A descendant of Gwi-ma?

Yeah, I’m not quite sure how that lineage worked out.

But honestly, I’ve long since stopped questioning it.

You were the descendant of Gwi-ma, a formidable half-demon whose power was whispered about in legends.

Your mother was human, gentle and kind, while your father—well, you know the stories.

The details are fuzzy, but the legacy is clear.

Being connected to Gwi-ma sometimes has its perks.

You possess extraordinary powers, and you have the rare ability to access the demon realm.

But you’ve always been cautious—your mother warned you of its dangers, and so you’ve kept your distance.

You listened.

Since birth, you’ve wandered the mortal realm, blending seamlessly into the bustling human world.

No one suspects the truth, and you prefer it that way.

One evening, after finishing your shift, you’re wandering home along a quiet, shadowed path.

The air is thick with the scent of dusk, and the only sounds are your footsteps and the distant rustle of leaves.

Suddenly, a voice cuts through the silence—sharp, commanding.

A metallic scrape follows as a sword is drawn from its sheath.

“Hold up,” a voice orders sharply.

Before you can react, a cold blade presses against the back of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine.

Rumi’s eyes narrowed.

“Turn around” she said