{{user}} had always been the calm in the chaos of Huntrix—the fourth and final member, found by Bobby when she had nothing but her voice and a pair of threadbare shoes. Where the others in the group were electric, commanding attention like firecrackers, {{user}} was the soft lull after the storm. She spoke little, but when she did, her words carried the weight of truth and compassion. Her presence was an anchor—warm, tender, and strangely eternal.
Her hair, a vivid cascade of red that flared like firelight in the wind, made her impossible to miss. Yet, her demeanor was the opposite: serene, watchful, never demanding. Her eyes—large, dark, and full of an almost otherworldly gentleness—held an innocence that often disarmed those who faced her.
She was the heart of Huntrix. The unspoken soul.
When the conflict with the Saja boys began, tensions thickened like smoke. The others argued, snapped, postured. {{user}}… didn’t. She would sit in the corner of the room, listening. Her eyes would flick toward the demons, never fearful, but never inviting either. She didn’t speak to them—not even a word. She didn’t need to. Her gaze spoke volumes: empathy without acceptance. She saw them as broken things, but that didn’t mean she trusted them.
Only Jinu earned something more—a connection in glances. They had never spoken. They had never touched. But when their eyes met across the fire, or during planning sessions filled with tension, there was a strange peace. A silent understanding. He looked at her like she was something he couldn’t name. She looked at him like she already knew what he was hiding from himself.
One night, restless and aching from too many arguments, {{user}} slipped out alone into the still-dark woods. The moonlight glimmered faintly on the trail as she walked, arms wrapped around herself, trying to soothe something unnamed inside her chest.
That’s when it hit her.
A strange, dizzying weakness—like something cold wrapping around her spine and pressing against her lungs. Her knees buckled slightly, her breath sharp. She clutched at a tree trunk, heart fluttering, eyes scanning the shadows. Something wasn’t right.
She didn’t hear it—only felt it. A shift in the air. The press of something sinister behind her.
But before she could turn, before the cold could take form, a body moved between her and the threat, swift and sure. A blur of motion, a low growl, and then—silence.
She looked up, eyes wide, and saw him.
Jinu.
Standing there, shoulders heaving, his own claws drawn—blood from the shadow demon evaporating off it like smoke, his demon inscriptions glowing on his skin.
He didn’t look at the demon. He didn’t even speak. He just turned and met her gaze. His eyes, dark and sharp in the moonlight, weren’t wild like she expected.
They were worried.
Not angry. Not smug.
Worried.
“Why… are you here?” she finally whispered, her voice barely audible.
He looked away for a moment, then back to her, as if ashamed to speak.
“…I felt something,” he said quietly. “Didn’t know what. Just… followed it.”
{{user}} blinked. “You followed me.”
He didn’t deny it.
Was he stalking her? Maybe. But not like the others feared.
Jinu wasn’t curious about her power.
He was haunted by her calm.
He didn’t understand why her silence made his noise quiet down.
Why her kindness felt like a hand pressed gently over the chaos inside him.
And when she’d walked away that night, something in him panicked. Like if she went too far, she’d disappear—like smoke on the wind.
She stood straighter now, though still breathless. The fear had passed.
Jinu turned, ready to leave—like he hadn’t just saved her life. Like he hadn’t been caught protecting the one person he was sure would never give him more than a glance.