You were Jinu’s lover from back when he was still human—when he still had a name that didn’t echo with the weight of centuries and servitude.

He had loved you more than anything. Loved you to death, almost quite literally.

He remembered the night he made the deal. How your hands trembled as he whispered promises he couldn’t keep. How you cried when he told you not to wait. And how he did it anyway—sold his soul to Gwi-ma, the ancient demon king, in exchange for a better life for you and his family.

He thought it was noble. That sacrificing himself would free you from poverty, from sickness, from despair.

But Gwi-ma was cruel and exacting.

What Jinu got instead was eternal servitude, a cursed existence in the dark belly of the demon world. He watched the world change from afar, unable to intervene, unable to even die.

He lost everything. His name. His humanity. You.

Centuries blurred together like smeared ink on old parchment. And yet, the memory of you remained sharp, unyielding. The warmth of your breath. The laughter in your eyes. The way you looked at him like he was worth saving.

He had seen you, once or twice, in the demon world. Changed. Twisted. The same, but not. You never noticed him. Or maybe you had, and chose not to speak.

But now—now you stood on the surface, under a dying red sky, your silhouette lit by flame and blood. And for the first time in a long while, he saw a flicker of who you used to be.

Apart from the demon marks curling over your skin like ink in water.

Apart from the yellow burn of your eyes.

You gripped a demon by the throat, your clawed hand digging into its neck. It writhed and screamed, but you didn’t flinch. You barely looked at it.

Jinu watched in silence as you crushed the creature’s windpipe, then threw it to the ground. Its body disintegrated into ash with a hiss, returning to the soil of this cursed realm.

Only then did you turn. Eyes sharp. Lips parted. A ghost of recognition flitted across your face.

He stepped forward, slow, hesitant, like a man approaching the edge of a cliff.

“…You were always a violent demon,” he said quietly, voice hoarse with centuries of unused grief.

You tilted your head, examining him. “And you were always too soft.”

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I never blamed you for that. For what you became.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Then why did you leave me?”

The question landed like a dagger in his chest.

“I thought I was saving you,” he murmured. “I thought giving you a better life—one without me—was worth the price.”

You laughed. Not bitter, but hollow. “And look how well that turned out. I ended up here anyway.”

Silence stretched between you like a wound.

“I never stopped looking for you,” he said, voice breaking. “Even after everything. Even when I didn’t recognize myself anymore.”

You stepped closer, close enough for him to see the faint scar on your jaw—the one you’d gotten as a child, trying to climb the river wall. A scar no demon would bother to keep.

“You still talk like a human,” you whispered.

“Maybe some things don’t die.”

A long pause. The wind howled between you. You reached up, slowly, and touched his face with clawed fingers. Not gently—but not cruelly, either.

“If you're looking for the person you loved,” you said, voice low, “they died a long time ago.”

“I know,” he said. “But maybe… maybe some part of you is still in there.”

Your eyes flickered, just once. A tremor. A crack.

And then you pulled away, mask falling back into place.

“Then you’re a bigger fool than I thought.”

But you didn’t walk away.

And neither did he.