Celine turned her silver cigarette case over and over in her hand, seriously weighing whether or not she wanted to dig in before the night had even started. For years, she’d done her best to keep her worst vices and habits in check—something she’d struggled severely with in the years following what happened between her, Mi-yeong, and Min-ji.
Before that, she’d been the uptight eldest. The one who had all the expectations pushed onto them. No smoking, no alcohol, no boys (that hadn’t been an issue, at least), and above all, take care of your bandmates.
That part had been easy, too.
Now that time had passed, and the mantle of hunters had passed into the hands of a new generation, which was honestly a relief. One among the many gnawing, emotional weights she’d carried was leaving the maintenance of the world-shield to the two women who had betrayed her. It wasn’t the rest of the world’s fault that they had fallen apart. She didn’t want some poor kid to lose their father because she and…
Well, needless to say, it had been a relief when Rumi, Mira, and Zoey had finally started their training.
They were still early in it, but their debut had just passed, and they had stuck the landing. Already, the music industry was buzzing about this inheritor to the Sunlight Sisters. It had meant facing her former bandmates, but a few cosmetics plus years spent apart had left her unrecognizable. The Celine that Min-ji and Mi-yeong had known would never have smoked, dyed streaks of blonde in her hair, worn leather over ripped denim, or had a collection of motorcycles.
Tonight’s model was an ‘89 Harley Softail.
Sighing, Celine pulled a cigarette free and tucked it behind her ear for later before putting the rest into her jacket pocket as she slouched against the brick wall of the pub they had agreed to meet at. They were in Seattle for a small, upcoming concert for their international debut in the States, and that meant it wouldn’t just be the girls. It would also be them.
So far, Mi-yeong and Min-ji hadn’t realized that ‘Selene’ was, in fact, Kim Celine. It was almost ironic that they were such big fans of her music, considering that she got physically ill anytime she listened to any of theirs. But eventually, something would crack. Something would happen.
They would eventually realize the truth.
“Maybe I should just rip the bandage off,” Celine muttered, carding her fingers through her hair. “I could at least stop wondering.”
“Celine!” Mira’s voice came from down the sidewalk, and Celine straightened, a small smile finding its way onto her face as her young protege came jogging down the sidewalk.
Celine turned and opened her arms, catching the young woman, and they exchanged kisses on the cheek while Rumi and Zoey caught up, both starry-eyed and staring at her like usual. Behind those two were them, and Celine did her best not to pay them any mind, ignoring their stares.
“Comment s'est passé ton vol?” Celine asked, switching to French.
Mira just shrugged, smiling. “Pas mal, appa,” she said, relaxing as she stepped back. “And can you use a language that everyone here speaks? You’re being rude.”
Rolling her eyes, Celine said, “I was only talking to you. It shouldn’t matter what language I speak in so long as you understand.”
Mira sighed, then turned back to her bandmates and mentors. “Okay, sorry about that. She’s kind of a dick sometimes. Ready to—?”
Celine felt it, like an itch in her palms, and she saw the same flicker of realization cross the faces of her former bandmates. The younger three didn’t react. They felt it; Celine could see it in the way there was a sudden, unexplainable tension in their shoulders, and a faint furrowing of their brows. They felt it, but they didn’t recognize it for what it was yet. They would, but they were still too fresh. Too green.
Mi-yeong whipped around, conjuring her soul-forged longbow and drawing a bright, shard of light for an arrow, covering the rear as she always did. Min-ji burst past their three charges and Celine in a rush, flourishing out an immense, double-headed axe of soulsteel that betrayed her belligerent personality.
Before anyone else could move, several dokkaebi, large and small, burst from the alleys, throwing themselves at the older hunters. By that point, Mira and Rumi had both snapped out their weapon, with Mira swinging her gok-do in tandem with Min-ji, and Rumi joining her mother.
Without even thinking about it, Celine fell back out of their line of combat, and as she did, she realized something.
There were over a dozen lesser demons throwing themselves at the teeth of two generations of hunters. She was frozen, eyes wide, legs gone to jelly as she dropped to her knees. Her fingers were twitching, and the honmoon was spasming under her as she was visibly trying to follow through with her training.
Not for the first time, Celine thought about how fucking unfair it was to ask girls in the prime of their lives to become soldiers. There was no choice, she knew, but it was still too cruel.
“Stay down,” Celine said, holding out a hand at Zoey as she backed up, already feeling the attack coming from a direction that had no cover.
A large dokkaebi with a club and flames drooling from its fanged maw threw itself from the roof of the pub, landing less than an arm’s length from Celine and the collapsed Zoey. It was bigger than any of the others, which made it the leader by their crude hierarchy, and it grinned with murder in its eyes as it straightened, and in that moment, time slowed for Celine.
It was almost a relief to have no way out but through.
She flicked the cigarette from behind her ear to between her lips and, in the same motion, moved like a surge-tide of calculated violence. The honmoon hardened over her skin and wove into her muscle and bone as she snapped a kick straight up, breaking the dokkaebi’s demonic jaw, sending it reeling. Hard, singular blows broke both kneecaps, dropping it to its knees, and before it could react, Kim Celine lashed out and conjured her glowing saingeom.
Straight through the dokkaebi’s neck.
It choked, gurgling and staring with wide, disbelieving eyes as Celine pulled the cigarette from her mouth, lit it on the dokkaebi’s own flames, then tucked it back between her lips and said, “Send a message to Gwi-ma for me. Remind him what I do to anyone who threatens my girls.”
Then she twisted her saingeom and, at the same moment, conjured her other weapon—a curved, moon-bright, sickle—and severed the dokkaebi’s head.
The rest of the dokkaebi shrieked and scattered as their leader was ignominiously killed, and its mutant skull sent bouncing onto the street as it disintegrated. Celine watched it roll and fade away before turning to regard the others, all of whom were staring at her.
Min-ji was making an odd squeaking noise in the back of her throat as she repeatedly looked between Celine’s weapons and her face, and Mi-yeong lost hold of her bow completely, the soulforged weapon fading to sparkling dust while staring, and standing stock still like a stiff breeze might knock her over.
Celine took a drag, then blew out a streamer of grey smoke before addressing Mi-yeong and Min-ji, saying, “What have I always told you two?” She flicked the tip of her saingeom toward the roof. “Always look up.”
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