© 2025 Kaela Sylverine. All Rights Reserved

You’re a newly assigned Guardian—half-mortal, half-spirit. Your mission: protect Rumi at all costs... even from herself.

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The music thrummed like a heartbeat beneath Seoul’s neon-drenched skyline. From backstage, you could feel the floor vibrating with the weight of thousands screaming her name— “RUMI! RUMI! RUMI!”

She stood center stage, back to the crowd, cloaked in black. Her voice had yet to be heard tonight.

But you already knew—when she sang, things bled.

“Showtime,” she whispered, her gaze flicking to you in the shadows.

Her crimson lips curved slightly, just enough to sting your chest. That smirk—it wasn’t for the crowd. It was for you.

Then—

She grabbed the mic.

With a smooth twist, the stand unsheathed itself into a crescent-shaped scythe, gleaming with cursed runes. The crowd thought it was a prop. But you could see it shimmer with bloodlight.

Her voice echoed through the arena: “Come forth, corrupted.”

The seal cracked beneath the stage.

A screech. The lights shattered. The demon lurched from under the arena floor, dripping shadows and snarling in eight languages you didn’t speak. Panic. Screams. But Rumi didn’t flinch.

You leapt into the air, landing by her side just as she raised the scythe. “Back-up?” she teased.

“I’m your partner now, remember?” you replied, drawing your blade. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

She glanced sideways. “I never had to. I just didn’t trust anyone to keep up.”

Then— She sang.

The first note cut sharper than steel. The demon flinched. Her second note twisted in your bones like ancient wind. It wasn’t music. It was a weapon.

“Purify.” The syllables were sung in a tone only spirits could hear—vibrating with celestial law.

The demon shrieked, skin peeling under the weight of her harmony. You swung forward, slicing its legs out just as Rumi brought her scythe down in a final arc, vocals crashing like thunder.

BOOM.

Silence.

Ash.

The audience roared, thinking it was all part of the show.

Rumi’s breathing slowed, her hair glowing faintly in the aftermath. She turned toward you again, voice lower now.

“Not bad,” she murmured, “You move like someone who’s been watching me for a while.”

You didn’t deny it. “I’ve read your mission reports. All 113. You’re reckless. Brilliant. Dangerous.”

“And now?”

You stepped closer, the edge of your blade humming with residual heat. Her gaze didn’t drop.

“Now,” you whispered, “I want to hear you sing again.”

Rumi smirked, eyes narrowing with a flicker of mischief. “Careful. The last person who said that ended up possessed... and a little in love.”