I love Yearner!Phainon as much as the next person, but then I also wanted to see it reciprocated, a "You" who can match that in their own way (and more if that is even possible)...
Thoughts on an Isekaid!Reader with no such thing as "too much time" in her hands--The "Sunflower" that "only have eyes for one"?
On that very same note, a more angst-y take on the idealism behind "I love you across lifetimes", where loving Phainon is not the first, neither is loving Flame Reaver, nor is loving the first Khaslana, but across billions of Eternal Recurrences, way before, and more, "You" never failed to fall in love with "him".
The "First" is bygones (An end in tragedy, the start to an eternal vow); afters are, more often than not, not "fated" to be (Despite everything, it's still him); silent longings are when distance kept you "strangers" in most followings (To protect? To make them hurt... less?); Lovers are... few and far in-between (Enough to hope)--
Where loving the present him is not the first, but wether it will be the last--is the question for the future you.
Dreams of meeting Phainon's Divine Vessel form in the sea of gold, surrounded by chibis of his past Eternal Recurrence-selves that were born(?) each time You tried repairing the broken statues of himself in that imaginary(?) abyss of a space.
The "childhood sweetheart" route (kinda) with Flame Reaver? Building up to Yandere-ish in his own cycle, angst at the end of that cycle and on to the next(final) cycle.
On a more lighter note:
- You are somehow able to accompany Cyrenes(PhiLia093) and Demiurge in-betweens (being able to share stories with them),
- Aglaea keeping an extra eye on You, 'cause it's like you don't have a "fate" for her to see through (but having a great taste in fashion and being a Jack of all trades sure do help you in getting under The Goldweaver's good graces),
- Getting along with Tribios (you may or may not have summoned ¿past? and ¿future? to play, the more the merrier, right?)
- Having this sort of quiet comfort when Mydeimos is around (Maybe 2nd ML? Not sure yet. But with the way the story's plot in my head is going so far, having some PhaiDei & MyPhai moments are kinda inevitable, so having a Mydei x Reader relationship developments are not completely off the hook),
- Your strange powers and even stranger relation to "death" made physical contact with Castorice possible (hanging out, braiding each other's hair while dicussing the various novels you've come across or is currently writing),
- You hit it off with Anaxagora pretty quick actually, you having differing perception and perspective of the world due to your unusual origins and all (that and you do have a few screw loose in the head),
- While you do have healing powers inherited from your Mother that you ocassionally lend to the healers from the Twilight Courtyard, the first time you met Hyacine was actually when she went bird-watching! (She came across you sleeping under a tree shade, unusually surrounded by varying flocks of birds, went to take a closer look, accidentally spooked the birds, and you woke up face to face with a tiny pegasus with feathers stuck to your hair--"Doot.")
- Your first meet with Cipher is no less eventful, considering instead of trying to catch up to her, instict told you to go with the telekinesis route (que her flailing being held up and shaken midair until your earing finally fell from her person),
- You love music, dancing, enjoy a feast as much as you like preparing them, and is in tune with watery depths (Hysilens approved!),
- Playing chess with Cerydra is fun! (in simpler terms).
- What are you doing in the universe of Honkai: Star Rail? Specifically, within the Amphoreus Arc? Your System is ready to answer related questions to--
¿System?: { . . . }
(Name): "...System?"
¿System?: { Rebooting in progress! Please wait a moment . . . Rebooting Complete! My apologies, Young Lady, there are some pesky interferences I need to get rid off. I've already informed My Lady, about the breach and we managed to contain it presently to avoid any information spread-- }
*I haven't come up with any notable moments for the Astral Express Trio, mainly because (Name) is avoiding being widely known in the HSR universe of this au, especially to the Aeons. Her mission is only on Amphoreus anyway, and since in my mind she arrived at around the time of cycle 0, Amphoreus is still pretty much isolated.
*I haven't done a full dive into the storyline of Amphoreus, I've just been watching short clips here and there. So, my apologies on the canon inaccuracies, though I should still informed beforehand to all readers that canon divergences and some OOC-ness in this fic are inevitable.
Content Warnings: This chapter contains some OOC-ness—personal interpretations of characters; Historical Inaccuracies—I'm not well-versed in Korea's history, culture, and language, so please go easy on me 🙏
[Masterlist🦋✨️]
That night, no matter how you curled beneath the thick blanket or how many times you tried to count sheeps, sleep would not come.
Your body was tired.
But your soul…
Something gnawed at it.
You shifted onto your side.
Then your back.
Then sat up entirely.
No use.
There was a prickle at the nape of your neck. Without thinking, you slipped out of bed.
Your bare feet moved soundlessly across the wooden floor, muscle memory guiding you through the darkened house.
You reached Granny’s door.
You pressed your palm gently to the wood, and your eyes softened.
There she was.
Granny, fast asleep on her side, soft snores rising and falling like tide, a blue branch from a cup of tea long gone cold beside her looming over—
Wait a fucking damn minute.
Golden eyes bulging like a startled fish. Blue skin, lanky form. Purple, jagged markings curling around the whole body. Webbed hands held still mid-air.
And tusks.
Two large, curved ones framing its gaping mouth.
In any other context, its face might have looked… funny.
Startled.
Like someone walked in on them stealing a cookie.
But this was no joke.
You recognized it instantly from the sketches in the demonology texts.
A water demon.
An it was leaning over Granny. Inches from her.
No.
“STAY AWAY FROM MY GRANNY!”
Your body shot forward in a blur. Your fingers—claws—circled its throat before it even blinked, its surprised expression hadn’t even changed by the time your grip tightened.
The momentum would’ve made the demon slam into the wall if not for—
Poof!
Granny stirred, rubbing her eyes slowly.
She yawned into her sleeve.
“Mm...? Hm?”
She tilted her head toward the window, blinking at the moonlight.
Then laid back down.
“…must’ve been the wind.”
——oOo——
The moment you reappeared parting the white smoke—deep in the woods just beyond the reach of the village lantern light—you slammed the water demon into the earth.
Grassy dirt kicked up around you as your claws dug into his throat, pinning him hard.
White mist curled and snaked around his wrists and ankles, dragging them down, holding them tight to the earth—mist made manifest, a power you barely understood yet, but somehow, it obeyed you now.
The demon struggled, webbed fingers twitching in vain.
If you weren’t furious, you might’ve marveled at your strength.
Your voice rippled out of you—lower, distorted, almost echoing over itself. Your claws, sharper than bone and cold as the season, dug into his skin.
You felt it—the flesh giving way. Something warm and thick began to seep through your grip.
Blood.
The water demon whimpered.
A soft, high-pitched noise like a kicked puppy.
You blinked.
Wait—
Your eyes darted to its face again.
Big watery gold eyes.
Lips trembling slightly.
Why does it look… cute?
No, NO, NOT THE TIME, ME—
Poof!
The demon burst into a puff of red smoke with a pitiful pop.
Gone.
You stared at the space where he once was.
Still on your knees. Still breathing hard as your claws grasped at nothing.
You stared at your hands, the tips dyed in—
“Huh.”
Dark and thick like warm syrup.
“So demons bleed red.”
Without thinking, you dragged your tongue along one claw, and your eyes widened.
“It tastes…”
Rich?
Sweet?
You licked your lips.
“Delicious.”
——oOo——
Granny stirred for the second time that night.
Her eyes scrunched, trying to make out the figure looking over her.
“Mm… sweetheart?” Her voice was soft and groggy. “You alright?”
She saw you opened your mouth, then closed it.
“…A nightmare,” you said in a whisper.
“Oh, my poor thing. Want me to brew you some moonflower tea?”
Your head shook quickly. “No—no, it’s fine. You should rest. I didn’t mean to wake you, Granny, I just…”
You rubbed your arm, glancing away.
She tilted her head, then patted the space beside her on the bedding.
“…Want to sleep here tonight?”
You stiffened.
Then, a little embarrassed, you nodded.
She smiled, her eyes softened.
“Tch. Come here, you silly girl. Get under the blanket, quickly, before the night air bites you.”
You slid in gently beside her, careful not to press too close with your still sweaty body.
But Granny curled an arm around you anyway, warm, gentle, and steady.
“…It’s good to have you back,” she murmured, already drifting.
You laid there, wide-eyed, staring into the dark.
And you clutched her hand tight.
——oOo——
You were tending the garden when it happened.
The sun was bright, the soil warm beneath your nails. The herbs were growing strong—almost time to harvest the chrysanthemum. You hummed a little under your breath, patting the earth down—
"How fascinating..."
You froze.
The voice was deep. Husky. Smooth. With a strange, trailing echo that seemed to bend at the end of each syllable.
You turned your head so fast your neck might’ve popped.
“Granny?” you called out.
She glanced up from the porch, where she was stringing herbs. “Yes?”
“Did you… did you just hear someone talking?”
She blinked at you. “No, child. Why?”
“…No reason,” you lied, and turned back.
"Be not afraid—"
“Would.”
“What?”
“Huh?”
A long, awkward silence.
You cleared your throat, returning to the garden bed and trying to pretend none of that happened.
“So what is this, am I just—hearing voices now? Great. That’s new. Maybe I’m finally losing it.”
"Not quite."
Your hands paused over a patch of mint.
You waited for more context.
You received none.
"If you're not gonna talk, then don't talk.” you snapped, rubbing at your temple.
"You are... quite impatient."
"And you sound like a rejected Shakespeare understudy.”
There was a gasp in your mind.
You could practically hear the indignation.
But also… confusion?
"While I do not know of this ‘Shakespeare’ you speak off…"
His voice dipped into a soft mutter.
"I feel like that is an insult."
“No shit, Sherlock.”
More droning followed—something about mortals and respect and your “undignified tongue”—but you tuned it out.
“Dear, I’m opening the shop!” Granny’s voice floated from the doorway. “Come help when you’re ready!”
“Be right there!” you chirped, cheerfully.
As if you didn’t have a mysteriously sexy, possibly eldritch entity screaming in your brain like a cranky stage actor.
And apparently, you spoke that out loud in the form of muttering:
“If Mister Big Voice in my skull doesn’t get me smited before lunch.”
"I heard that."
“Then stop lecturing me, you’ll get nowhere with me in that tone, Mister.”
“…Mister?” he repeated.
“Yeah, well, I don’t have a name, do I?” You smirked. “Unless you want me to keep calling you Dramatic-Old-Man-Who-Might-Be-a-Cult-Leader.”
A beat of silence.
But somehow, you felt him simmering.
Like a teeny, furious little fireball. Brimming with evil and indignation. The image made you laugh.
“…You are treating this far too casually.” the voice sulked—can you believe that?
“Says the one who just popped into my head and started lecturing me about etiquettes.”
“Very well,” he said finally, regaining his regal edge. “Then allow me to properly introduce myself.”
You rolled your eyes.
"I am Gwi-ma."
Well, there’s your daily dose of headaches. Should you even be surprised?
“The—"
"Let me stop you right there.” You turned to the herb basket and recited flatly, “Gwi-ma. The King of Demons, Demon King. Sealed by the Honmoon. Said to lead the hordes of demons if ever unsealed. Also rumored to grant mortals’ wishes in exchange for something, yada yada.”
"In the flesh, my dear."
Of course he said it like that. With such smug pride.
You sighed, dragging your hand down your face.
A migraine was coming on. You could feel it.
“Seriously. I just want to live a peaceful life with my Granny. Is that too much to ask for?”
Gwi-ma chuckled, as if this was some inside joke between you.
“Oh, we both know why that is, don’t we?”
You froze.
This time, you didn’t need to speak the question out loud for him to give you the answer.
“Gwak Seol-jun. The name ring some bells, no?”
Shit.
“You, my dear, took a soul belonging to me.”
“…”
"Do you truly not understand what you are?" His tone shifted—deepened. “You are far more than you believe,” Attempting something…
You took a guess, “You want something.”
“Sharp indeed.” he said, silken. “You are… unique.”
“You mean I’m a freak.”
"I mean," he said, slow and velvet-slick, "I want you to work with me."
You paused.
Work with him? Why does he not just—forcibly control me like the rumors suggested?
“…Why?”
Another chuckle, “You will understand with time. But I know that you are anything but a humble girl—”
“You’re refusing to elaborate, huh?”
He said nothing.
“Yeah, well, no thanks,” you said flatly.
“Rejecting my offer already?”
“Yup.”
“Then, what is your greatest desire—"
“Wow, how original.”
“…Excuse me?”
“Nope.” You cut him off flatly, uprooting another herb. “Not playing the monkey’s paw game.”
"You don’t even know what I was going to offer—what is this ‘monkey’s paw’ you spoke off?"
“I know the drill,” you dusted your hands. “Wish granted, tragic twist, ‘oh no it’s cursed,’ cry in dramatic rain.”
You started ticking them off.
“Immortality? Great. Except no eternal youth—so you end up a thousand-year-old prune shuffling through centuries like a raisin with regrets.”
“…Wait—”
“Wish for gold? Oh, everything you touch turns into it—congrats, now you can’t eat, sleep, or hug anyone without liquefying their spine into bullion. Love that for you.”
“That’s not—”
“Craving knowledge? Fantastic. Enjoy knowing everyone’s dirty secrets, exactly when they’ll die, and every horrifying cosmic truth your mind is not remotely equipped to handle. Hello, lifelong existential dread.”
You held up another finger.
“Want to cheat death? Sure—say hello to eternal labor, pushing boulders up hills or ferrying souls across rivers till the end of time while screaming internally. Or cursed to watch everyone you love die over and over again, this can work with the immortality one as well.”
You weren’t done. You were just getting warmed up.
“—Those are just some from the myths abroad. But even I could come up with more of these.”
You kept going, launched into it like you’d been waiting your whole life for this rant.
“If not immortality, then wish for youth? Sure. You stay sixteen forever while the world decays around you. Everyone thinks you're possessed. Or worse, keeps trying to marry you.”
“Protection from all harm? Ooooh, nice. Except now nothing can touch you. No hugs, no high-fives, no sense of temperature—go ahead and try sipping hot tea, you walking ceramic plate.”
“Want to protect the people you love? Hope you’re ready to feel every single injury they take. Knife wounds, fevers, childbirth, emotionally distant dads—yep, all yours now.”
“…I—what—”
“Fame forever? You got it. As a mass-murdering villain history twisted you into. Every bard sings about your crimes while your ghost listens in mild outrage.”
“Wish for freedom? Boom. You’re untethered from fate, law, reality—can’t die, can’t connect to anyone, forgotten the second they look away. Enjoy eternal ghosting.”
“No heartbreak? Sounds peaceful. But now you’re numb to everything. Can’t feel joy, can’t fall in love. Just blank-eyed staring into sunsets while puppies make you feel nothing.”
“Eternal happiness? You’re locked in your happiest memory forever, drooling in a corner while people feed you rice porridge. It’s a trap and a nap.”
At this point you were pacing in a small circle.
“Unlimited power? The world collapses under you, now you’re alone. Ruler of nothing. Congrats, emperor of the void.”
“And the ‘fix everything’ dream? Every touch heals the world—but chips away at you. Your life, your soul, your memory, until you’re just an empty meat puppet who forgot how to spell your own name.”
You glared into the middle distance, muttering now.
“Oh—and the crowd-pleaser—‘Be loved by all.’ Congrats, you’re now the protagonist of a yandere horror story. Everyone wants to date you, kill for you, kill you, pick one. Or, now you’ve got a cult. Wide-eyed weirdos singing your name in harmony while you scream inside because none of it’s real. You’re a god with no friends.”
“Don’t even get me started on strength—"
You trailed off, hand still mid-gesture.
Only now did it fully registered—Gwi-ma had gone silent. Complete radio silence. In the unsettlingly thoughtful way.
“You’re quiet. Why are you quiet?”
A beat.
Then:
"Those are… actually quite inspired."
You stared at the horizon.
“Oh no you didn’t.”
"I could adapt several of these into very compelling contracts..."
“If you’re gonna use my paranoia as deal templates, at least give me credit!” you snapped, jabbing a finger into the air. “I want my name in fine print at the bottom of your next doomed soul contract, with a little floral border. Oh! And I demand royalties, thank you very much.”
“…You’re absurd.”
“Thanks. It’s a defense mechanism.”
——oOo——
It had been a long day.
Not physically, no. You were already used to pulling weeds, running errands, and haggling with customers who still tried to short-change an old lady’s tea.
It was your head that felt bruised.
And it was all because he wouldn’t shut up.
"A soul like yours, lingering among human bones, really is a waste of potential."
“You call Granny a waste one more time and I swear I wouldn’t even consider that offer.
There was a pause.
Then a slow, syrupy drawl.
"So you are considering right now~"
You groaned, and by the time the moon rose above your rooftop, you'd endured several hours of Gwi-ma’s long-winded commentary.
Correction: Gwi-ma’s whining.
You’d tried ignoring him.
Really, that’s the only thing you could do since he’s in your head and not whispering in your ears, even though he sometimes made it feel like he was. Thus, stuffing your ears with cotton would prove ineffective.
You really hope he couldn’t follow you into your dreams.
“Have you ever been told you’re so insufferable?”
“Who would dare?”
So, only you then.
Collapsing back-first onto your sleeping mat like a punctured rice sack, you buried your face into the blanket, muffling a scream.
A beat of silence passed. You turned your head slightly.
Your eyes shifted toward the demonology scrolls near your pillow.
They were there, spread out, aged, and fragile, their edges curled like dried leaves, seemingly glowing faintly in the lanternlight.
You’d meant to train tonight. More. To explore your abilities now that your last feast kept the hunger at bay.
Sharpen your skills and perhaps you would gain more control over that side of you.
But...
“…”
“…”
You squinted toward the ceiling like it personally offended you. “Well? Aren’t you gonna say something?”
"Hm." A thoughtful hum echoed through your mind. "Would you like me to teach you the ropes?"
You sat up warily. “What’s the catch?”
“None." he replied, almost too smoothly. "I simply… want to observe you. Your potential intrigues me."
“…You mean you want to watch me fumble around like a glorified test subject.”
"Semantics."
You narrowed your eyes. “I’m not agreeing to anything unless I know exactly what I’m getting into. So answer me these first,” Though you wouldn’t put it past him to lie or twist the truth. “What happens if I follow your instructions? Do I really not owe you anything? Does it bind me to some deal? Will I owe you a favor in some vague future? If I go along with this, will I be cursed, hunted, warped, accidentally married, or doomed to carry your demonic spawn?”
"…That’s oddly specific."
“Answer the questions.”
"None of the above. You’re not making a wish, you’re asking for guidance. No contracts, no soul-deals, no blood price—unless you'd like that aesthetic. I do miss the old rituals."
You narrowed your eyes. “So this isn’t another Monkey’s Paw situation?”
A long sigh came from him. “Must you assume the worst of me?”
“Yes,” you said flatly.
"You wound me."
“Like I care.”
You rolled over to the side, fingers trailing along the worn edge of a scroll. You opened it with a quiet rustle, ran your fingers along the edges, tracing the faded ink drawings of grotesque demons and chaotic beasts, all with his jagged marks in purple.
Then—at the center—something abstract. Swirling mess of violet and hot pink? fire with a barely discernible face. You had trouble making out the eyes from the shapes alone most if not all the time. Though, you supposed the lightest part of the flame was the mouth.
“…This you?”
"My better side, if I do say so."
You snorted softly, still dragging your fingers along the curled edges. Your other hand reached toward the binding, loosening the last corner.
“So... where do I start?”
And for once, his tone changed.
Quieter. No lazy purr. More… serious.
"Your true form."
You blinked.
“…I thought the glowing white markings, fangs, claws, and red eyes were my demon form.”
"No. That’s a transitional state. An echo. A fragment. An instinctive mask. I can feel it,” he said. “Something deeper. You’re… different. You carry light like it’s bone-deep. But it’s twisted, refracted. What lies underneath… even I can't see. Not yet."
“You keep saying ambiguous shit like that.”
You stared at your hand. Was he referring to something more connected to that hunger?
You made a face. “...Well, how am I supposed to turn into it if I don’t know what it even looks like?”
"Instinct. Memory. Desire. All three. I’ll guide you."
He paused, and you sensed his attention narrow, like a whisper brushing the inside of your mind.
"Close your eyes," he said softly. "Now breathe in through your mouth, not your nose. Let the cold fill your chest."
You did.
"Now think—not of shape, not of skin or face—but of feeling. The first instinct. What felt most right when the world first made sense."
Your breath slowed.
The cold seeped in.
"Beyond what you think is you. Where the first light touched your bones...”
Your fingers twitched.
Your markings flickered.
“Let go of the memory of being human."
A beat.
Your pulse thrummed. The mist in your veins surged.
Content Warnings: This chapter contains Implied Yandere and slight gore—this is a work of fiction, I do not condone or glorify toxic relationships and violence in real life; experimental writings—a.k.a. me trying out a different style of being more descriptive and new p.o.v.s shifts.
See < End Note > for Bonus Contents, since I feel unhinged after writing this chapter. Might delete those bonus later? Depends.
[Masterlist🦋✨️]
Beru landed beside Igris with a faint thud, his wings folding neatly behind him. His antennae twitched; his gaze fixed on the peculiar scene unfolding ahead of them.
“Even my brethren do not deign to partake,” Beru intoned, his clawed hand sweeping toward the shadow ants. “Most unusual, for they oft descend upon such spoils without delay.”
Igris followed the direction of Beru’s gesture and noted the truth of it. The shadow ants, notorious for their ravenous appetites, remained in tight clusters, seemingly hesitant to approach the carnage. Other shadows, like the bears, also hovered at the periphery. Except for Tank, who was otherwise preoccupied with a particular albino young lady. He was making himself comfortable under a canopy, as to not disturb Blanche’s dozing off on his back, drowning herself in the thickness of his coat.
How exceedingly ironic, Beru mused, his multifaceted gaze fixed upon a ravenette as she wrenched a limb asunder with ease, offering half to her pale-haired kin—who, it seemed, struggled to sever her own share from the particularly stubborn carcass. They both then proceed to take a bite simultaneously with an audible crunch.
Is this, perchance, the sentiment humans harbor when they behold us feasting upon their brethren?
Beru’s mandibles clicked.
A most curious sensation, indeed.
“Who would have foreseen that the composed one harbored such… ferocity?”
Igris couldn’t help but agree, though he refrained from speaking it aloud, as they continued to watch Red skinned off and, subsequently, mutilated another carcass.
"Mhm,"
"KIEEEK—!"
By My Liege's—!
{“By My Liege’s will!”
—is what the full oath would’ve been, had Igris spoken aloud.}
“…When did you get here?" Igris hoped what was perceived on the butterfly’s end of the communication line wasn’t as clipped as he had realized his own voice would’ve sounded. Though outwardly composed, it was quite a bit shameful for a knight such as he to admit the slight tightening of his reflexes—the instinctive reach for his sword.
He had almost drawn his weapon at Lady (Name)'s beloved summon.
Though, to be fair, Trick did just… appeared out of thin air.
At the very least, Beru had fared no better. The ant had all but leapt away, wings flared, claws at the ready.
That fact alone granted Igris a measure of solace.
The mentioned silver-haired humanoid tilted her head innocently, “I’ve been here the whole time, though?"
Ah, yes, an illusionist.
Igris recalled Lady (Name)'s words—masters of deception, skilled in the art of trickery. He had merely not expected their craft to be potent enough to slip past his senses. Nor Beru’s.
Granted, the shadows soldiers had never before been the victims of the butterflies’ targeted hallucinations.
…Fortunate that we stand as allies.
No matter how battle-hungry one could be, Igris could not deny the headache these beings would pose as adversaries. And their mistress—even without My Liege’s evident fondness—would have proven a challenge herself alone.
“Speaking of...” Trick’s voice drew his attention as she turned her head and called over her shoulder. “Bestie!”
A blonde figure perked up from her crouched position a short distance away. Sol held a stick in one hand, its tip drawing crude lines in the damp earth. Around her, a small gathering of shadows and butterflies watched intently.
Igris squinted, realizing what Sol had been sketching. Iron, in particular, seemed pleased as he admired the drawing of himself. It wasn’t particularly skillful given the medium, but the exaggerated proportions made him appear larger and stand out more than the other shadow knights drawn into the mud.
"Lady of woe,” A single rose materialized on Trick’s outstretched hand, she brought it closer to plant a kiss. “Bids her halls,” The flower was then thrown, where it burst into a rain of red petals above. “A rosy banquet.” She bowed in curtsy, the extended fabric from behind her blown in the air from the exaggerated movement, momentarily showing the pattern of fluttering silver.
As she rose from the position, she gave a wink, “How's that for your next painting?”
Sol rolled her eyes in jest, giving a mock salute, but her smile bright. Trick bring a hand to her chest and made an expression as if she was hurt, but the subtle lift of her lips, if one would look just a little bit closer, would’ve told another story.
"Anyway," Trick turned back to Igris and Beru—who now had petals stuck all over their armor and exoskeleton respectively—yellow irises alight with something almost dreamy. “Isn’t my sister just the prettiest?!”
It was a well-known fact that the butterflies were far more...vibrant than the shadows—literally and figuratively. Yet even with that knowledge, Igris still found himself unprepared for the sheer whiplash of Trick’s one-eighty.
The stars in her eyes, clasping her hands together, and the swooning sigh were a stark contrast to mere moments ago, when he could practically hear the chills that ran down her spine.
“Did you not just claim she was frightening?” Beru asked, incredulous, every little movement he made causing petals to fly off.
“That’s exactly what makes her more beautiful!” Trick retorted, as if he just offended her.
Igris sighed internally.
Then again, ‘internally’ was the only thing he could achieve in regards to his current level-locked speech—
{Do we really need to remind him?
<<Yes>>}
Back to the situation at hand—
At that point, Igris had already begun tuning them out, letting their bickering fade as background white-noises as he plucked the petals off his armor, letting the reds fell down to the muddy purple-ish ground. His gaze had returned to the ballerina on stage.
The more he observed her, the more she reminded him of a particular kind of women he had only ever exchanged curt words with in his time as a human knight.
Sharp intellects, veiled beneath layers of practiced poise and intricately folded fans. Women who, in an era that condemned outbursts and demanded submission, wielded their wits often more so any man.
The way Red’s delicate fingers plucked a shard of flesh from the centaur-like corpse was not unlike the refined precision of slicing through a Mont Blanc at an olden tea party—silver knife and fork in hand, but otherwise the picture of grace.
And Igris could not help the thought that emerged then—those very same women could be as vicious as a knife to the back upon society’s stage. Ripping one another to shreds with honeyed words and carefully calculated maneuvers that would ruin rather than kill.
Whether one was complacent or bold, none were spared in the brutal games of favor, wealth, and power.
Igris knew that better than anyone.
“F-Father—"
Thump.
“…”
His gaze lingered, distant at times.
"She reminds me of the noblewomen of old..."
As he recalled how Red often followed Lady (Name) without fail—always at her beck and call.
With a contemplative hum, Igris continued his musing.
"Court ladies?"
Trick made a grand gesture with both hands of Igris for Beru to see—
Ding. Ding. Ding!
. . .
…Where did that sound even came from—
"See? He gets it!"
Ignoring one annoyed shadow ant, she turned toward Igris beaming, her voice brimming with pride. “You’re not far off the mark, Sir Knight! My sister was a duchess!”
… ‘was’?
“You should’ve seen her, Sir Knight!” Trick continued, practically vibrating with excitement. “She was such a riot! Even now—”
"Child. Fetch."
In an instant, Trick straightened, catching a tiny chunk of flesh casually thrown her way directly with her mouth. She bit into it immediately, her silver hair swaying lightly as her expression contorted into a disgruntled one a few chews in.
Igris could only stare, his judgment hidden behind his armored helm. Beside him, Beru clicked his mandibles in what Igris assumed was shared disbelief.
How... peculiar, this court of butterflies is.
——oOo——
Red approached the trio, uniform somehow remained as immaculate as ever. The white clean, the black and red mayhap hid any mess that might’ve been. Gracefully unhurried—as if she hadn't partaken in anything as taxing as a butchery in a rainy, muddy jungle.
"Well?" One brow was arched in pointed inquiry as her gaze settled on Trick.
"…Bitter." Trick swallowed with apparent difficulty before sticking her tongue out, as though the act would’ve contributed on getting rid of the horrid taste on her tastebud.
Red’s lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, Igris thought he heard her mutter under her breath, “At least she didn’t throw up.” Then, with a quiet sigh, she continued, “Didn’t you beg Mother to invest points into some < Devourer >’s skills for you?”
A picnic basket materialized in Red’s hand. She handed it to Trick.
"A < Devourer > can't afford to be picky." Red added, watching as Trick hesitantly took the basket.
When Trick lifted the lid, the scent of iron hit both Igris and Beru. The neatly packed cubes of raw meat inside were unmistakably from the magic beasts they had slain. Each piece was cut with surgical precision, their edges clean and uniform.
Trick wrinkled her nose, initially recoiling at the sight. But, as if she had a sudden light-bulb moment, her expression shifted. She turned around, scanning the area with renewed determination until her eyes landed on the sleeping duo under canopy.
“B—”
“Are you expecting her to cook for you right now?” Red interjected; her tone flat. “No.”
"Then–"
“Freeze it for later?” Red crossed her arms. “Sure, she could. Except the fact that it'll just be ordinary meat by then. The sooner you eat it, the more points you’ll gain. That’s the whole point of this exercise, isn’t it?”
"B-But—"
"Eat."
Trick’s shoulders slumped in defeat, and she complied, reluctantly picking up one of the cubes and placing it in her mouth. Her expression was dejected as she chewed, each bite taken with the exaggerated misery of someone enduring a punishment.
Chew.
“…”
Swallow.
“…hic.”
Red let out another sigh watching Trick’s display.
“…Have the garments been handed out?”
When Trick nodded pitifully in affirmative, Red plucked a cube of meat from the basket herself. The smell of burning wafted as the raw meat darkened and sizzled between her fingertips. Then, she brought it to the younger’s lips, and Trick took it gratefully.
"Better?"
Trick nodded vigorously as she chewed, her mood visibly improving. Red patted her head gently.
"Beru."
The shadow ant stiffened, mandibles clicking in surprise. He had not expected to be called. And yet, as her crimson gaze settled upon him, he swore—for reasons beyond his comprehension—that her eyes softened.
"Here."
Red snapped her fingers, and near Beru’s feet materialized several large stacks of... tupperware???
“We noticed the soldiers weren’t eating, so we took the liberty of saving some up for you all,” Red explained, gesturing toward the containers as she fed another carefully prepared morsel to Trick. “It’s only fair, considering most of the kills were yours.”
“We do not require—”
“I am well aware that shadows don’t require such sustenance,” Red cut in smoothly. “That eating is more habit than necessity. But we wanted to express our gratitude for the meal. It was also—technically—the first time some of us handled prep work. So please, it would make us very happy if you would accept our thanks.”
Beru hesitated before peering inside one of the containers. His antennae twitched as the scent of fresh meat drifted upward. True to her words, each was filled to the brim with neatly portioned flesh—cut into cubes, spheres, hearts, stars… even bunny-shaped pieces.
Igris, though remained silent, could not help but marvel too. When had the butterflies managed to harvest, prepare, and store all this without anyone noticing? A feat that bordered on the miraculous—or the terrifying, depending on one’s perspective.
Beru glanced from the containers to Red, then to Trick—who, upon feeling his stare, conspicuously turned away, still chewing.
After a pause, he straightened. “…On behalf of the shadows, I thank you, Madame.”
Red tilted her head but did not seem displeased. A faint smile ghosted her lips.
“Please send our regards to the others.”
She nodded once in acknowledgment.
Beru then turned his gaze toward Trick. “And you as well. Thank you.”
“…Hmph.”
Red shoved feed another cooked piece into Trick’s mouth with the same gentle care—ensuring that Trick didn’t start sulking again.
And so, Igris continued to observe. The way Red treated Trick and Beru—like children under her care.
It is… oddly endearing.
——oOo——
As the last vestiges of flesh disappeared into eager mouths, loose fabrics flowed like waterfalls. When the dark warriors merged back with their master of shadows, white tunics danced like packs of swans with the reemergence of kaleidoscope flights from behind. Thus, your newborns, ready to be greeted in your gardens—their home, joined their origins in kind and disappeared from the skies in dust of gold. Left in their wake, stark and gleaming, alabaster-white under the relentless rain—terrain of eerie beauty stripped bare of chaos.
"So..." Jinwoo cleared his throat, brushing rain-slicked hair from his forehead as the bags of essence stones disappeared into his inventory. "Is this something I should expect after every raid?”
He meant to say it in jest, an attempt to break the ice fell short when the beat of silence stretched, before you turned to him, your expression soft but distant, as though part of you was somewhere else.
“Sorry,” A fleeting gold, like light rippling through water. “Could you repeat that?”
Jinwoo’s gaze flickered briefly to the battlefield before back to meeting yours.
"...That," He jabbed his thumb toward the clearing behind—or rather, to what had taken place there just moments ago—with a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Do I need to get used to that?”
“You don’t have to,” You replied softly, gaze drifting to the desolate expanse. But then, in a blink, as if only just now waking from a dream, your brows knitted, a look more concerned for him than the situation. Meeting gazes again, a thread of worry weaved your voice. “Does it bother you? I can—”
“Wait, slow down.” Jinwoo interjected quickly, raising a hand before you could go down the rabbit hole of drastic measures—only you could come up with—if you thought he was truly disturbed. Measures you would follow to a T, no matter the inconvenience. He knew you well enough by now to guess, and the last thing he wanted was for you to overthink this. “It’s just… new. Need a little time to adjust, sure—”
He'd long been desensitized to the horrors of this world. Keeping up with you had kept him on his toes more often of course, but who wouldn’t be at least a little shocked when those pretty little things displayed a primal side so openly that might’ve rivaled his shadows?
Systematic, elegant, and utterly ruthless.
Struggling to reconcile it with the image one had grown accustomed to—
You studied him for a moment, a quiet hum leaving your lips. “If it makes you uncomfortable, they don’t have to do it. They don’t need blood or flesh to function as usual, but… it’s more beneficial now.”
“How so?”
—and curiosity just won over in the end.
Your tone shifted to something more matter-of-fact. “For the younger ones, besides the extra exp to level them up, the bonus energy gained can make them more effective, stay active longer. As supports, you know the drill, but in terms of gathering information? They can further interact with people directly without being as quickly exhausted independent of me.”
Huh.
That’s useful.
Very useful.
As unsettling as the image of butterflies devouring raw flesh was, and the sight of human body made from the inside, the utility might be worth the goosebumps.
Other inappropriate uses aside—as far as his own shadows went, they were invaluable for protection and surveillance. But they weren’t equipped for subtle interactions. They couldn’t question people or coax out information—not in the way your butterflies apparently capable of at least.
As much as Beru’s value went, Jinwoo doubted anyone would open up willingly to a towering, insectoid figure interrogating them unless stated otherwise, or to any shadow soldiers for that matter, whether they could speak or not. Informed targets might not be ideal at times.
Fear was still a viable option, but he would rather not have his kids terrorize innocents.
Your butterflies, on the other hand, would definitely be more practical in extracting information if they could disguise themselves and blend seamlessly into society.
As for acting with autonomy—Jinwoo thought back to that time in the snow-land red gate and let a smirk tugged at his lips.
They’re persuasive alright.
They seemed freer also in the sense that they weren’t bound to other objects to move, with few exceptions but definitely still less than shadows were to his soldiers.
Imagine the possibilities.
Jinwoo was almost jealous.
All in all, his shadows were the perfect battle weapons, warriors, and guards. Yours? The perfect supports, spies, even informants.
How much more of a perfect complement could this be?
Speaking of...
Jinwoo’s gaze drift to you. His lips pressed into a thin line.
Should he ask you?
Should he attach a soldier to you?
Ah, so you don’t trust her after all.
The voice was insidious and sharp—like his daggers.
The pang in his chest was immediate and heavy—guilt?
I do, the heart argued, vehement.
It’s for her—
For her or for you?
Mocking.
Does she really need you to keep her safe?
Taunting.
You barely know who she is.
Then I’ll keep learning, to get to know her, properly.
Is that not just another excuse to keep her close then?
Ah.
All this time, still just scratching the surface—
He went through this before.
I want to know her (everything).
Silence.
"That's... convenient."
Really?
Jinwoo winced internally.
Was that all he can say? Couldn’t he come up with a proper compliment? Even saying something along the lines of the lame-old “cool” would be better at this point!
Why was he such a mess in front of the one person he wanted to—
“Thank you.”
Oh.
Damnit.
Damn you, for how tender you looked at that moment, standing just within his reach.
Damn you, for those knowing and fond eyes, staring back at him.
Damn you, for how soft your lips looked in that smile, directed at him.
Fingers twitched on his sides.
Damn him, for craving you to look at him (always).
“Take the < Illusionists > for example.”
You lifted your hand to his view, fingers curled, holding something out of sight, “Not only do they gain more knowledge to reach perfect mimicry…”
A single cherry blossom unfurled in your palm.
“…the duration of their skills also lasts much longer.”
Before Jinwoo could process, you exhaled softly.
He was then bombarded with multiple blossoms, straight to his face.
“Pfft.” You stifled a laugh behind your hand at his widened eyes and slightly parted lips. What made the sight sillier in your eyes was the silver butterfly perched on his cheek, chiming—
“Good day, Sir. Goodbye, Sir. Have a pleasant day!”
—before going poof!
Jinwoo didn’t move.
On instinct, his mana flared—to sense, to analyze—but there was nothing. He couldn’t detect the signature presence illusions carried, the usual flicker of magic that would have clued him in under normal circumstances.
No.
For a second there, he absolutely couldn’t sense you, even though his gaze never left yours.
And that—that was definitely not < Stealth >.
“The < Devourers > and < Conversion-ists> are more straightforward.”
You continued, as if you hadn’t just—
“To sum it up, the < Devourers > gain more physical bonuses—strength, durability, and such. While the < Conversion-ists > receive more ‘recipes,’ essentially.”
Jinwoo swallowed. His hand twitched.
“Jinwoo?”
You reached out, fingers hovering near his cheek but hesitated at the very last second, merely a hair’s breadth away before your fingertips could graze his damp skin, when you saw how empty his gaze had become behind dripping raven bangs.
“I can’t…”
His grip caught your wrist before you could retreat.
You neither flinched nor pulled away.
“You just—!”
Vanished.
Like a g̴l̷i̶t̴c̸h̴.̵
Jinwoo’s jaw tightened.
His eyes—
They reminded you of the last few chapters of the manhwa. Building up his decision to bear the fate of the whole world on his shoulders, alone. The way Normal Selner had looked at him, realizing he had already succeeded. How the illustration depicted his irises as pitch black, swallowing all light with naught a trace.
Oh, please don’t make that face.
"Jinwoo…" You gently brought his hand—the one gripping yours so tightly you felt the joints shifting under—and his other hand to your cheeks.
"See?" You closed your eyes, pressing your face against his touch.
Yeah.
Jinwoo exhaled, slow, unsteady.
Then—he leaned in.
Your presence—you—against his palms.
Right here. You’re right here.
Until his forehead could touch yours.
And so, so warm.
——oOo——
{In illustrations, we could take creative liberties to depict our reality.}
{Whether it’s creating multiple aspects out of proportions openly or changing just a single, subtle enough detail, one reason is to clue us in on the meaning behind it.}
{So, I’m curious…}
{If I described the moment Jinwoo leaned in, the moment light returned to his eyes at your touch, your warmth—
The black in his eyes rippled.
Like ink washing away, the pitch dark gave way to stormy grey. Then lighter. Until—
Against the glowing hue of blue, at the very center of it all—
(you)
If you simply knew, if you simply saw how that light reflected, unmistakable in its shape.
A heart…}
{How would you react, ‘Trial Player’? ~}
——oOo——
“What were you thinking about earlier?”
“Hm?” You blinked at him.”
“When I first asked about the < Feast >,” Jinwoo clarified. “You seemed… distracted.”
“Oh, it’s nothing,” You paused, gaze dropping. “Just…”
“Just?” He pressed gently.
“I can feel it,” Your voice was barely a whisper as your hand rose to your chest, resting over your heart.
“How happy they are.”
“‘They’?” Jinwoo asked, though he already suspected the answer.
"My children,” Your gaze met his then, and something in your expression shifted. The edges of your eyes softened, your expression so tender, so genuine, it took his breath away again. “Eating makes them happy."
“I’m happy for them,” you added simply, smiling so radiantly—
—so disarmingly, it almost made him forget the reality of your words.
Jinwoo found himself staring, wondering how someone could look so utterly beautiful in such unsettling context. Spoken of something so—objectively—disturbing with the way of tone so warmth, so truthful, so serene, that made it feel natural, made it feel... right.
And yet, he couldn’t look away.
And yet, he didn’t feel repulsed.
And yet… he was the one who felt strangely electrified—
No.
—Jinwoo was thrilled.
The hum of the gate beckoned, a low, resonant vibration that pulled you both back to the present.
It was time to leave.
End Note:
Unedited Draft of [28/02/2025]
Double update? Double update. 😉
Thank you @eternadreeblissa for providing this chapter's surprise illustration! The version I put here is cropped a bit to bring out more focus on the eyes. I'll provide the full-version + the alternate versions ('cause all of them are too good to pass up) in this chapter's reblog here! 🙏🥹❤️
How do we feel about breaking-the-4th-wall segments, Everyone? Yea or Nay? 🤔
Beru, I love you, but your pattern of speech is killing me. 😭
Igris, you're a good boy. I'm sorry I'm making you that-one-tired-roommate-of-Beru's-before-Bellion-arrived. I'm also sorry if me bringing up your past—which I also took some creative liberties on in writing—dug up any past trauma for you. 🙏🥹
Trick is dramatic, theatrical, and fangirl all-in- one. Low-key female & human-but-also-not-so version of Beru? Hmm, maybe. Hopefully, I can make her distinct enough from Beru so their kinda love-hate dynamic that I'm aiming for won't be boring. 🫡
Guess which < Children of 'Trial Player' > took after (Name)'s motherly nature the most? That's right, Red. I guess not much surprise there? She's that-one-older-sister-who-mothered but is still her mother's daughter. 🥹❤️
On crack, JinwooxReader in this chapter is basically these:
{ —1—
Jinwoo: *Making up his mind about something-something deep related to (Name)*
(Name): *Making Jinwoo question absolutely everthing about his decision just a few seconds later*
(And this won't be the last time this happen.) }
{ —2—
(Name): *Starting to openly show her dark side, still just the tip of the iceberg*
Jinwoo: "I feel scared, but that's hot."
These two are going to get more and more fucked up the further we go down this AU. Jinwoo is still in the process of falling, while (Name) is already further ahead than him in that void, she just hid it very well. Funny thing about this is part of their dynamics in the future that I'm aiming for (for now, future subject to change) being like this:
Wife!(Name): "This Jinwoo is my eldritch yandere husband and I LOVE him. I won't change him for any version of him and I'm the only who can handle this him in the multiverse." (and she can, this is not a drill, the Rulers and the World Tree bear witness, she's saying this matter-of-fact and with well-hidden yandere-ish.)
Husband!(Jinwoo): "(Name) is my wife, my only one in the multiverse, and I will tear everything apart if she's taken as much as a step away from me. Don't even try. Can she still scare me? Yes. But she's the only one who can while also makes me horny 'cause it's her, my goddess, and I'm her first and only."
TP AU!Suho: "I love them, won't exchange them for any multiverse version of 'my' parents. But mine are definitely too fucked up."
(Wait until it's your turn, boy. You might be the same or worse than them)
TP AU!Suho: "...Heh?"
(Somewhere in the abyss of my very very ancient drafts, forgotten until I feel like digging them up:
Guide!Reader: *Safe and sound until—* "Achoo!")
TP AU!Suho's younger sister (placeholder name for now): "Hmm? I love my family🦋💀."
TP AU!Cha Hae-in: "Yup, this is my reality alright. As long as my bestie is here, everything will be fine. Kudos to my other versions that married their versions of my second dearest friend Jin and have their versions of my dear nephew as their child tho. Still won't change mine for anything, my number one ship have sailed and I'm not going anywhere as long as they're here."
The ¿System?: *Chilling with the butterflies🦋 and shadows💀 somewhere* 😎🍹 }
That's all, folks!
Feedbacks are very much appreciated. Thank you for reading. 🙏💕
Content Warnings: This chapter contains mentions of gore—this is a work of fiction, I do not condone or glorify violence in real life; Historical Inaccuracies—I'm not well-versed in Korea's history, culture, and language, so please go easy on me 🙏
[Masterlist🦋✨️]
Voices.
Low murmurs, like a breeze brushing past your ears.
The world was still dark behind your eyelids, and your body felt like stone—heavy, slow. But something shook you gently. A hand on your shoulder, warm and real.
“Agassi... Can you hear me?”
You blinked awake.
Above you were the face of an old woman. Her skin was lined with years, but her gaze was soft and kind, brows drawn with quiet concern. Her gray hair was tied up neatly in a low chignon, and her hanbok was faded with age but freshly cleaned—smelling faintly of wildflowers and pine.
“Oh, thank the spirits… you’re awake.” She sighed with relief, brushing a few strands of hair from your face with a mother’s gentleness. “You poor thing. Are you hurt anywhere?”
You tried to speak, but your throat was dry again.
The only thing that left your lips was a faint, hoarse sound.
The woman helped you sit up slowly. You looked around, dazed, realizing you were in a small clearing by a riverbank, the morning sun rising beyond the trees. A woven straw hat sat beside her, and a small cloth bundle with rice cakes and medicinal roots was laid out nearby.
“I found you here just before dawn,” she said, voice lilting like warm tea. “These are dangerous times. Slave traders have been crawling around the outer provinces like rats. You’re lucky they didn’t find you before I did.”
You flinched.
She noticed. Her expression turned thoughtful, but not pressing.
“Where are you from, child? You look like you’ve walked through half the kingdom in your sleep. Surely someone must be worried about you.”
You hesitated.
What could you say?
That you woke up yesterday under a strange sky, and tore men apart like meat in your jaws? That the only thing you remembered before the guilt, the blood, the hunger was… was—
You offered her the only truth you dared.
“…I don’t,” you rasped. “I don’t… remember.”
Your mouth tasted bitter.
Not sweet, like last night—
But the old woman—she didn’t question it. She didn’t prod, didn’t accuse.
Instead, she nodded, her smile lined with grief. “Mm. That happens sometimes. Especially to those who’ve seen things they shouldn't have.”
You lowered your eyes, not trusting yourself to answer.
She reached out and patted your hand.
“Well. You’ve got a name at least, haven’t you?”
“…Yes.”
You gulped.
“I’m…(Name).”
“Then that’s enough for now.”
She stood slowly, groaning as her knees cracked beneath her. “My bones aren’t what they used to be,” she said with a wry smile. “But I’ve room in my home, and a kettle always on the fire. If you’ve nowhere to go, you can come with me.”
You blinked up at her.
“…Really?”
“Call me Granny,” she said, brushing off her skirt. “Everyone else does.”
——oOo——
Her name was Nam Jinseol, but she insisted you call her Granny.
She lived on the edge of a sleepy mountain village tucked in mist and pine, in a modest choga-jip—a straw-roofed house with wooden floors, walls of clay and timber, and a small front veranda.
In the mornings, she opened a little tea shop she had run for decades—though she admitted business had dwindled since her husband passed. The sign above the shop was old and faded, but still legible: 청운다방 – Cheongun Tea House, named after her late husband’s childhood nickname.
“Herbs don’t make anyone rich,” she said once, pouring steeped petals into your cup. “But they warm the body and quiet the heart. That’s more than gold ever did for me.”
She told you once she had a daughter.
Once.
She had smiled too brightly when she said the girl ran off in her youth, “head full of romance and rebellion.”
She never brought her up again.
And you never asked.
But some nights, when the tea was poured just a little slower, when she lingered in the doorway with her eyes on the empty seat beside you—you wondered if she missed her more than she let on.
Maybe that was why she welcomed you so easily.
Maybe that was why she treated you the way she did.
You awoke from them choking back sobs, your whole-body trembling in the dark.
And always—
Without fail—
Granny would appear at your door with her tea tray. No words. Just the soft scent of mugwort and wild chrysanthemum.
You never asked how.
But the tea soothed you.
You clung to that kindness like a raft.
To repay her, you worked.
You rose early to help in the herb garden, pruning perilla leaves and sorting dried roots. You managed the tea house in the afternoons, sweeping the floors and preparing infusions for the rare traveler that passed through.
It was quiet work.
Gentle.
And you tried to live with that.
You served tea and learned the names of every herb in her apothecary chest.
You smiled for Granny.
——oOo——
It was strange, the way guilt didn't just stay inside you—it grew.
It festered.
No matter how many mornings you swept the porch of the tea house, how many bundles of herbs you sorted with aching fingers under the sun, no matter how many bowls of warm soup Granny set in front of you with that same familiar smile—
The blood on your hands didn’t wash off.
You killed them.
You didn’t know their names. You didn’t know if they were good men, bad men, fathers, sons. You didn’t know if they had families waiting for them. But, you remembered a scream, and something about that had to mean something.
Something about it had to mean they were human.
And you… weren’t.
That thought kept you up at night.
That hunger—what if it came back?
What if it grew again?
What if it came while Granny was nearby?
Granny, who gently guided your hand as you traced your first Hangul letters in ink, smiling patiently as you mouthed out syllables like a child.
Granny, who gave you a home when you had nothing—not even a memory, only a name whispered into a night sky.
Granny, who still called you "my child" when your hands trembled and your voice wavered.
If your body failed you again—if you lost control—
Would you kill her too?
That thought haunted you worse than the dreams.
So when she insisted that you go out, that you rest, that young souls should find joy too, you did what you thought was safer.
You researced.
Granny’s home was older than you first realized. Dust clung to every shelf in her study room, where rows of ancient books sat untouched like buried secrets. Some were poetry. Some were about plants. Others—worn scrolls with faint ink and half-torn bindings—spoke of demons.
Of Gwi-ma—the Demon King who led his kind through the shadows of the world.
You didn’t know why the name made your temples throb.
Every time you read it, a spike of pressure bloomed at the back of your skull like a migraine that wasn’t quite physical.
Gwi-ma.
You said it aloud once.
And black specks danced at the edge of your vision like snow.
Still, you read on.
And slowly, the pieces started falling into place.
The blue you saw that night—that strange, pulsing glow that called to you with a craving deeper than instinct—
It was the soul.
The energy of the living. The essence that demons were said to steal.
You remembered it pouring into you like sweet air after drowning.
You remembered the satisfaction.
You remembered wanting more.
Your hands trembled over the parchment as the truth dug into you like a knife.
You're not human.
You're a demon.
You stared at the trembling tips of your fingers for a long time.
But—
The scrolls only mentioned that demons took souls. Not flesh. Not blood.
The bodies, they said, disappeared—but no one actually said what happened to them.
Had demons always consumed the bodies too, just out of sight?
Or—
Were you something worse?
The markings on your body—so pale, glowing white like polished bone, curling in floral spirals along your arms and ribs—they didn’t match the jagged, purple marks etched into the demons in the books.
They weren’t monstrous.
They were beautiful.
Deceptively beautiful.
Like poison flowers in spring.
——oOo——
By the eighth month, the hunger began to whisper again.
Just faintly.
A low stir beneath your ribs.
A churn in your stomach that no amount of rice or tea could quell.
You ignored it at first. You tried.
But it stayed.
Like a shadow behind your reflection, waiting.
And then, one afternoon, you found an injured bird.
A tiny thing—just a sparrow, feathers ragged, one wing broken, legs trembling in the dirt.
You wrapped it carefully in linen and brought it home.
Granny tutted when she saw you, but her hands were gentle too.
“We can try, child,” she said softly, brushing her fingers over its frail form. “But sometimes the heavens choose otherwise.”
You did your best.
You fed it crushed grains and herbs. You held it close in a pouch against your chest. You whispered prayers to it when no one was listening.
But its breathing got weaker.
Its chirps, fainter.
Even Granny gave you that soft, knowing smile.
“You have a good heart,” she said. “But mercy comes in many forms.”
——oOo——
That night, you couldn’t sleep.
You cradled the little bird in your hands, curled in a blanket near the brazier.
Its warmth had almost faded.
It chirped once, faintly.
Your thumb brushed over its head. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, voice breaking.
“If I couldn’t save you… did I only make it worse?”
Its body twitched.
Its beady eyes blinked slowly. Dimming.
You stared.
Then slowly, quietly… you opened your mouth.
The floral markings you kept hidden beneath your robe sleeves began to glow.
A soft, pulsing white.
Like moonlight on snow.
From the bird’s chest, something flickered.
Blue.
Small.
So small.
It floated from the trembling body to your lips, and you inhaled gently—
And it vanished into you.
The bird stilled.
No twitch.
No breath.
No warmth.
Just stillness.
And you felt the hunger ease.
Not vanish.
But ease. A little.
You looked down at the lifeless bundle in your palms.
Then—
You laughed.
A small, broken sound.
Not joy.
Not relief.
Just—
What have I become?
——oOo——
You learned something quickly in the months that followed:
Animal souls weren’t enough.
They filled the hunger like dry leaves stuffed into an empty belly—there was bulk, yes, but never true satisfaction. They dulled the sharpness of the craving, but never the ache. Even devouring the flesh alongside it—fur, blood, bones, warm dripping meat—only earned you a brief reprieve.
But it was better than nothing.
It had to be.
You made yourself believe that.
You hunted small animals in the forest after nightfall, silent beneath the trees, always returning before dawn. Granny worried, of course, said you should sleep more. But she also smiled when you brought her skinned rabbit or wild hen. Said you were “learning to live with your hands.”
When the tea shop was quiet and Granny encouraged you to “spend time among people,” you wandered to nearby farms and marketplaces. A few asked if you could butcher their livestock. You hesitated the first time, but Granny said your knife work was clean and precise.
And it was.
More than it should’ve been.
The others praised your skill. Paid you in coins. They never noticed the way you subtly breathed in their goats’ and pigs’ final wisps of life when they slumped beneath your hands. They never saw how your eyes glinted faintly from the usual color to red when you swallowed those tiny flickers of soul.
The hunger didn’t vanish.
But you managed it.
For now.
Still, you could feel it—deep inside, like a storm building behind your ribs. The longer you suppressed it, the stronger it grew. Like a beast on a leash that only got angrier the longer you held it back.
You feared the day it would break free again.
Feared who would be standing in its way.
Feared it might be Granny.
——oOo——
You were spiraling again when he arrived.
A merchant—one of the regulars who visited every few moons.
Loud voice, bright smile, overflowing pouches tied to his sash with knots you didn’t recognize. He wore travel-worn silk and a short-brimmed hat, smelled like road dust and dried peppers.
“Aigoo, the tea still smells heavenly, Eomeoni!” he greeted Granny, laying down a few coins with a wink. “Still no match for your smile, though.”
Granny swatted his shoulder with a laugh and poured him a cup of chrysanthemum blend.
You sat off to the side, kneeling quietly, drying a batch of cleaned herbs, until his voice shifted.
“Did you hear the news from Hwado? Word's going around again.”
Your fingers froze over a sprig of mint.
Granny tilted her head. “Hwado? The one near the eastern ridge?”
“Aye,” he nodded. “That’s the one. You remember the slave traders who used to operate just outside the walls? Nasty group—scum of the earth.”
Granny’s eyes darkened. “Too well. We warned everyone to stay away from that road.”
The merchant leaned in, lowering his voice. “Well, turns out the boss—the one who ran the whole business—is dead. Has been for months. They only just confirmed it.”
Your eyes flicked up, heartbeat stuttering.
Granny asked first, “Confirmed how?”
“They found a finger,” he said, matter-of-fact. “Just the one, in an alley by the market district. Still had that gaudy ring of his on it—you know, the one with the ugly jade snake emblem? They said that’s how they identified him. Body was never recovered. Some say it was revenge, others say divine punishment. No one's sure.”
He leaned back, sipping his tea with satisfaction.
“But the town's been quieter ever since. Slave traffic stopped completely. Whole operation collapsed. People say it’s karma. I say it’s about damn time. Bastard got what was coming to him.”
You said nothing.
Your throat was tight.
The merchant laughed. “If he were still alive, more poor girls and boys would’ve gone missing. But he’s not. He’s gone. Good riddance, eh?”
Granny nodded. “May the heavens take pity on his victims.”
——oOo——
That night, you sat by the window, chin resting on your knees, the candle flickering low behind you.
The words kept circling in your head like fireflies.
He’s gone.
The town is safer.
No more will suffer because of him.
He deserved it.
You remembered his eyes.
The way his mouth opened in terror before your hand sealed it shut forever.
You remembered his blood running down your hands.
You remembered the ring—sharp-edged, tacky, cold against your palm.
They were glad he was dead.
You felt the hunger shift slightly in your belly, but it wasn’t twisting you with pain this time.
the isekai demon reader au with the Saja boys sounds so fun!!
*The post in question👆 is here!
IT IS! 😂
Like, I'm already cackling everytime I imagine (Name)'s and Gwima's interactions, 'cause like, a little spoiler alert⚠️: she can and will literally shut him out most of the time--
They're so unserious in this one LMFAO
Then there're those times where (Name) favors the girls and blatantly ignore the boys, I was already thinking of a funny interaction between them in that scene in the movie where the two groups are in the men's bath house. 🤣
Also, imagine: managers-in-arms with (Name) and Bobby a.k.a. platonic besties ASDFGHJKL
These are just some examples 👀
The most recent fluff scene I came up with are with Derpy and that tiny hat bird (CAN SOMEONE PLS TELL ME HIS/HER(?) NAME?!). The bird will actually clicked with this version of (Name) so well, like, imagine he/she(?) prefer to perch on (Name)'s shoulder most of the time and both of them rolling their eyes when the boys and or girls do something dumb 🙏😭💞
There're ofc some angsty scenes too, the obvious ones are between Jinu and (Name) where she question if he really thinks erasing his memories will set him free, between Rumi and (Name) where she comforts Rumi after her meeting with Celine and before going to fight the boys at the end, but I would also LOVE AND WILL expand to Mira, Zoey, and the other Saja boys as well with my personal interpretations of them! 🥰
And, if you ever read my Trial Player AU series, you'll know that I LOVE giving my Reader/(Name) her own personal conflicts. This one will be of no exception 😋
Also, also, another spoiler alert⚠️ for this AU, the boys will be alive and well at the end of the movie... with a little twist that'll definitely make (Name) faint--exaggerated movie-style✨️
I'm still having a writer's block on Trial Player AU and I'm stressed out from studying for my upcoming exam on Monday, so I'm thinking of taking a short break by writing something different...
Anyone interested in reading my idea of an Isekaid!Demon(?)!Reader x Saja Boys with a side of Huntrix ?
Where (Name) is: a digruntled manager (read: babysitter) and is basically like a vampire around the Saja Boys; kind of a menace toward Gwi-ma; known by the hunters as "The Anonymous" that helps the Huntrix girls "loosened up a bit" through exchanged letters because apparently their ancestors are, as (Name) quoted it, "Stuck-ups" ; while also dealing with wiping criminals-who-haven't-receive-their-due-karma from the face of the earth on her spare time...
Let me know your thoughts! 🙏🥹💞
P.S. Maybe I'll delete this post later? Idk, let's just see where it goes first...
