Chapter Text
Sunlight Sisters.
Rumi’s face was practically glued to the television. She sat perched on a chair, leaning so far forward that her nose was only inches from the screen. Humming along to the tune, she swayed gently from side to side.
They were amazing.
Kim was amazing.
Celine was amazing.
Mom was amazing.
She watched as the former hunters danced and sang with effortless grace, the crowd’s cheers and voices rising to meet them. She watched them strike their final pose, eyes meeting the camera as the song ended—smiling, barely looking tired. Rumi’s gaze fixed on her mother.
"Your eyes are exactly like Mi-yeong’s," she remembered Celine telling her once.
Then the screen faded to black.
The soft whir of the DVD player opening filled the room, but Rumi kept her eyes on the black screen.
She took the disc out from the player, turning it slowly in her hands.
Starlight Sister Concert #34
"Rumi! I’m about to go see your mom to clean and replace the flowers, want to come?" Celine’s voice called from another room.
Rumi smiled. “Yes! Give me a moment,” she replied, gently sliding the disc back into its case and setting it beneath the television. She pushed the chair back into place before jogging off to where Celine was.
"Let me help you," Rumi offered, walking toward Celine and taking the bundle of flowers from her hands.
"Thank you, dear," Celine replied, lifting a bucket filled with a few tools and supplies for cleaning the gravestone, along with a broom for sweeping away leaves and grass.
Rumi trailed behind Celine on the way to her mom’s grave, following the familiar path they always took. The sun shone brightly, the green grass swaying gently in the wind, birds singing overhead.
Today is a good day.
No.
Today is a great day, because she got to spend it with Celine.
It had been two years since that night.
Since she almost lost Celine, since she almost lost her mom.
Again.
I mean… that’s what Celine is to Rumi, right? Celine raised her, took care of her, taught her everything. That’s what moms do.
Sure, no one could ever replace her real mom… but she could have a second mom, couldn’t she?
It's been two years since night.
It had also been two years since she made that promise to Celine, and she had kept it.
Every time she felt sad or lonely, before they go to bed, she would ask if she could sleep with Celine. And if the nightmares came, she would knock on Celine’s door first. Celine always answered. Always.
Rumi watched Celine’s back as they drew closer to their destination. She had missed this—missed her. Lately, they barely had time together. Celine was either off hunting demons or buried in managing the Starlight Sisters industry. She had said she was searching for the other hunters.
Rumi understood, of course. But that didn’t stop the quiet ache of loneliness that sometimes settled in her chest.
They never even got to go to the teddy bear museum.
But it's fine.
Keeping the world safe from demons is much important.
When they reached the gravestone, both bowed their heads in quiet respect, offering their prayers before beginning the work.
Rumi knelt to replace the white lilies with fresh ones, her hands gentle as she watered the nearby flower bed. A soft hum escaped her lips as she worked.
Celine, sweeping away fallen leaves, paused mid-motion. She turned toward Rumi, brow lifting in recognition.
“Is that Sweetest Scarlet?” she asked.
Rumi turned toward Celine and nodded. “Yeah! I just finished watching one of your albums and you guys were amazing!” she said with a bright smile.
Celine smiled, the memory rising unbidden—bright lights, roaring cheers, and the stage beneath her feet. She could almost hear Kim’s laughter during rehearsals, feel Mi-yeong’s warm hand squeeze hers just before the curtain rose. They had loved every moment, pouring their hearts into each performance as if it might be their last. Back then, the three of them were unstoppable, idols in every sense, not just to the crowd, but to each other.
Then she looked at Rumi, sweet Rumi who was now reenacting their performance, singing a verse as she clumsily did the choreography. Celine watched fondly, although clumsy, she saw Rumi's excitement, passion.
"You’ll shine brighter than we ever did, little one" Celine whispered underneath her breath.
Celine was cooking dinner when Rumi stepped into the kitchen.
The air was warm with the rich, mouthwatering scent of something sizzling in the pan. Celine stirred the meat with an easy rhythm, the sound of it crackling filling the quiet room, before adding a handful of vegetables and letting the colors mix together.
"Celine?"
Celine glanced over her shoulder, still stirring the pan. “Oh, Rumi! Perfect timing, dinner will be ready in just a few minutes. Mind helping me set the table, dear?” she said with a gentle hum, smiling warmly.
Rumi returned the smile with a nod. She moved to the cupboard, taking out two plates and setting them neatly on the table, each with a pair of chopsticks, cups were placed to the right, and she fetched small side-dish bowls and placed it on the left.
By the time Celine turned off the stove, the table was ready, looking just like how her mother used to set it—warm, orderly, and welcoming.
Rumi sat down as Celine set the steaming pot in the middle of the table, the rich aroma filling the room. Fetching a pitcher of water, Celine joined her, settling into her seat.
“Were you going to tell me something when you came here, dear?” she asked with gentle curiosity.
Rumi fidgeted with her hands while Celine served rice onto her plate, then onto her own, waiting patiently.
“I was wondering…”
“Yes?”
“What’s Kim’s and M om’s weapon, Celine?”
The chopstick in Celine’s hand paused mid-motion. She looked at Rumi, one brow arched.
“What made you ask?”
“I was just wondering. I already know yours is a saingeom, you showed it to me, so I was curious what the Starlight w eapons of the others were.” Rumi shrugged, explaining as she took a bite. “These are amazing, by the way,” she said, words muffled slightly as she chewed, eyes widening in genuine delight.
Celine gave an appreciative nod and sampled her own food before answering. “Well… Kim’s weapon was a gakgung.”
“A bow?”
Celine nodded.
Rumi’s focus was now entirely on her, eyes shining with excitement. “Really? That’s so cool! Were the arrows made from the honmoon too?”
“Yes. She’d summon an arrow as she pulled the string back to shoot.”
“That’s amazing!” she exclaimed, still mid-bite, her chopsticks hovering in the air as if she’d momentarily forgotten the food in her hand.
"Indeed, it was quite amazing how she handled the weapon even in close range. The demons never managed to land a scratch on her," Celine said, her eyes softening with the memory.
Rumi hummed thoughtfully, cheeks puffed slightly as she chewed, her mind already sketching images of Kim in motion — swift steps, a bow drawn with flawless precision. She swallowed, leaning forward a little.
"What about Mom? What was her weapon?" she asked, curiosity bubbling in her tone.
"Mi-yeong’s weapon was a shinkal," Celine replied, setting her chopsticks down for a moment.
Rumi’s eyes widened, almost sparkling. "Ooooooo, those daggers?" she said, already picturing the glint of blades in her mother’s hands, light and deadly all at once.
“Yes. Though, funny enough, she was actually frustrated when she first summoned her weapon,” Celine said with a small smile. “She wanted a ssang naht at first.”
“What’s that?”
“Think of two small sickles, one in each hand. Mi-yeong wanted them so she could swing fast, hook a demon’s claws or horns, and strike before they even knew what happened.”
Rumi’s grin grew. “So… like farming sickles, but cooler?”
Celine chuckled "Yes, farming sickles but cooler" she repeated.
Curiously, Rumi took a bite and tilted her head. “But did she like her shinkal in the end?”
“She loved it,” Celine said without hesitation.
“She struck with dangerous accuracy. The last thing the demons would see was the flash of her blade before it found its mark.”
A comfortable silence settled over them as they ate, Rumi quietly turning over the new information in her mind. After a minute, she spoke again. “So… you were the frontline, close range. Mom and Kim were both backlines — Mom being close but mostly mid-range, and Kim as long-range.”
“Exactly. But never underestimate them,” Celine said, her tone gentle but firm. “Even though their weapons were meant for distance, they were still deadly up close.”
Rumi giggled at the thought, picturing Kim whacking a demon square on the head with her bow. “Yeah, I can imagine."
“But Celine!”
“I said no, Rumi! End of conversation!” Celine’s glare was sharp enough to cut the air between them.
Rumi huffed, her cheeks puffing in frustration as she spun on her heel. She stomped toward her room and shut the door with a thud.
“That little—” Celine cut herself off, shaking her head as she pinched the bridge of her nose.
A few minutes earlier, Rumi had approached her while she was cleaning the couch. The faint scent of detergent lingered in the air as Celine pressed down on the fabric with deliberate care, working at a stubborn spot with steady, practiced motions.
“Celine! I think it’s finally time!” Rumi exclaimed, bounding to her side. Her eyes were bright with determination, a restless energy in the way she stood on the balls of her feet, like she could barely hold still.
Celine paused, cloth still in hand, and turned her head toward the girl. “Hmm? Time for what, dear?” she asked, brows lifting in mild curiosity as she studied Rumi’s eager face.
“Train! I want you to train me!” Rumi declared, her voice brimming with conviction.
The rag slipped slightly from Celine’s hand. Her lips parted, but no words came at first. Finally, she managed, “You want to what?” Her tone was half disbelief, half hope that she’d only misheard.
Rumi leaned forward, her fists clenched at her sides, and repeated with even more fire, “Train. I want to start training to kill demons.” Her voice wavered just slightly at the end, but her gaze held firm, unflinching as it locked on Celine’s.
Celine gripped the rag tighter, knuckles whitening as she turned her focus stubbornly back on the task at hand. “No,” she said firmly, her voice cutting through the room with a finality that left no room for misinterpretation.
“Why not? I’m old enough, and you need all the help you can get!” Rumi reasoned, her words tumbling out in a rush. She stepped closer, eyes narrowed in frustration, her small hands balled into fists at her sides.
Celine’s sigh was long and heavy, shoulders sagging under the weight of it. She turned her head just enough to look at Rumi, her gaze soft but weary. “You’re ten, Rumi.”
“Yeah! I have a double-digit age now, so that means I’m a big girl!” Rumi huffed, cheeks puffing up as she stomped her foot lightly against the floor. The agitation in her voice cracked through her determination, making her sound both defiant and heartbreakingly young.
“No, Rumi. My decision is final.” This time, Celine’s words came colder, clipped and sharp like a door shutting. She didn’t raise her voice, but the chill in her tone was enough to freeze the argument in place.
Celine’s cold words seemed to hang in the air, heavy and unyielding. Rumi’s fists trembled at her sides, her small frame shaking with a mixture of anger and hurt.
“That’s not fair!” she burst out, her voice cracking. “You always say I’m too young, too little, too fragile—but when will I ever be enough for you to let me help?!"
At her outburst, the honmoon stirred faintly, as though her emotions had rippled against it. The air around her seemed to hum for the briefest moment, barely perceptible, but enough to prickle at Celine’s senses.
Celine’s hand stilled when she caught a faint, familiar purple glow flickering at the edge of her vision. She knew where it came from—no, who it came from. She shouldn’t turn her head. She shouldn’t look.
But she did anyway.
Her breath caught. The marks were spreading across Rumi’s left arm, pulsing faintly with each heartbeat, alive and restless, answering the child’s emotions as if feeding on them. The sight made Celine’s chest tighten, her widened eyes betraying the fear she kept locked deep inside.
A demon
We must hunt all demons
Kill Kill Kill Kill Kill Kill
No
That's Rumi
Our Rumi
Rumi’s eyes shone with unshed tears, her lips trembling as she clenched her jaw. “You’ll just keep treating me like a baby forever!”
Celine’s eyes sharpened, her tone steady and unyielding. “No is no, Rumi.” She carried a weight in her voice that made it clear she would not be swayed.
“But Celine!”
“I said no, Rumi! End of conversation!” Celine’s glare was sharp enough to cut the air between them.
Rumi huffed, her cheeks puffing in frustration as she spun on her heel. She stomped toward her room and shut the door with a thud.
“That little—” Celine cut herself off, shaking her head as she pinched the bridge of her nose.
Celine slumped onto the couch , her body sinking heavily into the cushions as though her own thoughts were crushing her. She pressed her palms to her eyes, forcing deep, steady breaths, but the image refused to leave her.
Why did she think of that?
How could she?
Yes, Rumi carried a trace of demonic heritage, but she was still Rumi. The same Rumi who sang their old songs with a voice so bright it filled their empty home. The same child who waited faithfully for her at the door after every hunt. The same girl who knelt beside her at Mi-yeong’s grave, helping sweep away leaves with quiet, earnest hands.
That was her Rumi.
And yet… that glow. That cursed, pulsing mark spreading up her arm—alive, answering to her anger. Celine’s chest tightened, fear clawing at her. She knew what such power could do, what it could make someone become. She had seen too many fall to it before.
She wanted to tell herself it was nothing. That Rumi would never lose herself like that. But the voice of her training whispered back, sharp and merciless: a demon is a demon, no matter what mask it wears.
Her stomach twisted. That teaching had been carved into her since the very day she was introduced to the world of honmoon and demons, the creed passed down by every hunter before her. And now, for the first time, it stood in direct conflict with the child sitting behind that closed bedroom door.
She was supposed to hunt demons.
But how could she, when the one with demon’s blood was the girl she was raising? The girl that's only left of Mi-yeong? The girl she loved most?
The answer didn’t come, leaving Celine sitting in the quiet with nothing but the weight of her fear—and a gnawing truth she couldn’t yet bring herself to face.
With a weary sigh, Celine muttered, “I need a smoke.” She pushed herself up from the couch, hands trembling faintly as she reached for the pack on the counter. She almost never touched them unless the weight on her chest grew too heavy.
And tonight?
It was crushing.
Why? That was all running through Rumi’s head. Why? She was old enough. She was mature for her age, at least that was what the older people in town always said, and she always listened to Celine.
Now she sat on the floor, back pressed against the side of her bed, as far from the door as she could get. Her knees were pulled close to her chest, her small shoulders trembling as she sniffled, trying to smother the sound of her cries.
She wiped her tears with her wrist, then froze. The patterns had spread fully across her left arm, faintly glowing purple, flickering in rhythm with her uneven breaths. Rumi stared, heart pounding—part of her recoiling in fear, remembering the way Celine’s eyes had widened at the sight, yet part of her unable to look away. The light was faint, fragile almost, yet alive. And it was hers.
It had been about an hour since she’d slammed the door on Celine. The guilt sat heavy in her chest—she knew she shouldn’t have done that, shouldn’t have thrown a fit. Celine always knew what was best.
But still, the ache in her heart wouldn’t quiet. She only wanted to help. Every time Celine came home beaten and bruised, Rumi’s chest cracked a little more. She hated feeling useless, hated being forced to stand by while Celine carried every wound alone. And maybe she was only ten, but she wasn’t a baby anymore. She could be strong too—if Celine would just let her prove it.
She was a hunter, wasn’t she? That was what Celine had told her. The honmoon had chosen her.
If that was true, then why couldn’t she fight? Why couldn’t she stand beside Celine, instead of watching her walk away into danger night after night?
All she wanted was to ease that burden, to remind Celine she was not alone.
And for one selfish reason. If Celine trained her, then Rumi would finally have an excuse to spend more time with Celine.
Knock
Knock
Knock
Rumi heard the soft knock on the door, slow and steady, with a pause between each one. It was the same gentle rhythm Celine always used, patient and unhurried, like a quiet promise that she wasn’t angry. Even without seeing, Rumi knew it was her—and the sound alone felt like a hand reaching out, steadying her trembling heart.
"Rumi?"
Celine’s voice came muffled through the door, steadier now, softened after time had cooled her edge. The quiet creak of the hinges followed, and Rumi listened as the door eased open. Gentle footsteps padded across the floor, unhurried and soft, carrying the warmth of someone who had already chosen patience over anger.
Rumi buried her face deeper into her knees, refusing to look up, refusing to talk. The silence between them pressed heavy, broken only by the faint rustle of fabric as Celine lowered herself down beside her.
Her presence was warm, steady, like a small fire lit in the corner of a cold room. She sat close enough for Rumi to feel it, to know she wasn’t alone, but left just enough space so she wouldn’t push too hard against the girl’s hurt.
“Sweetie,” Celine’s voice was low, coaxing, “look at me, please?”
After a few seconds, Rumi’s breathing steadied just enough for her to lift her head. Hesitant, she shifted her gaze to the side, peeking at Celine through damp lashes. Her eyes lingered on the older woman’s profile, as if searching for the strength she always seemed to carry.
Celine’s eyes flicked briefly to Rumi’s arm, her expression carefully unreadable, before she returned her gaze to the girl’s face. A soft, apologetic smile touched her lips as she leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I’m sorry for raising my voice at you, Rumi.”
Rumi gave a small, shaky nod. “I’m…” she faltered, fumbling for the words, “sorry too, Celine.”
Her voice wavered as she pushed on. “I just wanted to help you. I hate seeing you come home hurt every night.” She swallowed, her hands curling against her knees. “So I thought… if you trained me, I could go with you on your hunts. At least then I could try to cover you, to watch your back when you can’t, instead of just sitting here, waiting—feeling useless.”
Rumi peeked up at her, blinking through the blur of her tears. Celine was quiet at first, just watching her with an expression Rumi couldn’t quite read. Then, slowly, Celine reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek with a touch so gentle it made Rumi’s throat tighten.
“Rumi…” Celine’s voice softened, quiet but steady. “You’re not useless. Don’t ever think that. Just being here—waiting for me, reminding me I’ve got someone to come home to—that’s more than you’ll ever know.”
Her gaze lingered on Rumi’s tear-stained face, the faint glow still threatening beneath her skin. Celine swallowed, her smile tinged with both love and sorrow. “But this world… what I do out there… it isn’t something I want you to carry yet. You’re too young, sweetie. You should be laughing, playing, being a child—not fighting monsters in the dark. Let me keep that weight on my shoulders a little longer.”
She pulled Rumi gently against her side, an arm wrapping around her. “Your time will come, when you meet the other hunters, the two who will make you whole. But not yet. For now, I just need you safe.”
Rumi leaned her head against Celine’s chest, her small arms wrapping around her in a quiet hug. She melted into the warmth of the touch, and slowly, the glowing patterns along her arm began to fade, retreating bit by bit until they rested faintly at her bicep, small and barely visible.
Celine saw it all, watching the patterns fade with a guarded expression, but she said nothing, only pulling Rumi closer.
Rumi tensed, catching the familiar, unwelcome scent. The stale tang of smoke clinging stubbornly to Celine’s clothes, sharp and bitter, the kind of smell that didn’t just vanish. It lingered, heavy, crawling into her nose, her throat, her chest.
Celine barely smoked. Rumi could count the times on one hand. She only ever did it when things were bad—really, really bad.
And tonight, Celine had smoked.
Because of you.
Because you were stubborn.
Because you made her worry.
Rumi squeezed her eyes shut, but the memory wouldn’t go away—the flicker of fear and hurt that crossed Celine’s face when she saw the marks on her arm. That look burned deeper than any wound.
Her stomach knotted, twisting tighter with every breath. It was her fault. All her fault.
“Rumi.” Celine’s voice was soft but edged with urgency, hands firm on her shoulders. “Sweetheart, breathe with me. Please, look at me.”
Her chest was too tight. The air wouldn’t come. The words barely reached her, muffled under the pounding in her head.
“Rumi, please,” Celine tried again, steadier this time, though her voice trembled. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”
But the words barely reached her. The air was too thick, her chest too tight. The marks on her arm pulsed faster, echoing the panic that refused to let her go.
If she had just listened.
If she hadn’t shouted.
If she hadn’t begged.
If she hadn’t lost control and let the marks show.
“Sweetheart, it’s alright. I’m here.” Celine’s voice was soft, steady, each word spoken like a lifeline. Her hand brushed gently against Rumi’s back, slow and careful, as if trying to coax her back piece by piece. But the storm inside Rumi only pressed harder.
Celine wouldn’t have looked at her like that. She wouldn’t have smoked. Wouldn’t have that bitter smell clinging to her skin, seeping into her hair, marking the air around her like an accusation.
Because you’re a demon
The words beat in her skull, louder and louder, until it felt like she could hardly breathe.
Her chest heaved, shoulders shaking as she tried to curl in on herself, shutting everything out. Celine’s hand never left her, just stayed there, warm and steady, pressing her gently into the world when she wanted to vanish.
“Rumi. Breathe with me,” Celine whispered, her own breaths slow, deliberate. In. Out. She repeated the rhythm again and again, her voice like an anchor in the noise. “That’s it, sweet girl. Just follow me. In… out…”
It wasn’t instant. M inutes crawled by, the pounding in Rumi’s head refusing to let go. But the words, the warmth, the steady presence beside her slowly slipped past the walls she built, seeping in like water through cracks. Her breaths hitched less, her chest loosened by inches. The marks on her arm dimmed, flickering weaker and weaker.
At last, she forced her eyes open. Through the blur of tears she saw her—Celine. Not smoke, not fear, not accusation. Just Celine, holding her as though she might shatter.
Rumi let out a shuddering breath and leaned into her, small fingers clutching at the fabric of Celine’s shirt. The storm hadn’t gone completely, but it was fading, carried off by the warmth of the arms that refused to let her go.
Celine looked down, meeting the child’s eyes. “There you are, my sweet girl…” she hummed, a gentle smile softening her face. Her voice was patient, steady, carrying the kind of calm that wrapped around Rumi like a blanket. “Talk to me, sweetheart,” she coaxed, low and soothing.
Rumi’s gaze brimmed with guilt and sadness. With a low, shaky breath, she whispered, almost ashamed to speak it aloud. “You smoked…” The words slipped out like a confession, heavy with penitence.
Celine’s eyes widened. “Oh, Rumi…” she breathed, immediately cupping the girl’s cheek with a tender hand. “It’s not your fault,” she reassured softly.
But Rumi only frowned, her head shaking in quiet defiance. “How could it not be my fault, Celine?” Her voice trembled as she gestured to the ugly patterns crawling faintly across her arm. Though small now, they pulsed stubbornly, as if screaming their anger at the world. At herself.
“It’s because of this. Because of what I am. Because I’m a demon.”
The older woman fell silent, teeth catching her lip. For a moment, the words struck deep, because in a way, Rumi wasn’t wrong. Just earlier, when those marks first blazed across her skin, Celine had flinched. For the briefest heartbeat, she hadn’t seen her little girl—she had seen a demon. A creature she was trained to hunt. To kill.
Not Rumi.
But that wasn’t why she reached for a cigarette. No, what had truly terrified her was how close she had come to calling on the honmoon. How near her fingers had been to brushing its glowing threads, to pulling her weapon into her hands—against the child she loved more than life itself. That was what sent her spiraling. That was what made the smoke cling to her tonight.
And what unsettled her most of all was the realization that this wasn’t the first time she had done this.
Celine’s thumb brushed over Rumi’s cheek, warm and steady, even as her own chest twisted with a weight she couldn’t show. “Sweetheart,” she murmured, her voice a low hum meant to soothe, “what you are doesn’t make this your fault. It never has.”
Rumi’s lips trembled. She tried to turn away, but Celine followed, gently coaxing her back. “But you—” Rumi’s voice cracked, raw, “you only smoke when things are really bad. And I saw your face, I know what I did to you. It’s because of me.”
Celine shook her head, quiet but firm, pressing her forehead lightly to Rumi’s, grounding her in the closeness. “No, my darling girl. I smoked because I scared myself tonight… because I almost did something I shouldn’t have. That’s on me, not on you.”
Rumi’s brows furrowed, her lips parting in a shaky whisper. “What do you mean? What… what did you almost do?”
Celine closed her eyes for a moment, drawing in a steadying breath. Her hand smoothed Rumi’s hair back from her damp forehead, fingers lingering in slow, calming strokes. When she spoke again, her voice was softer than a sigh, careful, deliberate. “What I mean is that I almost let fear take over. And when I let fear lead, I make mistakes.”
Rumi blinked up at her, uncertainty flickering in her gaze. “So… it wasn’t because of me?”
Celine’s thumb brushed across Rumi’s cheek, gentle and sure. “Sweetheart, it was never because of you. You are the reason I fight, the reason I hold on. When I stumble, that’s mine to carry — never yours.”
She kissed her temple, her voice dropping low, steady as a promise. "You are not a burden I carry, Rumi. You’re the reason I keep going.” She pulled the child into her chest, her embrace firm, unyielding. “You’re the reason I come back. Always.”
Rumi hesitated, the words hovering on the edge of belief. Her small hands clutched at Celine’s sleeve, trembling, as if afraid the reassurance might vanish if she let go. But as the quiet stretched, she slowly melted into the woman’s embrace, breathing uneven but lighter, the shadows in her eyes beginning to ease.
For a moment, Rumi stayed stiff in her arms, breath shaky, as if she couldn’t quite believe it. But then, slowly, she melted into Celine’s hold, her small hands clutching at the woman’s shirt as if afraid she might let go. Her tears dampened the fabric, but the trembling in her shoulders began to ease, little by little, until her breathing found a softer rhythm.
And though doubt still lingered in her eyes, when she finally tilted her face up to look at Celine, the tightness in her chest loosened just enough for her to believe.
“I love you Celine”
"I love you too, Rumi"