Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Honmoon was never silent, and it certainly was never meant to crack.

For as long as it existed, its luminous hum guided demon hunters in Korea, a rhythm only the chosen could feel. It acted as a bridge between realms, a shield forged by the first Hunters to maintain balance between the divine and the damned. With its golden glow, it cast its light all over the world and kept humans safe from the demons that roamed just below their feet. Every generation, a new group of Hunters was chosen beneath its light, their souls marked by ancient rites and weapons designed by its patterns.

When Huntrix sealed the rift two decades ago, the iridescent Honmoon pulsed in grateful silence. It never chose new Hunters. There was no need.

This generation… was different.

Rumi, Mira, and Zoey all bore children, growing up under the twin legacies of music and magic. Some were half-demon, their veins humming with shadows and patterns of a lavender-silver hue, while others remained human, yet no light from the Honmoon fell upon them. No calling. No rite.

Until the Honmoon faltered, just for a second.

A web of jagged fractures stretched across its once indestructible surface, and the world held its breath. Huntrix felt it instantly. In the same heartbeat, hands reached for the weapons they had long set aside- Rumi’s sain-geom, Mira’s gok-do, Zoey’s shin-kal- each one glowing faintly in response to the disturbance. They resumed training in private, watching the barrier as though expecting a war, but the fractures did not grow. No new Hunters were summoned.

For years, nothing happened. The Hunters continued to train in silence, their children grew up under wary gazes and whispered fears, and the balance held, just barely.

Until one day, the sky over Seoul suddenly burst into light. The Honmoon was weakening, and something was clawing its way back through the cracks.

Three streaks of brilliance shot down from the heavens, unseen by the ordinary. All landed in different parts of the grand city, choosing three seemingly random individuals. None of them were Hunters or even knew each other, but the Honmoon had chosen them all.

And even as the Hunters all realized something was wrong…three marks were already beginning to burn.

__________

The night had been quiet. Too quiet. 

In her apartment on the outskirts of Seoul, Zoey sat curled up on the couch, her turtle-patterned socks, a gift from Mira during their trainee era, adorning her feet as they tucked beneath her. A messy pile of notebooks lay scattered on the coffee table, the one closest to her filled with random verses and scratched-out lyrics. Across from her, her eldest daughter, Seri, sprawled dramatically over an armchair, dark brown hair tied up as she scrolled endlessly on her phone.

It was a rare moment during the summer, no college courses whisking the Huntrix’s children away to the dorms and the bustle of overwhelming schedules. Zoey was over the moon having all her chickens back in her metaphorical coop, just as she knew Rumi and Mira were enjoying the spoils as well. 

Her husband was taking the other two kids out on a grocery run, her oldest son and youngest daughter having pestered him about restocking their snack shelves endlessly enough to cause the former demon to whisk them away; Zoey had half a mind to offer herself as hostage if only for mercy.

It should’ve been peaceful, quiet apart from the occasional sound from one of Seri’s videos, but the hairs on Zoey’s arm prickled, a low thrum echoing at the edge of her senses. At first, she thought it was her nerves —old instincts that never quite let her settle —but the sound grew, vibrating through the walls. Her chest tightened, like someone had pressed a fist straight against her ribs, squeezing.

“…Mom?”

She hadn’t realized she was glaring at the blank wall next to her, as if trying to see through it; her focus was so intense that she was practically willing it to reveal its secrets. Her gaze snapped to meet her daughter’s, but the girl was looking out the window, a glow adorning her furrowed brows. The skyline shimmered faintly purple in the far distance, its outline settling in the heart of Seoul; it flickered — fractured —like a pulse caught in arrhythmia. Zoey's stomach dropped.

“ Oh,” she said faintly, the words nearly catching in her throat. “Yeah… that’s not good.”

Her hand twitched as she went to grab her phone to call her girls instinctively, but found herself hesitating, feeling the blood slowly drain from her face. It had been months since they all last spoke, what with motherhood and vastly different career paths. At least Rumi and her family remained nearby, having found a quaint home nestled in a quiet neighborhood, near enough that they could meet from time to time, their children practically growing up together. Still, Mira hadn't hesitated to leave when they disbanded Huntrix, escaping into a small city where she would finally find some peace, the occasional phone call or billboard reminding them that she was okay.

Would she even come?

Zoey didn't realize she was biting the inside of her lip until she suddenly tasted iron—a habit she thought she had left behind with her idol career—quickly letting go and soothing the area with her tongue. They haven't spoken about the Honmoon since they disbanded, having had no problems with gaps or unwanted ambushes, even when they were no longer performing. After a few false alarms, they realized it seemed to do fine on its own, the pulses of purple in its iridescence merely announcing the arrival of a demon it deemed salvageable. After Gwi-ma's fall, his hold on every demon faltered, sputtering out like a broken engine. Those who were recently turned had retained parts of their soul, and, after realizing they could escape the hell they were imprisoned in, it wasn't odd to see some roaming around, merely trying to blend in and create a new life for themselves. Those who weren't so lucky remained below the streets of Seoul, too far gone in a trance to even recognize their hunger. 

With a groan, she snatched up her phone and dialed Mira's number, once more biting the soft flesh of her bottom lip as it rang. Once. Twice.

...

The person you are trying to reach is currently unav-. 

She stood up and sighed, tucking her phone into the pocket of her hoodie and ready to tell Seri not to wait up for her when she faltered, her daughter already standing by the door with an expectant look on her face. She knew better than to tell her to stay home, Seri's stubbornness being the only one that could hold a candle to her own. She couldn't help but laugh at the sight, tilting her head towards the door. When the Huntrix children were still young, they were all taught to fight, to defend themselves and others should the day ever come that the honmoon choose them to become the new hunters. Most of them learned to parry strikes before they could speak, Seri especially being her mother's daughter when it came to acrobatics. When the honmoon made no move to choose, however, the girls all agreed their children would live normal lives—well, as normal as they could be with ex-idol parents.

Zoey didn't bother grabbing the car keys, knowing the two could get there much faster than any vehicle could.

___

Across the city, Rumi felt it too.

___

She was in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, carefully reviewing Minji’s notes for a choreography assignment. Even if she wasn’t currently enrolled in anything, the only daughter couldn’t help over-preparing herself for the next semester, already stressing over what study methods would be best for each class. The girl in question leaned against the fridge door, nursing a mug of tea in her hand while the other fiddled with a stray string fluttering from the hem of her sleep shirt. Her mauve hair was piled in a messy bun, but strands escaped in a halo—Rumi resisted the urge to fuss with it.

“You’re going to get cavities with that much sugar,” Rumi said mildly, glancing at Minji’s tea that harbored more than enough honey for three servings. It was no surprise that her daughter grew up with a sweet tooth; Rumi chuckled to herself as she remembered craving every Korean sweet she could think of for over half of her pregnancy.  

“Mm,” Minji replied, playfully shrugging as she walked towards her room, taking a sip of her favorite drink and letting out a dramatic “ah” at the sweetness that coated her tongue. “Better than bitterness.”

Rumi sighed, shaking her head with a small smile… daughters. As much as she loved to say that Minji was just like her, she was no less than a carbon copy of her father; the two were attached at the hip as they mercilessly teased Rumi whenever they could. It was a tough transition to university, as Minji had nearly pulled out her hair from the stress of being away from her parents and living in a dorm with another person. With two demon parents, it wasn't a surprise when she was born with her own markings, much lighter than the other two and able to blend in with her skin. In her terrible twos, it was nearly impossible to get a young Minji out of her demon state; the pair constantly coddled her and made sure she was calm whenever they went out. Luckily, Zoey and Mystery had some children of their own with demon blood, making it much easier as they leaned on each other for support. 

Most of the Huntrix children were homeschooled growing up, as the girls wanted them to avoid being constantly hassled by other starstruck kids. Only Seri and Haru, the youngest daughter of Zoey and Mystery, went to school— and even then, it was private and tough to get into. The children thought of each other as cousins, and, being Minji's only friends she ever truly trusted and made, made the move away that much harder. It came as a relief when she found a perfect university nearby —close enough that she could visit home whenever she felt overwhelmed— and it just so happened that Seri was attending there too. Without hesitation, the two had become roommates and shared a dorm with one other person, a childhood friend of Seri's that Minji felt comfortable with.  

The band on her left hand suddenly caught the kitchen light, garnering her attention. The sight made her sigh softly as she thought about her husband, who was currently visiting Baby a few cities away. The Saja Boys were nothing less than brothers, tied together before they began to find their own lives outside of being Gwi-ma's puppets. When the others married, Baby had vanished for a bit, only suddenly reappearing a few months later, cities away, claiming he was 'finding his own footing without the lovey-dovey bullshit.' Now the boys can't spend a few weeks apart without one visiting the other. The Huntrix girls loved to joke that maybe they should've married each other instead. The thought appeared in Rumi's mind once more as she remembered how excited Jinu had been while he packed, the memory causing the sides of her lips to quirk up.

She was in the process of pouring herself her own cup of tea when the skin at the edge of her collarbone flared like a brand pressed to her flesh. Her markings were shimmering like disturbed water, pulsing with a faint glow, and then—sharp pain, quick and hot—burned through her veins. Black replaced the normal iridescence, rippling as though something inside them was trying to crawl out. She blinked, and they were back to normal, but the pain persisted, spreading down to the tips of her fingers.

She hissed and clutched her arm. “What—”

“Umma?” Minji’s voice echoed from the hallway, then sharper, alarmed. “Umma, it hurts.”

She had started to rush over as Minji came into view. Her daughter’s markings—softer and fewer than her own, but still unmistakably tied to her two-thirds-demon heritage—were flaring in tandem with hers, a mirrored distress. Minji’s brown eyes now glowed faintly amber as they filled with tears, her pupils becoming narrow slits as she panicked.

Rumi quickly wrapped her arms around her daughter and pulled her into a protective hug, a pang in her chest as she tried to calm her nerves and the rising tide of fear. She knew this sensation. Not the exact shape, but the echo of it. It was the same tug she felt years ago whenever demons pushed against the veil, but this…this was harsher.

Another tug snapped her back to the present, a hum in her veins urging her to follow, a primal command she couldn't ignore. Leaning back, she cupped Minji’s cheek, giving her a soft kiss on the forehead before bringing her arms back; a look of understanding passing between the two. 

Shoes on and tears dried, they dashed out into the night, the streets eerily empty, Seoul’s usual hum muted against the pulse that followed them, thrumming under the soles of their feet.

—-

Rumi and Minji reached the plaza first, where the usual nighttime bustle had disappeared, not a single person to be seen. The Honmoon’s glow had changed entirely; what had been a steady, protective pulse was now fractured, jagged, and trembling. Hairline cracks splintered across its surface, a massive fissure slicing through the heart of its light like lightning caught in frozen glass, its once-comforting hum now a strained, discordant whine.

They didn’t have much time to dwell on it, though, as two familiar faces rushed into view. 

Zoey felt a rush of relief cut through her panic as she saw Rumi and her daughter, grateful she wouldn’t have to investigate without another Hunter. The two women locked eyes, and for a split second amidst the chaos, they smiled warmly. The tugs in their chests pulling them towards the Honmoon were shrouded in a familiarity only intertwined souls could comprehend. Before either of them could utter a greeting, a thunderous crack reverberated through the clearing like the sky itself was splitting, the four of them rushing to cover their ears.

“Oh, hell—” Zoey began, but Rumi shot her a look sharp enough to cut steel. The half-demon let out her fair share of expletives from time to time herself, but never in front of her daughter. She knew Minji most likely said a lot worse, mainly hanging around her cousins, who managed to sound like sailors every time they spoke. 

“Language,” Rumi hissed.

Zoey sent her a sharp look but said nothing, quickly moving past the retort, lowering her hands, and scanning the grounds. The air around the plaza vibrated with an unseen energy. Shadows darted across the steps, flickering at the edges of vision, teasing the senses, and a faint, indiscernible whispering tickled the back of their minds. Her hands at her side tightened into fists, distracting her as she itched to chew her bruised lip. The sound of her heartbeat was all she could hear as her eyes darted around once more, silently hoping this was the work of a demon that they could quickly vanish and not anything bigger, but a nagging feeling in her mind told her otherwise. 

“Where are the demons?” She muttered, her hand untensing as it instinctively moved to her side, summoning the Shin-kal — except nothing came. Her palm remained empty, buzzing faintly but unarmed.

Rumi did the same, reaching for the familiar pull of the Sain-geom. Nothing. The hilt didn’t form, no energy spark, no shimmer of light. Just… absence.

Zoey’s throat went dry. She shook her hand like maybe it was just her nerves, but still—nothing. “Oh no. Oh no, no, no—”

Seri and Minji had stepped back, their expressions mirroring the fear their mothers rarely let themselves show, the unspoken dread hanging heavy between them. The girls had been trained for dealing with demons, but nothing prepared them for this unknown. 

“What the fu-?!”

“-Zoey!”

Rumi scolded, stopping the woman from yelling out her expletives, shooting a pointed look towards the younger girls behind them.

Zoey, now unable to move past it, gestured wildly at Seri and Minji, who stood gawking at the sight. “They know the words!”

“Not from you,” Rumi retorted.

Seri leaned toward Minji, whispering as she tried to cut through the rising tension, “Pretty sure I’ve heard Mom say worse in traffic.”

Minji’s lips twitched, but she stayed silent, her gaze locked on the Honmoon. Unlike her cousins, she'd been obsessed with learning every bit she could about the veil, constantly doing her own research about what truly makes up the honmoon. By now, she's made 7 or 8 journals full of information, from what makes the honmoon react to how it shifts with the seasons, but nothing in there told her anything about this.

The four of them stood at the center of the plaza watching as the glow intensified. Each crack split further, glowing brighter, the sound like stone groaning under pressure.

Rumi tried again. She stretched her hand, called for the sword, but the blade didn’t appear. Her brow furrowed, mouth tight with frustration. “It’s not responding.”

“What do you mean it’s not—” Zoey stopped herself, teeth grinding. The air buzzed, their weapons absent, the Honmoon splintering before their eyes.

Another crack shot across its surface like a wound that refused to close, purple light bleeding into the night.

“Okay, so this is fine,” Zoey muttered, pacing, her voice laced with a desperate attempt at levity. “Totally fine, just our sacred veil breaking in real time, no clue what’s happening, and our weapons ghosting us—”

“Zoey,” Rumi warned again, her tone strained as she was now also attempting to calm down the spiraling woman.

“No, no, you don’t understand, this is literally the definition of not fine!”

Before Rumi could respond, the Honmoon gave a violent shudder, thin, shadowy tendrils snaking upward, curling and writhing like smoke caught in a wildfire. They shimmered faintly at first, almost like living veins of shadow threading through the Honmoon’s radiant glow, before stretching farther, each tendril licking along the cracks, weaving in between the golden light. 

Zoey and Rumi froze, eyes widening. The tendrils weren’t harmless—they pulsed with a sluggish, almost diseased energy, as if the Honmoon itself were rotting from the inside. The air grew heavier, tinged with a faint metallic scent.

With a sound like glass exploding underwater, three beams of radiant light burst outward, searing through the cracks with blinding intensity. They shot down into the clearing in front of them, sizzling into the earth with a force that knocked all four back a step.

Zoey instinctively grabbed Seri's wrist and yanked her back, a sharp cry escaping her lips. Rumi shielded Minji with her arm, a protective instinct overriding her own fear.

Then— silence.

When the glow dimmed, three brilliant orbs hovered where the beams had struck, spinning slowly, humming with impossible energy.

The orbs began to speed up, whirling faster, faster, spinning until the air was a living wind, whipping around them, tugging, twisting, hair strands flying erratically. Dust and debris skittered across the plaza, carrying faint scents of ozone and burned earth. They grounded themselves as the wind continued to pick up, trying their best to remain on their feet. The three orbs merged into one, releasing a final pulse of light before shooting up into the night sky, disappearing from view as quickly as they had appeared.

The Honmoon groaned again, a long, low sound that raised goosebumps.

Zoey and Rumi exchanged a look, for once unsure of what to do.

 “Oh,” Rumi breathed, the air coming out as a stutter. “This is bad.”

“..and Mira’s not here to deal with it,” Zoey added, too quickly, the words tumbling out in a rush of anxiety.

Rumi groaned, knowing where this conversation was going, having heard several rants from the younger girl before. “Don’t even start.”

“Mom’s right,” Seri piped up, ever the instigator, trying her best to lighten the mood. “Convenient that Aunt Mira moved after she got married. Probably sipping tea in her home outside Seoul right now, totally oblivious.”

Rumi’s lips twitched despite herself as she huffed. “Yeah, well, if this thing shatters, we’re dragging her back whether she likes it or not.”

The conversation dulled out as the four of them stood there in the glow of the cracked, unstable Honmoon, the night heavy with dread and questions. They watched the purple-gold light warp and twist with black veins, the fractured hum growing louder, vibrating through their bones. None of them knew what the beams of light meant, or where they had gone, or why their weapons refused to answer them. 

All they knew was that the Honmoon had never looked so close to breaking, something impatient stirring in the depths of the writhing tendrils.

And for the first time in years, Zoey and Rumi felt powerless.

Chapter Text

The lecture hall was already buzzing by the time Seori walked in, the hum of voices and the shuffling of papers filling the space as students settled into the seats they had chosen at the beginning of the semester, only a few days ago. The afternoon light slanted through high windows, catching dust drifting lazily in the air that seemed to scatter as the girl precariously balanced a stack of handouts on her hip while holding a thermos of peppermint tea. Taking a quick sip, she carefully set the sage-colored thermos down on a podium in the front of the room before walking down the aisles, placing papers on each occupied desk.

A few seconds later, Professor Hwang stumbled in, an older man with half-moon glasses perched at the tip of his nose, placing a laptop down on the podium. Once she finished passing everything out, Seori hurried back, taking her place next to the professor with a slight prideful puff of her chest. She’d taken this class only two semesters ago and instantly found herself in awe over the teachings of myths and folklore. Seori never missed a chance to visit the professor during office hours, where the pair would ramble on for as long as they could until another student would interrupt them, sweating over a failing grade or a harshly graded paper. Professor Hwang is a charming man during his lectures, but Seori knew firsthand just how strict the man was with his assignments. She remembered stressing over his papers day and night weeks before they were even due, most times completing them and then throwing them into her overflowing waste basket near her desk before starting over. 

It was during his second-to-last office hours that Professor Hwang asked Seori to become his teaching assistant. He was notorious for being one of the few professors without one, but, as he explained mid-rant over the mischievous Dokkaebi he swore had seen the other day, he was getting older and had finally admitted to needing some help (He was perfectly fine, but he’d never admit to the girl that she was the only one of his students he’d been impressed with). 

Seori quickly fell into the role of his trusted assistant, running to print out handouts before his lectures and helping students write their papers. It didn’t make his class any easier, but the added help of a student who’s mastered his style of writing and teaching definitely raised his passing rate. The first semester she spent as his teaching assistant was a learning curve for them all, but now, she was well-acclimated to what he expected from her. 

“Folklore is a living thing,” Professor Hwang’s voice suddenly rang out, echoing in the lecture hall and hushing any leftover chatter as he began without a greeting, hands already flying animatedly, “It grows, changes, and survives because it is told. Passed from voice to voice, mind to mind. Today, we will talk about one of the rarest and most revered of mythic creatures—” His eyes flicked to Seori with a small, knowing nod. “—the Samjok-o.”

The screen behind him flickered to life as Seori tapped the laptop keys, displaying a stylized black bird with three long, sharp legs, each talon curved like a blade. Its feathers seemed almost to ripple with heat.
 

“The Samjok-o,” he continued, “is said to live in the sun. In Korean myth, it represents power, divine authority, and balance between the past, present, and future. In ancient Goguryeo murals, it was depicted as the embodiment of the sun’s authority, far surpassing even the dragons in power. This crow could fly between worlds, carrying messages from the heavens to the mortal realm.”

Seori moved to the side, glancing at the screen as the intricate details of the mural, with its aged pigments and sunburst patterns, filled the wall behind her. “Notice the three legs,” she added, her voice steady but warm, picking up where she knew the professor liked her to fill in. “Each is said to represent one of the realms—heaven, earth, and the underworld. Some interpretations say the third leg is a symbol of insight beyond mortal comprehension.”

He sent her an approving smile before continuing, “You will notice in the paintings of the Samjok-o that the bird’s eyes are often gold or red, signifying not only its solar association but also its role as an omen. Seeing the Samjok-o in dreams or visions was considered a sign that change, sometimes dangerous, sometimes divine, was coming.”

After a brief pause meant for suspense, Hwang chuckled softly, waving a hand dismissively, “But, of course, most people will never see such a thing outside of art. Myths, after all, are myths.”

Seori watched the class from her position at the side of the room, noting which students were scribbling notes with focus and which were barely paying attention. In the middle rows, a girl with a cropped black hoodie sat with perfect posture, her expression sharp with interest. She wasn’t taking notes, she was just… watching. Not the slides, not the professor. Watching as though each word was a clue to something she’d been searching for.

Seori tore her gaze away. No reason to stare at a random student.

When the lecture ended nearly an hour later, the class having gone over time discussing comparative sun myths, Seori stayed behind to help collect papers. Most of the students hurried out into the winter chill, but the mysterious girl lingered for a moment, her gaze flicking toward the Samjok-o still frozen on the projector screen. Her lips pressed together, unreadable, before she left without a word.

She didn’t know why she watched her go, only understanding that the glance of sunset colored hair would plague her mind.

—

Seori had always found her comfort in silence.

When she first arrived at Chugye University for the Arts, Seori instantly gravitated towards the massive library a few steps from her dorm, knowing it would be where she would spend the majority of her free time. With frequent visits over the years, she had quickly befriended the librarian, scouring all the books in the back that had only served to collect dust. Eventually, she began volunteering to help organize the mess left behind by stressed-out students whenever she had extra time, which was quite often. 

She’s been a girl of few words, preferring the safety of a new book rather than talking to those around her. Although quiet, she has a keen eye for detail, having mastered the art of body language at a young age. She could often be found in the corner of a library and, to no one’s surprise, that’s exactly where she had been the day it happened.

–Present Day–

She ran a finger along the top of the back shelves, the ones with books of ancient languages no one bothered to open. The pad of her finger came back a light grey, colored with the dust bunnies that made their homes within the yellowed pages. Pursing her lips slightly in disgust, she grabbed a rag and hastily cleaned, using her free hand to nurse the jasmine tea she always got from the coffee shop right next door. It was quiet today, not much noise in the library except for the occasional turning of a page or a sharp sigh from a tired student. Midterms were around the corner, so no doubt it would get full in here soon.

Satisfied with the new state of the shelves, Seori made her way back to the front, humming softly to herself; it was a tune from an older Huntrix song that seemed to have given her an earworm. She glanced to her side and faltered when, from the corner of her eye, she spotted two girls huddled together on the couches near the back walls, giggling amongst themselves. The sight caused her chest to tighten, but she pushed the feeling aside and continued walking. It wasn’t that she was lonely, per se, having a small group of acquaintances in each class, but Seori would be lying if the thought of having a best friend didn’t cross her mind every so often. People were usually put off by her colder nature, but she just showed her affection in ways others wouldn’t understand, so she simply accepted her fate and continued on, blocking the now dull ache she felt. 

“Seori!”

The girl snapped out of her daze and waved, heading toward the front desk where Bomi, the librarian, greeted her with a familiar smile. In the two years since Seori had first wandered in—oversized hood pulled up and eyes wide at the library’s towering shelves—Bomi had grown fond of the quiet student. She found herself looking forward to the ramblings of the younger girl, knowing that, even on her off days, Seori would wander in, holding a peace offering in the form of a warm, fruity tea or flaky pastries from the bakery down the street.

Bomi chuckled softly as Seori, still humming, settled behind the desk, placing her half-full cup of tea down with a soft clink, the floral aroma enveloping the two in a comforting wave. “Still got that Huntrix song stuck in your head, huh?” she teased, adjusting her reading glasses as she scanned the latest list of overdue returns.

Seori gave a small, sheepish smile. “It’s catchy,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “And nostalgic.”

Bomi nodded knowingly. “Can’t blame you. I still remember when those girls were on every screen across Korea. I hear some of their children go to school here, how exciting!”

Seori hummed, her fingers tracing absentmindedly over the edge of the desk. That wasn’t something she was surprised by, having seen the children in question usually crowded by people wherever they went on campus. The Huntrix, though no longer performing, still lived in the whispers of the world, especially among fans like herself who had once found solace in their music.

A shadow suddenly swept across the library floor, though no one had walked by. Her gaze lifted to the tall windows, where a murder of crows crowded the glass, blotting out the pale winter light. Their sheer number plunged the room into a dim half-darkness, the only glow coming from the fake candles scattered across the tables.

For the briefest instant, she saw it.
High above, a great black bird wheeled against the washed-out sky, its wings stretching wider than the windows themselves. It shouldn’t have been possible to see such detail from so far away, but she caught it, eyes widening behind the steel frame of her glasses: three sharp legs tucked against its body, eyes like molten gold fixed on her.

Her breath caught as she gripped the now lukewarm cup she was nursing, her mind racing as she thought about the lecture a few days ago. That wasn’t a normal crow. It couldn’t have been a hallucination…right? No, she’d never seen anything so real, the air around her suddenly heavy in her lungs.

A sharp tug in her chest caused her to blink- the sky now empty as the pale light filtered back through the glass as though nothing had happened. The soft chatter of the students around her remained consistent throughout the entire moment, and Bomi never looked up from her own work. 

A prickle danced along the nape of her neck as she turned back to the desk, a soft furrow now scrunching her eyebrows together. Suddenly, a shrill chirp made her tense, but another glance at the window only showed a large black feather slowly drifting towards the ground.

—

The afternoon passed quietly until she reached the back shelves again, reshelving a collection of obscure folklore texts. As her hand brushed over a scroll she didn’t remember seeing before, the air seemed to still. The faint hum of the library faded, leaving only the sound of her heartbeat in her ears.

She froze.

Her fingertips tingled where they touched the aged paper, hesitating before sliding the scroll free of the ribbon that held it together. It smelled faintly of smoke and salt air, though she couldn’t say why. As she rolled it open, unfamiliar characters seemed to pulse faintly on the page. She didn’t understand them, but her chest tightened as if she should. The pulse became more frantic, and, as if detaching itself from the characters on the page, a small orb of light absorbed into her fingertips, which held the scroll.

Suddenly, something brushed the inside of her left ankle, soft like the flick of a paintbrush. She glanced down, expecting to see a stray hair or maybe dust, but what she found made her throat tighten —a faint symbol shimmered on her skin, delicate as if drawn with iridescent ink: a singular crow’s feather floating above a blooming lotus flower. It glowed for only a moment before fading into what looked like a pale, silvery birthmark.

“Everything alright?” Bomi asked, looking up from a pile of returned books.

Seori quickly adjusted her stance, strategically placing her right leg in front of her. “Fine,” she said, forcing her voice to sound casual.

But her mind was far from fine. She kept flexing her fingers as if the movement might shake off the strange energy humming under her skin.

She set the scroll aside, swallowing hard, and for the first time in years, Seori felt like the quiet corner of her life might not stay quiet for long.