The morning light was gray, indecisive—as if the sky still hadn't chosen whether to lean into day or fall back into night. Thin curtains filtered it through the small apartment, softening the room's edges.
Junheon woke earlier than usual. From the far end of the hall came a faint murmur—the rhythm of Mira's breathing tangled with the echo of a song she must have left playing all night. He paused, listened, and smiled faintly.
"Don't wake her, his inner voice whispered." "She earned the rest."
Moving quietly, he took the bag by the door and went to the kitchen. He filled the kettle; the water's burble sounded louder than it was. When it began to heat, the simmer felt as if it might rattle the whole apartment—but Mira didn't stir.
He fished a small note from his bag, jotted a line, and stuck it to the cabinet door:
> Back soon. Breakfast is ready. —Junheon
He set out two slices of bread, a small plate of cheese, and the jar of strawberry jam Kenny had brought the day before. When the lid popped, a sweet scent spilled out; for a moment the whole apartment felt like a fairground. Junheon almost took a bite himself, but the jar was small, and he wanted to leave more for her. When he glanced through the curtains, the brightened air seemed to have erased the shadows outside.
Satisfied, he slipped on his jacket, laced his shoes with ninja-level quiet, and eased the door shut. The lock clicked once—soft as a heartbeat.
The apartment was Mira's again.
---
Mira woke later. As she rubbed her eyes, the first thing she noticed was the note on the cabinet.
She chuckled and yawned. "He's fully entered Dad Mode."
She went to the table. Bread, cheese, jam—simple, but careful. She spread the jam thick; the sweetness left an exquisite taste on her tongue, and she smiled toward the window.
The street tried to look ordinary, but it wasn't. Armored patrols moved slowly by—many more than usual.
"Stone faces, everyone today," she muttered. "Whatever. If school's canceled, the day just got sweeter."
She opened her phone. Messages were stacking up:
Miraaa, you up?
Wanna hang?
We tried the new café. Still not as good as KN.
She replied with a string of hearts, then leaned back. "Home day," she said. "When my brother gets back, I'm teaching him desserts. That's the plan."
---
Outside, the air still carried bleach and metal. The city had spent the night scrubbing away the traces, but hadn't managed it all. The asphalt was scored; barricades were patched. In the corners, heavy, oil-black shadows clung.
Hands in his pockets, Junheon walked, listening to the tense thrum of helicopters. He slipped into the corner store: milk, flour, chocolate—the basics. I'll make pancakes for her, he thought. The cashier, a woman with tired eyes, said nothing; there was the quiet fear of someone who had seen too much and said too little.
On the way back, he passed two Lightward soldiers. One gave a curt nod; the other looked away too quickly. As they moved off, one flashed hand signs Junheon didn't recognize.
He quickened his pace without drawing attention—nothing about them felt friendly. Go home, he told himself. Mira's waiting.
---
When he opened the door, Mira sat on the kitchen stool, legs swinging; the jam jar on the table was empty.
"You're back!" she said. "Perfect timing. I was about to declare a dessert emergency."
"That's why I came prepared—wait, did you finish the whole jar in one day?" He almost scolded her, then let it go. "Never mind." He set out the milk and chocolate. "Today is Pancake Day."
Mira's eyes lit up. "Pancakes? A feast fit for queens!"
They got to work. When Mira cracked an egg, a bit of shell fell into the bowl. Junheon arched a brow.
"Strategy, or accident?"
"Strategy," Mira said without blinking. "Extra calcium."
"Of course it is," he said, and deftly fished the shell out with a pair of chopsticks.
Their sweet-tempered, mock-combative cooking show produced a first pancake that was decidedly lopsided. Mira claimed it on the spot. "This one's the test subject."
Before she could pop it whole into her mouth, Junheon snatched it away. "Gremlin," he said lightly, and dropped it in the trash. The rest puffed up golden. With chocolate drizzle and jam, the stack turned the small table into a festival spread—mostly plated by Junheon, a little by Mira, but none of that mattered; what mattered was that they laughed more than the last time.
As they ate, Mira rattled on: new classmates, the cool driver, Harin, and the rumor that the chemistry lab was a "Christmas tree waiting to explode." Junheon mostly listened, nodding now and then but smiling all the while.
"Feels like a holiday," Mira said through a mouthful.
"A little surprised," Junheon admitted. "But staying home feels better."
---
After the plates were cleared, they moved to the living room. Mira flopped onto the couch; Junheon took the chair beside her. An old music competition glittered on the TV.
"You know," Mira said suddenly, "you never act like a kid. You're always so serious."
"Because someone has to be."
"Nope." She poked his arm. "Sometimes you've gotta be silly. Otherwise life's boring."
He considered it. "Silly… maybe. But without you, this place would be too quiet. Way too quiet."
Her smile softened. "Something happened last night, didn't it?"
He froze, said nothing. She held his gaze a beat, then sighed theatrically. "Fine, don't tell me. You still owe me two desserts."
They laughed, and the heavy air lifted. The conversation wandered—old family dinners, Mira's friends, the unreadable curve of Harin's smile. Mira filled the room with words; Junheon's brief replies gave them rhythm.
---
As the sun dipped, the apartment turned amber. Mira stretched. "I'm going to my room. Music and a book. You do the dishes."
"Aye-aye, boss."
When he finished, Junheon checked the window. More patrols. Small armored vehicles crept at the corners, headlights cutting the dark. The air carried a warning.
Then—shouting. Distant at first, then closer. Metal on metal, ragged screams.
He didn't hesitate. He went straight to Mira's room. She had her headphones on, music blasting.
"Something wrong?" she asked, tugging one earcup aside.
"No. Just… turn it up. I'll sit with you a while."
She frowned, then smiled. "Okay."
When it was time to sleep, she drifted off to pop music; Junheon sat sentry in the chair. Half-asleep, she tossed him questions:
"Favorite game?"
"League."
"Favorite food?"
"Omurice."
"Favorite person?"
He hesitated. "…Mira."
She smiled, eyes closing. "Knew iiiit," she mumbled, then was gone.
---
Only when her breathing settled did Junheon leave the room. Outside was unrecognizable.
A heavy armored truck lay overturned, its metal guts spilled across the street. Automated defense turrets were torn apart. Soldiers staggered, a black fluid seeping from cracks in their armor. Anyone it touched turned on their comrades—blank-eyed, feral.
His breath caught. The stench was tar and blood.
Then—the sky opened.
Helicopters thundered in, ropes unspooling. Figures in sleek black armor descended, marked with the burning sigil of Naraka Hand. They moved with surgical precision. Nets of shimmering light unfurled, trapping the infected. The black sludge hissed and recoiled from the glow.
"Area secured."
"Contamination minimal."
"Source likely an underground conduit."
Even the streetlamps flickered, as if the current itself had flinched. Then—silence.
Junheon didn't move. He stayed still, half-hid behind the curtain, until the last of the sludge was contained and the sounds died away.
---
The apartment was quiet again—unnaturally so. The city still carried the echo of engines and clipped orders, but in here it felt like someone had lowered a glass dome over the world.
He stepped into Mira's room. She had rolled onto her side; one arm dangled off the bed, her headphones half-slipped. A tinny, cheerful chorus leaked into the air.
He adjusted the headphones and tucked the blanket around her. Then he slid down the wall to the floor and watched. She was safe. For now.
His mind was still full of black fluid and shattered turrets. He shook his head. Not tonight. Not while she sleeps.
In her sleep, Mira murmured, "…more pancakes."
A quiet laugh escaped him. "You'll get them," he whispered.
Time thickened. The bedside clock inched forward, its green digits carving the dark. His eyes grew heavy, but he didn't let them close. One hand rested lightly on the edge of her blanket, as if anchoring her to safety.
Outside, the noise faded. Helicopters withdrew. The street surrendered to silence. Dawn touched the horizon, pale and cautious.
At last he stood, joints stiff, and pulled Mira's blanket up to her chin. He pressed two fingers gently to her forehead.
"You'll never know what brushed past us tonight," he whispered. "And that's how it should be."
He closed her door without a sound. The apartment seemed smaller now, but warmer. Fragile—yet alive.
He leaned against the wall and breathed deep. For the first time that evening, exhaustion took him in its arms. Tomorrow would bring new questions, new burdens.
But for tonight there was only this: a girl's steady breath, the soft hum of a forgotten song, and the fragile peace of a home still standing.
-------
Unlike yesterday, Junheon had pulled an all-nighter wishing it were a holiday. With shadows under his eyes reduced to fine lines, he had already prepped breakfast and packed the school bags—Mira's included. He tried to drown the sleeplessness in coffee and looked out the window: not a trace of last night's nightmare. As if someone had snapped their fingers and buffed the city back to a shine.
Just then Mira stepped out, hair yanked into a band, squinting at him.
"Why do you look like that? Did you game all night?"
Junheon shrugged. "Fun and a little stressful, yeah. I'm about to hit top rank."
"Rank junkie," Mira muttered, but she was smiling.
They bickered a little longer, then ate quickly, got ready, and headed out. This time Junheon was unmistakably in "guard mode": he took the curb side, guided Mira at crossings with a hand between her shoulders, eyes sweeping every corner.
"Brother, did we hire a famous bodyguard and forget to tell me?"
"Two-for-one package: protection plus bag-carry," Junheon said.
"Not bad," Mira admitted, clearly enjoying it.
At school the entryway buzzed; a few students and a teacher or two approached to introduce themselves. Junheon declined everyone politely, in short sentences. Mira hugged his neck and ran inside; whispers trailed after her: "What a good brother…" "Is he the scholarship one?" "Okay but he's actually handsome…"
The moment he stepped away from the door, a hard shadow cut across his path. Harin stood to the left of the entrance, face serious and angry; beside her, Kenny waited with sloped shoulders and an expression ready-made for apology.
Harin's voice was the flat of a thin blade.
"There's an attack outside your building; only you two know, and I don't. Also—" her voice rose "—what were you thinking going out, Junheon? If something had happened, how would we answer to Mira? To us?"
Kenny took one step forward.
"Apologies for making the lady raise her voice," he said quietly. "We got the overnight clean-up report this morning. But… your safety isn't a protocol for us; it's a mandate."
Junheon didn't look away.
"I didn't want to worry you. Priority was Mira. While she slept I wanted to see what was out there… I realized too late it was a stupid move. I accept that."
The honesty lowered Harin's brows a notch; the sharpness in her tone softened by degrees.
"Apology accepted," she said, drawing a slow breath. "On one condition: I'm buying you a staff. The best. As strong as mine. Then you can protect yourself and Mira. Agreed?"
Junheon opened his mouth.
"Harin, that—"
Kenny cut in, courteous but firm.
"Sir, what matters here isn't 'deference' but your safety—and most of all, the young lady's. When something big happens, I can't always be there. None of us can. Keep that in mind before you refuse."
Junheon was at a loss. Harin used the pause to take his hand.
"Put it on the tab," she said in a low, unarguable voice.
After a brief hesitation, Junheon nodded. "I'll accept—on loan."
The three of them walked to the car. Once the doors shut, Kenny waited for confirmation in the mirror.
Before Kenny could speak, Junheon picked up his phone, thumb already moving across the screen.
Text to Mira:
"Little queen, tiny update:"Two terrifying forces: a driver and your future sister," he deadpanned.
I may come home with a very expensive staff and a special creature—don't ask which, because even I don't know.
There was a pause; Mira's voice dropped a little, softer, almost sulky.
"…So you're really going without me😭? That's unfair, big bro."
Junheon smiled faintly. "Also, I was planning to learn matter duplication
so your dessert supply never runs out… but since you clearly don't want that,
I'm canceling it."
"NOOO— 😡😡😡👿 I mean… of course you can go, dear brother 😇.
Just don't forget to bring dessert, okay😋? See you soon😊."
"Which shop, ma'am?"
Without thinking, Harin said, "Uncle Crowley's. He still has the best stock."
Kenny's face tightened.
"Are you sure, ma'am?"
A fine shiver ran down Junheon's spine.
"Going where he is… isn't a good idea," he said, his voice dropping despite himself.
Harin's patience flashed.
"Stop judging by appearances. So what if he's one of the Dark Princes?"
Regret hit her face the instant the words left her mouth. "Damn it…"
Junheon went cold. His inner voice screamed: Run, Jun. He reached for the handle.
"I've got a hospital appointment—catch you later," he said, trying to hide how rattled he was, and started to climb out.
Harin caught his wrist on reflex; her eyes softened, misting.
"I'm sorry I scared you without meaning to. Please don't go, Junheon."
"What sane person goes there?" he snapped, gently freeing his hand. "I don't know what kind of business your family does, but keep me out of it. Please."
Kenny's voice carved the air with an uncommon steel:
"Sir. In the car."
Short as a line. Commanding. A protector's edge.
Junheon hovered between stubbornness and sense, then exhaled and sank back into his seat. The locks clicked; the car slipped into traffic.
In the hush of the cabin, Kenny spoke:
"Thank you. It's true—Crowley is a Dark Prince. But unlike the others, he doesn't take pleasure in killing innocents. He dislikes needless ruin; if possible, he prefers to build better. His connection to his mother—Elyka, the Queen of Darkness—is next to zero. You don't need to be afraid. You're not wicked and you won't insult him; he won't touch you. He's helped this planet many times. He's even saved the young lady more than once." Kenny blinked and allowed a crooked smile. "I've been jealous of the bastard ever since. But… he's solid."
Junheon nodded slowly.
"If you hadn't said it, Kenny, I'd never have believed it." He turned to Harin. "I'm sorry to both of you. I overreacted. Especially to you, Harin."
Harin bit her lip; the gloss gathering in her eyes gave her away. Junheon slid open the small armrest compartment, pulled out a fresh wipe, and—without hesitation—dabbed away the tears at her lashes. At his touch, the tension bled out; Harin's shoulders sank a millimeter, her gaze warming with quiet fondness.
"Add one more line to your ledger," she whispered, not looking away.
"I'll pay it back," Junheon answered in the same hush. "With interest."
Kenny cleared his throat, a faint grin returning.
"If that's settled," he said, back to professional crispness, "first stop: Crowley. Best we hurry. Vice Principal Lenny can't stall the principal forever; better to be back before you're marked absent."
Harin let out a small laugh.
"You hear that? He says you'll 'pay with interest.' Then I insist on the very best."
The car slid into the secure lane. Outside, the city gleamed as brightly as it had an hour ago, but inside another truth was taking shape: a conditional truce, a spoken promise, and a dangerous step ahead.
Junheon watched the light run along the window. He realized his hand was still holding Harin's; when he started to let go, she tightened her grip.
This time, neither of them did.
-----
After a long drive, the car finally rolled to a stop before a prestigious restaurant. Its glass façade glittered with chandeliers and polished marble floors visible through the tall windows.
"Follow me, Master Junheon . And please—no questions," Kenny said firmly, his voice carrying the weight of habit and secrecy.
Junheon gave a faint nod. "Understood."
Inside, the brilliance of wealth was almost blinding. Gold trim edged the walls, velvet curtains framed crystal-lit halls, and guests in silks and jewelry sparkled like moving stars. Junheon's eyes scanned it all, yet Kenny cut through the glitter like a knife, steering them toward the back. Past waiters balancing trays of wine, with laughter rising like smoke, they slipped into the far corner—through the swinging doors of the kitchen.
Cooks hardly looked up as the three passed. Kenny didn't pause until they reached a narrow side hall, where he veered directly into a restroom. Junheon slowed at the threshold, his instincts prickling.
Harin glanced back, caught his hesitation, and tugged his hand.
"Come on," she whispered with a reassuring smile.
Inside, the fluorescent lights buzzed. Kenny strode to the fire alarm box mounted by the mirror. Without hesitation, he pressed and held the button for seven long seconds.
A muffled clunk echoed through the tiled chamber. The main door behind them clicked shut, locking with a heavy seal. A tremor rolled across the right-hand wall. Then, as though stone itself were peeling back, the plaster shivered and shifted.
Where the wall had been, an ancient elevator revealed itself—iron-framed, cage-like, its brass handles worn but gleaming as if freshly polished.
"This way," Kenny said, calm but firm. "Don't worry. Maintenance is monthly. Safe as any palace gate."
The three stepped inside. The cage rattled, chains groaning softly as it descended. Harin swayed slightly, humming under her breath. The melody was low, sweet—a lullaby, delicate but haunting. It wrapped the air like smoke, too gentle to ignore.
In less than a minute, the elevator opened with a soft chime.
Below lay a chamber, old yet spotless. The walls were lined with sealed vaults and locked chests, their brass locks untouched by dust. "the air smelled faintly of cedar and polished iron."
No footsteps echoed here—only the stillness of preserved secrets.
Kenny exhaled, half in relief, half in reverence.
It would be wise to bring him here, milady, he murmured.
At the center of the hall stood a colossal object draped in thick fabric. Its size dominated the room, both coffin-like and monolithic. Harin approached, her hand trembling slightly before gripping the cover. With one firm pull, she unveiled what hid beneath.
A door. Not like any door Junheon had ever seen. It was old, carved from blackened wood veined with silver streaks, "…radiating an energy that shimmered in the air. Ancient runes glowed faintly across its surface, pulsing like a heartbeat.
Harin's face was grim.
"He is a Dark Prince—and a fugitive. Finding him is nearly impossible. But here… here, we can summon him. We must."
Junheon's voice was sharp, fear bleeding through.
"You're not suggesting a live sacrifice, are you?"
Harin let out a short laugh, the sound oddly bright in the heavy air.
"No. Nothing so grotesque. Music will suffice. But… you mustn't hear it. If you do, the melody twists inside your bones until you're less than human. A demon. So—cover your ears. Promise me."
Before Junheon could argue, Kenny produced two sleek headsets from his satchel.
"Take them, my lord. Do not remove them, whatever happens. Stay back—at least ten meters."
Junheon hesitated, then swallowed hard. "Fine." He slipped the headset on, the silence it brought was almost suffocating.
Kenny guided him to a bench at the far end of the chamber.
Harin, still smiling faintly, set a slender silver flute upon the table before the door.
"Once I begin, don't take these off," she warned. "Not until I lay this flute down."
Junheon gave a terse nod. Even with the headset, his pulse thundered in his ears.
Then Harin began to play.
The first note slithered through the chamber—though muffled, Junheon could feel it, vibrating in his bones. The walls seemed to ripple, the air turning heavy, like the weight of an ocean pressing inward. Shadows elongated, stretching into jagged fingers across the floor.
Whispers, half-formed and hollow, drifted through the cracks of reality—neither male nor female, both terrifying and beautiful. They spoke in tongues Junheon didn't know but somehow understood: warnings, bargains, promises.
The door groaned, runes flaring brighter, the silver veins glowing like molten fire. The ground shuddered as if something vast stirred on the other side.
Junheon pressed the headset harder against his ears, sweat beading his brow. Kenny sat beside him, utterly still, as though carved from stone.
The melody swelled, notes weaving like threads into the air, drawing the unseen closer. The runes blazed. The door shuddered once, twice—then slammed open with a thunderous crack.
From within spilled a thick black liquid, rippling like tar but alive, writhing as if it sought to escape.
And then—out of the ooze stepped a figure.
Short, compact. Shoulders slightly stooped. Black hair; a close-cropped beard framed a face lined with age but cut with sharpness. His eyes were obsidian—light-absorbing, depthless. His steps were slow, deliberate, the sound of boots echoing across stone as though announcing judgment.
The chamber held its breath.
The Dark Prince had arrived.
------
The door sighed and the man stepped through as if the darkness itself had held it open for him.
"Evening, boys—and little Harin," he said pleasantly.
Harin's jaw tightened; she swallowed the retort. Beside her, Junheon half-rose, tugging at his headset. Kenny's hand found the back of Junheon's collar and pressed two fingers to his own lips: quiet. Junheon gave the smallest nod and sat.
Crowley's gaze moved from one face to the next, amused. "You remember the price, don't you, darling? Much as I adore you."
"I do," Harin said. "But I want a gift for my beloved. Call it a wedding gift if you like."
Crowley coughed once, very softly. "I'm sorry—what?"
"You heard me," Harin answered, steady. "You owe me a gift."
His eyes slid to Junheon. "For this one? The human who's still learning which end of trouble bites?" The smile didn't reach his pupils.
"One more word like that and I'll actually get angry, Uncle," Harin said, voice flat.
Crowley scratched idly at his temple, the ghost of a grin returning. "Beloved, hmm? Modern children do race, don't they? " The grin vanished. "Did you truly think you could fool me, little princess?"
A flicker—fear, then discipline. Harin didn't blink.
"Hm." Crowley studied her aura as if it were a ledger. "Your life-light is brighter than when I last saw you. Noted." He waved the thought away.
Crowley chuckled, then leaned closer, voice dropping. "You think I don't see through you? The wedding is smoke. But your hearts—both of them—beat too loud to fake. That's why I can't ignore it."
He snapped his fingers; a key flashed into his palm, its brass tag stamped –14. "Minus fourteen," he said. "Family vault. Anything below minus twenty houses armaments forged with precious soul-fragments; fourteen—one of my favorites. And since my tradition demands it… you'll get your gift. Consider it a present for your future wedding. But don't forget who paid the price."
"Come along," he said. "Your 'husband' and the driver can wait—" He glanced back at Junheon and Kenny, reconsidered. "On second thought, let them see."
He led them to the vault. Metal breathed. The lock turned with a contented click. Inside: a velveted tray, a long wrapped shape, a small crystal case with a crimson phial. "He snapped again; the headsets on Kenny and Junheon cracked and fell to the floor in two neat pieces."
"Do come closer," Crowley said. "No need for shyness. Harin, take the staff."
He drew back the cloth. A pale staff lay within, smooth as bone, veined with a faint lunar blue. At its crown, a milk-glass gem held a muted glow, as if it had learned patience.
"Kenny," Crowley went on, handing him the case, "hold this a moment."
"He lifted the phial and turned to Junheon."
"You'll drink it."
Junheon's shoulders squared. Kenny's jaw tensed; Harin's lips moved in a prayer too soft to hear. Junheon realized they were praying and, absurdly, joined them with a breath.
"What is it?" he asked, then stopped himself.
Crowley's mouth curved. "You don't want to know. Not because it's wicked; because it's boring. But it will wake what's asleep." His tone softened a hair. "You'll need the extra energy. It will hurt. A little."
Junheon nodded once. "If anything happens—" he looked at Harin and Kenny—"forgive me."
He tipped the phial in one clean motion, thinking only of Mira's safety.
The taste was unexpected—bright, almost childlike: strawberries and summer. Warmth rushed his limbs, then a prickle, then heat coiling behind his sternum.
Kenny and Harin both stared. Crowley chuckled. "Really? You think I'd murder my first decent friend in ages—especially in front of her? Don't be ridiculous."
He plucked the empty phial from Junheon's fingers and set it aside. "Now, the staff."
He lifted it reverently. "This is the best I can part with today. Forged with remnants from Seluva—the lunar soul—and Soluva—the solar echo. Relics, not leashes."
Junheon's eyes lit. "So… fire and moonlight? I can control them?"
"No," Crowley said, patient as a weary tutor. "Relics amplify. They don't dictate. This is the Dark Band of the 2005 sphere; every world has its rulebook. Here, power shapes itself to your inner potential. Dragon, bird—names don't matter. An ancient thing wearing a small shape can be stronger than a child wearing a dragon. Do keep up." He flicked his wrist. "I'm tired. Princess, show him."
Harin exhaled, took Junheon's hand, and set it over his heart. "Do you feel it?"
"Yes," he said, surprised at how true it was.
"Close your eyes." She slid the staff into his other palm; Crowley guided the butt into his grip, then stepped back.
"My count of three," Harin murmured. "Think of three things. When you're done, nod."
"Which three?"
"Your favorite place. Your favorite person. The memory you keep under lock."
Junheon's breath hitched. Images rose, unbidden:
—Anywhere his family had been together, even the smallest kitchen, even the coldest room.
—Mira.
—The day he and Mira were sold—by the hands that should have shielded them.
His chin dipped.
"Repeat after me," Harin said, voice low and sure. She raised his hand—the one with the staff—so it hovered an inch from his heart.
"Naraka," she said, "I need your help."
"Naraka," Junheon echoed, "I need your help."
"Mother," Harin said, and her eyes flashed, "I need your help."
"Mother," Junheon said, unsure whom he addressed, "I need your help."
"Junheon," Harin finished, "do what must be done."
"Junheon," he whispered, "do what must be done."
"Now lift," Harin said. "Ask for it."
He drew a breath that felt like the first one of his life. "For the strength I deserve—no more, no less—to protect those I love, I beg you."
His voice didn't tremble.
"Naraka," he said, "grant me the hope of your light."
The staff shuddered in his grasp. The milk gem pulsed. Crowley's head tilted, pleased despite himself.
"Eyes open," Harin said quickly. "Downward. Guide it."
Junheon opened his eyes and drew the staff down, angling its tip toward the floor. The heat behind his ribs bloomed; threads of light lifted from his chest in a slow, impossible stream, arcing into the staff and vanishing into the pale wood. Not flames—filaments, like drawn glass, like singing wire. The air smelled of rain and clean metal.
Kenny didn't move. Crowley didn't breathe.
The threads thickened, then braided. Something answered from within the staff—a resonance that was not a sound but a shape. The gem brightened, milk turning to pearl, pearl to a quiet star.
"Hold," Crowley murmured, unexpectedly gentle.
Light gathered at the staff's crown, then spilled, unfurling into the air between them. It bent toward itself, sketched a spine, then the suggestion of wings—no, not wings; a sigil made living, a mark that remembered how to breathe.
Junheon felt it the moment it chose him.
Harin's fingers tightened around his. Kenny's lips parted on a word that never came. Crowley smiled, the rare honest kind.
"There you are," he said softly. "At last."
-----
"Is that… a cat?" Junheon blurted.
The orange kitten flinched and vanished behind a stack of crates.
Crowley's voice cracked like a whip. "What are you doing? You don't shout when there's a kitten in the room." Two long strides, one pointed finger. "Go apologize. Properly. Creatures like her read tone better than you do."
Junheon started to answer, but Harin's fingers caught his sleeve.
"Hold out your hand like you're offering help," she whispered. "Like a father's hand… or a brother's… or a sister's. Any hand that means safety. If she sets her paw in your palm, it means she's chosen you. Hurry—before her hurt grows heavier."
He scrubbed the panic off his face, edged to the crates, and crouched. Eyes closed, hand extended, he shaped the thought as clearly as breath: I'm here to help.
A heartbeat. Nothing.
Then a weight—soft as a thought—settled on his palm. A delicate paw tested him… and a sudden razor bite.
Junheon rocked, a shout clawing up his throat. He swallowed it.
"Now we're getting somewhere," Crowley said, pleased. Kenny shot an arm across Junheon's chest on instinct; Harin was already kneeling, binding the cut with quick, precise wraps.
"You're okay," she said, tying off the knot. "Eyes on me. In… and out."
The kitten yawned, eyelids heavy. She curled where she was—then unwound. Her body blurred to a warm spill of light, thinned to a pale mist, and streamed toward Junheon's palm and the thin red line there. His breath hitched, but he didn't pull away; the sensation was not pain so much as a cool, steady wind. Harin laced her fingers through his and held.
The bright line flared, drew itself into an X, and cooled to gold.
Crowley squinted, satisfied. "She likes you. Normally, they dawdle. You startled her, so she took the short road. Temperamental, not malicious."
He tilted his head. "Since you're new to this: what you just witnessed is a minor pact. A choosing, not a branding. Pain freely accepted is the tithe; consent seals it. Offer, acceptance, consideration—contract law, but alive."
The room seemed to take a breath.
"Feel the weight of it?" he went on, the mockery gone from his voice.
"If you want a creature like that to help you, you court her properly. Patience. Respect. No shortcuts."
"That's enough, Uncle," Harin said, warmth unhidden but steady.
"No, he's right," Junheon answered, voice even. "When she appeared, I was sad—part of me even wished he hadn't come at all, that it had been something bigger, scarier—something that would frighten enemies. That wasn't about her. It was me, afraid I wouldn't be strong enough to protect the people I love."
Kenny's mouth tipped. "Exactly, sir. You weren't angry at the cat; you were angry at yourself. She's fine. Special nerves, special reflex. Case closed."
Crowley coughed into his fist, then snapped his fingers. A leather satchel blinked into his hand. "Here. Harin insisted—calls it a gift."
Junheon opened it: carefully arranged, heart-shaped chocolates. Heat climbed his ears.
Harin's eyes widened—that wasn't quite what she'd meant—but Kenny slid cheerfully, professionally between them. "Wonderful. We should go—the students have class."
He hooked two fingers into their collars and steered them toward the elevator with ridiculous grace.
"You're welcome!" Crowley called after them. "Come again! And Harin—one day I'd like to see you in wh—"
The doors swallowed the rest.
Inside the narrow, growling elevator, silence fell like a blanket. Harin watched the ceiling and counted slow breaths. A tidy little list formed in her head—half a dozen elegant ways to ruin a dark prince's day—then dissolved when Junheon's bandaged hand brushed hers, their fingers finding the same quiet grip the pact had asked for.
----
As the elevator slid up and the doors parted, Lenny was there—arms folded, brows drawn into a single line.
"Do you have any idea how hard I've been trying to find you?" she said, voice cool as glass. "You've been gone for hours."
Kenny stepped forward and dipped his head. "My fault. Family matter—by order, I took them. Please don't blame them."
The steel in Lenny's eyes eased into a sigh. "Fine. I'm taking you two myself." Harin opened her mouth to protest, but Kenny cut in, gentle and sure:
"Don't worry, miss. There's not much time left of the school day. I'll be at the door when it ends."
They moved quickly to the car. As the doors shut, Junheon buckled in and smiled. "It's been a while since I came through here, Aunt Lenny."
"After school you go straight home," Lenny said, without missing a beat. "I barely get to see your face." She tapped the wheel once. "And we're done talking. I have to get you there now."
The vehicle dropped into the school-only underground route; tunnel lights pulsed like a metronome and Lenny drove in one smooth line. A few minutes later, she braked softly.
"We're here."
Harin stood steady, her expression just barely composed; Junheon looked like popcorn about to pop. Harin turned to Lenny and took Junheon lightly by the arm. "Thank you, Assistant Principal Lenny. I'll handle it from here."
"I can walk by myself," Junheon muttered, trying to pull away. Harin's fingers tightened a notch.
"You're light," she said in a calm, teasing tone. "No trouble for me."
They ignored the murmurs as they crossed the hall—"If the guy woke up, their wedding would be tomorrow."
"They're totally—" Harin's look silenced the rest. Together, they made it into the classroom in one piece.
Two empty seats up front. Junheon sat, drew Harin's desk closer to his, and passed her his water bottle. Harin studied him a beat.
"Feeling better?"
Junheon drained the bottle to the last drop. "Sorry. That was greedy. When the bell rings, water's on me."
He folded his arms on the desk and let his eyes close. Harin's voice was low and clear: "You just get better; the rest doesn't matter. If I have to, I'll buy every bottle in the school—even the principal's."
They both snorted a laugh.
The door eased open and Ms. Rhea stepped in, a tuning fork pirouetting between her fingers. Conversation thinned on instinct.
"Last period today," she said. "Music. And no, we're not just singing—we're listening. At Novarion, music is the mathematics of breath."
She tapped the fork. A pure A shimmered into the room like a drawn line. "First, find your pitch. Lips closed—hum. Start on 'mmm' until you feel the resonance behind your ears."
One by one, students caught the line. Rhea paced the rows, offering microscopic nods and small corrections. She halted at the front, gaze settling on two seats.
"Pair off. Three tries: lock first, then trade a two-note motif—equal breath on both sides."
Harin lengthened her spine; Junheon set his breath. They began on the same note. At first the tones wavered—near, not joined—then their breathing fell to count: in four, hold four, out four. At the warm seam between beats, the tones coupled. A bottle on the desk trembled.
"Good," Rhea murmured. "Now call and response. A short motif. Harin, begin."
Harin released a two-note curl—an echo of the lullaby she'd hummed that morning. Junheon answered a step below. The phrase hung in the air for a heartbeat; Rhea's eyes creased with approval.
"That is a small shield," she said. "Correct breath, clear intent."
She clapped once. "Pair off. Three tries: lock first, then trade a two-note motif. Listen with your sternum as much as your ears."
The class split into pairs; pockets of sound opened across the room. Some found the lock at once; others cracked into laughter and tried again. Patiently, Rhea moved among them, the tuning fork a quiet compass. "Meet here," she'd say, tilting the fork, and two notes would align.
On their second pass, Harin and Junheon stretched the figure—two notes, then a third that bent from an unexpected place. A brief, clean laugh passed between them. Rhea dipped her head.
"Today's note," she said as the period wound down, "your phase lock is strong. Harin and Junheon—model pair."
The bell rang. Chairs whispered back; notebooks snapped shut. At the door, Rhea turned once more.
"Remember: music is a pact to keep the noise outside. Consent before volume; keep your breath honest."
The latch clicked. The room held a trace of the lock they'd made. Harin scooped up Junheon's empty bottle and slid it into her bag.
"Unless I'm misremembering," Harin said, "You still owe me two favors."
"Guilty," Junheon replied, pushing back his chair. "But I should head home before it gets late—let's grab your water, and let's go."
As the corridor's murmur swelled, they rose in the same beat. Outside, the day picked up where it left off; inside, the last class left a simple equation behind: right breath + right intent = a quiet truce.
---
After grabbing a bottle of water and a few snacks from the canteen, Junheon and Harin stepped outside. Driver Kenny wasn't at the curb this time. Junheon reached for his phone to call when he noticed the new messages:
> Your mother and father are home today—perhaps you should "stay at Master Junheon's house with Miss Mira.". Don't worry. I've got plenty of professional guards—maybe not as good as I was in my youth, but close—"ensuring the three of you are safely guarded from a distance."
They won't bother you, Miss Harin.
"From Kenny?" Junheon asked.
Harin nodded. "Yes. My parents dropped in with a crowd of guests. Looks like I don't even have a bed tonight." She tried on a small, theatrical pout. "I should probably find a decent hotel—somewhere safe to stay. See you tomorrow?"
A flash of the morning headlines—the abduction alert—burned behind Junheon's eyes. He took her hand, not tightening. "Our neighborhood's not perfect, but the house was my grandfather's. It's clean and solid. And I know plenty of soldiers—outside can be messy, but inside is secure. You should stay with us." His voice thinned, steadied. "Mira's been wanting to see you, too."
Harin's mouth curved. "If Mira asked, I can't refuse. And if anything happens, I'll protect both of you—and everyone in that house. Don't worry."
Junheon's laugh came out half-relieved. "Our prince in shining armor," he said, lowering his arm.
Harin squeezed his hand. "If you're the prince, I'm in charge of our safety. No getting lost. Lead the way."
A voice in him whispered: Don't be stupid. Don't let go.
"Of course," he said, still too tense but wearing his poker face. They left the campus hand in hand. Voices rose around them—students, traffic, the city's constant hum—but for a strange, slanting moment they heard none of it. An orange sheen folded around them like a thin barrier. The world narrowed to a strip of pavement ahead and the two of them walking it. It lasted only a heartbeat—bright, fun, breathless—and then a stranger's voice cracked the film of air.
"Talking to you, lovebirds."
They looked up. At the gate, Mira was waving and grinning.
Harin and Junheon let each other's hands go too fast. Mira broke the brief silence with a volley of questions. "Uncle Kenny gave me his phone number for emergencies—he said he had important business today. Also, the bus gets here in four minutes, so how did you— Wait, did you actually walk? That's impossible."
Junheon opened his mouth to answer, but another voice—closer, amused—spoke over him.
"Not with me."
This time everyone heard it. Shards of light spilled from beneath the glove Junheon wore to hide the injury on his hand. Mira froze; Harin tugged her to her side. A moment later, the voice knit itself into a body, fully tangible.
Mira blinked. "Is that a… cat?"
The stranger—now unmistakably a cat—didn't get the chance to answer. Mira scooped it up, cradling it like stolen treasure.
"Boss, rescue me—ah! Girl, not the tail!"
"Let's give them a minute," Harin murmured. She took Junheon by the hand toward the balcony.
"Be kind, Mira—" he started, but Harin only laughed, hauled him gently inside, and slid the balcony door shut. The last sound from the other room was the cat's outraged, elongated "HAAA-RIN!" drowned by Mira's delighted laughter.
"Everything's happening fast, isn't it?" Harin said.
"It is," Junheon admitted. "But strangely, it all went beautifully. No trouble at all." He caught himself. "Ah—please, sit first." They took the two chairs. As the noise in the apartment softened, worry edged back into his voice. "I hope those two will be okay."
"Don't worry," Harin said. "She's on a level far above being hurt. Don't you remember what Uncle Crowley said? Being loved on a little won't kill her."
She drew a breath. "Our bigger issue is this: my dragon—Crowley—the rare, strong one? He didn't speak until he was almost a year old. Yours has barely been alive a day…"
Oddly, Junheon wasn't stressed. "That's what makes it a good chance," he said. "I can't train ordinary dogs and cats—but if we can talk, we can build a proper bond." He bent to the shopping bag and lifted two drinks. "Want one?"
"Orange juice," she said at once.
He passed it to her. She took a small sip. "Thank you—and for letting me stay. I wouldn't have felt safe anywhere else."
"We wouldn't either," he said. "Mira's been asking every day when she'll see 'Sister Harin' again. Like it or not, you're part of this family—Kenny included." He smiled. "You and Mira take the bedroom. I'll stay in the living room with the cat."
Harin's phone vibrated. The caller ID wiped the smile from her face. "I'm sorry—I have to take this. Could you give me a minute?"
"No need to worry," Junheon said, standing. He touched her shoulder. "If it's something big, we'll handle it together. I'll put out some ice cream for all of us.
He slid the balcony door open. Just before closing it again, he looked back. "Harin, I… I love you."
The door clicked shut. The last image he carried was Harin—flushed scarlet, startled and beaming at once—and in that startle, not sorrow but a sudden, bright happiness—phone buzzing in her hand. what?.... WHAT!!! framed her lips as the door sealed the moment away.
"I finally said it," Junheon breathed to himself, elated.
He turned—and nearly walked into a small, well-dressed orange cat, now planted in his path, glaring without moving.
"Looks like your date went well," the cat said dryly.
----
Junheon looked around but couldn't see Mira. He bent a little and muttered to himself:
> "I hope you didn't do anything to her…"
The cat flicked its tail, bristling.
> "Why would I hurt someone who likes me? I haven't lost my mind. She went to her room—said she's going to study. Now sit on that couch. We need to talk."
> "Of course," said Junheon.
He sat. The cat hopped onto the table and sprawled there.
> "Let's begin. Who are you?"
> "Seo Junheon. But you can just call me Junheon."
While licking its paw, the cat asked:
> "What do you want from me, Junheon?"
Junheon thought for a moment, then his face grew serious.
> "I need your help."
> "With what?"
> "Everything… especially security. If I run into a strong monster—or any kind of creature—there's nothing I can do. As you can see, in this dark universe I'm just an ordinary human."
The cat stopped licking and sobered.
> "I may be special, but I'm no saint. I don't work cheap. There are better ones than me, sure—but this is who I am."
Junheon dipped his head slightly.
> "I wasn't expecting you to help for free anyway… So, what do you want?"
The cat narrowed its eyes, then abruptly let the matter drop.
> "Let's put that on hold for now. You've got more pressing problems heading your way. Good luck."
With that, it turned into a flash of light and slipped from Junheon's hand. A moment later a voice—very much like the cat's—bloomed inside him:
> "You'd better set out some ice cream for the cat. She'll be out soon."
Junheon's brief calm vanished. He hurried to the fridge and scooped ice cream into three bowls. As he reached for a fourth, the voice returned:
> "No need, love. I'm going to sleep a bit. And don't do anything foolish."
Junheon let out a small sigh.
> "Understood. Sleep well."
Just then the balcony door opened. Harin stepped in, looking a touch sad but not upset. She shut the door, took a seat on the couch, and turned to Junheon, her voice low.
> "Do you want to tell me about the bad things you've been through with that monster?"
As she spoke he set a bowl of ice cream in front of her. Harin nodded once, then answered:
> "Sure. But first… thank you. For the ice cream, and for the kind things you said. My father called a moment ago—he was furious. Without your support I'd be beyond depressed right now.
Thank you, Harin.
Thanks to you, even after a horrible fight, I… feel good."
Junheon went on:
> "I didn't say those things just to comfort you; every word was true. Like it or not, you're part of the Seo family now."
Harin threw her arms around him and began to cry.
> "Thank you, Junheon. I love you too."
Right then Junheon's vision went dark; his body slackened and he collapsed.
Harin leaned over him in a panic, checked his pulse and breath.
"Steady rhythm—he just fainted," she whispered.
Mira appeared in the doorway.
"Don't worry," she said, kneeling, and on Junheon's phone she queued up the band he hated most—at full blast. Thirty-six seconds later, Junheon jerked upright.
"ENOUGH!" he shouted, then blinked and focused. "This… qualifies as torture."
Mira giggled, relief trembling in her voice. "It's the only way to get you up, bro."
Harin drew a long breath; the tension slid off her shoulders. "Are you okay?"
Junheon rubbed his brow.
"We should lie down a bit… my head is pounding," he said. He lifted his gaze, saw the empty bowl and the carton, and grimaced.
> "Mira… WHY do you finish it all in a single day?!"
Mira froze mid-bite, spoon caught in the air—then shrugged it off.
> "Because the best way to kill stress is dessert. Besides, you were unconscious—without me it would've gone to waste."
Junheon rolled his eyes.
> "I bought it for all of us—and you even ate mine…"
Mira stuck out her tongue and grinned.
> "It's my ice cream now. Sister Harin can testify."
Harin lifted her hands, not bothering to hide her smile.
> "I'm staying out of it. But Junheon… you will never win a dessert argument with Mira. Better learn that now."
Junheon let his forehead rest on the table for a beat.
> "I don't stand a chance in this house…"
Mira snickered; Harin couldn't hold back a laugh. In the middle of the ruckus, as the air in the house lightened again, Junheon stood and rubbed his eyes, still a little woozy.
> "We should get some sleep… Even if tomorrow's a day off, proper rest matters."
Then he turned to Harin with a small smile.
> "I normally sleep in the same room with Mira—two separate beds. If you like, you can sleep with her. But if you want a truly good night's sleep, my bed is yours—I'll take the couch."
Harin arched a brow.
> "Really? You'll sleep on the couch?"
> "It's a comfortable couch," Junheon said with a shrug. "And our cat will sleep with me. She likes to talk, but she's quiet at night."
Mira chimed in, a trace of ice cream still on her lips:
> "Let Sister Harin stay with me! I need to dream of dragon warriors—and I can't do it alone."
Harin smiled.
> "Deal. Two warriors side by side, then."
Junheon nodded lightly; his eyes were already growing heavy again.
> "Perfect… I'll straighten up a bit. Chances are tomorrow will be even stranger."
Mira latched onto Harin's arm.
> "Come on, sis! I'll teach you how to start a pillow fight!"
> "Miraaa…" Junheon warned, drowsy.
But Harin only laughed.
> "A few minutes of war never hurt anyone."
And as the night slid by, a warm hush spread through the house. The three of them withdrew to their corners to rest. Through the window, the city lights looked as if they were marking the beginning of a new bond.