Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Liar

Mistake

Demon

MOSNTER

Those words echoed in Rumi’s mind, looping endlessly like a curse she couldn’t escape. The scene played over and over, her girls. Oh, her beautiful girls, her soulmates, her everything.

Their love bound not just by desire, but by something deeper, older, like the honmoon itself had woven them together, they were made for each other. They had been her light, her home, the place where her heart had finally learned to rest. In their arms, she had found peace; in their eyes, she had seen forever. And now, that forever felt shattered, the look in their eyes, etched with betrayal so sharp it made her breath catch.

Through the honmoon, through their bond, she felt it — what was once warm and steady, it now pulsed with hurt, it wailed and wept, a wave of  soft blue hue trembling around them.

She could feel Mira’s fury burning through the memory — wild, untamed, heartbreak wrapped in fire. It wasn’t just anger; it was pain, raw and unforgiving.

And Zoey — hers was quieter, more restrained, but no less powerful. Sorrow clung to her like fog, thick with confusion and hurt. Both had trusted her.

"Please, I can still fix this, fix me.." Rumi wept, taking a hesitant step towards the two 

"Just give me a chance, I can-"

Rumi's eyes widened as a familiar glow formed around Mira’s hands. Her fingers reached into the threads of the honmoon, weaving through them with purpose. The honmoon cried out in protest, quaking under the storm of her emotion  — but it could not deny its hunter. It had no choice but to grant her wish.

No

Deafening silence surrounds them.

The Gok-Do faintly glows as it's pointed towards Rumi.

You deserve this, liar.

Rumi staggered, eyes brimming with tears. She looked to Zoey, but Zoey didn’t meet her halfway. The rapper’s gaze stayed fixed downwards, unable to meet Rumi’s.

"Zoey.....please..."

The honmoon trembled as Zoey reached into its threads, her touch uncertain. Love warred with doubt in her chest, but still, the weapon began to form — slow, reluctant, the honmoon ached with the same sorrow she carried.

SNAP

Rumi felt it shatter.

The pain was immediate, sharp, like something tearing through her chest, the threads connecting her to Mira and Zoey disappeared.

Her breath caught, and her hands trembled, grasping for something invisible slipping through her fingers. 

Then nothing.

No warmth. No presence. Nothing. She reached for Mira, for Zoey — but felt no trace of them in her soul. No emotion. No love. Just emptiness where they used to be.

And she did what she did best.

She ran.

Like a coward, her legs carried her away, from the two hunters, from Mira and Zoey, from her girls.

And if she’d been thinking clearly, she might’ve noticed that Mira wasn’t gripping her Gok-Do properly, that Zoey was only holding two of her Shin-Kal instead of all six.

But Rumi didn’t notice.

Rumi didn’t know better.

The sun hung gently overhead, casting a warm, golden glow across the open grassland.

The breeze was soft — just enough to stir the tall grass and make the cloth tied to the old tree behind the gravestone flutter like lazy ribbons in the air. The hanok stood in the distance, quiet and still, its silhouette resting comfortably in the light.

Celine knelt before the grave, a small bundle of white lilies in her hands.

She moved with care, brushing away fallen leaves and flecks of dust from the stone’s surface.

Her fingers lingered over the carved name.

Ryu Mi-yeong

Her heart was filled not with sorrow, but with something gentler.

Reverence.

Love.

Celine placed the small bundle of lilies into a vase on the left side of the gravestone. Another vase stood on the right, mirroring its position. Both were worn by time, but clean — cared for by the woman who returned again and again.

Flower beds flanked each side of the gravestone, nestled beside the vases.

To a passerby, it might seem excessive, too many flowers, too much care for a single grave.

But for Celine, it was never enough.

Not for Mi-yeong.

Not for the other half of her soul

If she could, she would’ve given her everything.

"This place is very precious to me…"

Her train of thought was cut short when a small, petite child, maybe seven or eight years old came running toward her, her slick, braided hair shining under the sun. She wore a dark red dress that fell just above her knees, the fabric catching the light with each step. A green cloth headband was tied snugly around her head, its ends poking upward like soft, floppy ears, bouncing with every step she took.

"Rumi!"

Celine yelped, stumbling a step backward as Rumi collided with her.

She was ready to scold the girl, but when she looked down, she was met with a pouting Rumi, her eyes wide and shining like a pleading puppy. Rumi let out a small whine, puffing her cheeks in a dramatic attempt to win sympathy.

"Am I not precious to you?" Rumi asked

With a playful sigh, Celine ruffled Rumi’s hair, which only made the girl whine louder. She grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest as she exaggeratedly turned away from Celine.

“Hmph!” Rumi huffed, loud and dramatic.

Celine could faintly hear the honmoon humming in delight, its soft blue threads glowing gently beneath her feet. The strands pulsed with quiet amusement, its tune light and playful, the melody curled through the air like laughter, as if it, too, found joy in their little moment.

Celine let out a quiet chuckle at Rumi’s dramatic pout. Reaching out with her left hand, she rested it gently on the girl's shoulder, guiding her to face the grave. Then, without a word, she drew Rumi into a warm half-embrace, holding her close.

"Don't be silly Rumi" Celine murmured with an affectionate huff, the corners of her lips curving in a fond smile  

"Of course you are the most precious person in my life"

Rumi hummed in satisfaction, giggling softly as she melted into the touch, her small hand gripping the fabric of Celine’s pants.

It's your fault

It's your fault Mi-yeong is gone

You weren't strong enough

"Celine…..please.."

YOU KILLED HER

"Rake care of Rumi…."

SHE'S GONE BECAUSE OF YOU

"Protect our precious Rumi…"

"Promise me…"

KILLER

"I love you Celine"

Celine’s breath hitched as she was abruptly pulled from the depths of her thoughts. Her heart still raced from the shadows of memory, the weight of it clinging to her chest.

But when she looked down, she found Rumi gazing up at her with the brightest smile she had ever seen. Her eyes sparkled, filled with nothing but love and pure, unshaken admiration.

All of Celine’s thoughts vanished in an instant.

She reached out and ruffled Rumi’s hair — gently this time, her touch full of care, full of warmth.

Then she smiled down at Rumi, a real smile, warm, unforced, and genuine.

The kind of smile she could never fake.

Love.

Oh so full of love.

"I love you too, Rumi"

Suddenly, Rumi pulled Celine into a hug, or at least, the best hug a small child could manage.

Her tiny arms wrapped around Celine just below the waist, tugging the older woman closer until her chin rested against Celine’s abdomen.

With a cheeky grin, she muttered, "Now take me to the teddy bear museum."

Celine chuckled quietly, taking Rumi’s hand as they stepped away from the place they both held close, a space filled with quiet conversations, remembered warmth, and the lingering presence of someone they loved.

"Okay okay, let's go now. I don't think I can handle any more of your tantrums"

"HEY!"

They weren't able to go to the Teddy bear museum.

Celine was at the estate when it happened.

The sun had long dipped beneath the horizon, leaving the grassland cloaked in quiet darkness.

A faint breeze stirred the tall grass, its soft rustle the only sound in the stillness.

The cloth strips tied to the old tree behind the gravestone fluttered gently, barely visible in the dim light, like ghostly ribbons dancing in slow motion.

The hanok stood farther back — quiet, unmoving — its silhouette blending into the night, a familiar shape resting under the darkened sky.

And beneath it all, the honmoon lingered, a presence both seen and felt.

Faint, glowing threads stretched across the ground, weaving through the roots of the old tree, curling gently around the base of the hanok like mist.

Its soft blue hue pulsed calmly, as though breathing with the land itself , timeless, steady, and watching.

Celine had just finished tidying the area and replacing the flowers beside Mi-yeong’s gravestone. She hummed a soft tune as she worked, a quiet routine she’d grown used to over the years.

Visit Mi-yeong at least four times a week.
Replace the flowers before they wilt.
Water the flower beds once a week.
Always keep the gravestone clean.

It was the least she could do.

"Hey love"

"Sorry I'm late today, I was busy talking to Bobby for the preparations of Huntix's Idol Awards"

With a tired smile, Celine slowly knelt before the familiar resting place, incense sticks in hand. She lit one using the small candle flickering nearby, shielding the flame from the wind with her fingers.

The tip glowed a soft orange before settling into a slow burn. Gently, she placed it into the holder, watching as the slender stick stood upright, its smoke curling upward in delicate, wavering trails.

"I was planning to go to the idol awards this year…." Celine confessed, her voice quiet but steady.

She lowered her gaze for a moment, brushing ash from her fingertips "I know I haven’t attended any of the idol awards since their first one, but…" Her lips pressed together in a faint, almost reluctant smile.

"I think….they'll be able to achieve the golden honmoon this time"

Her eyes softened, the corners crinkling with a tender warmth. "It's kind of funny too, because the song they're performing is called Golden .” A small chuckle escaped her, fragile but genuine. She tilted her head towards the grave though sharing a private joke. “Get it? Because it’s the golden honeymoon and —"

Celine sighed, trailing off. The words felt silly out loud.

She gave up, suddenly embarrassed for even trying to explain it.

Celine turned her gaze toward the night sky, stars shining brightly above. “Anyways…” she 

murmured, her voice trailing off with the breeze. "I'm sorry," Her lips pressed together after the words slipped out, as if she wished she could take them back, yet the heaviness in her eyes betrayed how deeply she meant them.

"It's been a few months since I last spoke to Rumi. I-" Celine stopped, brow furrowing slightly as she gathered her thoughts. Her hand gripped her arm, a quiet gesture to center herself. "I'm sorry I couldn't keep my promise," she said softly, her eyes fixed on the name carved in stone. The words caught in her throat, heavy with guilt.

She closed her eyes and drew a slow, steady breath. When she opened them, her gaze settled softly on the letters etched deep into the stone — Ryu Mi-yeong.

It was as if she wasn’t just reading a name, but searching for her eyes, hoping to meet Mi-yeong’s gaze.

“She doesn’t need me anymore,” Celine admitted quietly. Her lips curved into a sad smile, the kind that fought to hide the crack in her voice. “I don’t think she has… not for a long time now.” Her hand brushed lightly over the cold stone, fingers trembling as if she could reach through it.

Celine gave a short, brittle laugh, one that carried no real humor. It was the kind of laugh meant to cover a wound, sharp and aching beneath the sound. “After all…”

"She has the girls, her girls "

Suddenly, she heard the honmoon cry, its threads trembling violently. A sharp pull tugged at her chest, as if the strings were inside her.

She lurched forward, one hand catching the grass to steady herself, the other clutching at her chest.

Though her bond with the honmoon had weakened and rarely did she summon her starlight weapon after the next generation of hunters got stronger, the weapon still responded in moments of desperation — the connection hadn’t vanished.

She was still tied to it, still able to see it, still able to feel it.

As the tightness in her chest began to ease, the honmoon wailed again.

Its once soft blue glow began to shift, slowly turning reddish purple, until the honmoon was completely consumed by the bleeding hue.

“No…”

Celine stood up at once, grabbing her sickle from where it rested nearby before rushing toward the large, ancient tree. Her breath caught as she looked up — its bark was now draped in the wounded threads of the honmoon, glowing with that bleeding, broken light.

"It's being torn apart…"

He lied.

Jinu lied.

"The things I said? I just needed you to trust me"

How could he do this?

"You're a demon, just like me"

Demon

A mistake

Rumi walked without purpose, her feet dragging across the grass as if the world had gone quiet around her.

With every step, the honmoon tore beneath her — glowing threads once soft and sacred now unraveling in her wake like veins splitting open.

The pale blue light bled into shades of red and purple, each tear a wound, each mark a cry.

She didn’t notice at first, or maybe she did and simply didn’t care.

Her mind was too full, too loud.

Jinu lied.

Mira and Zoey hated her.

The honmoon was breaking.

Gwi-ma.

Memories, mistakes, regrets — all colliding inside her like waves that wouldn’t stop crashing. They lost. She failed. Everything was ruined.

And it was her fault. Because she trusted the wrong person. Because she hid from the truth. Because she lied to the only people who loved her.

Because she was born wrong.

The noise in her head quieted only when her eyes landed on a familiar shape, a single white lily, blooming alone in the dark.

It seemed to glow beneath the moonlight, soft and luminous, as if untouched by the chaos around it. It shone like the moon itself, calm and unwavering.

Only then did she realize where she was — where her feet, unconsciously, had brought her.

"Mom…" she choked out, the word breaking apart in her throat. Her knees hit the dirt with a harsh, unforgiving thud, but she didn’t feel it — didn’t care about the scrapes already forming, or the bruises that would bloom later.

All she could do was sob, hands digging into the ground as if she could claw her way back to the warmth she’d lost.

The rough path leading to the gravestone blurred through her tears, but the pain in her chest was sharp, merciless, real.

"I failed, Mom…" Rumi’s voice trembled, barely more than a whisper as her shoulders shook with each sob.

She pressed her forehead to the ground, her fingers curling into the dirt like it could anchor her to something — anything.

"The honmoon you worked so hard to protect…" She gasped for air between her words, her chest tight, the taste of salt on her lips.

"The one you died for…" Her voice cracked.

"It's broken."

She looked up at the gravestone through tear-blurred eyes, as if expecting it to answer, to tell her she was wrong.

But the silence only made the truth louder.

Her head dropped again, and she crumbled fully — curling into herself, small and shaking, like a child who couldn’t be saved.

"I…" The rest caught in her throat. She didn’t know what to say to a mother she had never met, no memories to reach for, no stories to fall back on. Yet, despite everything, all she had was an ache in her chest, the truth that refused to stay silent.. "I miss you," Rumi whispered, her voice barely holding together.

It was almost laughable — how could you miss someone you’ve never even had the chance to remember?

But she did.

With every part of her. A longing carved into her bones, for a mother she never got to know.

For a love she only felt in dreams she couldn't hold onto when she woke.

Beneath her, the honmoon trembled — its threads fraying, the soft blue glow now streaked with deep red and purpling veins, like open wounds struggling to mend. It was breaking. She could feel it — each thread pulled thin, unraveling under the weight of too much sorrow, too many shattered bonds.

And yet.

It reached for her.

Despite its pain, despite the cracks running through its essence, the honmoon still pulsed faintly beneath her hands, a gentle warmth weaving through the bruised light.

It wrapped around her like a memory, like a mother’s hand — soft, steady, and silent.

"I miss you," she said again, quieter this time, hoping the honmoon might carry it across the void.

One last message from a daughter to a mother she never truly met.

"I love you"

Rumi slowly rose from where she had crumbled, knees aching, face streaked with dirt. Soil clung beneath her fingernails, etched deep into her skin like guilt she couldn’t wash away.

Her eyes drifted to the white lilies nearby. They were fresh and clean, their petals still damp with morning dew. Untouched. New.

Then she turned her gaze to the gravestone — no, to her mother.

Three sticks of incense stood before it, halfway burned, but still alive. Thin, steady streams of smoke curled upward, swaying gently in the breeze like whispers that hadn’t yet faded.

"Celine was here," Rumi murmured.

She knew what she had to do.

With a newfound determination, she began to steady herself. Her mind, once drowning in noise, was finally quiet.

No more screams of hurt, pain, shame, or guilt.

There was only one thing left now: a final mission.

One last chance to face the failures she could no longer hide.

One last chance to face the faults she could never escape.

One last chance to fix the mistakes she would carry to the end.

And Celine is the only one that could help her.

The honmoon wept — its light trembling like a wounded heartbeat, mourning what it already knew was coming.

Rumi bounced with joy as she waited by the door for Celine. She rocked on her tiptoes and back to her heels, repeating the motion again and again, her arms swinging eagerly at her sides.

She wore a bear-like hoodie, soft and fluffy and brown, with a hood that sported a pair of round, plush ears. The fabric nearly swallowed her small frame, wrapping her in warmth and excitement. She also wore a black skirt that fell to her knees, somehow matching the cute hoodie in a way only Rumi could pull off.

She had first learned about the teddy bear museum a few weeks ago. It happened after she and Celine had finished grocery shopping and were on their way back home.

Rumi had been a few steps ahead of Celine, a bag of apples hugged tightly against her chest as she skipped along the familiar path. The village around them buzzed with life — cheerful vendors calling out, laughter spilling from open doors. The sun was setting, casting everything in a warm, golden glow.

She had been nagging Celine about the teddy bear museum almost every day since that afternoon. The flyer the mascot had given her never left her nightstand. A little worn at the edges now, but still bright. Every night before bed, she would pick it up and stare at it for a few quiet minutes, smiling to herself, dreaming.

She remembered it so clearly.

By the time Celine stepped out of her room that morning, Rumi had already crafted an entire plan for the day — a perfectly timed adventure with stops for snacks, photo spots, and, of course, the grand finale: building her very own teddy bear. Maybe even one for Celine too, if they had time.

"Are you ready?"

Rumi nodded enthusiastically. "Yep!" she chirped, popping the P with exaggerated cheer.

Celine chuckled softly as she stepped closer, placing a gentle hand on the girl's shoulder before turning the doorknob.

As they stepped outside, the honmoon pulsed with a low, trembling warning. A wave of deep purple rippled through the threads, starting from somewhere near the village. It moved toward them, skimming along the earth, then passed beneath their feet like a cold shiver.

"Was that…?" Rumi asked, her voice tinged with worry.

Celine had taught her about the honmoon when she was only four, after she'd pointed to the glowing blue lines on the ground that no one else seemed to see. She told her about the demons, the other hunters she would one day meet, and the bond that tied them all together.

Rumi had been confused at first, but she trusted Celine. Since then, she'd waited — waited to feel whatever it was Celine meant.

She never truly understood it.

Not until now.

She had never encountered a demon herself, but Celine had promised she’d know. If something ever broke through the honmoon, she’d feel it.

And now, she has.

"Yes."

Celine turned to face Rumi and slowly knelt down, meeting her at eye level. Her grip on Rumi’s arm was firm but gentle, her expression serious.

"Listen to me, dear. You’re to stay here and wait for me while I deal with the demons, okay?"

"I want to jo—"

"No."

Celine cut in sharply, already knowing what Rumi was about to say. She softened her tone, but not her stance.

"This is serious, Rumi. Demons are dangerous. Maybe one day, when you're ready… but not today."

She held Rumi’s gaze.

"Stay. Got it?"

Rumi didn’t look satisfied, but she nodded anyway.

“Okay…” she murmured, her voice low, her gaze downcast.

With a small smile, Celine brushed her fingers across Rumi’s cheek. “Good. I’ll be back quickly, and then we’ll go to the teddy bear museum.”

She stood in one swift motion and took off running toward the source of the pulse.

Rumi’s sadness faded, replaced by awe. She had never seen Celine run like that — swift and focused, almost weightless.

With every step, the honmoon lit up in brilliant blue beneath her feet, as if she were riding its threads like waves, carried forward by light itself.

Suddenly, a realization hit her. Rumi cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted in Celine’s direction, “So you were always letting me win at tag?!”

She stomped her foot, baffled and angry, though only playfully.

From the distance, she heard Celine’s joyous laugh echo back.

One arm raised in a wave, her back turned to Rumi, she continued to run, growing smaller and smaller, until Rumi couldn’t see her anymore.

“Unbelievable,” Rumi muttered, shaking her head with a small smile as she turned and headed back inside the hanok.

Click!

Rumi was stirred awake by the sound of the front door opening. Groggy and disoriented, the child slowly pushed herself up from the couch where she had fallen asleep. She glanced at the wall clock above the television.

2:34 a.m.

With a pout, she huffed, "You said you'd be quick," she mumbled, her voice low and sulky as she stared toward the open door.

Still sulking, she added under her breath, "I trusted you, y'know…"

But when no response came, the whine in her voice faded into unease.

She stood up from the couch, now fully facing the door.

"Celine?" she called out, voice quieter this time.

All of a sudden, a hand gripped the doorframe — but it wasn’t the slender, well-kept hand Rumi was expecting.

It was coated in red, trembling, fingers digging into the wood as if it took every ounce of strength just to stay upright.

Rumi froze.

Celine stepped inside, but the woman who always carried herself with perfect posture was gone.

She was limping, hunched forward, one arm clutched tightly around her abdomen. Her gaze was dazed, unfocused.

She didn’t even notice Rumi at first.

It was clear: she was using the last of her strength just to stay conscious.

"Celine!"

In an instant, Rumi rushed forward, her small feet pounding against the floor as she raced to her side.

Just as she reached her, Celine’s eyes fluttered shut. Her grip on the doorframe slipped, and her body gave out.

She collapsed.

Straight into Rumi’s arms.

Chapter Text

Rumi dropped to her knees with a hard thud, the hardwood floor biting into her legs as Celine collapsed into her.

Shaky hands flew up on instinct, holding Celine upright. Somehow, she caught her. Somehow, she stayed steady. Celine’s head rested heavily on Rumi’s shoulder, her breath warm and shallow against her neck.

One bloodied hand clutched at Rumi’s soft hoodie, gripping tight. Anchoring herself, refusing to fall all the way.

She was still conscious.

Good.

“Celine?…” Rumi whispered, her voice trembling.

She was scared, scared that if she spoke too loud it would make everything worse, that it might hurt Celine more.

Her throat felt tight.

A few heartbeats passed.

The world felt painfully still. All Rumi could hear was her own pulse thudding in her ears and Celine’s breathing. Shallow, strained, wrong.

"C-could you help me to the kitchen, dear?" Celine finally spoke. Her voice was slow and heavy, each word strained. It took everything she had just to say it.

With a small nod, Rumi shifted her position, carefully angling herself to support Celine. At Celine’s weak signal, Rumi slowly stood, bracing herself as she helped lift the woman to her feet.

It wasn’t easy — Celine was heavy and unsteady, and Rumi had to plant her feet firmly to keep from toppling over.

Together, they began a slow, uneven walk down the hallway. Celine leaned into Rumi like a crutch, her weight pressing down with each step. Her hands clutched Rumi’s small shoulders, firm enough to hold on but never hard enough to hurt her.

It felt like ages before they finally reached the kitchen. Rumi guided Celine to one of the wooden dining chairs, her small hands trembling as she helped ease her down. Panic still clung to her chest, but she pushed it down. Celine needed her now. When Celine opened her mouth to speak, Rumi shook her head and nodded instead, a silent promise already forming.

She turned, eyes darting to the familiar drawer. Her heart still raced, but her breathing began to slow. She dragged a chair across the floor, the legs scraping softly against the wood. Climbing up, she reached for the top drawer where Celine always kept the emergency supplies. Her small fingers gripped the edge, tugging it open.

Her fingers found the edge of the kit and pulled it out. She hopped down carefully, landing with a soft thud, and brought it to the table, placing it in front of Celine with quiet determination.

With a faint smile, Celine gently patted Rumi’s hand. It was soft, comforting, and full of quiet affection. Her touch lingered for a moment before she turned to the supplies, her fingers moving through the kit with slow care. They trembled slightly, but she didn’t stop. There was a steadiness in her now, something calm beneath the pain.

She pulled back the torn fabric of her shirt, revealing three shallow gashes along her abdomen. They stretched in a diagonal line, each about five inches long, clean and precise. The kind of wound that could only come from a claw.

Meanwhile, Rumi brought a small bucket of clean water for Celine to wash the drying blood from her hand and abdomen. She stood quietly at Celine’s side, lips pressed tightly together, eyes wide and focused on every careful movement. She said nothing, only watched, small hands clenched into the fabric of her hoodie.

After cleaning around the wound, Celine dipped a cloth into antiseptic. The sharp scent filled the kitchen, clean and sterile. As she dabbed it against the wounds, her breath caught, a low hiss slipping past her teeth. But she didn’t pause. She stayed focused, if only to keep Rumi from falling into fear.

The air between them held a heavy stillness. It wasn't empty, but thick with worry, love, and something unspoken. Rumi’s presence anchored her, and Celine’s quiet resolve held them both together.

After patching up her deeper wounds, Celine turned her attention to the smaller scrapes and scratches along her arms and legs. Her hands moved gently, cleaning each mark with care, then applying ointment and soft bandages. There was a quiet tenderness in the way she worked — as if reassuring Rumi, without words, that she was still here, still okay.

She then turned her attention to Rumi who had been watching the entire process in silence.

The worry had not completely left the girl’s eyes, a flicker of fear still lingered there but it had softened.

She was reassured now. Celine was not fine, not exactly, but she was safe. Alive. Steady enough to tend to herself. That was more than Rumi could have hoped for just minutes ago.

"Rumi"

Rumi’s eyes darted to Celine’s, a silent conversation passing between them.

I’m here.

You're hurt

Don’t worry.

I love you.

I love you too.

“Can you help me with my face, dear?” Celine asked softly. A faint chuckle escaped her, though it turned into a wince. “I can’t quite see the dirt and scratches,” she admitted.

Rumi’s eyes widened, and she stepped forward without hesitation, her small hands hovering uncertainly.

Celine smiled despite the sting in her cheek. “Here, like this,” she murmured, guiding the child’s hands. Rumi followed every instruction with careful concentration, her brows knit in determination.

Rumi treated Celine with the same care she remembered receiving whenever she came to her with scraped knees and tiny cuts from playing. Her touch was gentle and soft, a quiet attempt to return the kindness Celine had always shown her.

Celine watched Rumi with quiet fondness, a small smile never leaving her lips as the little one tended to her. The girl’s face was set in determined concentration, carefully cleaning and disinfecting each scratch.

And in that moment, nothing else mattered—the pain, the fatigue—none of it compared to the warmth blooming in Celine’s chest as she watched Rumi care for her.

When she was done, Rumi hurried off and took two adhesive bandages from the kit, the kind she always thought made scrapes feel better. She stuck one carefully just above Celine’s left eyebrow and the other on her right cheek, a few centimeters above her lips.

With both hands, she gave them a gentle little pat—just like Celine used to do for her—before stepping back to inspect her work. Her brow, once furrowed with worry, now lifted into a beaming smile.

“There! All better!” she declared, as if her bandages had worked pure magic.

And in a way, they had. Not the bandages themselves, but Rumi. Celine already felt lighter, warmer, just from watching her patch her up. Just like magic.

With an appreciative hum, Celine took Rumi’s small hand in hers. “Thank you, dear,” she said softly. “I’m already feeling so much better.”

Rumi’s smile brightened, her voice full of earnest warmth. “Anytime, Celine,” she replied.

"I love you Celine"

"I love you too, Rumi"

It had been a week since that night.

A week since Celine had come home late, bloodied and injured.

A week since she’d truly rested.

With a weary sigh, she set down the paper she’d been holding. Seated at her desk in the quiet of her bedroom, she leaned forward, resting her forehead in the palm of her hand, elbow propped against the wood.

The clock read 11:45 p.m., its ticking loud in the stillness.

There had been five more tears in the honeymoon since that night. None as large as the one before, and with fewer demons, but still—five more than Celine would have liked.

She had tucked Rumi into bed an hour ago. The poor child had been waiting by the door when Celine left to hunt earlier, her small figure silhouetted in the lamplight. Since that night, Rumi’s worry had only deepened, she always asked to come along, “just in case something goes wrong.”

“She’s not ready yet,” Celine murmured to herself, shaking her head.

“Too young.”

The words lingered in her mind, heavy with resolve. She could still see Rumi’s face from that night—the wide eyes, the shock, the fear etched deep.

That memory clung to her like a shadow.

“I need to find the others soon.”

Celine gathered the scattered papers on her desk, aligning the edges with practiced precision before stacking them neatly. She lingered for a moment, fingertips resting on the pile, then pushed her chair back and rose.

Crossing the quiet room, she sat on the edge of her bed and reached for the lamp. A soft click, and the warm light vanished, leaving the room in muted shadow. With a slow exhale, she lay back against the mattress, the day’s weight sinking into her bones.

She lay still, gazing up at the ceiling as the faint blue glow of the honmoon seeped through the window. Tonight, its gentle hum carried a melody that slipped through the glass and into her bones, easing her into stillness.

She needs to find the other hunters soon.

She can't do this alone.

Rumi can't do it alone.

But right now, she needs to sleep

It was a peaceful night at the estate, the wind blowing softly, trees and grass swaying in gentle rhythm.

It was 3:30 a.m.

The moon shining brightly through the window, casting a narrow streak of silver across the darkened room.

In the middle of the bed lay Celine, curled on her side with one arm tucked beneath her pillow and the other draped loosely over the blanket.

Her breathing was slow and steady, a soft snore escaping now and then—the first truly peaceful sleep she’d had since that night.

The door eased open without a sound, too quiet, as if whoever entered wished to go unnoticed.

A shadow slipped inside, moving with measured steps toward the desk. It paused there, its gaze lingering on the neatly stacked papers, fingers hovering but never touching.

Then, almost soundlessly, it drifted toward the bed. Celine lay in peaceful slumber, unaware.

The figure stood over her, watching… studying. A hand began to reach out.

The honmoon screamed.

Threads pulsed, the honmoon’s glow surging in jagged bursts across the floor and walls, warning the woman on the bed.

Celine’s eyes snapped open, heart slamming against her ribs.

Her gaze locked on the silhouette beside her bed. Sharp claws stretched toward her, glinting in the dim light. Its ears were long and pointed, its mouth lined with two fangs jutting from the upper jaw and one from the lower. Jagged markings crawled over its skin like cracks in stone, each one pulsing with a harsh, unnatural purple glow.

In an instant, her instincts took over. With her nearer hand, she seized the demon’s collar, and at the same time summoned her starlight weapon, the saingeom—the honmoon answering her call without hesitation.

A faint blue glow flared to life in her palm, threads of light weaving into a long, straight blade. Its edge gleamed like moonlit glass, humming softly as if alive.

With the creature pinned in place, she drew back to strike—then froze.

A pair of familiar brown eyes locked onto hers.

Mi-yeong

No.

"Rumi?"

Under the moonlight’s glow, she saw Rumi’s face clearly now, her small body stiff with fear, tears already spilling down her cheeks.

The sight burned through Celine’s chest. She let go of the girl’s collar as if it had seared her skin, her weapon dissolving into fading wisps of blue light.

“I’m so sorry,” Celine breathed.

Slowly, she reached toward Rumi, and when the little one made no move to pull away, her fingers gently threaded through the girl’s hair.

“Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

“I’m okay.”

Celine’s gaze lingered on the drying tear tracks along Rumi’s cheeks, her frown deepening. “Then why are you crying?” she asked softly, her hand sliding down to brush the tears away.

Rumi broke eye contact, her lips pressing into a thin line.

She hesitated, brushing away the last traces of tears before muttering, “I can’t stop thinking about what happened last week… and I keep having bad dreams about you getting hurt really badly again.”

Oh Rumi…

“I don’t want to lose you too, Celine,” Rumi confessed, her gaze lifting to meet Celine’s. Her eyes were wide with fear—not of her, not anymore, but for her.

“Like how we lost mom,” she added, her voice trembling as fresh tears welled and shimmered in the moonlight.

Oh my sweet Rumi

Celine wanted to reassure her, to tell her it would never happen, to promise she would always come home.

The words sat on her tongue, aching to be spoken. But to let them slip free would be cruel, wouldn’t it?

To hand Rumi a promise she couldn’t be sure she could keep—especially when the road ahead was nothing but shadow and uncertainty.

She knew too well how fragile such vows were, how easily they could shatter. She had learned it in the worst way possible.

After all, Mi-yeong had once made the same promise.

With trembling lips, she finally spoke. “Sweetie…”

Instead, she asked, “Would you like some company while you sleep?” It wasn’t what Rumi truly wanted to hear—Celine knew that—but it was the most she could give. Doubt flickered in the girl’s eyes, lingering for a heartbeat before she nodded anyway.

Celine gave a small smile and shifted to the left side of the bed, making space for Rumi. Once they were both settled, lying side by side, Celine spoke again.

“I’m sorry, Rumi. I’m just… not used to having you here with me yet.”

“It’s okay.”

“I’ll check up on you every night,” Celine added softly, “and even sing you a song to help you sleep.” she said as she reached for the blanket and carefully draped it over them, tucking the edges in just enough to keep the night’s chill away.

Rumi smiled at that, the faintest glimmer of relief in her eyes. Celine took the girl’s small hand and sandwiched it between her own, holding it as if to keep her there forever.

“So promise me you won’t sneak up on me again.”

Well, wasn’t that ironic?

“Okay?”

Rumi nodded, her free hand lifting. All her fingers curled in except for her pinky.

A promise… when you can’t make one yourself?

“I pinky promise,” she said.

But it's alright.

Celine smiled, lifting her own hand to hook her pinky with Rumi’s. Their fingers locked, and the two shared a quiet smile.

This one was just a simple promise.

Just as her breathing began to slow, Rumi murmured drowsily, words slurring at the edges.

“…love you, Celine.”

“I love you too, Rumi.”

The honmoon’s threads pulsed with quiet delight, basking in the calm that had settled over them. It could feel the warmth between them, the love flowing as clear as starlight, and it swelled with joy.

Right?

Yet again, fate was cruel.

Celine should’ve learned from the first time.

But she hadn’t.

She still clung to that warmth, even knowing how easily it could be ripped away.

Celine’s grip on the sickle tightened until her knuckles blanched, the cold metal biting into her palm.

She heard it then, the honmoon’s screams, raw and aching, not just a cry but a plea. It begged, it wept, it called out for help.

Help

It trembled. Celine watched as the wounded threads of the honmoon unraveled outward, splitting and fraying like torn sinew, each quivering strand shuddering with a pain so raw it made her chest ache.

Please

"How did this happen?"

Save

“Rumi… they were about to…” She shook her head, the words breaking apart before they could leave her lips.

Her breath hitched.

Something loomed behind her—not someone, but something—its presence vast and crushing, a force so immense it rippled through the air and made the honmoon shudder to its very threads.

With a sharp twist, she swung around, sickle pointed toward the source. Her grip tightened, left foot sliding ahead of the right as she braced herself to block or strike at a moment’s notice.

A pair of familiar brown eyes locked onto hers.

A pair of eyes locked into hers, one brown she had known for years, the other a golden amber, unfamiliar, glowing unnaturally.

Fate is cruel indeed.

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"