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It started as a regular grocery run. Or, as a regular a grocery run is when one is dealing with three honmoon chosen teenagers, two that eat the triple of a regular teen, and one that eats the quadruple because of her demon heritage. Not that Celine herself was better - demon hunting did make one burn a lot of calories.
The CEO stared at the nutritional facts on the back of an american cereal that Zoey had been missing, wondering if she should slow down on the calorie intake for herself, considering the girls were getting to a stage where they could feasibly accompany her on hunts and not get hurt. She would have to face it; her retirement as a hunter was getting closer at an alarming rate, and that was not a comforting thought on the solo hunter’s mind, even though it should be.
But no, the more the woman thought about it, the more it terrified her. Not only the thought of her girls getting hurt, but the possibility of Rumi accidentally having to reveal her patterns haunted Celine. Or, even worse, the possibility of them running into Soo-jin.
Celine sighed and put the cereal box in her cart anyway. She hadn’t thought about that woman in so long, but the more the girls grow, the more her maknae hunts her thoughts. She rubbed her face, allowing herself a single moment of weakness in the empty aisle as she pushed the memories down. As she tried to hold back the bile coming up whenever that memory crept closer to the surface.
She looked at the cereal box again, and wondered if the third sunlight sister had to cut back on calorie intake, even if she knew the woman was maybe probably hunting demons halfway across the world. Celine takes a deep breath, slipping back into her mask of unbothered strength, when she hears words that gut-punch her right in the middle of the supermarket coming from the speakers.
‘Things are better if I stay! So long, and good night!’
Try as she might, the memory came rushing to her anyway.
A baby. Mi-yeong. The black billowing robes and a streak of purple hair. The fight. Blood. Tiny patterns in a tiny body. Soo-jin. A golden axe clashing against twin swords. Blood, so much blood. A body, not alive to see her family fight. And those words, thrown out of Celine’s mouth after a victory that, in all reality, still feels like a loss - ‘So long, Soo-jin… And goodnight.’
For a moment, all Celine can see is her blood mixed with Mi-yeong’s and Soo-jin’s on the floor. All she can hear are the cries of toddler Rumi somewhere in the house, spooked beyond relief in her own nursery after a demon attack that killed not only her parents, but most of her family in more ways than one. All she can feel is the utter heartbreak of her soulmate’s connection severing - be it by death or, worse, by choice.
And then she comes back to the present, forcefully, as her body begs her to breathe, goddamnit. Her hands are white-knuckled around the cart handle, but the aisle is still gracefully empty. The honmoon is stretched thin around her, pulsing with every breath, and that in turn makes her phone blast in her pocket. When she grabs it, it's the picture of that same baby in her arms that meets her eyes, and she knows her little panic attack affected the Honmoon so much that Rumi now knows something is wrong.
She always could feel the smallest changes to the barrier.
Celine wondered, when her daughter ward was a child, if Rumi was really the child of a demon or if Mi-yeong managed to have a kid with the honmoon itself. Because even the slight emotions any hunter felt were mirrored by the barrier, and that meant the half-demon also felt it. Hence, the call right now.
Her first instinct was to get her mask back in place. Our faults and fears must never be seen, after all. But then, the pang of the memory hits her, that aching phantom pain of a bond that wasn’t supposed to be broken in the first place, and Celine comes to a startling conclusion.
Her girl should never, ever, have to feel that pain.
And Celine was willing to burn the world to the ground to make that happen.
The phone rang again, and Celine quickly answered it.
“Celine?” Rumi’s voice came, rushed, anxious. Her heart squeezed itself tightly in her chest, knowing the girl was feeling bad because of her.
“Rumi. I’m okay.”
“Are you really? Because the honmoon…”
“I promise, baby.” The older woman answered, using the old pet name she had for the girl. Rumi gasped, stunned into silence not only by the word but by the tired but loving tone in Celine’s voice. Celine smiles at the silence, and chuckles. “Do any of you girls need anything else from the grocery store?” She asks, her voice going back to her usual tone. That seems enough to shake Rumi awake, and she makes a denying sound.
“The list was enough. Do you need me to…?”
Celine sighs. If Rumi got one thing from her, it was her need to always be doing something.
“There’s no need, I’m almost done. I’ll be home in half an hour. Try to not let Mira or Zoey burn the house?”
Rumi snorts, and Celine knows she reached her goal.
“They are not that bad, Celine.”
“I see you soon, Rumi.” Celine says with a smile, before hanging up. Then, she brought the groceries to the cashier, paying before loading the bags into the car, all the while steeling herself for the conversation she would need to have with Mira and Zoey.
The house is loud when Celine gets back.
Not chaotic, not yet, but alive in the way only a home with teenagers can be. Zoey’s laughter echoes from the living room, Mira arguing loudly about something that absolutely does not matter, and somewhere between it all is Rumi’s voice; calmer, grounding. The Honmoon hums gently around the walls, steady again.
Celine sets the grocery bags down and exhales.
She doesn’t say anything at first. She watches them. Watches how Mira leans into Zoey’s space without thinking. How Zoey throws an arm over Rumi’s shoulders when she laughs. How Rumi’s fingers absently trace patterns into Mira’s skin, sunlight curling at her fingertips like it’s breathing with her.
God, they remind her so much of her old band, it hurts.
Celine lets herself linger in that thought for exactly three seconds.
Then she straightens.
“Mira,” she calls, calm. “Zoey.”
Zoey looks over the back of the couch.
“Yeah?”
“Office,” Celine says. “Both of you.”
Mira blinks.
“Now?”
“Yes.”
Something in her tone makes Zoey sit up properly. Mira follows without another word, but Celine can see the way the taller girl tenses and narrows her eyes. As if expecting another flaky adult in her life to start giving sermons she absolutely did not want or deserve.
As they pass by, Rumi looks between them, confused.
“Do I…?” She starts.
“No,” Celine says gently, but firmly. “Stay here, Rumi-ya. Please.”
The words are soft. The meaning isn’t.
Rumi nods, because she always does, but her chest tightens as the office door closes behind the others.
And locks.
The Honmoon shivers. Rumi sits back down slowly, hands curling into the fabric of her sleeves. She tries to focus on the hum of the barrier, on the familiar rhythm of the house - but it’s different now. Taut. Like something pulled too tight.
What’s happening?
Did I mess up?
Did she see the patterns?
She drags her fingers over Mira’s abandoned spot on the couch, sunlight dim and unfocused, and tries to not let herself spiral.
Inside the office, Celine doesn’t waste time.
“You both deserve context,” she says, standing behind her desk. “Not excuses. Context.”
Mira and Zoey exchange a glance, worried, then look back at her. Celine doesn’t pace. She doesn’t dramatise it. She just leans back in her chair, folds her hands together, and starts.
“There are only three hunters in a generation,” she says. “And when one of them makes a choice that isn’t allowed… the consequences never stay contained.” Mira and Zoey don’t interrupt. “We didn’t know Mi-yeong was hiding anything,” Celine continues. “Not at first. We thought she was just tired. Distracted. Human.” Her fingers tighten together. “She never told us there was a baby.”
Zoey’s breath catches - her being the biggest Sunlight Sisters fan in the room, making it click instantly in the young girl’s head.
“She hid her pregnancy from you?”
“Yes,” Celine says. “All the way to the end.” The words settle heavily. Celine takes a deep breath, trying to maintain control over herself and not let her faults and fears shine through. After a moment, she keeps going. “The night Mi-yeong died… We were responding to a demon incursion, just Soo-jin and me. Then… We felt a tear - near Mi-yeong. By the time we reached the house, it was already burning.” She pauses, the memory passing in front of her eyes. If Celine breathed hard enough, she would smell the blood and the fire. “I fought to get to her, leaving Soo-jin behind to deal with the stragglers. She was never supposed to be fighting, since she said she was sick. In reality…” Celine pauses, the image of her soulmate burned behind her eyelids. “I was too late. She was holding the child when the demon struck. Shielded her with her own body. Didn’t hesitate.”
Mira presses her lips together, and Zoey gasps.
“Celine…” The maknae starts, but Mira stops her, letting the old hunter continue.
“When the fight ended,” Celine continues, trying to not break in front of her pupils, “there was blood everywhere. Demon blood. Mi-yeong’s. Ours.” A beat. “The baby was alive. Rumi was alive.” Zoey exhales shakily, and nod. “Soo-jin found her first,” Celine says. “Pulled back the blanket.” Her jaw tightens. “And that’s when she froze.”
Mira frowns. “Why?”
Celine doesn’t answer immediately.
“Patterns,” she says finally, like ripping the band-aid off. “Tiny. Barely formed. Etched into the baby’s skin, into Rumi’s skin like they had always belonged there.”
The room goes still.
For a fraction of a second, there is no thought. Only instinct - Celine’s recoiling at the memory that is resurfacing again, and the girls… Well.
Zoey’s shoulders pull back like she’s been splashed with cold water. Her jaw tightens, breath hitching sharply in her chest. Mira feels it too, harder than her companion: a sudden, ugly tightening low in her gut, a reflex that comes from drills and diagrams and bodies laid out on stone floors. A twitch in her hands, an urge to draw her weapon and fight. And that, in turn, makes Mira angry. At what, she doesn’t know.
At Celine, for teaching them that patterns equals death when Rumi was right there.
At Rumi, for lying to their faces for so long.
At the world, for putting them in this situation.
At herself.
Zoey swallows hard, fingers curling into the hem of her sweater as if grounding herself by force. Her first thought is ugly and immediate and instinctive in the way Celine was trained to respect and fear all at once.
Patterns mean demon.
The thought lands fully formed before either Zoey or Mira can stop it, before they can dress it up in logic or empathy or love. It’s muscle memory. Training. A thousand lectures delivered with blood on the floor and chalk diagrams on cold stone.
And the worst part is, they both feel the echo of relief that follows it.
Not relief that Rumi is dangerous, no, because they trained with her, seen her in action. They know it.
Relief that the rules still make sense.
Zoey’s stomach twists violently.
“No,” she breathes, barely audible, like she’s correcting herself out loud. Her eyes burn. “No, that’s… That’s not..”
Mira doesn’t speak at all.
Her reaction is quieter, but heavier. Her spine locks. Her shoulders square unconsciously, like she’s bracing for impact that never comes. Her hand flexes once, empty, aching with the phantom memory of a weapon that isn’t there.
Kill it before it kills you.
The thought is not hers, but it is at the same time. And that makes her furious.
Mira inhales sharply through her nose, then exhales like she’s forcing poison out of her lungs.
“That’s bullshit,” she snaps, more to herself than to anyone else. “That’s.. That can’t…”
She stops, because now she sees it. Not the patterns. Not the lies, masked as modesty. As duty. No.
Now she sees Rumi.
Rumi on the couch, half-asleep with her head on Zoey’s shoulder.
Rumi laughing with her mouth full, unapologetic and bright.
Rumi tracing idle warmth into Mira’s wrist when she thinks no one notices.
Rumi, who has never once flinched away from either of them, knowing that at a single wrong move, they could and would kill her.
Mira’s jaw clenches, and she tries not to choke on the bile that rises in her throat.
“I hate that my first instinct was-” She cuts herself off, disgust curling her lip. “I hate it.”
Zoey nods immediately, violently.
“Me too,” she says. Her voice cracks, and she can’t help but let a few tears fall. “God, I hate it so much.”
Celine watches them both very carefully. She doesn’t interrupt. She doesn’t correct them. She lets the silence stretch, lets the instinct surface and collapse under its own weight. Let the honmoon shiver under their emotions, knowing the half-demon girl outside would feel it. She tries to send a wave of calm afterwards, hoping that Rumi wouldn’t try to force her way in.
“That,” Celine says quietly, more tired than any time the girls have seen her, “is exactly why I brought you here.” Both girls look at her, eyes blazing, but the older woman just sagged under their gaze. “Soo-jin reacted faster than you. She didn’t hesitate long enough to feel ashamed of it.”
Mira’s blood runs cold.
“What do you mean?” she asks.
Celine exhales through her nose.
“She called it mercy.”
Zoey’s eyes widen.
“Mercy?”
“She said Mi-yeong wouldn’t want a thing like that left behind,” Celine says, each word deliberate, spewing a kind of venom rarely heard in her tone. “She said the Honmoon couldn’t risk corruption. She said-” Her jaw tightens. “She said if Mi-yeong really loved us, she’d understand. She would agree, even. As if she hadn’t spent the last year and a half hiding her pregnancy and her baby from us.”
The room feels smaller.
Mira’s voice comes out low.
“What did Soo-jin try to do?”
Celine doesn’t soften the next blow, like Soo-jin didn’t soften her axe against Celine’s swords.
“She tried to kill Rumi.” Zoey’s hand flies to her mouth. “She drew her weapon,” Celine continues. “Right there. In the ruins of the house. With Mi-yeong’s body still warm on the floor.”
Mira feels something ugly and electric surge through her chest.
“And you…?”
“I stopped her,” Celine says simply. The words land like a blade. “She argued,” Celine goes on. “Said I was blinded. Said love was making me weak. Said history would remember me as the hunter who doomed us all, because I let my faults and fears command me.”
“You fought her.” Zoey whispers, lowering her hand.
“Yes.” They don’t need to ask how it went. Celine tells them anyway. “She was always the stronger of us, being an axe handler. But… Our blades had already crossed, and I was straining under her strength, but I was steadfast. However… The axe was heavier. It always was. Too much weight behind every swing, built to end things fast. I pivoted and let her go past me, instead of shattering my wrists. But I stood my ground. I… I had something to protect. Mi-yeong’s legacy.” Celine closes her eyes for a moment, the flashes of battle still fresh in her mind. “The fight went on, and it is a bit of a blur, but… Every strike she threw was meant to kill me. Every strike I threw was just meant to stop her.”
The girls know that the difference matters.
“She overextended. Just once.” Celine’s eyes flicker, seeing shadows that weren’t really there before closing. “I slid past the axe head and crossed my blades at her throat.” Silence. “She froze. I didn’t.” Celine opens her eyes, staring at both sets that are trying to make sense of the world they’ve been thrust into. “I had both swords there, close enough that she could feel the vibration of my hands.” Her voice is flat. “She realised, then, that I could kill her. And then… She asked me if I would.”
Zoey gasps, and Mira eyes harden, the question at the tip of their tongues. Celine’s fingers unclench slowly.
“I told her to step away. She lowered the axe. And I… I didn’t. I told her to leave. I told her if she ever came near that child again, I would not stop at exile.” Her gaze sharpens. “She left that night. And that is how Sunlight Sisters ended.”
Silence crashes down.
Zoey presses her palms into her eyes, dragging in a shaky breath.
“She was going to kill a baby.”
“She was going to kill Rumi,” Celine corrects.
“But how… There are no child demons according to the archives.” Mira says, trying to keep her anger controlled. “How did Rumi…?”
Celine exhales slowly.
“Because the archives are incomplete,” she says. Her voice isn’t sharp. It’s tired. Old in a way Mira and Zoey haven’t heard before. “They don’t account for love. Or desperation. Or loneliness.” A pause. “They don’t account for hunters being human.”
She leans back against the desk, eyes unfocused again.
“I don’t know much about him, besides that Mi-yeong met him on a hunt,” she says. “A demon that didn’t attack. That didn’t flee. That just… Stayed.” Her mouth twists. “She told us later that she thought it was a trap at first. That she raised her bow and waited for him to move.” Celine’s fingers curl slightly, as if remembering the tension. “He never did. After she told us that, we came to the conclusion that he was waiting for the easy way out. That he didn’t want to fight for Gwi-ma anymore, but was too scared to confront the demon king head-on. We assumed Mi-yeong finished the job and moved on. Obviously, she didn’t.”
Zoey’s breathing is shallow now. Mira is gripping the chair so tight it is a wonder the wood hasn’t splintered yet. The Honmoon hums, low and uneasy. Celine just lets her regrets paint her existence.
“She didn’t tell us,” Celine admits. “Not about him. Not about the nights she disappeared. Not about the pregnancy.” Her jaw tightens. “By the time I realised something was wrong, it was already too late, and we went into an extended hiatus.”
Mira swallows.
“So Rumi…”
“Is half demon,” Celine finishes for her. “Yes.”
The word lands heavily, but it doesn’t explode the room. It sinks.
“She has patterns because she inherited them,” Celine says. “Not because she chose anything. Not because she made a deal. She was born with them.”
Zoey’s voice is barely there. “And you… Raised her anyway.”
“I raised her,” Celine agrees. “Because Mi-yeong died protecting her. Because she trusted me with what was left of her.” Her eyes harden. “And because killing a child for the crime of existing is not justice.”
Silence.
Mira drags a hand down her face.
“Then why did the honmoon choose her?” she asks, raw. “Why make her a hunter, if- if-”
“If the Golden Honmoon could kill her?” Celine finishes. Zoey flinches. Mira nods. The admission hangs there, ugly and honest. “I believed -” She stops, then corrects herself. “I hoped that because Rumi is only half demon, the Honmoon wouldn’t take her. That it would burn away the demonic influence and leave the rest.” Her voice drops. “That the patterns would fade. That she would finally be free.”
“And if it didn’t?” Mira asks quietly.
Celine closes her eyes.
“Then I would have killed the demon king,” she says. “And buried the rest of my soul with it.”
Zoey lets out a sound that’s halfway between a sob and a breath.
“I never planned to tell you,” Celine continues. “Not until the Honmoon turned gold. Not until it was done. I thought ignorance would protect you. Protect her.” Her gaze lifts, sharp and aching. “I thought if you never knew, you’d never have the chance to hurt her.”
Mira’s fists clench as her hackles raise.
“We’d never..!” But Zoey’s hand on hers stops her. They both know that it could have happened, even if they never wanted it.
“What changed?”Zoey asks, her voice almost a whisper.
“I remembered the night Soo-jin raised her axe. In the cereal aisle of all things.” Celine says, her voice halfway between laughter and a sob. “And I realised that secrecy didn’t protect Mi-yeong. Didn’t protect Rumi. That things, in the end, got better with me staying.” Her voice cracks, just slightly. “Secrecy only delayed the moment of truth.”
She looks at them fully now, this time with the eyes of a mother trying to protect her child.
“And Rumi is already in love,” Celine says quietly.
Both girls freeze, and that makes the old hunter chuckle.
“I see the way you orbit each other,” Celine goes on. “The way the Honmoon responds when you’re together. The way it tightens when you pull away.” A sad smile ghosts across her lips. “It was the same with us, even if we couldn’t call it by its name. We called it loyalty. Devotion. Shared duty. But we loved each other,” she says plainly. “It was inevitable. And that love… It is stronger with you, still, as the time we live in allows you to live it somewhat freely.”
Zoey’s tears spill freely now.
“And also… Because I know,” Celine finishes, “what it feels like to lose your hunters. To have that bond ripped out of you. By death… or by choice.” Her shoulders sag. “I could survive being wrong about the future,” she says. “I cannot survive watching history repeat itself because I was too afraid to let you see the truth. I cannot, I won’t let Rumi go through the same soul-shattering I did.”
The Honmoon hums again, softer this time, almost as if it were trying to hug and comfort Celine. For a single moment, she felt Mi-yeong’s hand in her, and that gave her strength.
“And now,” Celine says, voice steady, “you know.”
Silence stretches. Not the empty kind: the heavy, ringing kind, like a note held too long.
Mira opens her mouth.
Nothing comes out.-
Her chest feels too tight, like every word she could say would come out wrong. Too harsh. Too soft. Too late. Her thoughts collide and tangle - anger, guilt, love, fear - until none of them feel safe enough to touch.
Zoey is crying openly now, shoulders shaking, hands pressed together in her lap like she’s praying to something she doesn’t believe in anymore.
Celine watches them. And then, gently, inexorably, she digs the shovel in.
“If you ever look at her and see a mistake,” Celine says quietly, “walk away.” Both girls jolt, eyes snapping up to her. “If you ever feel that instinct again,” Celine continues, voice calm but unyielding, “the one that tells you the rules matter more than the person in front of you… Walk away.” Mira’s jaw tightens. “If you ever decide that what she is outweighs who she’s been to you,” Celine says, leaning forward now, “do not stay.”
Zoey shakes her head violently.
“We would never-”
“I know you believe it.” Celine cuts in. Not unkindly. Firmly. “But so did Soo-jin.” That lands harder than anything else she’s said. “This isn’t about intent,” Celine goes on. “It’s about damage. Words wound. Silence wounds. Distance wounds.” Her eyes burn. “And Rumi has lived her entire life believing that if she lets herself be seen, she will lose everything.” Her voice lowers. “Do not prove her right. Do not prove me right. Please.”
Mira swallows, throat working painfully.
“Celine, I… I don’t…”
“If you love her,” Celine says, softer now, “then love all of her. Not the parts that make you comfortable. Not the parts that fit the story you were taught. Don’t make the same mistakes I did.”
The girls wince.
The Honmoon pulses.
Harder.
Sharper.
All three of them feel it - a sudden spike of panic, of fear, of wrongness - like a hand clawing at the barrier from the other side.
Celine’s head snaps toward the door.
“Oh no-!”
The lock clicks, and then the door opens.
“Celine?”
Rumi stands in the doorway, breathless, eyes wide and shining with unfiltered worry. The honmoon around her is erratic, flaring and dimming like it can’t decide what shape to take, what strings to settle.
“I- I’m sorry,” she blurts. “I didn’t mean to listen, I just - the Honmoon - it hurt. It felt like…” Her voice breaks. “Like a tear.”
Her gaze flicks to Mira.
To Zoey.
To their tear-stained faces.
She freezes.
The room tilts.
For half a second, no one moves.
Rumi’s hand tightens on the doorframe.
“What’s… what’s going on?”
Zoey makes a sound, a broken, strangled noise, and stands so fast her chair scrapes violently against the floor. Mira doesn’t move at all. She’s staring at Rumi like she’s seeing her and only her for the first time.
Celine steps forward immediately, placing herself just slightly between them. Not as a wall, but as a brace. A shield.
“Rumi,” she says gently, “you didn’t do anything wrong.”
Rumi’s eyes flicker, searching.
“Then why does it feel like I did?” She asks, her voice small.
The Honmoon hums, tight and trembling around Rumi. And after what seemed like an eternity, Mira finally finds her voice.
“…Hey,” she says, rough and unsteady. “Hey, Rum.”
Zoey nods through tears.
“Yeah. Hey.”
Rumi’s breath stutters.
“I…” she starts, then stops. Her hands curl into the sleeves of her jacket. “Is it… Me?”
The question lands like a knife.
Zoey breaks.
She crosses the space between them without thinking and pulls Rumi into her arms with a sound that’s halfway between a sob and a gasp, like her body gave up on pretending it was holding together.
Rumi stiffens in surprise.
Zoey’s grip is tight, too tight, her face buried against Rumi’s shoulder as tears spill freely, hot and unstoppable.
“I’m sorry,” Zoey chokes, words tumbling out without shape. “I’m just - I’m sorry.”
Rumi freezes for a heartbeat before instinct takes over. Her arms come up, hesitant at first, then clutching, fingers digging into the fabric of Zoey’s back like she’s afraid letting go might make this worse somehow.
Mira moves more slowly.
She takes a single step forward. Then another. Her throat works, jaw clenched so hard it aches. She wraps her arms around both of them - not crushing, but solid, anchoring - her forehead dropping to Rumi’s shoulder as a shaky breath escapes her.
“I hate this,” Mira whispers, not quite to either of them. “I hate that you were alone.”
Rumi’s knees nearly give out.
Celine is there immediately, steadying them, guiding them down before gravity does it for them. They sink to the floor together, tangled and shaking.
Rumi’s breath comes fast and uneven.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” she says quietly, voice small. “The Honmoon just.. It hurt. I thought something bad was happening.”
Zoey tightens her hold, like the idea alone is unbearable.
“You didn’t do anything,” she says fiercely, through tears. “Nothing.”
Mira nods, her grip firm, protective. “You never do.”
Rumi lets out a broken little laugh that turns into a sob.
“I thought maybe you were mad,” she admits, barely audible. “Or that I messed up. Or that Celine finally decided I…”
“No,” Zoey says immediately, almost panicked. “No, no, no.”
Mira’s voice is rough.
“Don’t do that. Don’t decide that for us.”
Rumi presses her face into Zoey’s shoulder, shaking now.
“I was so scared,” she whispers.
Zoey holds her tighter then. Like, if she squeezes hard enough, it can be crushed out of her ribs.
The Honmoon hums. Not sharp, nor strained like before. Low. Steady. Like a hand resting at the small of the world’s back, keeping it upright.
Only then does Celine speak.
“I told them about the Sunlight Sisters,” she says quietly.
Rumi stiffens just a little in Zoey’s arms, then relaxes again.
“…Oh,” she breathes. “That’s why it hurt.”
Celine kneels beside them.
“I didn’t call you in because I didn’t want you to hear that story again,” she continues. “I didn’t want you reliving that loss. I thought-” Her voice falters, just slightly. “I thought I could spare you.” Rumi’s eyes flicker, softer now. “But the Honmoon doesn’t work like that,” Celine continues, resigned. “You feel what they feel. Leaving you out didn’t protect you. It just meant you were alone with it.”
Rumi lifts her head just enough to look at her.
“You were trying to protect me?” she asks quietly.
“Yes,” Celine answers. Then, after a breath, “And I’m sorry.”
Rumi frowns faintly.
“You were trying to protect me.” She repeats, as if giving Celine some kind of absolution.
The older woman gives her a sad smile, and caress her cheek.
“And yet, here we are.”
Rumi couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more behind Celine’s words, but the way her mother mentor rests her hand lightly in Rumi’s hair makes the young girl forget it and just bask in the attention. Celine lets the moment pass, before guiding all three of them to the sofa. It takes a while, as they are more a mess of bodies, limbs and tears than three separate entities, but they eventually manage to sit as Celine goes to make dinner.
She doesn’t explain more.
She doesn’t confess.
Not yet.
She is still afraid - of the world, of Soo-jin. Of Rumi. So she will hold this fear back, and let her daughter be happy in her own time.
For now, it’s enough that Rumi isn’t alone on the floor with her fear, will never be.
Not like Celine was, all those years ago, holding a baby in her arms.
Bonus:
Years later, Rumi gets tired.
Not of training. Not of fighting. Not even of the quiet vigilance that never quite leaves her bones.
She gets tired of hiding.
It happens on an ordinary day, which somehow makes it worse. They’re in the training room, sweat on their skin, adrenaline still buzzing low in their veins. Mira is laughing about something Zoey said, and Zoey is pretending she didn’t say it on purpose. Rumi watches them for a moment longer than usual.
Something inside her breaks. Maybe it was something precious. Or maybe… Maybe it was her shackles finally breaking free.
Then she exhales.
“I’m done,” she says.
Both of them look at her.
“Done with what?” Zoey asks.
Rumi pulls at the edge of her sweatshirt. Stops. Takes a deep breath and then pulls it off, over her head. Let it fall.
The patterns bloom into view: lavender braided with something darker, familiar and unmistakable.
For a heartbeat, the room is silent.
Rumi’s breath stutters anyway.
Her hands curl into fists at her sides, nails biting into her palms as her thoughts start to spiral, fast and familiar.
Say something. They’re thinking something. You waited too long. You should’ve-
Zoey just blinks, then nods.
“Yeah,” she says. “Okay.”
Mira tilts her head.
“You finally got sick of long sleeves, huh?”
Rumi laughs, a sharp, breathless laugh. Just one wrong step from a sob.
“How are you not freaking out?” she asks. “I- I thought this would- I don’t know. Be a thing. With, with weapons and…”
Zoey snorts.
“Rumi, if we were going to freak out, we would’ve done it years ago.”
That’s when it hits, not quite like a punch to the gut. More like the floor quietly dropping an inch.
Rumi’s shoulders sag.
“…You knew,” she says softly, eyes wide and mismatched. “How. How did you know? I was careful. I always hid them.”
Mira and Zoey exchange a look.
Ah.
That look.
Zoey rubs the back of her neck.
“Sooooo… Funny story.” The maknae starts, sweating under pressure.
Mira sighs, and decides to put them out of their misery.
“Celine told us.”
Rumi freezes, her brain short-circuiting.
“She… What?”
“Years ago,” Zoey says quickly. “Before you say anything.”
Rumi’s jaw drops.
“She told you without asking me?!”
Zoey and Mira wince.
“In her defence, it was a traumatic experience for all of us?” Zoey says, trying to lighten the mood a bit. “We did spend a week glued to you afterwards.”
Rumi drags a hand down her face, the dots finally connecting.
“That day after she came back from grocery shopping.” She says, her voice hoarse. Mira nods.
“Yeah, it… Wasn’t pretty. But I understood her better afterwards, even if she was still a coward for never telling you.”
“I spent years hiding.” Rumi starts, frustrated. “Checking reflections. Adjusting my clothes. Watching your eyes…!”
Zoey grimaces.
“Yeah. About that.”
Rumi looks up sharply.
“What.”
“We were watching you,” Mira says gently. “To see when you’d stop flinching.”
Zoey steps closer, careful, giving Rumi time to pull away if she wants. She doesn’t.
“You never had to prove anything, unnie,” Zoey says. “We were just… Waiting.”
“For what?” Rumi asks.
“For you to believe it wouldn’t change anything.” Mira answers.
Something in Rumi finally gives. Not a breakdown - just a quiet collapse inward. The last of her prison wall breaking down, exposing her skin to the light for the first time in a very long time. Her knees go weak, and she sits down hard on the mat, breathing unevenly, sunlight flickering but not wild. Zoey is there instantly, crouching in front of her. Mira settles beside her, solid and warm.
“You okay?” Zoey asks softly.
Rumi nods. Then shakes her head. Then laughs again, wiping at her eyes.
“I think,” she says slowly, “I knew you’d still love me.”
Zoey smiles.
“Always.”
“But I didn’t realise how tired I was of being careful.”
Mira reaches out, fingers brushing Rumi’s wrist, tracing her patterns purposefully. The flicker with a bit of gold in them, but none of the girls notice.
“You don’t have to be careful with us,” she says. “You never did.”
Rumi looks down at her skin, patterns back to their original colour. The light of her hunter. The dark of her demon. Then, back at the ones who are holding her so tightly, she knows that even if she breaks, she won’t fall apart.
“…I’m mad at Celine,” she admits.
Zoey grins.
“Extremely fair. I think Mira was mad at her for almost a year after she told us.”
Mira gives Zoey the bird, and Rumi chuckles a bit as Zoey cackles.
“But,” Rumi adds, voice softer, steadier, “I get why she did it.”
Mira nods.
“She was scared.”
“She also,” Zoey says carefully, “gave us what I believe is called a shovel talk.”
Rumi squints.
“A what.”
Mira clears her throat.
“A very intense conversation about what would happen if we ever hurt you.”
Rumi scoffs.
“I mean, yeah, obviously, but -”
“Not just physically,” Zoey cuts in. Rumi stops, and watches as her girls try to explain.
Mira nods, serious.
“Emotionally too.”
Zoey swallows.
“She didn’t… Threaten us,” she says quietly. “It wasn’t like that.”
Mira exhales through her nose.
“She just said that if we ever stayed out of fear- ”
Mira voice breaks, and Zoey finishes, voice tight.
“-if we ever decided that loving you meant being careful, distant, quiet… That - that loving you, all of you, was impossible for us because we are hunters-”
Mira’s jaw clenches.
“-then we would be proving her right.”
Rumi stills. All three let the words settle slowly. Heavily.
Proving her right.
Not about leaving.
About hiding.
About the idea that the safest way to love her was to never really touch the truth. To keep things contained. Controlled. Unseen.
Our faults and fears must never be seen.
Rumi lets out a breath she didn’t realise she was holding.
“…She thought that was kinder.” She says softly.
Zoey makes a disagreeing noise, her hand making that so-and-so motion.
“Not kinder, but… I think she thought it would keep you safe.”
Mira looks at Rumi, eyes steady.
“And she didn’t want us turning that into your reality.”
Silence.
Not uncomfortable. Just full.
Rumi’s shoulders sag as she finally sits, the tension bleeding out of her frame. It’s not a breakdown. Just… Tiredness.
Zoey shifts and plops herself on one side of Rumi without ceremony. Mira settles beside her, effectively trapping the half-demon in between them.
Rumi stares at the floor for a moment, then at her hands.
“…I think she was wrong,” she says quietly.
Neither of them argues.
Mira reaches out and traces Rumi’s patterns with deliberate care, no hesitation, no flinch.
“I think she believes that too. Been believing that for years now. She’s just… Too scared. Of losing you.” She says softly. “I know I would be, in her position.”
Rumi closes her eyes.
For a moment, she just lets herself breathe between them: Zoey’s shoulder warm and solid at her side, Mira’s presence steady and grounding on the other. No distance. No carefulness. No space left for doubt to sneak in.
“…She’s always been scared,” Rumi murmurs. “Of losing me.”
Zoey lets out a soft huff.
“Yeah. That sounds like her.”
Mira’s fingers keep tracing the patterns, slow and certain.
“She loves you like the world is constantly about to take you away.”
“…I think she was trying to protect me from a pain she never healed from.” Rumi says, quietly.
Mira hums in agreement.
“Yeah.”
Zoey tightens her arm around Rumi’s shoulders.
“We won’t make that pain real. Not again. Not with you.”
The Honmoon hums, low, steady, and for a moment, flickers something other than gold - it flickers iridescently.
None of the girls notices.
Because for once, fear doesn’t get the last word.