Rumi POV
The pink smoke unraveled around me as fast as it had formed, fading into the night air. The sharp winter wind at Namsan Tower bit against my skin, the kind that makes you instinctively wrap your arms around yourself.
The city spread out below, a sea of glittering lights and swarming traffic, like someone had upended a jewelry box over the land. But here — right at the base of the Tower — the air felt… heavy.
It wasn't just the cold.
The honmoon shimmered faintly in the sky above, its white threads straining like pulled wire. The tear wasn't here yet, but I could feel the wrongness, like the echo of a scream pressed against the edges of my mind.
I took a step forward, my boots crunching over frost-coated stone, scanning the area. No crowds. No Mira. No Zoey. Not even a stray pigeon.
Just me.
My grip tightened around the pocket watch Sable had tossed me. It was cool now, smooth against my palm, but there was a strange pulse to it — subtle, like the ticking of a clock you only notice when the room goes silent.
I wasn't sure what it was supposed to do. I wasn't sure why he'd called me "Fruit Roll-Up," either.
But I'd agreed. And that meant I was here.
I tilted my head back, letting the looming silver spire of the Tower fill my view, and exhaled slowly. Somewhere in the next few hours, Gwi-Ma's game would hit its final act.
And if Sable's plan was real… maybe we had a chance.
—-----------------------------------
Sable POV
I slipped in beside her without a sound, boots crunching against the frost just loud enough to announce myself a heartbeat too late.
Rumi flinched — just a little — before her head snapped toward me, her fingers instinctively brushing the pocket watch at her side like she was checking it was still there. The silver casing caught the light… and for just a second, it glowed faintly, almost like it had a pulse.
I chuckled, low in my throat. "Didn't mean to spook you."
Her eyes narrowed in a light glare, the kind people give when they're debating whether you're worth punching or ignoring. But instead of looking away, she lingered on me — just staring for a moment, like she was trying to figure something out — before finally turning her attention forward again.
"I just checked the perimeter," I said, adjusting the drape of my robes as if the cold didn't bother me. "Everything's in place. Wards are active, failsafes are ready… I'm good to go whenever you are."
She glanced down briefly at the watch in her palm, the faint glow still there, before meeting my gaze again. No words, just a slow nod.
Then she drew in a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and turned toward the looming stadium. Without another word, she started walking — no hesitation in her stride.
I glanced once at the watch in her hand, then let my gaze shift back to her as the silver light from the Tower caught in her hair.
"Soon," I murmured under my breath, eyes following her into the glow of the Tower. "Soon, I can finally leave."
And with that thought, space bent — and I folded to my position.
—----------------------------------------------------
From my perch high on the stadium roof, the cold wind cutting along the steel beams, I looked down at the writhing sea of bodies below. Thousands of them, all packed in shoulder-to-shoulder, swaying in time with the pounding bass. Not one of them moving of their own will — just puppets on invisible strings, hypnotized and hollow-eyed.
And at the center of it all, the Saja Boys.
The disguises were gone. No more slick, smiling idols for the cameras. Their skin shimmered with a sickly purple sheen, eyes burning with the kind of hunger you couldn't put in a magazine spread. Each movement on stage was sharp, predatory — and the song they were performing now, Your Idol, wasn't for the crowd's benefit. This was for him.
Because the real headliner had finally arrived.
In a burst of violent purple fire, the air behind the stage tore open, and Gwi-Ma stepped through. Well — mouth through, more like. All jagged, grinning teeth and roiling violet flames, the very heat of him warping the air. Even from here, the sound of his presence was a low, living growl in the bones of the stadium.
I let out a slow, steady breath.
Finally.
With a thought, I summoned the one weapon I hadn't touched since arriving in this world. A rush of cold, radiant energy swirled up my arms, solidifying into polished silver and gleaming starlight. The long, sleek body of a bow materialized in my hands — its limbs etched with constellations that shifted as if they were alive, the grip wrapped in black leather warm to the touch. Between the tips stretched a shimmering string of pure light, humming with restrained power.
Heaven's Judgment.
My fingers flexed over the grip, the old familiarity settling in like a heartbeat I hadn't heard in years. I crouched low against the steel, angling the bow down toward the stage, sighting past the writhing crowd. All I needed now… was her.
But before Rumi made her entrance, the performance shifted. The music slammed to a halt, the Saja Boys rising smoothly into the air to hover above the stage. Behind them, Gwi-Ma loomed, the purple fire licking higher, his jagged grin widening.
They turned — all of them — toward the stadium's main entrance. And then he smiled.
I didn't wait to see why. I pulled back the string, the arrow of light crackling into existence between my fingers, and loosed. Not at Gwi-Ma. Not yet.
The shot streaked past him and slammed into the Namsan Tower behind the stage.
Light erupted from the impact point — brilliant, blinding — racing outward in a perfect circle around the stadium. The ring climbed, bending and folding over itself until it sealed into a glowing dome that arched over the entire venue.
The Star-Veil.
Within its boundaries, spiritual entities were trapped — no slipping through dimensions, no vanishing into smoke. And more than that, the veil's touch wrapped around them in a thin, translucent film of blue light, clinging to their forms like a second skin. It restrained, weakened, eroded them, every second breaking them down piece by piece.
I let the bow dissolve into light, its hum fading away, and called the Chalice into my left hand, the familiar weight of my blade settling into the right.
Showtime.
———————
A/N: okay Hawkeye 😒🙄
To be honest I don't like how I wrote this and I'm fighting just scrapping the book and rewriting it…..but I know what that feels like as a reader, I'm going to push through it😤
Now leave a comment leave a review and….
SSSEEE YYYAAA NNNEEEXXXTTT TTTIIIMMMEEE!!!!!!