Quick Author's Note: This chapter literally destroyed me as I was writing it. I had to take daily walks to shake off some of the feels because it was getting too personal even for me. I say this coming from experience with broken friendships and trust issues. I hope everyone has true friends by their sides through thick and thin. <3
Rumi’s voice soared across the stage, golden and commanding. Her solo shimmered with quiet power, each note threaded with the kind of emotion that made the crowd lean forward, breath held. Backstage, Mira and Zoey stood for the moment, watching her with reverence.
“She’s killin' it out there!” Zoey chirped, eyes wide.
Mira nodded, with a grin, her gaze steady. “Let's go finish this.”
The stagehands moved around them in practiced silence, adjusting cables, checking mic packs. The girls were seconds away from returning to the spotlight, ready to join Rumi for the second verse. Everything was in place.
Until the sounds of a struggle echoed from behind as both girls turned sharply, instinct prickling. Down the corridor, past the busy crew, two large figures emerged, bodyguards in black suits, dragging someone between them. Their eyes briefly flashed a yellow glow. The figure struggled, limbs flailing, platinum hair falling over her face.
Yena.
Zoey’s breath caught. “What the... Yena?!”
Mira didn’t hesitate. She broke into a sprint, Zoey right behind her. The production coordinator called after them, confused, but neither girl looked back. Their heels clacked against the floor, echoing through the narrow hallway as they chased the retreating figures.
“Yena!” Mira shouted, voice sharp with panic.
The bodyguards didn’t stop. They turned a corner, dragging Yena with unnatural force. Her head lolled, her movements sluggish, like she was fading. The hallway narrowed, leading to a dead end, a storage alcove lined with crates and old lighting rigs.
The girls skidded to a halt. The bodyguards stood still. Yena’s head hung low.
The air rippled. The bodyguards’ forms shimmered, their suits dissolving into patterns and claws. Their faces twisted, eyes glowing yellow, mouths stretching into snarling smiles. And Yena, her outline warped, her limbs elongating, her hair darkening into smoke. It wasn’t actually her. The creature wearing Yena’s face turned toward them, its eyes hollow and glinting with a malicious smile. Then, in a blink, all three chuckled darkly and vanished.
Mira and Zoey stood frozen, the silence around them deafening. They didn’t move, still processing what had just happened. Then, from somewhere deep in the building, the music shifted. The soft, golden melody cut out, replaced by something darker.
The opening beat of Takedown thudded through the walls, aggressive, pulsing, out of place. The kind of song reserved for battles, not ballads.
Zoey’s eyes widened. “Why are they playing Takedown?”
Mira turned to her, voice low and urgent. “Something’s wrong.”
They didn’t speak again. They just ran again. Back through the corridor, past the bustling crew, toward the backstage entrance. Only to find a sight that shouldn't have been revealed yet, now the whole world knows.
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Yena’s breath was still uneven as she slipped through the backstage corridor, her pulse echoing in her ears like a warning she couldn’t shake. Her body moved on instinct, each step heavy with the weight of what she’d just escaped. Romance’s voice still lingered in her mind like a plague—accusations, confessions, the sting of being called his shame. But she pushed it down, buried it beneath the urgency clawing at her chest.
She needed to find the girls.
The moment she turned the corner, she saw them—Mira and Zoey, standing just beyond the staff, their backs to her, gazes fixed on the stage. The soft glow of the spotlight spilled across their shoulders, casting long shadows behind them. Yena’s pace quickened, her voice caught in her throat, her hand half-raised to reach them.
But then her eyes shifted, and everything stopped.
Rumi stood center stage, her solo performance had stopped, and something was wrong. The lighting had dimmed, the golden hue replaced by a cooler, almost sterile wash. Her posture was off—no longer commanding, no longer radiant. Her shoulders sagged, her movements sluggish, and her hair clung to her face in damp strands.
Then Yena saw it. Her arms. Bare and exposed.
Patterns
Dark purple marks that shimmered on the skin like tattoos made of flame across Rumi’s skin, crawling from her arms and spreading to her face like living veins. They pulsed faintly, glowing with a rhythm that matched the beat of her heart.
Yena gasped, loud and involuntary. Her hand flew to her mouth, her eyes wide with disbelief. The sound made Mira and Zoey turn toward her, but Yena didn’t see them. She couldn’t believe it all. Her entire world had narrowed to the sight of Rumi, her closest friend, standing beneath the lights with the truth etched into her skin.
Her stomach dropped. It felt like someone had dumped ice water down her spine, each vertebra locking into place with shock. Her knees weakened, her breath caught, and her heart thudded with a hollow ache.
No, this couldn’t be real.
Rumi, her leader. Her confidant, the girl who had held her hand through breakdowns and rehearsals and heartbreak, was a demon.
The truth slammed into her like a wall. All those years of training, of being told that demons eat souls and are evil by nature. She had hunted them. She had hated them, and she had sworn to protect the world from them. And now, one of them had been beside her all along. Laughing with her. Crying with her. Protecting her. All this time without her even noticing.
Yena’s lips parted, but no words came. Her throat was dry, her voice gone. Her heart ached—not with fear, but with betrayal. Deep, aching betrayal. She couldn’t stay. She couldn’t watch anymore. She closed her eyes, just for a moment, hoping the image would vanish. It was too good to be true.
She turned. Her steps were quiet, aimless, her body moving without thought. She walked past Mira and Zoey without a word, her gaze distant, her breath shallow. She didn’t know where she was going.
Yena’s steps were slow, her body moving as if underwater. The corridor stretched ahead, dimly lit and quiet, the distant hum of the crowd muffled by thick walls and heavier thoughts. Her mind was a storm—memories colliding, truths unraveling. She didn’t know where she was going. Only that she needed to move. To breathe. To escape the weight pressing against her chest.
The long staircase loomed ahead, leading to the stage platform. Its metal frame gleamed faintly under the overhead lights, casting long, skeletal shadows across the floor. Yena’s gaze drifted upward, her thoughts still tangled in the image of Rumi under the spotlight—marked, exposed, changed.
She didn’t notice the figure descending the stairs until it was nearly in front of her.
Rumi.
Her steps were uneven, her breath shallow, her eyes unfocused. She looked disoriented, like someone pulled from a dream too soon. Her hair clung to her temples, her skin pale beneath the fading stage makeup. Her arms hung limply at her sides, the purple markings still visible—faintly glowing, like a curse that refused to fade.
Yena stopped in place, her breath catching.
Rumi’s gaze landed on her, and for a moment, the world narrowed to just the two of them.
Then Yena felt them—Mira and Zoey—behind her. Their presence was quiet but grounding, a reminder that she wasn’t alone. She hadn’t even noticed them approach, too lost in her own unraveling. But now, the three of them stood together, shoulder to shoulder, facing the girl they thought they knew.
Rumi blinked, her expression flickering with confusion. “You’re… here?” she said, voice breathless. “I thought you were on stage. Just a moment ago…”
Her words were tangled, uncertain, like she was trying to piece together a reality that didn’t match what she remembered.
Yena’s brows furrowed. Despite the ache in her chest, the statement didn’t make sense. She was hurt, yes—but now she was confused too. What did Rumi mean?
Mira and Zoey remained silent, their eyes locked on Rumi with a mix of sadness and distrust. They didn’t speak. They didn’t move, but their silence was deafening.
Rumi’s eyes widened as recognition settled in. Her breath hitched, and she let out a trembling sigh of relief. “That wasn't you?” she whispered, voice cracking. “Oh, thank goodness.”
She stepped forward. All three girls instinctively took some steps back, keeping a distance. It wasn’t rejection nor hate, but it was out of fear. Quiet, unspoken fear. She stopped mid-step, her body stiffening as she saw it and felt it in their eyes. Not cruelty. Not disgust. But hesitation. Distance. A fracture that hadn’t been there before.
Mira opened her mouth, wanting to speak, to say something—anything—but no words came. Her throat tightened, her voice lost. And that silence was louder than any accusation.
Rumi froze. Her gaze dropped slowly to her arms. The purple markings pulsed faintly, etched into her skin like a brand. Her fingers trembled as she touched them, as if hoping they’d vanish under her touch.
But it would never, not now, not ever.
Her gaze dropped instinctively, and she fumbled, fingers trembling as she tried to hide the markings. The marks remained visible, pulsing faintly like they knew they were mocking her very being.
Zoey’s voice broke the silence, speaking loudly. Out of curiosity or maybe ignorance, “Why do you have those patterns?”
Rumi froze. Her hands stopped moving. She didn’t look up. “They were supposed to be gone,” she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.
She forced herself to lift her head, her eyes meeting theirs with effort. “You weren’t supposed to see it.”
The silence that followed was heavy. It pressed against their chests, filled the space between them like fog. No one moved. No one breathed.
Then Mira spoke. Her voice was sharp, brittle with pain. “You were hiding them from us. This whole time.”
Rumi’s eyes widened. She shook her head quickly, almost desperately. “No! No, it wasn’t like that. I... I was going to fix it. I had a plan.”
Her words tumbled out, rushed and uneven, like she was trying to outrun the truth.
But then she said it. “Jinu was supposed to...”
The name dropped like a stone. The nail in the coffin for the girls, whose trust was slowly fading, minute by minute.
Zoey’s head snapped up, her brows furrowed. “Jinu?” she repeated, her voice laced with disbelief. “You’re working with him?”
Yena’s expression shifted. She didn’t speak. Her eyes closed slowly, deeply, as if trying to shut out the weight of the moment. The disappointment etched into her features was quiet, but unmistakable.
She had kept her silence for Rumi’s sake, buried the truth between whatever loyalty she had left and some lingering hope. But now, Rumi had outed herself. There was nothing left to protect. Nothing left to save her from.
Rumi’s breath faltered, her body trembling as Zoey’s question echoed through the air like a slap. “No!” she said quickly, her voice cracking. “No, I wasn’t working with Jinu. I was using him.”
Her words spilled out in a rush, frantic and uneven. “I needed him to fix this. To fix me! So, we could do our duty! We could be strong. Be together… as Huntrix!”
Her voice broke on the last word. Tears slipped down her cheeks, slow and silent, catching the light as they fell. She didn’t wipe them away. She didn’t hide them. Her arms hung at her sides, the markings still visible, still pulsing faintly like they were mocking her.
None of the girls responded. The silence was suffocating. Mira’s lips parted, but no sound came. Zoey’s brows furrowed, her gaze locked on Rumi with a mix of disbelief and quiet devastation. Yena stood still, her expression unreadable, her eyes shadowed with something deeper than anger.
Then she spoke. Her voice was flat, deadpan, but the ache behind it was unmistakable. “How can we be together...” she said slowly, “If we can’t tell your lies from your truths?”
The words landed like a blade. Rumi flinched at Yena's sudden accusation. Mira was about to speak, her mouth already forming the beginning of a sentence—but Rumi cut her off, her voice slightly louder with sudden urgency.
“No,” she said, stepping forward. “No, Yena. You’ve been trying to say something this whole time. I see it. I feel it. But you keep stopping. You keep stalling on your words.”
Her desperation was still there, raw and trembling—but something else flickered beneath it. Command. The old Rumi. The leader. The girl who used to hold them together with sheer force of will.
“Say it,” she gently demanded, her voice cracking. “Say it now.”
Mira and Zoey turned to Yena, startled by the shift. Their expressions were still somber, still wounded, but now tinged with confusion. Yena didn’t move. She just stared at Rumi, her eyes unreadable, her breath shallow.
She stood still, her breath shallow, her gaze locked on Rumi’s tear-streaked face. The silence between them was unbearable—thick with grief, betrayal, and the kind of pain that didn’t need shouting to be heard. Rumi’s demand still echoed in her ears, and something inside Yena cracked.
She couldn’t hold it in anymore.
“I felt left out,” she said, voice raised out of the blue and trembling. “Like I didn’t matter.”
Her words came slowly, each one heavy, deliberate. “I was pushed aside. All because of a stupid dating scandal that didn't need to be viral, and I was left alone to deal with it.”
Rumi’s eyes widened, but Yena didn’t stop. “I was forced into a hiatus, and none of you defended me. Not once. Not even when Celine dragged me through the mud in front of everyone!”
Mira’s shoulders tensed. Zoey looked down, her lips pressed into a thin line. Rumi’s expression faltered, her tears falling faster now.
Yena's hands clenched at her sides, nails digging into her palms. She could feel the sting, but it grounded her. “And I knew,” she said, quieter now. “I found out you were seeing Jinu. At night. In secret.”
The words landed like a thunderclap, out of control, as Yena was already speaking her mind without realizing the damage. Mira’s head snapped up. Zoey’s eyes widened in disbelief. Rumi’s breath caught audibly, her face draining of color.
She stared at Yena, stunned. “You… had known?”
Yena nodded once, slowly.
Rumi’s lips trembled. “How?”
But she didn’t answer. She couldn’t dare to. She had already said too much and already shattered what little trust remained. Going further—mentioning Romance, her own secrets, her own shame—would only make her the villain. The traitor. The one who had no right to speak at all.
The guilt surged through her like a flood, drowning her in regret. Her shoulders sagged, her eyes dropped, and the weight of everything she’d said pressed down on her like a storm cloud. She hadn’t meant to hurt them, but she had.
"I knew it." Mira’s own gaze fell to the floor, her voice barely audible. “I knew it was too good to be true.”
“Mira, no!” Rumi jolted, stepping forward, her voice cracking. Her gaze darted between them, wild and pleading. “Didn't you see? See the gold? We're so close.”
But the girls recoiled instinctively, stepping back in unison. The distance between them widened, not just physically but emotionally. An invisible chasm carved by betrayal and fear. Rumi’s markings flared in response, the purple sigils on her arms pulsing brighter, casting eerie reflections on the walls. The glow wasn’t soft anymore—it was sharp, erratic, like something inside her was waking up.
Rumi’s eyes widened at their reaction. “No! Don’t leave!” she pleaded, voice breaking. “Don't leave!”
“I can still fix it!” she cried, her voice rising with desperation, but the words came out wrong.
Distorted. Laced with an inhuman trill that made the air vibrate. A flash of deep pink rippled outward from her body—waves of raw energy that shimmered like heat and struck like thunder. The hallway trembled with it, and the girls shuddered, their bodies reacting before their minds could catch up. Fear. Warning. Horror.
She turned to Mira first, her voice softening. “Mira…”
But Mira didn’t speak. She didn’t blink. She slowly raised her hand, summoning her glaive with a cold, deliberate motion. The weapon shimmered into existence, its edge gleaming under the hallway lights. She lifted it toward Rumi, her expression unreadable, her silence louder than any accusation.
Rumi’s breath caught. “No…”
She darted to Zoey next, her voice trembling. “Zoey, please...”
Zoey stared at her, eyes wide, uncertain. Her hands lifted slowly, hesitantly, and her spirit daggers materialized in her grip. She didn’t raise them. But she didn’t lower them either.
Rumi’s heart pounded.
She turned to Yena. Her last hope. “Yena...” she whispered, voice hollow. “You have to...”
Yena’s heart twisted violently. Her body screamed to react, to summon her divine fan, to prepare for the worst, but she didn’t move. She turned her back. Slowly. Her hand clenched shut, trembling with restraint, refusing to summon her weapon. If she had spared Romance during their first encounter, maybe she could spare Rumi the same way.
However, she made the biggest mistake by turning her back on Rumi, who needed her the most.
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