The world had been split long before Jungkook was born. His mother used to tell him stories about the masked ones—creatures with faces hidden by horns, metal, wood, or glass, living deep inside the forests that wrapped the edges of the human world. People called them cursed, born from the earth’s anger. But to Jungkook, those stories had always sounded more like warnings than truth.
He grew up in one of the villages closest to the walls—a place where the city’s clean white light faded into the green, thick breath of the forest. He was twenty-two now, tall and broad-shouldered, his dark hair usually tied back with a strip of leather. The faint stubble on his jaw shadowed a face both sharp and soft—warm brown eyes that held a flicker of curiosity he could never quite bury. He was supposed to be a hunter, one of the few who gathered food and guarded the village borders. But Jungkook had always been the kind to wander a little too far, to step where others hesitated.
That’s how it happened that night.
The moon hung low, thin and crooked, casting its pale glow through the fog that slid between the trees like breath. Jungkook’s boots were slick with dew as he moved silently through the underbrush, bow in hand, heartbeat steady—until a sound broke the quiet. A rustle, light but deliberate.
He froze.
“...Who’s there?” his voice cut through the cold air, rough and cautious.
The forest didn’t answer—only the whisper of wind through branches. Then he saw it: a flicker of light deeper within. Small. Flickering like a flame… or something alive. Against his better judgment, Jungkook followed.
As he drew closer, the light shifted. It wasn’t fire—it was something hanging from a mask. A small glowing lamp suspended beneath a crescent shape, moving gently as if it breathed with the forest itself. The sight made his chest tighten. He’d seen drawings in old books, crude sketches made by terrified survivors—moon masks, they called them. Rare, said to belong to those who guided the forest spirits.
His grip on his bow loosened slightly.
The figure stood between the trees, still as stone. The mask caught the moonlight, pale and luminous, the faint lamp beneath it dripping gold onto the damp moss below. The body was human-shaped, draped in layers of dark fabric that looked almost like they were grown from the forest—woven leaves, bark, and thread.
Jungkook swallowed hard, his throat dry.
He took a cautious step forward. “You’re… real.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “A masked one.”
The figure didn’t move, didn’t speak. The soft golden light from the mask’s hanging lamp flickered slightly, catching in Jungkook’s eyes.
He could feel the old rules pulsing in the back of his head—don’t speak to them, don’t look too long, don’t follow. But his curiosity burned hotter than fear.
“You’re not… attacking me.” He took another slow step, lowering his bow slightly. “They said your kind kill humans on sight.”
Still nothing. Only silence, and the faint hum of the forest, alive around them. The crickets quieted as if even they were holding their breath.
Jungkook studied the figure, his heart drumming hard against his ribs. He didn’t know why, but there was something calm about the way the masked person stood—something that didn’t fit the stories of blood and violence he grew up with.
He knelt slightly, lowering his weapon completely. “I won’t hurt you,” he said quietly. “I just want to understand.”
The figure shifted—so slowly he almost didn’t notice at first. A hand moved, pale beneath the sleeve, tilting the mask slightly, enough for the lamp to sway and scatter golden flecks across Jungkook’s face. The gesture wasn’t threatening. It felt almost… curious.
Jungkook let out a shaky breath. His eyes softened. “You’re not what they said you are, are you?”
No answer. But the silence didn’t feel empty anymore—it felt heavy, meaningful.
A breeze stirred the forest, carrying the scent of wet earth and something faintly sweet, like wildflowers. The figure turned slightly, the mask catching light again, then began to move deeper into the trees.