Chapter Text
It’s hard to hear over the chanting of the crowd.
It’s hard to see past the blinding pillar of purple flame.
And it’s nearly impossible to think through the searing agony tearing up Rumi’s arms as she braces her sword against Gwi-Ma’s attack.
Her muscles tremble violently, the Honmoon seemingly screaming through her blade. Fine cracks splinter across its surface, glowing like veins of molten glass.
How is that even possible?
Panic settles deep into her marrow. Pure fear, dread, and a hollow, sudden regret that threatens to swallow her whole. Just an hour ago she had begged Celine to end her life. Now, staring straight into the furnace of Gwi-Ma’s wrath, she wants nothing more than a second chance to make things right with Mira and Zoey.
A cry rips out from her throat as the flames burn her skin. Her legs buckle, forcing her down to her knees. She clings to the sword with what little strength she has left. Time distorts, stretching thin as hot tears streak down her burning cheeks.
Somewhere beyond the roar of the flames, she hears them–two voices, sharp with fear, calling her name.
Rumi blinks through the haze just in time to see Mira and Zoey slide beside her, desperation written across their faces. Their hands clamp around her sword, trying to steady it… steady her.
But relief doesn’t come. If anything, her panic spikes.
No no no, you can’t be here.
Breathing feels like inhaling needles, there’s not enough air in her lungs. I can’t lose you too.
The sword’s weight seems to double, even with their help. Rumi’s arms quake as she looks at the girls flanking her. Tears spill down their faces, reflecting her own pain, her own regret. Her heart fractures at the sight.
It’s no use. Even the three of them together, aren’t enough to withstand Gwi-Ma’s full power. The realization slams through Rumi like a physical blow. Every part of her is seconds away from giving out.
She squeezes her eyes shut, tears carving hot paths down her skin. Her body is collapsing; she can feel Mira and Zoey faltering too. Images flash behind her eyelids–every moment she hesitated, every confession she swallowed, every chance she let slip away. All the times she should’ve trusted them. All the times she should’ve said how she felt.
With the last thread of strength left in her voice, Rumi forces out one final whisper to the girls she loves–too late, far too late.
“I’m sorry.”
—
Rumi wakes up shivering–cold enough that her teeth almost chatter. Maybe the A/C is just broken. She’ll have to nag Bobby about it later.
But then she notices the ache. A deep, biting ache thrumming through every muscle. Even after their most brutal rehearsals… even after battles with demons… she has never felt pain like this. It’s sharp, punishing, wrong.
Take it easy today, she tells herself groggily.
She rolls onto her side, reaching out blindly for her phone on the nightstand.
Her hand meets nothing. And the mattress beneath her feels nothing like her bed–more like rough stone. And there are no sheets. No blanket. No warmth.
Her eyes snap open.
Darkness. Thick, absolute darkness stretching in every direction.
Heart lurching, she bolts upright. The sudden movement sends a violent ringing through her ears. When the dizziness fades, she forces herself to look around.
A barren wasteland. Black sand stretching like endless ash. Twisted skeletons of buildings jutting out of the ground like broken teeth. Everything is still. Silent. Dead.
Rumi tilts her head back. The sky is full of tiny glowing specks–stars, she thinks at first–soft and drifting. But they’re… moving. Shifting. Swaying like lanterns on a current.
A chill slices through her.
Those aren’t stars.
They’re souls. And she is in the demon world.
Memories slam into her with bruising force–Gwi-Ma’s blast, the sword cracking, Mira and Zoey screaming her name, fire swallowing everything…
Am I alive?
It’s a weird question, yet the only one that makes sense. How could this be possible? How is she in the demon world? And where are Mira and Zoey? Did they make it out? Did they–
Tears prick the corners of her eyes, hot and immediate.
They have to be alive. I have to see them again.
Fueled by a sudden, desperate resolve, Rumi pushes herself to her feet. Agony shoots up her legs, her muscles throbbing like open wounds. Every movement burns. She hopes nothing crucial is broken.
She scans the horizon. Nothing but shadow. No way of knowing what direction to go or what she is even looking for. Then, in the far distance, she spots a structure–a half-collapsed building, swaying like it’s one breath away from crumbling. But it’s something. A start.
She takes her first step and collapses with a strangled cry.
The pain in her ankle is blinding. Rumi sucks in shaky breaths and sits back, inspecting it with cold fingers. She moves it gently. It hurts, but not the deep, sickening pain of a break.
Probably a sprain.
Without hesitation, she tears a strip from her clothing and winds it tightly around the swollen joint. The fabric bites into her skin, but the support steadies her.
She pushes herself upright again. Her first step sends a jolt of pain up her leg, but it’s bearable. Barely.
So she walks.
Slowly. Carefully. Every footfall a little war against her own body. The wasteland stretches on, silent and endless, but she keeps moving, inching toward the broken building.
The pain is constant, a dull roar under her skin, but she clings to one thought, one single thing that keeps her breathing. Keeps her walking.
Finding her girls.
And for Rumi, that is enough.
—
The walk was torture. Both mental and physical.
Every step sent white hot pain shooting up her leg, yet the distant building seemed to stay just as far away. Maybe she was just too slow. Or maybe this wretched place was already twisting her senses, warping distance and time.
Rumi didn’t know how many steps passed before her tears finally stopped. Her eyes felt raw, the skin beneath them tight and burning from hours of crying. Eventually her body simply ran out of tears, leaving her hollow and trembling.
Still, she kept walking.
At some point her foot sank into a pit of tar-like mud that clung stubbornly to her boot. She didn’t care. Her mind had narrowed to two thoughts: Find her girls. Stay alive.
Staying alive meant finding shelter. And that broken building in the distance, was her best hope.
Her injured foot dragged through the black sand, the gritty grains collecting against the mud on her shoe. Rumi kept her gaze locked on the collapsing structure ahead. She didn’t dare look at the shadows shifting at the edges of her vision. The wind hissed through the ruins, whispering like voices just beyond hearing. She felt watched. Followed.
Through the haze of exhaustion and determination, her toe snagged on something. She pitched forward with a choked cry, hitting the ground hard. Black sand sprayed around her as she gasped, blinking through the grit in her lashes.
There, half buried behind her, was the thing that had tripped her.
“A… stick?” she rasped, staring at it with disbelief. Her voice barely carries, hoarse and thin. Even speaking felt dangerous. Someone–something–might be listening.
But she scrambled toward it anyway. The branch was dark, gnarled, and clearly dead, but she didn’t care. It was long enough to use for balance. She shakily pushed herself upright and leaned her weight onto it. The wood held.
For the first time since waking up in this nightmare, something actually went her way.
Bracing herself with the makeshift cane, Rumi began to move again–faster this time, steadier. Step by aching step, the ruined building finally started to creep closer. Until finally, she could start making out the cracks in the walls. The lines in the decayed bricks.
She limped around the side of the building until she found what might have once been a door. The hinges were buried under layers of rust, and the wood itself bowed inward, splintered at the edges. Tiny holes punctured the panels, each one revealing the endless darkness inside.
Rumi swallowed hard, her breath unsteady, and pressed her palm to the door.
It creaked open with barely any force.
Somehow, the inside was even darker than the wasteland outside. Only the occasional shaft of sickly gray light slipped through the holes in the ceiling, illuminating the motes of dust drifting like ash.
She stepped in slowly. Her stick tapped the wooden floor with a sharp crack that echoed far louder than she expected, slicing through the silence. The sound made her flinch.
It took a long, disorienting moment for her eyes to adjust. When shapes finally formed out of the dark, she spotted a small table tucked in the corner. A chair lay knocked over nearby, as if someone had stood up too fast–or fled.
The rest of the room was stripped bare, save for an open wooden chest at the center.
Rumi propped her stick beside the door and limped toward it. Each step made the floorboards groan under her weight, the high-pitched creaking sending shivers down her spine. Out there, in the wasteland, everything was silent. Utterly still. Dead. Somehow, the noise inside felt worse.
The chest was coated in dust, except for the metal handle. Someone had touched it recently.
Or something.
Rumi forced herself not to think about that. Instead, she lifted the lid and peered inside. A tattered cloak lay folded at the bottom, along with three small stones.
She left the stones. The cloak, though dusty and riddled with small holes, would keep her warmer than what she had. She shook it out once, watching dust cloud up into the cold air, and draped it around her shoulders.
Shivering, she hobbled toward the table. She righted the fallen chair, moving it into place with more care than necessary–maybe because the room felt fragile, or maybe because she did.
When she finally sat, a relieved sigh escaped her lips. Her whole body pulsed with pain, her ankle throbbing in time with her heartbeat.
Her thoughts hit her all at once.
There was no sky to track. No sun. No moon. No time.
She could’ve been unconscious for hours, days…long enough for Mira and Zoey to-
Her chest tightened.
“Stop,” she whispered to herself, pressing her palms to her eyes. “Just stop.”
But the panic surged anyway, rising like bile.
What if they didn’t survive the blast?
What if she was alone down here?
What if this was it? A dead end. A punishment.
The air shifted, cold and sharp, and a faint voice brushed her ear, so close she jerked upright.
“You failed them…”
Rumi froze. Her breath hitched painfully in her throat.
That voice.
She knew it. She knew it.
Gwi-Ma.
Her heart thundered so violently she thought it might burst. For a moment she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t think. She squeezed her eyes shut, gripping the cloak with shaking fingers until her knuckles whitened.
It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s just the fear talking.
Maybe… maybe this was all a terrible dream.
She clung to the thought desperately, her nails digging through the worn fabric of the cloak and scraping against her skin. The sting barely registered. She needed something to hold on to. Someone.
In her mind, she pictured Mira in the kitchen, humming softly as she cooked breakfast. Zoey leaning against her shoulder, stealing bites of half-cooked egg and giggling when Mira scolded her.
The memory warmed her chest, soft and painful.
But exhaustion crawled over her, heavy and slow, like a tide she couldn’t stop.
Rumi forced her eyes open, blinking rapidly as if the act alone could drag her back to the present. She didn’t want to sleep. She couldn’t.
The idea of closing her eyes in this place–this dead, whispering world–made her stomach twist. What if something found her while she slept? What if Gwi-Ma’s voice wasn’t just in her head? What if he was here, lurking just out of sight?
She reached up instinctively, touching her ear where the whispered voice still echoed. It sent a shiver down her spine.
Her breath trembled.
She wasn’t imagining it. She knew she wasn’t.
Something had been close.
Her throat tightened, and for a moment she felt like she might cry again–except she didn’t have anything left in her. She was beyond tears now, worn down to nerves and fear and stubborn determination.
“This isn’t real,” she whispered, voice shaking.
But she didn’t believe it.
Her hands finally loosened their hold, the fabric of the cloak still bunched between her fingers. It smelled faintly of dust and old smoke–like whoever wore it before her hadn't survived this place either.
The thought struck her hard enough that her breath stalled.
Would she die here too? Alone? Lost? Without ever seeing Mira and Zoey again?
A choked sound slipped out of her–half sob, half gasp. She pressed a fist against her mouth to quiet herself. The silence in this place was suffocating. Even the smallest sound felt like a beacon calling out to something in the shadows.
“I can’t stay here,” she whispered. “I can’t… I can’t do this without them.”
She wanted Mira’s steady presence, her calm voice grounding her.
She wanted Zoey’s warmth, her jokes, her ridiculous optimism.
She wanted their hands in hers, reminding her she wasn’t alone.
But she was alone. And the silence answered her.
A deep ache spread across her chest, heavier than her injuries. She leaned forward, elbows braced on the table, and let her forehead rest against her arms.
Her body was so tired. Every breath felt like dragging in air through broken glass. Her ankle throbbed relentlessly, syncing with the dull pounding in her skull. She couldn’t tell if the shaking in her hands came from fear or exhaustion–or both.
Her eyes fluttered once. Twice.
She felt herself slipping–into the memory, into the warmth, into the version of life where she wasn’t alone in a dead world.
Sleep crept in at the edges of her vision, soft and heavy.
Maybe she would wake up in her bed, safe, whole, with her girls within reach.
She clung to that fragile possibility with everything she had left.
Because dreaming was the only thing that didn’t hurt.
—
Rumi woke up disoriented, her cheek stuck to the dusty table as she lifted her head. A sharp bolt of pain shot down her neck, making her hiss. Sleeping like that didn’t do her any favors.
The memories crashed over her all at once. The terror. The endless walk. The whispers in the dark.
“No.” She whispered, forceful enough that it scraped her dry voice.
She shut her eyes and inhaled. Breaking down wouldn’t help. Getting lost in the infinite what-if scenarios clawing at her mind would only drown her. This wasn’t a dream. She couldn’t pretend anymore. She had to survive this place long enough to get out. Long enough to get back to her girls.
Rumi braced herself on the table and pushed upright. It wasn’t graceful–not even close. Every muscle ached, her limbs heavy and sluggish, but she forced them to obey.
She took a tentative step, testing her ankle. It still throbbed, but the pain was manageable now. Bearable. She exhaled a shaky breath of relief. Being a hunter–and half-demon–meant she healed faster than humans. A small mercy in a place determined to break her.
The warped wooden floor groaned beneath her weight as she limped toward the door. The resolve on her face wavered as she imagined the cold darkness beyond it. The wind that seemed to bite straight through her bones.
Still, she had to move.
Carefully, Rumi cracked the door open. A gust of frigid air rushed in, snapping her cloak against her legs like a living thing. She shivered.
Outside… everything looked the same.
Was that normal? What else was she expecting?
At least there weren’t demons waiting to drag her back into the dunes the moment she stepped out.
Rumi scanned the area for several long seconds–her eyes sharp, her breathing quiet. After a moment, her shoulders dropped just slightly. Nothing moved.
She stepped outside. The black sand crunched beneath her boots, gritty and strangely soft, clinging to the soles like ash. It was still dark, but her eyes had adjusted enough to make out shapes stretching far across the wasteland.
Shapes… and little else.
Just the same barren emptiness, stretching endlessly.
She swallowed and chose a direction with the only markers available: a scattered line of blackened trees. They were spaced far apart, so at most she could see two, maybe three at a time. But they gave her something–anything–to walk toward. Something to close the distance with.
The nearest tree loomed like a charred skeleton. She studied the cracked, ash-colored bark and let out a breath that trembled. Her lips curved into the faintest, forced smirk.
Walking wasn’t the hard part. She could walk all day if she needed to. Years of idol schedules–long sets, training, rehearsals–had molded endurance into her bones. Physical strain was familiar. Manageable.
But this place was something else entirely.
It whispered to her.
Shadows twitched in the edges of her vision, flickering too quickly to be real–too easily brushed off as tricks of a tired mind. Yet she felt watched. Constantly. An invisible pressure on her back.
The silence was worse. It made the thoughts in her head deafening. The worry. The uncertainty. The suffocating fear she kept trying to outrun.
Focus. She needed to focus on something else–anything else.
She scanned her surroundings. Sand. More sand. Occasional ruins broken and half-buried, each one a quiet promise of what might happen to her if she slipped. And the trees–those haunting, leafless trees with branches that swayed too loosely in the wind. Branches that had probably been dead for decades… or centuries.
Branches that–
She stopped.
Her breath caught, suspended painfully in her chest.
Every tree she had passed so far had been stripped bare–just brittle limbs and that awful gray-black bark. Not a hint of life.
But in the distance…
Something glimmered.
A bright, shimmering fleck. Glittering–impossibly out of place in a world made of shadows and sand.
She blinked hard. Once. Twice.
It was still there.
Her ears rang with a sudden rush of blood. She couldn’t tell if it was hope or panic–or both.
What could it be? A trick of the light? Her tired mind playing with her again?
Or did someone–something–leave it there?
One of them?
Rumi swallowed hard, her throat painfully dry. She forced her feet to move again, sand crunching louder with each step. Her pace quickened without her telling it to, driven by something raw and desperate.
Resolve.
Hope.
Whatever that sparkle was–whatever impossible thing waited for her in the emptiness–she has to see it.
She had to.