Work Text:
"If this is the Honmoon I'm supposed to protect."
Dark brown eyes met heterochromic ones.
"I'm glad to see it destroyed."
The demon before her vanished in a puff of pink smoke, leaving behind nothing but a fading mist that shimmered faintly before dissolving into the air.
Celine looked around—and the sight that greeted her was worse than ever. The Honmoon wailed, its threads twisting and pulling as if in agony. No longer did it pulse with a serene, crystal-blue glow; now it blazed with a violent, bleeding pink, as though its very essence had been torn apart. The warmth it once radiated, the comfort it once offered, now seared the air itself—burning anyone who dared to step too close to the tear.
Its gentle hum, once a melody that soothed even the darkest hearts, now cried out in torment—a haunting symphony of pain and sorrow that echoed through the ruined air.
Celine’s knees gave out like a broken prayer, the rough dirt biting into her skin. Her hand reached instinctively for the sickle she’d dropped earlier, fingers wrapping around its cold handle as if it were the only thing anchoring her to this moment. She stared at the devastation before her, heart pounding in disbelief and dread.
How?
Behind her, the Shin-mok’s leaves rustled — a harsh, mournful sound that tore through the silence. It was strong, unrelenting, and a cruel reminder that this was reality.
How did it end up like this?
Just two weeks ago, she’d seen the Honmoon shine faintly during the performance — its threads of radiant gold weaving through the air, a promise of hope, freedom, and peace for the hunters and the generations after them.
The girls were so close.
So why the hell was the Honmoon being torn apart?
By that demon, of all things?
Her jaw clenched.
She was going to fix this.
She had to fix this.
That demon was her responsibility — her burden to bear.
Celine closed her eyes and took a slow breath, the weight of years pressing down on her shoulders. She was old now, slower than she used to be. Her days of hunting demons under neon skies and roaring crowds were long gone — replaced by quiet mornings and aching bones. But that fire, that drive, never left her.
She would hunt again. She would stop the monster tearing the Honmoon apart — even if it killed her.
Her eyes snapped open, glowing with grim resolve as she rose to her feet, sickle in hand. The ground trembled beneath her, as if the world itself knew — the hunt was beginning again.
" D o n ' t y o u g e t i t ? T h i s i s w h o I a m "
A soft laugh drifted through the breeze, carried across the open field like music.
A small child ran barefoot through the grass, her laughter ringing as clear as wind chimes in spring. Strands of soft purple hair shimmered in the sunlight, fluttering behind her like ribbons of light as she dashed across the open field.
Behind her, a woman’s voice called out — playful, warm, teasing — before the sound of footsteps followed. The child squealed and ran faster, arms flailing with joy.
“Come back here!” the woman laughed, her tone half a scold and half a song.
The child only giggled louder, nearly tripping as she turned her head, the wind whipping her hair into a halo of violet and gold. The grass brushed against her ankles, cool and soft, and the world seemed to spin with light and laughter.
For a moment, everything was peace — sunlight, wind, and warmth.
And somewhere beneath their feet, faint and steady, the Honmoon hummed.
Watching.
Remembering.
Rumi let out a squeal as Celine finally caught up to her, laughter spilling from both of them as the older woman wrapped an arm around the girl’s waist and pulled her close. With her other hand, Celine’s fingers slipped against Rumi’s stomach, tickling her, earning a shriek of delighted protest.
“Got you,” Celine said, smiling as Rumi twisted and wriggled in her arms. The girl’s purple hair brushed against Celine’s cheek, soft and luminous in the sunlight, carrying the faint scent of wildflowers and morning air.
Their laughter mingled with the whisper of the grass and the gentle hum beneath it all — the Honmoon’s hum. Faint but alive, it was watching, remembering.
For a fleeting heartbeat, everything felt whole again — sunlight, warmth, and the quiet certainty of being together.
Then the memory shattered.
Celine’s eyes snapped open. She was no longer in the sunlit field. She was in the hanok, her boots laced tight, blades and charms strapped to her body. The scent of polished wood and iron filled the air. Her fingers tested the edge of her sickle, then slid along the hilt of her dagger. Every movement was precise, practiced, honed for the hunt she was about to undertake.
And yet… even here, the Honmoon’s hum reached her. But it was fractured, sharp, almost painful. Threads of pink light writhing like open wounds in her mind’s eye, screaming, bleeding, twisting.
Rumi’s laughter was gone. The field, the warmth, the light — replaced by this burning agony.
Celine’s jaw tightened. She drew a steadying breath, feeling the weight of the Honmoon’s memory and its warning press against her chest.
She would fix this. She had to.
But where had the demon gone?
Celine’s fingers hovered, gliding through the thin air, brushing along the remaining threads of the Honmoon. They quivered beneath her touch, fragile and trembling, yet alive.
Today was the day of theIdol Awards.
Celine inhaled deeply, letting a familiar tune rise from her chest, low at first, then stronger, more certain.
Today was the day they were supposed to finally seal the Honmoon.
"We are hunters, voices strong…"
But the Honmoon was broken.
A spark of light flickered at her fingertips, faint but insistent. It grew, weaving along her fingers like liquid starlight.
The demon had come to her.
"Slaying demons with our song…"
It knelt down, and offered it's life.
The soft glow intensified, pooling in her palm. Threads of starlight coalesced into a form — elegant, lethal, humming with power. The weapon was born from the Honmoon itself, a conduit of its will, trembling with the weight of all it had seen.
Why?
"Fix the world and make it right…"
It doesn't matter.
The threads wrapped around her arm, weaving warmth and purpose into her bones.
It still escaped.
"When darkness finally meets the light…"
Celine’s eyes burned with determination. The glow of the weapon pulsed in rhythm with her heartbeat, ready to hunt, ready to strike.
R̶u̶m̶i̶ The demon had disappeared to the city. And Celine would hunt.
" L o o k a t m e "
It was a stupid mistake.
She couldn’t blame anyone but herself.
She’d gotten distracted.
Hadn’t seen the demon coming from her left.
Celine groaned as she limped toward the hanok, pressing her hand against the left side of her abdomen. Recklessness had a price — and she had paid it.
A few scratches marred her cheeks and arms, and fortunately, the gash on her side was shallow.
But damn, did it hurt.
With her free hand, she reached slowly for the door. It opened with a soft, protesting creak.
A pair of brown eyes met hers.
A few feet away stood Rumi. Her eyes were puffy, her nose slightly red, sniffles still trembling on her lips. She clutched an emergency kit tightly, fingers shaking.
“C-Celine!” Rumi cried, rushing forward, tears glistening in her eyes.
“Rumi…” Celine murmured, placing her clean hand gently atop Rumi’s purple hair. Her voice was gruff with exhaustion as she muttered, “Why are you still awake?” Her eyes flicked to the clock. “It’s three in the morning.”
Rumi hiccupped, biting her lip. “I-I couldn’t sleep…” she admitted, voice small and trembling. “So… I decided to wait for you.”
She gave a soft groan as she tried to take a step forward, her hand instinctively pressing harder against her side.
Rumi hurried closer, slipping her small hands under Celine’s arms. “Lean on me,” she whispered, determination in her trembling voice. Carefully, she guided Celine toward the couch, steadying her with gentle pressure.
Celine let out a short, rough sigh, guilt pressing heavier with every step. She hated that Rumi had to help her, that the girl had seen her like this — vulnerable, hurt, reckless.
Once Celine sank into the cushions, Rumi knelt beside her, brushing a loose strand of hair back from her face. “You’re hurt… but you’re okay,” she murmured softly. “I want to help.”
Celine placed a tired hand over Rumi’s, squeezing it lightly. “Thank you,” she whispered, voice rough but warm.
It took a few minutes of uncoordinated effort to tend to Celine’s wounds. Rumi was only ten, and her knowledge was limited to basic first aid, so much of the work — cleaning the gash and securing the gauze — still fell to Celine. Once the main wound was dressed, Rumi insisted on taking care of the smaller scratches on Celine’s face and arms.
With trembling hands, she dabbed at the cuts with betadine, whispering, “D-don’t worry!” Tears still slipped from her eyes, though not as freely as before.
Celine watched, heart swelling as she placed a hand atop Rumi’s soft purple hair, stroking it gently.
How did I get so lucky…
To have her here with me?
A faint glow pulsed in the air around them, threads of the Honmoon’s light drifting like soft starlight across the hanok floor. It hummed quietly, almost imperceptibly, wrapping the room in a fragile warmth — a reminder that it was watching, remembering.
Rumi carefully placed a tiny bandage over the cut on Celine’s right cheek, tapping it lightly. “It’ll be better soon…” she hiccuped.
Celine lifted her free hand to wipe the remaining tears from Rumi’s face. “Look at me, my dear,” she murmured softly. The room felt impossibly small and intimate, yet full of quiet magic. Even in the midst of danger, the glow of the Honmoon intertwined with their care, a subtle promise that they were still connected — to each other, and to the world they were meant to protect.
“Thank you.”
Rumi’s lips pressed into a tight line as she looked up at Celine and gave a small, silent nod, dejected.
Celine’s chest tightened as she realized what was happening and let out a soft sigh.
“Listen, Rumi…” she started. “I’m sorry for making you worry.”
“…”
“But you know why I have to do this.”
“…”
“There’s a tear in the Honmoon… demons are slipping through it. If I don’t hunt them, they’ll hurt innocent people.”
“…”
“I can’t just sit back and do nothing. You know what it means if I fail.”
“…”
Celine gently brushed a hand across Rumi’s purple hair. “I have to protect everyone… including you. That’s why I go.”
“I understand……” Rumi finally replied, her voice small, trembling like a leaf in the wind.
“But that doesn’t mean I like seeing you hurt…” She sniffled, blinking back tears as she met Celine’s gaze, worry and care shining through her young eyes.
Celine’s gaze softened, her hand trailing down to Rumi’s back. She gave a gentle pull, drawing the girl into a warm embrace and burying her face in Rumi’s hair.
She felt the small tremors in Rumi’s body, the way her tiny hands clutched at her shirt, desperate and shaking.
“I don’t want to lose you too, Celine…” Rumi’s voice broke, muffled against her chest.
Celine’s breath hitched. A sharp ache bloomed in her chest — guilt, fear, love all tangled together. Rumi might still be a child, but she understood far too much. She knew what demon hunters faced — what Celine faced — every time the Honmoon tore open.
Celine tightened her hold, eyes closing as she pressed her chin against the crown of Rumi’s head. You shouldn’t have to know this kind of fear, she thought. Not yet. Not at your age.
“You won’t lose me.”
“You don’t know that…”
And Rumi was right. They didn’t know what tomorrow would bring.
They didn’t know how big the next tear in the Honmoon would be.
They didn’t know if Celine would return from another hunt unscathed.
Truthfully… she didn’t know how long she could keep doing all of this alone.
She didn’t—
“Stardrop…”
Celine pulled back slightly, enough to see Rumi’s face.
“You’re right,” she murmured.
Rumi’s eyes glistened, searching her.
“I don’t know what the future could bring,” Celine admitted quietly. She refused to sugarcoat it. It would be crueler to lie — especially to Rumi.
“But I promise you—” She placed a hand over her chest.
At that very moment, a faint blue glow flickered beneath her palm — soft, pulsing, familiar. The Honmoon’s presence brushed against her consciousness, its threads resonating with her heartbeat. As if it were listening. As if it were bearing witness.
“I promise you that as long as I breathe, I will come back to you.”
A gentle hum threaded through the air, weaving around her hand, curling up her wrist like strands of light.
“No matter how big the next tear in the Honmoon is.”
The glow brightened, gathering like starlight pooling beneath her skin.
“Or how many demons I have to face.”
Her voice steadied, warm, fierce, unwavering.
“I will come back to you.”
The blue light pulsed, answering her — binding the vow.
“I promise.”
The Honmoon’s glow settled over her chest like a quiet seal, its presence soft but undeniable, as if it had accepted her word… and offered its own silent acknowledgment in return.
Rumi watched, her lips parted slightly in awe as the faint blue light shimmered beneath Celine’s hand.
Celine’s hum filled the quiet room — low, steady, and hauntingly familiar. The same melody she used to sing during their sealing rites. The air seemed to tremble with it, faint threads of light stirring in rhythm to her voice.
“Give me your hand, Rumi,” she said softly.
Her other hand reached out, steady despite the faint tremor of exhaustion. Rumi placed her small hand in hers without hesitation, her pulse quick beneath her skin.
Celine guided Rumi’s hand to rest over her glowing chest. The light pulsed once — like a heartbeat answering another. Then, with a breath, Celine shifted Rumi’s hand to her own chest, her hum never faltering.
The tune deepened, the Honmoon answering in kind. Blue threads sparked beneath Rumi’s palm, weaving into faint, flowing patterns over her heart. The air warmed, the melody wrapping around them like a promise.
Rumi gasped softly. The glow felt alive — gentle and warm, like love given form.
Their voices met for a fleeting moment — Rumi’s soft, unsure hum joining Celine’s. The resonance between them made the Honmoon stir, threads of light shimmering brighter, binding them in rhythm and vow.
Celine’s thumb brushed over Rumi’s knuckles.
“The Honmoon binds those who protect,” she murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “And those they protect in return.”
The glow on their chests slowly faded, leaving behind a soft hum from the Honmoon that resonated through the air like a heartbeat.
Celine watched as Rumi gasped quietly, her small hands still hovering over her chest, eyes widening in wonder.
“Can you feel it?” Celine asked softly.
Rumi nodded, lips parting. “Yes, I—” she paused, glancing up at Celine with hesitant awe, “I can feel you?”
Celine’s smile was gentle, her voice low and warm. “Yes,” she murmured.
“Whenever you’re worried… when I’m out hunting, or away on business,” she continued, her tone soft but steady.
“Just do this.”
She lifted her hand and hummed the familiar tune once more, palm hovering over her heart. The Honmoon shimmered faintly, threads of blue light flickering back to life beneath her skin.
“And you’ll be able to feel me,” she said, the glow reflecting in her eyes — a quiet promise sealed in song and light.
Rumi blinked up at her, then nodded determinedly. She mimicked the motion — placing her small hand over her chest and closing her eyes.
A soft hum escaped her lips, uncertain at first, then steadier as the Honmoon began to respond. The blue light bloomed faintly beneath her fingers, pulsing in time with Celine’s own glow.
Her eyes fluttered open, awe shimmering within them. “I… I can really feel you,” she whispered, the words trembling with relief and wonder.
Celine reached out and brushed a stray lock of purple hair from Rumi’s face, smiling softly. “Then remember it,” she said. “No matter where I am… the Honmoon will carry my song to you.”
The Honmoon hummed once more — a low, melodic vibration that wrapped around them like a lullaby, the light fading slowly into stillness.
" W h y c a n ' t y o u l o o k a t m e ? "
Celine arrived in Seoul after two hours. Frustration prickled at her — it shouldn’t have taken this long — but there was no time to dwell. She had a demon to hunt.
.
As she stepped out of the car, the city sprawled before her in a horrifying stillness. The bleeding tears of the Honmoon had worsened far beyond the fields; its cries of pain cut through the streets like jagged glass.
And the people… there were none.
Not a single civilian in sight.
The emptiness wasn’t just quiet — it was wrong. Cars sat abandoned mid-road, some engines still idling. In a café, a laptop glowed faintly, frozen mid-frame, next to a steaming cup of coffee tipped over on the table. Chairs were left crooked, bags slung and forgotten, umbrellas collapsed in puddles from the morning drizzle. Newspapers lay open on benches, pages rustling lightly in the wind, their words meaningless without anyone to read them. Shoes were scattered by doorways, wallets and phones left carelessly on counters, as if their owners had vanished in an instant.
It was as if the entire city had blinked — and everyone had walked away, leaving life suspended mid-motion.
The streets smelled faintly of smoke and exhaust, but more than that, they carried the weight of something unnatural: a tense, expectant silence pressing against her senses.
Celine’s stomach tightened. This wasn’t just abandonment. Something — or someone — had drawn the people away, leaving their lives behind.
What in the hell happened here?
Celine walked through the empty city streets, peering into abandoned car windows, searching for any sign of life.
Could the demons have eaten their souls?
She tried calling Mira, but the call went straight to voicemail.
No — if that were the case, Gwi-ma would have already taken over the world.
Same with Zoey.
Her thoughts were abruptly cut off as a blinding flash lit the street — dark, bleeding pink, the same color as the Honmoon’s tear. Its faint hum vibrated in her chest, pulling at her senses, aching with sorrow and anger.
A giant screen flickered to life above the deserted intersection.
“You must all be so sad about the Huntix breakup. We are too.”
The display showed the Saja boys, perfectly composed, faces solemn and rehearsed.
A ruse.
Celine’s hand tightened around the handle of her sickle. The Honmoon’s threads pulsed faintly beneath her skin, sensing the fracture it had endured, resonating in warning and grief.
“So to cheer everyone up, we’re going to do a special live performance tonight!”
The girls had warned her about them — a demon boyband, siphoning off fans, spreading chaos.
“Midnight. Namsan Tower.”
Her stomach tightened. She knew it was impossible to beat them — their power, their numbers… overwhelming even for her. The Honmoon thrummed in her chest, a cold reminder of the stakes.
R̶u̶m̶i̶ The demon had said it would handle them.
When had that demon started working with them?
“Don’t miss it for the world!”
Celine’s eyes followed the leader as he gestured toward Namsan Tower, a smile plastered across his face.
It didn’t matter.
The Honmoon throbbed faintly against her chest, threads of light brushing at her skin like a heartbeat urging her onward. No matter how impossible it seemed, she would find Mira and Zoey. She would stop the demon tearing the Honmoon apart.
The Saja boys? That could wait. She would deal with them afterward, if there was time — a dangerous afterthought in the larger war that demanded her full attention.
Her jaw set, resolve hardening. The city might be abandoned, the tears bleeding pink, the Honmoon in pain… but she would not falter.
"W h y c o u l d n ' t y o u l o v e m e ?"
Celine knocked softly on the door.
“Go away!” came the muffled voice from the other side.
Celine sighed, resting her forehead against the wood.
“Rumi… I’m sorry we couldn’t go to the teddy bear museum,” she said quietly.
“Something important came up with the industry.” She paused, guilt softening her tone. “You understand, right?”
Silence.
After a moment, she turned the knob and slowly pushed the door open. One hand stayed behind her back, hiding something out of sight.
Rumi sat in the middle of her bed, swallowed by a mountain of pillows, a blanket pulled over her head like a fortress. Her small frame trembled, soft sniffles escaping from beneath the covers.
Celine’s expression softened. She sat at the edge of the bed and gently lifted the corner of the blanket to peek inside.
Rumi was curled up, knees tucked close to her chest, her face blotchy and wet. When she finally looked up, her eyes shimmered with hurt.
“You promised…” she whispered, voice breaking.
Celine nodded, guilt pressing heavy on her chest.
“I did,” she murmured. “And I’m really, really sorry.”
“Today was the last day,” Rumi muttered, clutching her blanket tighter.
“I know…” Celine said softly, her smile faint and aching. “I know it was.”
Rumi broke eye contact and looked down at the bed, her shoulders slumping. She didn’t say anything.
Celine gripped the object hidden behind her back. “Rumi,” she murmured softly.
Slowly, she brought it forward and offered it to her, a gentle smile on her face.
It was a small teddy bear, soft and golden-brown, with tiny stitched paws and button eyes that seemed full of quiet warmth. A little red heart was carefully sewn onto its chest, slightly uneven but full of character. A small streak of gray fur ran through its head, giving it a unique, well-loved look as if it had a story of its own.
“I know this doesn’t make up for breaking my promise,” Celine said quietly, “and it’s not the same as building one together… but I got this for you.”
Rumi’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of surprise passing over her face. She hesitated, then slowly reached out, fingers brushing the soft fabric.
“It’s… soft,” she whispered, voice small.
Celine nodded, her smile faint but warm.
Rumi hugged the bear tightly to her chest, still looking down. “It’s not the same,” she murmured, her voice trembling slightly, “but… thank you.”
Celine’s chest tightened. “I’ll make it up to you,” she promised.
Rumi nodded, her eyes flicking to the bear, then a small giggle escaped her. Her voice was still hoarse from crying, but the smile on her face was undeniable.
Celine tilted her head, dumbfounded. “Why are you laughing?”
Rumi grinned mischievously. “I’m naming it Celine Jr.!”
Celine raised an eyebrow. “Why…?”
Rumi pointed enthusiastically at the gray streak running through the teddy bear’s fur. “See? It looks just like you! The gray streak is your signature style!”
Celine’s mouth hung slightly open, still stunned, before she let out a soft, tired laugh. “Celine Jr., huh… I guess it does.”
Rumi hugged the bear tighter, bouncing slightly on the bed. “It’s perfect!”
" I d o ! "
Harsh footsteps echoed through the empty streets, each one heavier than the last.
Celine’s breaths came out ragged, her lungs burning, the distant glow of Namsan Tower pulsing like a heartbeat against the dark horizon.
But the tower wasn’t glowing its usual gold.
It bled—pink and red, the same color as the wounded honmoon.
Her vision blurred. The streets around her flickered—between Seoul’s broken reality and fragments of memory.
Laughter.
Rumi’s voice.
The warmth of their hanok.
The hum of the honmoon when it was still whole.
Celine staggered, clutching her chest where the honmoon’s threads pulsed beneath her skin. The connection burned, flooding her with memories she didn’t ask for.
“Stop—” she hissed, stumbling forward. “Not now. Please.”
The honmoon didn’t listen.
Its voice wasn’t words, but a deep ache that resonated in her bones—a dying plea, trying to reach her, to remind her.
To make her remember.
W h y?
W h y i s t h e h o n m o o n s h o w i n g m e t h i s ?
She pressed a trembling hand to her chest, the faint blue light flickering beneath her palm like a failing heartbeat.
“I’m not here for this,” she whispered. “I’m here to hunt that demon down.”
But even as she said it, the honmoon’s glow surged once more—threads of light snaking across her arm—its sorrow bleeding into her, refusing to let her forget.
And ahead, the Namsan Tower pulsed again, bright and alive with the same terrible, dark pink.
Waiting for her.
She felt the honmoon weaken—its last threads slipping through her fingers like silk turning to smoke. Her hand grasped at the air, desperate, trembling.
Then—nothing.
It was gone.
The honmoon was gone.
The world dimmed around her. The hum that had always lived beneath her heartbeat fell silent, leaving only the hollow echo of her own breathing.
Then she heard it.
A voice carried through the tower’s cold corridors, clear and haunting.
“We are hunters, voices strong…”
Celine’s blood ran cold. That voice—she knew it.
“Slaying demons with our song…”
No.
It couldn’t be.
That tone, that rhythm—every syllable still perfectly in sync with the way they used to sing it together.
“Fix the world and make it right…”
H̶e̶r̶ ̶h̶e̶a̶r̶t̶ ̶t̶w̶i̶s̶t̶e̶d̶ ̶p̶a̶i̶n̶f̶u̶l̶l̶y̶.̶ ̶S̶h̶e̶ ̶c̶o̶u̶l̶d̶ ̶f̶e̶e̶l̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶p̶h̶a̶n̶t̶o̶m̶ ̶w̶a̶r̶m̶t̶h̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶R̶u̶m̶i̶'̶s̶ ̶s̶m̶a̶l̶l̶ ̶h̶a̶n̶d̶s̶ ̶c̶l̶a̶s̶p̶ ̶h̶e̶r̶ ̶o̶w̶n̶ ̶y̶e̶a̶r̶s̶ ̶a̶g̶o̶.̶
How dare that demon mutter those words.
“When darkness finally meets the light…”
The melody fractured at the end, warped by something darker.
Celine ran. Faster than before, ignoring the fire in her lungs, the ache in her side. Every step felt heavier, the Honmoon’s absence clawing at her chest.
Then, beneath the fading echo of Rumi’s song, another voice rumbled through her mind—low, resonant, impossible to block out.
“You come here like this?”
“You think you can fix the world?”
“You can’t even fix yourself.”
The sound was inside her—Gwi-ma’s voice, venom wrapped in honey, coiling around her thoughts.
Celine’s steps faltered. She gripped the railing, breathing hard, her pulse thrumming against her temple.
The tower lights flickered, bleeding darker shades of pink, and the corrupted melody rose again, 𝚁̶𝚞̶𝚖̶𝚒̶’̶𝚜̶ the demon's voice echoing through the walls—haunting, beautiful, and utterly wrong.
“I can’t.”
“And now everybody finally sees you for what you are,”
Gwi-ma’s voice slithered through her mind, deep and cold. Each word scraped against her skull like rusted metal.
R̶u̶m̶i̶
A demon.
“They do.”
Rumi’s voice—soft, trembling—echoed from above.
Still hers, but not hers.
A̶ ̶h̶a̶u̶n̶t̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶e̶c̶h̶o̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶c̶h̶i̶l̶d̶ ̶w̶h̶o̶ ̶o̶n̶c̶e̶ ̶h̶u̶m̶m̶e̶d̶ ̶b̶e̶n̶e̶a̶t̶h̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶h̶o̶n̶m̶o̶o̶n̶'̶s̶ ̶l̶i̶g̶h̶t̶
Celine’s chest ached. Her legs burned as she forced herself up the stairs, each step heavier than the last. The metal groaned beneath her weight, reverberating with every heartbeat.
“And the Honmoon is gone.”
“It is.”
Because the demon destroyed it.
Because R̶u̶m̶i̶. destroyed it.
She stumbled, catching herself on the railing. The once-familiar hum of the honmoon was gone—no rhythm, no light, only silence pressing down on her like stone.
Her breath came in short bursts, misting in the cold air as she pushed herself higher, following the voices that bled through the walls.
"So we can make a new one"
" A l l o f m e ! "
Celine sat at her desk, shoulders slouched as her tired eyes moved across the stack of papers before her. The lamplight flickered faintly, pooling over scattered notes and half-written reports. A pen rested between her fingers, tapping idly against the page.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Three gentle taps sounded against the door — so soft they were almost hesitant.
Celine lifted her head. “Come in,” she said quietly.
The door creaked open just enough for a small face to peek through. Rumi stood there, clutching a worn teddy bear to her chest, her messy hair sticking out in tufts. Her eyes were downcast, her expression small and uncertain.
“Rumi?” Celine turned in her chair, voice softening. “Why are you still awake? I thought you went to bed.”
Rumi stepped inside, the bear’s paw squished tightly in her hands. “I was sleeping…” she murmured. “But I had a nightmare.”
Her fingers fidgeted with the bear’s ear before she looked up, eyes shimmering with hesitation.
“Is it okay if I sleep with you tonight, Celine?”
Celine exhaled, the tension in her shoulders easing. She set her pen down, watching the little girl standing in the doorway with that same fragile mix of fear and hope.
A small smile tugged at her lips. “Come here, you,” she said gently, opening her arms.
Rumi’s eyes brightened ever so slightly before she scurried toward Celine, the little teddy bear bouncing in her arms. Stopping in front of Celine.
“Do you want to talk about the nightmare?” Celine asked gently, setting her pen down.
Rumi shook her head, hugging the bear tighter. “No… it’s gone now.”
Celine sighed softly and pushed her chair back. “Alright, come here.”
Rumi stepped closer, still rubbing at her eyes. Celine reached out and lifted her onto her lap, the child’s small frame fitting easily against her. Rumi immediately buried her face into Celine’s shoulder, the faint smell of ink and paper replacing the fear that lingered from her dream.
Celine rubbed slow, soothing circles on her back. “You’re safe, Stardrop. I’ve got you.”
Rumi only nodded, the bear’s paw pressed against Celine’s chest as she clung tighter.
Minutes passed in quiet comfort—the soft ticking of the clock, the rustle of paper as a faint draft stirred the desk. Eventually, Celine stood, still carrying Rumi in her arms.
“Let’s get you to bed,” she murmured.
Rumi mumbled something sleepy but didn’t protest, head resting on Celine’s shoulder. Celine tucked her into bed, pulling the blanket up to her chin before lying beside her.
For a while, the room was quiet again. The moonlight cast gentle shadows over the walls, and Celine’s weary eyes watched Rumi’s small form beside her.
But Rumi’s eyes were still open. She fidgeted with the bear’s ear, gaze fixed on the ceiling.
“You’re still not asleep?” Celine asked softly, turning her head.
Rumi hesitated, then whispered, “I’m trying…”
Celine reached over and brushed a few strands of purple hair away from her face. “What’s wrong, Stardrop?”
A pause. Rumi’s fingers tightened around her teddy bear before she finally spoke, voice barely above a whisper.
“Celine… can you… sing for me? Like before?”
Celine blinked, a small, tired smile tugging at her lips. “It’s been a while since you asked for that.”
Rumi’s cheeks warmed as she hid her face halfway behind the bear. “It helps me sleep…”
Celine chuckled faintly, her tone soft. “Alright, then.”
She shifted closer, wrapping an arm around Rumi and resting her chin lightly against her hair. “Close your eyes, love.”
As Rumi nestled closer, Celine began to hum — low and soothing, the tune flowing like a heartbeat. It was the same melody that once carried through the honmoon’s light — old, steady, and full of warmth.
“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.”
Rumi’s eyelids drooped, her tiny hand clutching at Celine’s sleeve. A soft sigh escaped her lips as she pressed her face closer to Celine’s chest, the teddy bear tucked under her arm.
“You make me happy, when skies are gray.”
Celine’s fingers brushed gently through Rumi’s purple hair, smoothing it back as she watched the little girl’s breathing slow, each inhale steadying, calm. The faint glow of the honmoon pulsed softly in the corner of the room, resonating with her hum like it was alive.
“You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you.”
Rumi’s fingers curled tighter around Celine’s sleeve, her body sinking deeper against her side. Her lashes fluttered as she slipped closer to sleep, the tension of her nightmare fading with every note.
“Please don’t take…”
The Honmoon flickered faintly, its threads shimmering as though acknowledging the promise in Celine’s voice. Celine’s thumb traced delicate circles on Rumi’s back, feeling the tiny rise and fall of her chest.
“My sunshine away.”
By now, Rumi was fully asleep, her lips parted in a tiny, peaceful sigh. Celine kept humming, letting the song trail off slowly, her hand still resting lightly on Rumi’s back. The honmoon’s faint hum matched hers, a quiet echo of the love, warmth, and bond that connected them — a soft, luminous promise only the moonlight witnessed.
Celine pressed a gentle kiss to the top of Rumi’s forehead.
“I love you, Stardrop,” she whispered, her voice barely above a breath.
Her gaze traveled to the small mark on Rumi’s arm — jagged purple lines, faint but undeniable. A quiet reminder of what Rumi truly was, of the half-demon blood that ran within her. It didn’t frighten her, but it anchored a solemn weight in Celine’s chest.
She looked back at Rumi’s sleeping face, serene and trusting, and her heart swelled with love and determination. Even knowing what Rumi was, she would never let that change how she felt.
“All of you,” Celine murmured, fingers brushing a loose strand of hair from Rumi’s temple.
“No matter what happens… you’re still Rumi.”
She pressed her forehead gently against Rumi’s, lingering in the warmth of the moment.
“My… Rumi.”
Even now, the mark served as a silent truth — one that, in the present, would strike Celine with full force. It was a memory that would remind her of who Rumi really was, and why she would do everything to protect her.
How could I ever forget?
Celine’s feet pounded the stage steps, each movement driven by panic and regret.
How could I ever think that?
She advanced through the open stage, heart racing, as the girls battled the demons with fierce precision. Their voices rang out in unison, weaving power into each note, strengthening the rainbow glow of the newly forming honmoon above them.
How could I let fear blind me?
Her heart nearly stopped when she saw Gwi-ma unleash a surge of power toward Rumi, the little girl’s knees buckling beneath her. Arms trembling, Rumi struggled to keep her saingeom upright, glowing faintly in her hands.
How many times did I fail her before this moment?
Celine’s pace slowed as she neared her, not from exhaustion, but from the weight of guilt pressing down on her chest. Each step was agony — every flash of Rumi’s struggle, every shiver of fear, carved into her soul. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, nails digging into her palms, desperate to reach her child — to make everything right.
I’ll make it right.
Celine’s hands dug into the edge of the stage, fingers clawing at the smooth surface. Every muscle screamed, but she hauled herself upward, dragging her body onto the stage with raw determination.
I promise.
“RUMI!”
All she could feel was the surge of heat gathering at her fingertips, wild and burning. Her hands trembled as she struggled to keep her saingeom raised, the blade shaking under the crushing weight of Gwi-ma’s attack.
The heat crawled up her arm, wrapping it in fire. Her breath came ragged, her knees hit the ground with a dull crack, and sweat rolled down her face, stinging her eyes. The world around her blurred—light, sound, everything fading into a dull hum.
Is this how I’m going to die?
The thought didn’t frighten her. It came quiet, almost peaceful.
That’s okay.
Her lips parted, trembling with exhaustion as her vision dimmed.
Zoey and Mira forgave me.
Somewhere through the haze, she thought she heard them shouting—her name, desperate and broken. It was distant, like voices carried through water. A small, broken smile flickered on her face.
They accepted me for who I am.
Her grip on the saingeom loosened. The glow from her blade faltered.
That counts for something…
Her knees sank deeper into the stage floor.
Right?
The heat pulsed again, heavier this time, flooding through her veins like molten lead. Her vision trembled, edges darkening.
She’d be lying if she said she had no regrets.
Celine…
The name echoed faintly in her mind, soft as a prayer.
I wish I could’ve made it up to her.
Her arms quivered, the blade slipping from her grasp.
I wish I could’ve fixed myself.
A shallow breath escaped her lips—barely a whisper.
Made her proud…
Her breath hitched. The world tilted sideways.
Rumi shut her eyes, tight—shutting out the light, the noise, the fear. Her body sagged forward, chest tightening as she braced herself for what was coming, the end she’d long stopped running from. The heat surged once more, swallowing every nerve in her body. Her hands slipped, fingers twitching as the saingeom’s light thinned into smoke—then vanished altogether, scattering into the air like dust.
If this was it… she’d face it head-on.
And yet… nothing.
No searing pain. No blinding light. Only the faint sound of her heartbeat—uneven, confused—thudding against the sudden stillness.
Her brows furrowed faintly.
I'm… still alive?
Rumi’s eyes fluttered open, her gaze falling to the stage floor. That’s when she noticed it—a shadow stretching across her vision, growing larger with every heartbeat.
Her eyes widened, panic clawing at her chest. Instinctively, her head snapped upward.
Time seemed to stretch and fracture.
No.
And there, standing before her, bathed in the harsh glow of the rainbow-hued honmoon, was—
“Celine?”
Rumi’s body trembled violently, legs shaking as she stumbled forward, desperate. Her hands reached out, fingers grasping at the air as the realization crashed over her.
Celine bit down a choked sob, chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. She planted herself firmly between Rumi and the oncoming inferno, fire creeping dangerously close from behind. Her stance was unyielding, defiant, a wall of protection forged from love and determination.
Rumi reached out toward Celine, her voice breaking into fragments.
“No… no, no, no, no…” she muttered, shaking her head as if denial alone could undo what she was seeing.
The world around her fell silent.
The honmoon’s glow dimmed.
Even the chaos of the battle seemed to fade, leaving only the sound of her own heartbeat pounding in her ears.
Her hand hovered uselessly in the air, trembling.
“Why?”
The word came out as a whisper — small, cracked, and aching — swallowed by the flames that licked at Celine’s back.
Tears welled in her eyes before she even realized it. They slipped down her cheeks one by one, hot against her cold skin. Her throat tightened, the sobs clawing their way out until she couldn’t hold them anymore.
“Why, Celine?” she cried, voice shattering as she reached out towards Celine. “Why would you—”
The rest of her words drowned beneath the roar of fire and the breaking of her heart.
Tears slowly rolled down Celine’s cheeks — not from the searing pain of the fire.
No… she could hardly feel it.
It was because there, right in front of her, stood Rumi.
Her gentle Rumi, who always waited by the door every night no matter how late Celine came home.
Her patient Rumi, who helped her tidy up Mi-yeong’s sanctuary even when she was tired.
Her earnest Rumi, who studied first aid just so she could patch up the cuts Celine couldn’t reach.
Her fierce Rumi, strong and stubborn, who never gave up during training — even when she fell, even when she bled.
Her loyal Rumi, who always obeyed and trusted her without question, even when Celine didn’t deserve it.
And now…
Her broken Rumi, who stood crying before her as if her entire world was crumbling.
Her little girl.
Her daughter.
Crying because of her.
She wanted to apologize.
To apologize for everything.
For making her hide when she should have been proud.
For pushing her beyond her limits, even when all she wanted was to protect her.
For making her doubt herself, for making her think she was a mistake.
For not always being there when she needed her most.
For the nights she stayed awake worrying, for the times she let fear blind her.
For every tear Rumi had ever shed while waiting for her.
For every time she should have held her close, but didn’t.
For not showing her enough that she was loved, unconditionally, always.
She wanted Rumi to know… that no matter what, she was everything to her.
But she didn’t have the time.
She felt the fire licking higher, scorching her skin, consuming more of her with every passing second. Her chest burned, lungs searing with smoke, yet her eyes remained fixed on Celine.
She shook her head, trembling, tears streaking her dirt-smudged cheeks. “Don’t…” she choked out, her voice cracking under the weight of fear.
“I’m sorry, my Stardrop,” she whispered, voice small and breaking, barely carrying over the roar of the flames.
“Celine, please…” Rumi gasped, shivering, hands reaching out as if she could pull her close through the fire.
“Please… stop…” Her tiny frame shook, fingers trembling in the heat, desperate to hold onto the one person she loved most.
“Mom.”
Celine’s breath hitched. Her chest tightened, a sharp ache stabbing through her heart. Pain flared in her chest—seeing Rumi like this, so small and scared, made every regret cut deeper. She could hardly believe she was hearing that word, coming from Rumi.
Slowly, a weak, trembling smile formed on her lips.
“I love you, Rumi.”
“All of you.”
The words left her chest warm and heavy at the same time, a mixture of pain and comfort flooding through her. For the first time in what felt like forever, hope and love anchored her amidst the chaos.
Rumi’s hands trembled as she clutched Celine’s arms, trying to hold onto the warmth she didn’t want to lose. The chaos and roar of the fire seemed distant, her focus narrowing to Celine’s face, the
faint smoke curling at her edges.
Her chest tightened, and a cold weight settled over her. The realization hit her slowly, painfully—Celine was slipping away, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
Tears welled in her eyes, but she didn’t pull back. Instead, she leaned closer, forehead resting against her mother’s, feeling the steady beat of her heart, the warmth of her presence, even as it faltered.
“I love you too, Mom…” she breathed, voice so low that Celine could barely hear it.
Celine smiled, closing her eyes, leaning against Rumi. Her chest began to glow, a soft, luminous blue radiating outward, warm and gentle in a way that had nothing to do with the fire surrounding them. It was a hug made of light, a quiet, protective embrace that seemed to press softly against Rumi’s small frame, wrapping around her like a cocoon of safety and love.
“I'll always be with you, Stardrop.”
Threads of the honmoon shimmered faintly in response, intertwining with the glow of Celine’s soul, pulsing softly as if lending their own life and energy to the bond. The air hummed with the gentle resonance, a comforting melody that filled the space between them, shielding Rumi from the chaos around them.
“Always…” Celine whispered, voice soft but resolute, letting the warmth and the magic of her soul sink deep into Rumi, as if sealing a promise that nothing could break.
Rumi slowly relaxed, her body melting into the glow, small hands resting against Celine’s chest as if trying to hold on. Right now, she wasn’t the famous idol the world admired, not the fearless leader or skilled hunter she was—she was just a small child, trembling and uncertain, letting herself be cradled by her mother. She pressed her face closer, letting herself be enveloped in the pure, protective light.
Bit by bit, Celine’s form began to fade, the glow dimming yet still surrounding Rumi, like a protective echo. Rumi clung a moment longer, savoring the warmth and love, before her hands fell gently to her sides, the memory of the embrace etched into her heart.
Rumi’s breath hitched, trembling fingers reaching toward the faint shimmer above — the Honmoon’s broken threads still pulsing weakly in the air. She began to hum, soft at first, her voice wavering before steadying into the same lullaby Celine once sang to her.
The world around her seemed to still.
The honmoon answered.
Light rippled from her chest, threads of blue and gold twisting down her arm, coiling around her fingers, weaving into a familiar weight. The air hummed — sharp, electric — as her saingeom took form, its blade singing softly, resonating with her mother’s lingering warmth.
I'll always be with you, Stardrop.
Her grip tightened around the hilt. Celine’s voice echoed within her — not as a ghost, but as strength.
She rose to her feet, shoulders squaring, tears still wet on her cheeks but her gaze unwavering.
The trembling child was gone; in her place stood a hunter born of love and loss.
Rumi opened her eyes — bright, steady, burning.
Her saingeom gleamed in her grasp.
She looked at Gwi-ma.
Her resolve was absolute.
The three hunters did it.
The three mighty hunters finally defeated the demon king and sealed the honmoon for good.
Their voices reached the souls of the world — and saved it.
No longer will the world need hunters to chase demons.
No more sleepless nights spent staying awake to fight.
No more dropping everything to rush toward a tear in the honmoon.
No more struggling to balance their lives as idols and hunters.
No more demons.
No more hiding.
So why are you still crying, my child?
It was late at night in their penthouse — the sound of the clock ticking on the wall was the only thing that dared to move through the silence.
Moonlight poured through the glass windows, silver and soft, painting the room in a ghostly calm.
It had been three days since they defeated Gwi-ma.
Three days since they sealed the honmoon.
Three days since Celine died.
On the couch sat Rumi, her knees drawn close, shoulders trembling as she pressed a worn-out teddy bear to her chest — the same one Celine had given her years ago. Its fur was faded, seams a little loose, the small gray streak still running across its head like a scar of memory.
She buried her face against it, muffling the sound of her sobs. Her body shook, but she bit her lip to keep from making a sound — Zoey and Mira were asleep down the hall. She didn’t want to wake them. Didn’t want them to see her like this.
The clock ticked again.
Once. Twice.
And she held the teddy bear tighter, her claws digging slihjtly into the teddy bear — as if she could hold onto the warmth of a woman who was no longer there.
Rumi's patterns flickered wildly, pulsing with her grief, each jagged line of purple responding to the storm of her emotions.
The honmoon hovered nearby, glowing iridescent, its soft hum pulsing like a lullaby — a quiet comfort to the hunter, yet mourning the loss of its previous hunter.
But Rumi paid it no mind. She cried until her voice broke, until her eyes burned with exhaustion. She clutched the teddy bear tighter, claws digging into the fabric.
Tear.
A sharp gasp tore from her lips as a choked sob escaped; her claws had accidentally ripped the bear’s chest, right over the stitched red heart.
Her back straightened, horror flashing in her glowing eye.
“No… no… no…” she muttered, panic rising, hastily retracting her claws from the bear. She stared at the damage.
It wasn’t irreparable — just a few tufts of cotton spilling from the seams, easily mendable. Rumi exhaled shakily, shoulders sagging in relief.
Then something caught her eye.
A small, folded piece of paper had slipped between the bear and the sewn heart, partially hidden beneath the fabric.
Her lips quivered as she stared at it for a few seconds.
Then she slowly reached out, hands trembling, carefully lifting the paper, afraid she might tear it if she wasn’t gentle.
She placed the teddy bear on her lap, feeling its worn softness against her fingers, and unfolded the note with delicate care.
The paper was worn with age, slightly crumpled, but the words remained clear, still legible despite the years. A faint scent lingered—her mother’s warmth, like an echo of Celine herself.
Rumi’s breath hitched, her heart hammering against her ribs, and for a moment, she felt both the weight of loss and the lingering comfort of her mother’s presence.
Rumi’s fingers traced the edges of the paper as if anchoring herself to it. Slowly, she began to read the carefully written words, each line carrying the faint weight of her mother’s voice.
Her eyes moved steadily over the sentences, absorbing the memories and promises etched onto the page. She lingered over the familiar handwriting, imagining Celine’s presence in every curve of each letter, feeling the warmth of her touch in the softness of the paper.
The world outside the penthouse seemed to fade, leaving only her, the worn teddy bear, and the words that had survived the years.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Rumi’s tears fell onto the letter, blotting the edges of the words she had barely begun to read.
She hurriedly wiped at her face, but the tears didn’t stop. Her chest heaved, each breath coming faster than the last.
Her fingers trembled as they clutched the paper, the edges crumpling under her grip. Her heart raced, pounding against her ribs as if trying to escape.
A tight, hollow panic began to coil in her stomach, spreading to her limbs. Her knees pressed against the couch, trying to steady herself, but her hands shook uncontrollably.
Her vision blurred at the corners, sounds of the empty penthouse echoing oddly in her ears. Drip. Drip. Drip. The rhythm of her own tears felt deafening.
Rumi’s breath came in short, shallow gasps. She pressed her free hand to her chest, trying to calm the rapid thrum of her heart, but the panic only seemed to tighten its grip.
Rumi began to hum, desperately clinging to the tune Celine had taught her all those years ago.
“I promise you that as long as I breathe, I will come back to you.”
Her hand clutched over her chest started to glow faintly. The Honmoon answered her call.
“No matter how big the next tear in the Honmoon is.”
The rhythm wavered, her voice cracking, letting out sobs that punctuated the melody.
“Or how many demons I have to face.”
She closed her eyes, trying with all her might to feel Celine’s warmth, her heartbeat—the same one she had felt all those years ago when Celine made her promise.
“I will come back to you.”
But all she felt was cold, empty nothingness.
“I promise.”
Liar.