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This is all just one big nightmare; it has to be.
Everything had been going so well. Oh, it’d been almost perfect. Given enough time, enough leeway, Rumi’s sure that it would’ve worked if everything had just gone to plan, the way it’d meant to. It should’ve worked! She’d seen that golden glow, that flicker of heartfelt hope trickling within the threaded strands of the Honmoon. Watched as it’d resonated in time with the music; felt it finding its beat, its rhythm. They’d been so close; she’d been so awfully close. Freedom – hers – had come so close that Rumi could practically feel it. The veil had been there, right between her fingers, ready to be torn away, revealed, free.
But it’d slipped away. Like always, it wasn’t enough, was it? She wasn’t enough. Never is.
She can’t fix this.
A strangled sob catches in her throat as Rumi breathlessly runs. Tears stream down her face, her hair’s out of place, patterns on show, but for now, she doesn’t care. Not anymore. It was all for nothing anyway. She doesn’t even know where she’s going. It doesn’t matter, so long as it’s somewhere – anywhere – that wasn’t back there again. Back where her two most beloved friends had stood heartbroken and stung, their shimmering blue weapons drawn. The looks on their faces… oh, it’d been too much. All that disappointment. All that hate. She deserved it, all of it, but even so, Rumi can’t— can’t think of it, can’t bear it.
You’ve never been enough for them, don’t you see?
The sneering voice murmuring in her ears doesn’t startle her like it should. This must’ve been what Jinu had meant. The inescapable, countless recounting of all her past, present and future failures. After all, she’s a demon, one without feelings. This is what she deserves. All this shame. All this inevitable misery.
Still, it’s enough to falter her steps. Enough that gradually, Rumi comes to an unsteady stop in the hallway. Exhaustion hums, tugging at her tired limbs and Rumi has to hang onto the shadowed wall beside her. Her struggling fingers press into the brick, an anchor. Mostly, it’s to keep her upright, as though anything might send her crumbling – anything could break her already broken walls – but the pressure is grounding, even as her fingertips push further and further, nails bending, skin breaking. Leaning over, folding in on herself, she heaves, coughing and hacking on dry, dead air. Her throat burns of shame, lungs tightening with despair at every forsaken attempt to just breathe.
You are weak. Pathetic. Useless.
Rumi knows this— has known this already and the last few minutes have only solidified that. She’s so terribly weak; so much so that she couldn’t even protect her friends, her fans, the world. She’s so awfully pathetic; never worthy of love, for who could ever come to love a demon like her? Not that she deserves it. Besides, she’s so painfully useless. Simply put, she’s a waste of space, and marked for that. For shame, evil, dead—
Out of nowhere, a sharp, hellfire pain blooms in her chest. With a tight inhale, Rumi doubles over, hand clinging tightly to her torso. It’s familiar the way it hums, the scorching sensation crackling, wildfire spreading further and further. Then, she sees it: the way her patterns glow atop her skin, marked and unwanted. The lines start to grow rapidly, radiating a blistering pink. As they do, a deep purple settles in their wake, tendrils creeping along her arms, snatching at her legs and then slowly strangling her neck with a chokehold. Her breathing comes in, hot and quick. Lips dry, her teeth grind uncomfortably, out of sync as canines sharpen, unnatural, longer and thicker.
Thunder cracks within her ears and Rumi cries out, agonised. Splitting pain spills from atop her head and when she goes to reach up with a free hand, her fingers touch something ridged and branch-like. From where her patterns now radiate pink, a coating of purple paints her skin, similar to all those demons she’d fought, the same as she should’ve always been. On her hands, her nails curl into pointed claws and where her other hand remains, they snag deep into brick and mortar, leaving Rumi pulling away in a mixture of pain and fear. It’s too late though, the damage is already gone: five large jagged lines scratch into the surface, leaving it scarred, notched, marked.
That’s right. You can never escape from what you are. From what you’ve always been.
Despite the panic, it’s like a fog rolls in, with everything feeling so distant. Unreal. Like something’s taking over. Taking control. Rumi blinks and her vision swims, pain overwhelming, overtaking. The corridor she’d found herself in begins to shift too. The darkness tunnels. It stretches. An abyss stares back, shapes blurring into large masses of unknown and as they do, there’s a strange golden haze that edges the corners of her eyes. She can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t feel, and the rush of gold only continues to expand. It pools like water, splashing and spilling, consuming every expanse until finally, it’s all she can see.
Finally… you’re under my control now, little hunter.
Something sighs and Rumi falls forward into a chasm of pure gold.
“We should never have let her go.”
Zoey couldn’t agree more. It’d been the panic, she thinks. The shock of it all. The betrayal. Of course, it’d hurt. Like a knife to the heart, with each word, each convoluted reason that Rumi had given twisting the dagger that bit deeper each time. Her mind’s still racing even now as they make chase. They’ve gone through so much together, been a group, partners, friends, and to think that all this time, even after everything, Rumi had been lying. She’d hidden this from them since the beginning. She hadn’t trusted them. Burying the fact that she was… she was a…
Whatever! It doesn’t matter. Right now, they just need to find her.
“Mira, she begged us not to leave and we— did you see her face?” Zoey laments, mind spinning, still reeling from a world of lies and half-truths, “and we let her sing those lyrics. No wonder she didn’t like the song and then we— we pointed our weapons at her, at our Rumi.”
Mira exhales heavily. She’s running beside her still, and usually, she’s her rock – theirs – able to withstand any storm. No matter what meets them, Mira’s always the one to meet it head first, firm and strong. But when Zoey glances over, now she only wavers. Uncertain. Unsure.
“I know,” she huffs, to convince herself or Zoey, they’re both not sure. Still, Mira carries herself with that stubborn determination that Zoey’s always loved. Her eyes look forward, brows knitted together, mind clearly dancing the same wavelengths as herself. “This is a mess. All of it but… what I said before. Earlier. I was just— it hurt.”
It was too good to be true.
And it was, wasn’t it? They really did have it good. Too good. Finding Rumi and Mira, finding a place of belonging, it’d been everything that Zoey had ever wanted – had yearned for. It’d been perfect, just the three of them – and Bobby too, of course, he’s always been a sweetheart; they’d all been so good to her. She’d finally had a place of her own, with them.
Something had to give though. Something had to give up.
“It did,” Zoey agrees quietly, “and thinking about it, I think I understand. Why she didn’t tell us, I mean. It’s what Celine had taught us all. Faults and fears must never be seen. I just, you know, wish we’d known. I wish she’d felt like she could talk to us.”
She doesn’t even realise she’s stopped in motion until unexpectedly, there’s a gentle hand to her shoulder. Mira stands in front of her, eyes softer, in a way that’s only ever reserved for both Zoey and Rumi. “It’ll be okay. Rumi needs us. The same as we need her, right? This time, it’s our turn to fix this.”
It’s always easy to believe in her words, to believe in Mira. So, Zoey places a hand over hers, giving it a light squeeze in response. A reassurance maybe. Or, better, acceptance. Because that’s all Rumi needs: their acceptance, and perhaps Zoey hadn’t been ready earlier, but maybe, she is now.
“Let’s go find our girl.”
Zoey doesn’t remember this many twisting, narrow passageways backstage. Maybe it’s because before they’d have an entourage of staff guiding them along, but either way, she can’t help but think it’s kind of… creepy. Unsettling. This liminal space between what was and what is. Unbidden, a shiver runs along her spine, goosebumps peaking atop her skin despite the lack of a breeze. Something tight burrows into her chest, taking up space, nestling in close. Enough that her lungs constrict, breath sharp and quickened.
There’s something off. Wrong.
It doesn’t help that the entire time they’ve been searching, the corridors are completely empty. Deserted. Almost like everyone had abandoned them the moment their ill-fated performance had gone haywire. Even now, the hall continues, barren and with the lights turned down low. The walls and flooring are left alight in a possessive purple glow, though every now and then, a burning red flickers in and out in warning. Zoey knows it to be the shredded threads of the Honmoon, now torn, broken and destroyed.
A whole other thing they need to fix, but right now, Rumi takes priority.
“Look at this place. It’s a wreck,” Mira points out, voice low and she scuffs the floor with her shoe, a puff of smoke billowing from the wreckage. It’s true though. The further they’ve followed this path, the more she’s noticed there’s surely been some sort of fight. Deep, angry marks line the walls with slashes left cut into the floor. Small speckles of debris and mortar are left shattered all over, tiny pieces of brick and stone crumbling beneath their every step. A war path: that’s what they’ve walked down, but strangely enough, there’s no blood. No signs of a loser or a victor.
Zoey only hopes Rumi avoided the fallout.
The pathway eventually opens into a larger space: an old, unused room. It must’ve been an old dance space at some point, at least, that’s what Mira suggests when they reach it – but really, it’s hard to tell with how it looks now. The door’s blown over, barely hanging onto its hinges. Claw marks are left etched into the wood, the panels splitting and cracked in places. Like the corridor earlier, this room too is coated in an unnerving purple hue, and it only continues to spread. Purple floods the area, its colour pooling all around, where dark shadows splashes against rubble and wreckage. Shaded hands reach out, closer and closer, threatening to pull them in, plucking them from where they stand. Ready to take over. Ready to take down.
And there, in the midst of all the chaos, Rumi awaits.
“Rumi!” Zoey calls out, the pressure that’d gathered in her chest starting to fade. Amongst the mess, she looks so small. Bathed in that dominant purple light, she’s crouched low and tucked into herself, back turned towards them. From where they stand, all Zoey can see is that her hands cover her face, like she always used to whenever she’s upset, as though that’d be enough to hide away from the world, from them, from herself. Guilt settles atop her shoulders as a pang of sadness lingers over her, but still, Zoey steps forward, a sad smile to her face, “it’s alright, I promise, Rumi. I’m sorry about before, I was just scared and upset and—”
Rumi turns to face them and Zoey’s words cut out, breath catching in her throat. She’s almost unrecognisable. The patterns that’d shocked them earlier have completely overridden her; her skin’s all purpled like a never-ending bruise and where what Zoey assumes had been original patterns, they now burn a blinding, luminous pink. What she doesn’t expect is the pair of twisting, gnarled horns that crown Rumi’s head, and when Zoey looks to her eyes, searching, begging to find some sliver of their girl in there, golden eyes glower back.
That tightness, that fear from earlier, begins to rear its ugly head. It expands tenfold and with it, there’s an unexpected low growl. Dread creeps in as Rumi’s lips curl into a vicious inhuman snarl, a flash of pointed fangs in warning. From where she remains crouched, claws dig deeper into the floor, repeatedly now, and behind Rumi, Zoey notices how her long braid is left in ruin, the end starting to come unravelled, wild and free.
Then, Rumi screams.
It’s a loud, terrifying thing. Tremors shake throughout the room, the light shattering into a dazzling, demonic red. Zoey shrieks in terror. Using both her hands, she quickly covers her ears but it’s not enough to drown it out. The screeching is piercing yet heartbroken, and even when it stops, her eardrums are left ringing. Horror bundles atop her chest again, threatening to tear itself free but then Rumi’s eyes lock with hers. They glitter, full of sparkling, glistening gold, with no show of fear, restraint, remorse. Rumi’s hands unlatch from the ground and like a hunter that’s found its prey, she lunges.
“Zoey, look out!”
Everything happens too quickly. Zoey barely has a chance to summon her daggers. Thoughts spiralling, conflicted and frenzied, she rushes to pull her arms up in front of her, at least as a protective barrier. Desperately, magic flits at her fingertips and the form of something sharp starts to take shape but it’s far too slow.
She’s in danger, but this is Rumi.
She’s going to get hurt, but this is Rumi.
She’s going to die, but this is their Rumi.
The two daggers she’d tried to manifest fizzle, stuttering once and then twice before fading out of existence once more. Zoey’s just not fast enough for once, not strong enough. Before she knows it, Rumi’s already closed in and her claws swing forwards, catching onto her sleeves. Pain spikes along her arms, causing Zoey to cry out as fabric rips, skin tearing, blood left weeping from the wound.
Instantly, a blur of pink pushes past her, knocking her to one side. Zoey lets out a pathetic yelp, stumbling backwards. Tears prick at her eyes but that’s nothing compared to the utter panic she feels as Mira body slams into Rumi. The force is strong enough that it sends them both toppling backwards, and as Zoey falls too, they all crash onto the floor with a resounding slam.
“Rumi, snap out of it,” she hears Mira says through gritted teeth but it’s too hard to focus. A burning sensation overwhelms her wounds, and when Zoey tries to pull herself back up, her arm protests with a wildfire of excruciating pain. Looking over, rivers of red spill away and it hurts; hurts more than any injury Zoey’s had before but it doesn’t matter. No pain, no injury matters right now, not when her beloveds are possibly hurting even more. Bracing herself, she ends up rolling to her side, doing her best to avoid touching the wounds, before pushing with her hands to rise back up.
When she spots them, Mira’s on top of Rumi pinning her down to the floor with little success. Her hands are wrapped around her wrists, and at the sight of it, Zoey’s heart twists uncomfortably. This is tormenting: the fighting. But she doesn’t know what else to do, how else to stay alive and still keep Rumi from harm’s path. Zoey watches, wrapped in anguish as Rumi thrashes desperately against the restraining hold. Her body pulls and twists, fangs snapping, broken voice strangled and animalistic.
We did this to you, didn’t we? We cut you up and you lost control, then ripped out your heart.
“Talk to us,” Mira pleads, and though her voice is stern, tears drip from her face, brows furrowed in despair, “please, we don’t wanna hurt you. Just come back to us. I’m sorry for before, I was hurt and I hated that I hadn’t seen you hurting all this time too.”
The words fall on deaf ears.
In only a few harrowing seconds, Rumi quickly overpowers her. She pushes and pulls, twists and tears until with a guttural yell, her hand snatches away free. Talons slash through Mira’s torso like scissors to paper and she pulls away with a sharp cry of pain. Zoey gasps in unison, body starting to pull through the misty haze as she tries to close the gap between them. Before she can, Rumi kicks Mira backwards, then rolling and spilling away free.
Fear spiking, Zoey rushes to Mira’s aid. Adrenaline pushes her on, dread taking her the full distance. She just manages to catch her before she falls again and Mira stumbles into her arms. Under her hoarse breath, Mira grunts, pained and agonised. “I’ve got you,” Zoey reassures, wrapping one arm around Mira’s back, the other hovering uncertainly over her injury. Red pours from the five long cuts that paint her torso, soaking into her clothes and turning it bloodied crimson.
“I’m fine,” Mira says but her voice betrays her, words forced and strained. She looks ahead, watching where Rumi snarls, claws scratching into the ground as she lowers herself down again, feral and wild. Zoey watches as Mira wipes away tears, before moving to stand again, summoning her polearm. It flickers dimly in the light. “We just have to get through to her. Bring her back.”
“How?” Zoey despairs, “I– we can’t hurt her, Mira. She’s still our Rumi.”
But she was already hurt, wasn’t she? How long has it been— how many years has she been hurting in a way that they couldn’t have seen, couldn’t have imagined? What good are they, if they couldn’t see that, couldn’t have seen their friend in so much pain – forced to hide away, to bury everything she was from them.
Rumi doesn’t wait for the answer. She screams at the universe again, her voice coming out garbled and laced with something dark and brokenhearted. Red ripples through the broken Honmoon before she launches another assault towards them. This time, Mira’s prepared though. She raises her weapon, stepping in front of Zoey once again. “Then we tell her what she needs to hear. She didn’t want us to leave, right?”
She’s not sure what Mira means but there’s no time to think. Claws clang against metal, purples, reds and pinks blurring together as the light swells. Rumi desperately shoves against the polearm, trying to overpower Mira again but Mira won’t allow it. Instead, she presses her shoes to the ground, getting a footing before then pushing all that weight back onto Rumi. As she does, Rumi starts to slip, losing momentum and as Mira twirls away to one side, Zoey steps up.
“Sorry, Rumi,” she says, and as Rumi’s face snaps up to look at her, Zoey smiles sadly, “we’re not leaving you this time.”
Ignoring how her hands shake, Zoey pushes Rumi again, backwards to where Mira waits. As soon as she’s close enough, Mira pulls her polearm around Rumi, locking her in one place. “I’m not letting you go, Rumi,” Mira says, voice determined, and when Rumi scrambles to try and break free, she continues, “I love you too much to let you go, alright? I’m sorry I didn’t notice sooner. I’m sorry you didn’t think you could talk to me, but I’m here now, I swear.”
When Rumi tries to swipe at her with her clawed hands, Zoey quickly takes hold of her wrists, holding her back. “Can you hear us, Rumi? We’re not letting you go again. We’ve all made mistakes, but it’s going to be okay. You’re not alone anymore. I’m not leaving you.” At that, golden eyes seem to widen. Rumi’s still fighting back but with less force behind it, less desperation. “We were scared, but you were too. You’ve been scared all this time, haven’t you? To be yourself, to show us every side of you. You don’t have to hide anymore, I promise.”
And then, without thinking, Zoey releases Rumi’s wrists and hugs her. She squeezes her eyes shut, waiting for the sharp, piercing stabbing pain of claws into flesh.
“We love you and we forgive you.”
The pain never comes. When Zoey opens her eyes, Rumi is crying. Tears cascade her cheeks and she’s no longer trying to pull away, no longer trying to fight. The purple that’d coated her skin has started to recede, not completely, but enough that she’s starting to look more or less like herself again. Her eyes seem to refocus too like whatever haze she’d been under has lifted, that glittering gold pulling away, dissipating back into the deep, earthy browns Zoey’s missed. When Mira’s weapon fizzles away, no longer needed, Rumi falls forward, exhausted.
“Oh, Rumi,” Zoey murmurs as she holds her up, arms still wrapped around to keep her steady. Mira slips into the hold too, pressing them all together. Zoey continues, “you’re okay, we’ve got you. It’s going to be okay.”
Within her arms, there’s a shudder. A sorrowful sob follows, then another, and then another. A chorus of crying continues as Rumi nestles into Zoey’s chest, body trembling. “I’m sorry,” Rumi’s voice starts, weakened and barely enough to be a whisper, “I’m so sorry, you’re hurt and I—”
“Don’t worry about that right now. We’re tough, we’ll be fine,” Mira affirms, eyes landing on Zoey for confirmation and once Zoey nods, Mira tucks herself in closer, not once letting either of them go, “right now, we want to focus on you.”
Rumi breathes, in and then out. Her eyes are bloodshot, tears still trickling away. There’s a tragic smile that pulls to her wobbling lips, and her hands reach out to hold them both, one hand on either arm. “I’m okay, better now with you both,” she sighs, though her voice wobbles as she continues, “I think I… I don’t know what happened, not really, anyway. I remember running and I just— I was terrified. Couldn’t think of what to do. How to be anything more than…”
She trails off and something breaks into a million pieces in Zoey’s chest.
“You don’t need to be anything more,” Zoey hums, and she presses a light kiss to Rumi’s forehead, “all we’ve ever wanted was just you.”
Mira nods, resting her chin on Rumi’s shoulder and leans in to kiss her cheek, “don’t you get it? We love you. Always have.”
Rumi stares for a moment, eyes looking between them back and forth, before settling on a space just in between them. She sniffles, blinking away the last of her tears, and then she smiles, a light laugh rumbling in her chest. “I love you both too.”
A giggle escapes Zoey when Rumi leans forward, placing a soft, tickling kiss to the tip of her nose and she watches with a smile when Rumi turns to Mira too, pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek.
In time, they’ll continue. After all, they’ve got a world to save, one last fight to defeat Gwi-ma, one which’ll end with them creating their own Honmoon. One that’s built upon trust and love. But for now, for a moment longer, they’ll hold on tight, wrapped in the comfort of each other’s arms, where despite everything they’ve been through, no matter how they broke apart, they come back together again stronger.