s him.

Untouched by time’s cruelty. Hair was neatly tied beneath a traditional gat, its black brim framing his face, and his hanbok of deep indigo with subtle embroidery, hung elegantly on his lean frame. He looked… human, achingly so. Pursed lips with soft eyes crinkling of warmth that made her chest flutter.

“Are you okay?”

Before her intrusive thoughts could kick within, she reminded herself of her one goal. This was the first Jinu, the one who existed before the demon, before the Glade one. Her only chance to save his soul, to change his fate. She had to act carefully, not let her emotions betray her. With a quick, awkward bow, she yanked her hand free and scooped up the basket as she turned to flee.

Giving him a quick bow, Rumi grabbed her basket of veggies as she tried to run away from Jinu.

“Wait, you’re heading the wrong way.” He calls out.

She turned slowly, her braid swinging over her shoulder, and met his gaze, meeting his amused expression. Glinting with familiarity.

“That way leads to my cabin.”

Rumi swallowed hard, a flush creeping up her cheeks, staining them pink beneath the morning light. Her fingers tightened around the basket, the rough wicker decking her as Jinu’s footsteps champed softly, closing the distance between them. He stopped a few paces away, his movements steady.

“Don’t worry, you can speak with me here.”

She glances up at him, uttering out a whisper.

“I can’t.”

If someone sees us, I’m screwed, she thought, her stomach twisting as she hugged the basket tighter, its contents shifting with a dull thud.

Jinu’s brow furrowed, a flicker of confusion crossing his face, but then his expression softened,

“Then, will you join me inside for some tea?” Offering a way towards his house.

Securing his infiltration should be her top priority. But she’s starting to hate seeing him hurt over and over, every time she does something that goes against his words.

Thinking about it, this was real Jinu before she met him in his demon form. This is probably the only chance to get to know him as him. And the thought of it tingles the curious circuits inside Rumi’s brain that she couldn’t bring herself to turn his offer down.

Rumi followed Jinu into his house, sliding the wooden door shut behind her, the soft creak of its hinges swallowed by the quiet hum. The air inside was cooler, scented with cedar and the faint sweetness of dried herbs, a stark contrast to the palace’s bustle. Jinu stepped past her, his indigo hanbok brushing the floor, his movements easy yet deliberate.

“You can drop your basket here,” he said, gesturing to a neat stack of wicker boxes by the door, their surfaces worn smooth by countless hands.

“Feel free to feel at home. I don’t bite.” He added, letting out a low chuckle. “I’ll be back in a minute with the tea, you can wait for me by the pond.”

Rumi managed a tight-lipped nod, her lips twitching into a hesitant smile. Words felt trapped in her throat, tangled in a knot of fear and wonder.

As normal as this interaction sounds, Rumi couldn’t make coherent words to say something back at him. Apart from the fear of getting caught. This has been a whole change of pace for her. She felt like she lived three lives already in a span of twelve hours.

Settling down by the wooden floor, Rumi sat on her knees, taking up the serene view in front of her.

Even with the horrendous hierarchy system that this palace has, the environment makes up for it at least.

But this wasn’t the right time for this. She needs a plan. She wasn’t sure how she could record these memories for him. Ridiculous, he told. As if she doesn’t already know that.

The clink of teacups snapped her out of her thoughts, the sound sharp in the quiet house. Jinu returned, balancing a tray with two steaming cups and a small plate of bread, its golden crust flecked with sesame seeds.

“Sorry for the wait,” he said, settling across from her, his movements careful but relaxed. Eyes meeting hers, he flashed a smile, “I have some bread too, if you want.”

Which is the first time she saw him smile this way.

Rumi reached for the cup, the aroma of ginger rising in a warm, soothing wave, laced with honey’s subtle sweetness. She took a tentative sip, the tea gliding over her tongue, its balanced warmth easing the tension in her shoulders. Surprised, the flavor seeps like comfort. Balanced out of ginger with the texture of honey and some sweetness blended into it, easing up into her mouth.

She set the cup down beside her knee, the ceramic clinking softly against the wood, and glanced at Jinu, who was watching her with a nervous expression.

“Sorry if I seem so forceful into inviting you into my house. I bear no ill intention, I swear!” Jinu heaves in a nervous tone, rubbing the back of his neck, “I just want to talk with someone. It gets lonely here.”

Rumi’s chest twinged, “It’s okay. You didn’t really have to do all of this.” As she finally replies.

Fingers brushing the ring of his own cup, Jinu glances back at her. The tension between them crackled, a fragile thread stretched taut. She could feel his gaze—darting to her, then away, then back again, like he was trying to puzzle her out.

“The tea is great, by the way.” She huffs out, setting the cup down, beside her knee.

“Really?” Jinu’s tone seems to lighten up a bit, resting his hands on his knees, “You’re the first person here to give my tea a compliment. So, I’m glad that you liked it.”

Rubbing the side of his cheek with her index finger as he looked over to her.

Jinu cleared his throat, a small, almost shy cough breaking the silence. He straightened, his hands resting lightly on his knees, and offered a slight bow, his gat tilting forward. “I think it’d be rude not to introduce myself to my guest,” he said, his voice steady but warm, like a hearth fire on a cold night. “Hi, I’m Jinu.”

“I know,” Rumi blurted, the words slipping out before she could stop them. Her eyes widened, a flush creeping up her cheeks as Jinu’s brow furrowed, his head tilting in confusion.

Shit, why did I say that? She thought, her fingers tightening around the teacup, its warmth seeping into her palms. Her mind raced, torn between caution and the pull of this moment.

“I mean—it’s nice to meet you too, I’m…”

Should I?

Shit, this is so frustrating. She thought.

Surely, this wouldn’t cause some disruptions in the Honmoon, right?

Breathing out, she flashed him a small smile.

“Rumi. My name’s Rumi.”

Jinu’s face lit up, his hand lifting to rest thoughtfully on his chin, his fingers brushing the smooth line of his jaw.

“That’s a beautiful name,” he said, his voice soft but deliberate, as if tasting the word. “Rumi. Rumi.” He repeated her name, each syllable rolling off in his tone with a quiet reverence that sent her guts fluttering. “I’ll remember it.”

He didn’t have to repeat my name twice? In that way?

To think that she wasn’t anticipating that she’d find Jinu to be… this charming, in his entirely human form. At this point, she accepted that this wasn’t the greatest idea she had in mind.

But it’s not like she was complaining, like not at all!

“So, Rumi,” he began, Jinu leaned forward slightly, his fingers tracing the rim of his teacup, a hesitant smile playing on his lips, “I, um… I haven’t seen someone like you before.”

What?

“What do you mean? I’m perfectly normal in any sense.”

Her fingers tightened around the cup’s handle, her mind racing to deflect any suspicion.

Normal. Right. As if I belong here.

Jinu’s expression shifted, his eyebrows knitting together, his head tilting like a curious dove.

“Really? Oh,” he said, a hint of amusement creeping into his voice. “I’m pretty sure this is my first time seeing someone with a different hair color.” His eyes flicked to the top of her head, where her low bun, secured with a white ribbon, failed to hide the vibrant strands that had slipped loose.

Rumi placed her hands over her head in panicked gestures. Of course.

How come I never thought of that before thinking of going into this timeline?

Amongst the usual black and brown haired people. She’d stood out the most as the only one with strikingly purple one. No wonder, she’s getting stares at some maids she encountered in the hallways.

Jinu’s eyes widened, catching her distress, and he quickly waved a hand, his cheeks tinting with embarrassment,

“Oh, um, I meant it as a compliment, really,” he said, his voice stumbling as he darted his gaze to the pond, then back to her, then away again. “It’s… quite unique.”

His fingers fidgeted with his sleeve, the gesture earnest, softening the awkwardness between them.

Rumi felt her heart fluttered in some sorts.

Was he always this smooth?

She didn’t want to make the situation more awkward than it is. So she grabbed the bread from the plate, and munched on it as she glances,

“Thanks.”

Rumi’s gaze wandered, catching on a weathered string instrument resting against a low shelf at the far end of the room. Its polished wood gleamed faintly, its strings taut and sheen, quite a relic in its display.

“Wait, do you play?” she asks.

Jinu turned at her with a surprised look, “Oh, um, yeah, I do.”

Rumi set her teacup and half-eaten bread down with a soft clink, her hanbok rustling as she rose to her feet. She crossed the room, her steps light, and lifted the instrument, its curved body worn but lovingly cared for, its strings humming faintly as her fingers brushed them. She turned back to Jinu, who watched her with wide eyes, his posture stiffening. Holding the instrument out to him, she smiled.

“Will you play a tune for me?”

The sudden gleam creases over his irises as Jinu looked from Rumi down to the instrument in her hand.

Swallowing down, he utters, “Umm, sure. I um, I’ll play one.”

Rumi caught the nervous tremor in his voice that made her heart twinge, but casted a smile at him.

Jinu cradled the instrument, and gently, his fingers traces its curves with a reverence that spoke of years spent playing it. He plucked a G major chord, the sound clear and resonant, followed by a smooth transition to C and D, an intro that filled the empty space with a warm, vibrant hum. Rumi’s breath caught as she recognized the sound—a pipa, one of the hardest traditional instruments to master, its four strings demanding precision and skill. He plays like it’s second nature, she thought, her mind flashing to half-remembered music classes from her own time. The ease of his movements, the way his fingers danced across the strings, spoke of a depth she hadn’t expected, a piece of Jinu’s soul laid bare.

“I have a verse in mind, but it’s quite short.” He says.

Rumi nods at him, “Go on.”

The tone changes to a set of minor chords, exuding a melancholic ambience echoing across the quietness around them. Almost hauntingly, but beautiful. Jinu closes his eyes.

“And will he let the fire go out?”

Rumi’s ears perked in the way his voice seeps into the sound, smoothly. Of course he sings! Why am I surprised? She thought.

“Is this the end of him now?”

“Dying king with crumbling crown…”

Eyes fluttering open, Jinu’s gaze strides at a distance. Easing on a quiet breath,

“Will he let the fire go, out?”

The fading sound of pipa almost distracts Rumi from the utterly fazed lyrics. Who was he singing about? The silence that followed was shattered by the horror in Jinu’s expression when she turned her gaze over him.

Face paled, his eyes wide with panic, as dark marks began to creep up his neck, twisting like vines under his skin. The pipa slipped from his hands, hitting the wooden floor with a loud thwang that echoed like a gunshot. Jinu scrambled back, his foot scuffing against the floor, his fingers fumbling to pull the sleeve collar higher. He stumbled, catching himself against the table, his breath ragged, his eyes darting to Rumi with a mix of fear and shame, as if expecting her to recoil.

But Rumi didn’t flinch. They were no stranger to her. For the fear in Jinu’s eyes, so different from the warmth he’d shown moments ago. Moving with quiet resolve, she crouched beside his trembling figure, the floor cool beneath her knees. The air hummed with a chorus of whispers, faint and eerie, emanating from the marks on his neck.

As her fingers grazed the patterns, a kindling thread flared—her own marks glowed in crystallized gleam, hidden beneath her sleeves, pulsing faintly in time with her heartbeat. The patterns in Jinu’s neck quivered, then retreated, slinking back beneath his skin as if chastened by her touch. The whispers faded, the air growing still, leaving only the sound of their uneven breaths.

 “What… what was that?” he stammered, his voice trembling as he clutched his neck, “How did you—?”

Shaking her head, Rumi mumbles, “Just breathe first, Jinu.”

He’s already cursed by Gwi-Ma, she thought, her stomach churned. The demon’s shadow might have plagued the palace already.

After a moment, they settled down by the table.

Jinu speaks, “You should be leaving by now.” His eyes avoided hers, fixed on the pond outside, where the sunlight cast fractured reflections.

“Why?”

Jinu didn’t answer, his jaw tightening, his fingers stilling on the table. The silence stretched, heavy and unsettling, until he spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Are you not afraid?” His eyes flicked to hers.

Rumi met his gaze, her amber eyes steady despite the rapid thud of her heart.

“Of what?” she asked, her voice soft but unflinching.

Jinu’s breath hitched, his hand twitching toward his neck, as if expecting the marks to reappear. “My patterns. They’re not… normal,” he said, his voice breaking. “You saw them. You—”

A loud thud crashed against the front door, splintering the tension like a blade through silk.

“Jinu!” a gruff voice bellowed, followed by another heavy knock that rattled the wooden frame.

The man shot to his feet, his face paling, his eyes wide with a horror that sent a jolt of concern through Rumi. He spun toward her,

“You should leave, now!” he yell-whispered, his hand gesturing frantically.

Rumi scanned the houses. Her only option is to sneak back from the back door and around the house. Giving Jinu a firm nod, she grabbed the lower robe of her dress and stepped into the grass silently.

But before she could slip away, the main door crashed open with a splintering brash, the wooden frame shuddering under the force. Three fully armed guards stormed in, their armor clanking, their spears glinting. Rumi froze, a curse slipping under her breath—Damn it—as her escape plan crumbled.

The guards fanned out, their heavy boots thudding against the floor, blocking the path to the courtyard. Her fingers twitched into summoning her weapon, but she stopped herself. Summoning it now would compromise her.

Jinu stood rooted by the table, rumpled, his dark hair falling loose from his gat. His eyes widened with panic as he turned to the lead guard, a burly man with a scarred face and a sneer that made Rumi’s blood boil.

“Wait, what’s the meaning of this?” Jinu demanded, his voice steady but laced with fear, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.

The guard captain stepped forward, his armor creaking, his spear held loosely.

“Enough of your play pretend, Jinu,” he growled, voice dripping with disdain. “We know you’ve been scheming to leave the palace. The emperor demands you to stay—and we’re here to stop your plans,”

His cold eyes flicked over Rumi, narrowing as they took in her purple hair and worker’s clothing. “And whatever you’re plotting with this… woman,” he spat, “it won’t end well for either of you.”

Rumi’s glared, her nails biting into her palms as she fought the urge to lunge at the captain’s smug face.

If I could just smack that ugly face—

“Take her to the prison. Now!”

Two guards moved past Jinu and the captain, their heavy steps echoing as they closed in on Rumi. Their gauntleted hands seized her arms, their grip bruising, and she wailed,

“Get your hands off me!” Struggling, her clothes tangling around her legs, but the guard’s hold was unyielding.

“Wait, hey!” Jinu shouted, his voice cracking with desperation as he lunged toward her. “Leave her out of this! She’s innocent—she just came here to deliver goods Hey—!”

His words tumbled out, frantic, as he reached for her, his fingers brushing the empty space.

The guard captain moved faster, slamming the hilt of his sword into Jinu’s back, sending him crashing to the wooden floor with a dull thud. Jinu gasped, coughing as he clutched his ribs, his face against the floor, contorted in pain.

“Stay down, kid,” the captain snarled, looming over him, “if you want us to spare your life.”

Jinu struggled to rise, his hair falling over his eyes, meeting hers in a helpless plea.

“No… Rumi…”

Voice breaking as he reached out, his hand clutches against the wooden floor.

“No! Get off—Jinu!!!”