Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Gwi-Ma was always watching. He saw everything, heard everything. Still, Jinu tried to warn Rumi. He did the one thing he could think of that Gwi-Ma wouldn’t notice. He didn’t wear the bracelet. But Rumi didn’t notice either. She trusted him too much, just like his mother and sister. She hadn’t been looking for secret signs of betrayal because she was so certain he would do the right thing. Of course she was, because he had lied to her. He’d had a chance to stop lying, the night he agreed to her crazy plan. The words were on the tip of his tongue, but he’d clawed them back, too much of a coward, too scared that once she knew everything, she wouldn’t look at him the same way. And he liked the way she looked at him, all soft and warm. She looked at him like he was someone worth saving, and he was stupid enough to believe it, even if for only a moment.

He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. So when she confronted him, eyes hard and cold with fury, even more than when she’d tried to kill him, he told her what he should have from the beginning. The truth. He expected her to call him a monster. Instead, strangely, her eyes softened. It made him angry. She should hate him. Why didn’t she hate him? He needed her to hate him. It was the only way she would be safe from him. So he said words he didn’t mean, words he knew would hurt her, and the shame dragged him back to Gwi-Ma’s feet.

At the final concert, the one that would seal Jinu’s fate, he recognized her voice immediately. He wasn’t surprised. He’d expected her to come. She’s here to kill me, he thought. Good. He hoped she succeeded.

But he was wrong. She hadn’t come to kill him. So we were cowards, so we were liars. So we’re not heroes, we’re still survivors. Those words were for him. Even after everything, she hadn’t given up on him. She still thought he was worth saving. 

Jinu was weak. He knew this. Not once had Gwi-Ma let him forget it in the past four hundred years. He was too weak to defeat Gwi-Ma, but Rumi … she was strong in all the ways that mattered most. With her, maybe Jinu could be strong too, not enough to kill Gwi-Ma, but enough to do something more important. He could save Rumi.

So he gave her his soul. He thought that would be the end, but it turned out to be only the beginning. He had been worthless as a human and worse as a demon, but as a sword, he redeemed himself. And so, the Honmoon decided that he was indeed worth saving. 

Chapter Text

Rumi should be happy. She, Mira, and Zoey were closer than ever. They’d saved the world, and HUNTR/X was in the tail end of their largest tour ever—23 countries and 70 concerts. All three of them were looking forward to a well deserved break, but first, they had their final concerts in the United States. They’d just arrived in Los Angeles, and Zoey had been dragging them around to all her favorite restaurants for their pre-show carb loading. Rumi felt like her stomach would explode, and she was so full of grease it would probably start leaking out of her eyeballs soon. It was phenomenal. And yet …

“Rumi?” Mira asked, nudging her in the back of their van. “Everything okay?”

“Yes,” Rumi said immediately, a smile popping onto her face. That habit had proven hard to break. She let the smile fall. “I don’t know. I just feel uneasy.”

“Was it the cheeseburger?” Zoey asked. “Or the pizza? The milkshake? The—”

“No,” Rumi said. “It’s not that. Doesn’t it feel like something is … wrong? We haven’t seen a demon in months.”

Zoey tilted her head. “Isn’t that a good thing? The Honmoon is stronger than ever.”

“But shouldn’t some still be getting through? They always did in the past.”

Mira and Zoey exchanged a look.

“What?” Rumi demanded.

“I know you miss Jinu,” Zoey said gently, then looked to Mira for help.

“But he’s not coming back,” Mira said. “None of them are.”

The familiar hollowness filled Rumi’s chest. She did miss Jinu, but that’s not what this was. At least she didn’t think so. “I’m probably just homesick,” she said. 

“Well, I have just the thing for that!” Zoey whipped out her notebooks of sightseeing ideas and hurriedly flipped one open. “I saved the best for last.” She turned the notebook around to reveal a single word, circled five times and underlined so hard she’d ripped the paper: TACOS.

“Zoey, we were literally just in Mexico,” Mira said.

Zoey’s face dropped. “Oh, we don’t have to—”

“You can never have too many tacos,” Rumi hurriedly said, even though she didn’t think she could eat another bite.

“Agreed,” Mira said. “But how do tacos help with being homesick?”

Zoey smiled and rubbed her hands together. “You’ll see.”

They pulled up outside of a cement building with no windows or sign, only a rusted door.

“Looks promising,” Mira said dryly.

“Are you sure this is the right place?” Rumi asked, pulling her hood tighter.

“Come on!” Zoey dragged them inside, where they were immediately hit by a cacophony of familiar scents.

“Is that …” Rumi inhaled deeply, mouth watering. “Garlic … gochujang …”

“Kimchi!” Mira exclaimed from the salsa bar tucked into the corner, holding up a cup of kkakdugi.

Mira stocked up on kimchi while Zoey ordered for them, getting three of each taco: bulgogi, spicy pork, and fried chicken. As soon as Mira and Rumi took their first bite, Zoey asked, “What do you think? Do you like it?”

“Yes,” Mira said, shoving the rest of her taco into her mouth in one go.

Rumi swallowed and nodded. “It’s delicious.” Then she paused. It was important to Zoey that they like these tacos, more than any of the other restaurants she’d taken them to. Why? Because … “They’re like you,” she said.

“The best of both worlds,” Mira added, knocking her shoulder into Zoey’s.

Zoey’s eyes watered. “I’m really glad I get to show you where I grew up.” 

“Us too,” Rumi said.

They polished off their tacos, and then Zoey frowned and glanced over her shoulder. Someone at another table was recording them. Happy fans, happy Honmoon, Rumi thought. She reached up to pull down her hood, but Zoey grabbed her arm. “Let’s go. Now.”

After a hurried conversation with the man at the counter, she led them through the kitchen and out the back door into a dark alley.

“What’s going on?” Mira asked.

A shout came from the end of the alley. “There they are!” The night lit up with dozens of camera flashes.

“Anti-fans,” Zoey said grimly. “Run!”

They raced down the alley and hit a dead end. “Now what?” Rumi asked, but Zoey was already jumping onto a dumpster. She caught the end of a fire escape ladder and hauled herself onto a balcony. As Mira followed, Rumi looked back. A mob of people was stampeding down the alley, all with their phones out, flash on as they recorded. Anti-fans … HUNTR/X had always had some, but she’d never met any of them. They had always stayed in their corner of the internet.  

“Rumi!” Mira shouted.

Rumi snapped out of it and hurried after her friends. Zoey led them on a zigzagging path across balconies and rooftops and through narrow alleys. At first, Rumi thought the route random, but then she realized that Zoey was taking them toward the concert arena, which was good, because they were supposed to be on stage five minutes ago.

Zoey screeched to a halt in front of a graffitied wall. “I can’t believe it’s still here,” she breathed. She spun toward them, a wide smile on her face, arms spread wide. “I did this!”

“You did graffiti?” Mira said. “Sick.”

Rumi noticed Mira’s signature in the corner—her American one. The piece was more artistic than Rumi had known graffiti could be. It was an explosion of colors—blues and pinks and yellows. It depicted the faces of a man and a woman, facing one another, perhaps in a rap battle, because the woman looked fierce and half feral. It was obviously a self-portrait of Mira. And the man …

“Uh …” Rumi glanced at Mira. “You see it too, right?”

“Yes,” Mira said flatly.

“What?” Zoey asked, eyes going wide. “Is there something wrong with it?”

“No,” Rumi said quickly, “it’s just …”

“It’s Mystery,” Mira finished for her.

“What? No! I didn’t even know him then!” Zoey spun around to look for herself and froze. “Huh. I guess I really do have a type.”

As Mira snapped a quick pic of the mural, a call came in from Bobby. They gathered around the phone. “Hi, Bobby!” they chorused.

“Where are you?!”

“Coming!”

They made it to the stadium, only fifteen minutes late, and the crowd roared as they came out on stage—louder than any other concert yet. The energy was electric, and by the time they reached “Golden” in the setlist, Rumi’s uneasiness had melted away. She was right where she was supposed to be, doing what she was supposed to be doing. As she swung out over the crowd, they jumped and stretched their arms up to brush her fingers. Then a hand clamped on her wrist and yanked. She was so unprepared for it that her fingers slid from the metal bar. She dropped and was caught by her safety harness, but she was too low. Someone grabbed her leg, then her arm, even her braid. Her harness was cut, and she was dragged down into the crowd. Somewhere, someone screamed her name, and she knew she was losing it, because she could have sworn it was Jinu.

“Stop!” she shouted. There were hands everywhere, pushing and pulling her, and she couldn’t breathe. She had to get out of here, but there were too many of them. Her vision started to go gray at the edges, and then Mira was by her side. Mira leveled her woldo at the fans and spun in a circle. Finally, they backed off. Zoey pushed her away into the cleared circle and helped Rumi to her feet. All around them were pinpricks of lights, digital eyes watching them, recording them.

Rumi was certain now. Something was wrong. Happy fans, happy Honmoon, but these fans weren’t happy.

Chapter Text

For a long time, Jinu slept. What use did Rumi have for a sword with Gwi-Ma gone and the Honmoon sealed? He did not mind. As long as Jinu slept, it meant that Rumi was safe. Besides, the voices were finally gone, and Jinu was … not happy, but at peace. As he slept, he floated on the waves of Rumi’s heartbeat—slow, steady pulses that sent him drifting through the eddies of the Honmoon and quick, pounding beats that made him vibrate between the worlds. He liked it best when she performed. Snatches of her voice made their way into his dreams, and he came closest to waking then.

It was not much of an existence, but he treasured it all the same. If he had slept for the remainder of Rumi’s life and then faded into nothing, so be it. He would have preferred it to what ended up happening.

He was yanked from sleeping, Rumi’s heart like a siren blaring in his mind. This was not the usual straining of performing, but something darker and erratic. Terror. But she did not call on him. She was in danger, and he was stuck in the Honmoon.

“Rumi!” He tried to push his way through, to form himself into existence, but he was still only a sword, even if a sword with a consciousness. For several agonizing moments, he threw himself against the Honmoon in vain. If she was in danger, why did she not draw her sword? Finally, Rumi’s heart steadied, and he melted back into the Honmoon. This time, though, he did not return to sleep. He didn’t know what had happened, but he knew that something was very wrong. 

The Honmoon was not a wall but a shield, which meant that Jinu faced the demon world. The human world was murky to him—glints in the corner of his eye and whispers behind his back—but he saw into the demon world as if looking through a window. And what he saw was chaos.

Gwi-Ma had been a monstrosity of greed and gluttony, demanding entire souls and always more of them. But all beings needed souls to survive, and since demons had lost their own souls, they had to feed on others’—or, in most cases, breathe others’. Gwi-Ma’s fire had released soul particles into the atmosphere. It was enough to sustain minor demons, and even the greater demons needed only a sip more here, a quick gulp there. Where Gwi-Ma had been like a vampire, the other great demons were more like mosquitoes and ticks.

Now, though, with Gwi-Ma gone, the atmospheric soul supply had been completely cut off, and the Honmoon had become impenetrable, which meant the demons were getting desperate. Some had begun to feed on other demons, but it was like a starving man eating dirt. It filled the belly without sating the hunger. Already, many of these demons had begun twisting into the eyeless, earless, mouthless shadow creatures that had formed Gwi-Ma’s faceless army. With no capacity to speak or to listen, unable to think or feel, they had been reduce to hunger and fear. Gwi-Ma was the only one who had ever been able to control them. Now they ran rampant.

Jinu watched as a swarm of them rushed through a forest. There were so many of them that they flowed like water. In their wake, branches snapped like breaking bones. One of the creatures fell and was immediately trampled and lost beneath the mass. What are they running from? Jinu wondered. But then he saw. They were not running, but chasing. Up ahead, a demon in a dark hanbok and gat sprinted through the trees. He was fast, but the swarm was gaining on him. The demon hauled himself into a tree and climbed. The swarm followed like iron filings to a magnet. They trod on one another as they clawed their way up the tree, shredded bark falling off in long, ragged strips. The demon climbed to where the trunk grew narrow and swayed. He turned, and Jinu caught a flash of blue hair. 

Hyung, Jinu thought. Baby Saja was actually the oldest of the Saja Boys, by more than two hundred years, but Jinu had never addressed him properly. He didn’t even know Baby Saja’s real name. He regretted that now.

There was a terrible series of pops and cracks—the sound of ripping roots. Under the weight of the swam, the tree was giving way. It creaked as it leaned precariously and then came crashing down all at once, sending a cloud of soil into the air as its roots were ripped from the earth. Baby Saja rode the tree to the ground, his feet planted wide. He spun, claws at the ready, as if looking for an escape, but he was surrounded. He dropped his hands, resigned to his fate.

A shadow creature burst from the swarm, twice as large as the others and covered completely in pale purple fur. Was that … Mystery? He still had his mouth, though it was now filled with jagged teeth and two large tusks. He lunged and grabbed one of the smaller creatures by the neck with a sickening crunch. He shook the thing, then flung it into three others that were closing in on Baby Saja. He leaped over the others until he was by Baby Saja’s side, and the two faced the swarm together.

Could Jinu help them? There was nothing in it for him, and yet … He pushed against the Honmoon, guiding its flow, so that it dipped lower. The swarm shied back, hesitating, only for a moment, but long enough for Baby Saja to climb onto Mystery’s back. Mystery spun and raced away. Jinu couldn’t hold the Honmoon long, and as it snapped back into place, the swarm surged forward again. Jinu hoped he had bought them enough time, but he didn’t get to see if they escaped because, for the first time since facing Gwi-Ma, Rumi called her sword.