It started with a sound.
Not a song, not a melody—a resonance. It came from no speakers, no broadcast. The air itself vibrated with it, a harmony layered with meaning and intent.
People looked up.
Then they looked east.
Toward Korea.
---
BLOOM debuted without warning.
No trainees. No leaks. No promotions.
One day, a video titled "BLOOM: FIRST LIGHT" appeared online. Five girls dressed in iridescent fabrics stood on a stage made of stars. Their eyes shimmered like black opals. Their voices seemed to sync directly with the listener's pulse.
No language was spoken.
No subtitles.
Just music.
It was the most beautiful thing anyone had ever heard.
Millions watched it.
Thousands became obsessed.
Hundreds went missing.
---
BLOOM's fandom, known as Seedlings, formed overnight. They wrote forums in glyphs. They hummed strange scales in public. Many had dreams of drowning in glowing flowers.
Some carved patterns into their skin—perfect, spiraling lines.
Hospitals saw a spike in patients who reported "echoes in the teeth" and "the itch under the skull."
But BLOOM never did interviews.
Never made appearances.
Just one song a month.
Each one more haunting.
Each one harder to forget.
---
Each member had a name:
Aera (the leader)
Minju (the main vocal)
Haneul (the dancer)
Sori (the visual)
Eunbi (the maknae)
Eunbi became the fan favorite.
She smiled like sunshine.
Until the fan cams slowed down.
At 0.25x speed, you could see something else. In the space between frames, her smile would stretch. Her eyes—all twelve of them—would flicker open.
People posted about it.
Then the posts disappeared.
Then the people did.
---
Dr. Lena Gu, a Korean-American ethnomusicologist, published an academic paper titled:
"Antimemetic Tonality and the Non-Human Rhythms of BLOOM."
She claimed the group's music included frequencies not native to this universe. That the harmonics in their vocals triggered patterns in brainwave activity linked to dream migration.
"They are not performers," she wrote. "They are invitations."
She disappeared two days later.
Her apartment smelled of crushed orchids and salt.
The walls were covered in musical notation.
No instruments could play it.
---
The sixth song was titled "AURA NULL."
It had no sound.
Yet listeners reported hearing it in dreams.
In the hum of appliances.
In the static between radio stations.
The fandom went into a trance. Forums were filled with strange poetry:
"We bloom beneath the eye that sees all ears."
"The petals are soft but the roots go up."
"Music was never ours."
---
A Seoul university student named Jiwon live-streamed herself outside what she claimed was BLOOM's headquarters.
A black building with no windows. No address.
She approached the entrance while humming BLOOM's debut melody. The doors opened without touch.
The stream continued.
Darkness.
Then a low resonance that made the audio crackle.
Jiwon whispered:
"It's not a building. It's a throat."
Then the stream ended.
---
BLOOM announced their final performance:
Celestial Bloom: Infinite Stage.
Broadcast worldwide. No tickets. No location disclosed.
The concert appeared on every screen at once. Phones, TVs, tablets, projectors. Even broken radios hummed the signal.
BLOOM stood on a stage made of mirrors, each girl reflected infinitely.
They sang.
And the sky opened.
---
During the performance, the stars shifted.
Not metaphorically.
Astronomers reported entire constellations realigning into sigils.
The moon pulsed in time with the beat.
Tides rose.
People on six continents walked into oceans, lakes, rivers. Smiling.
Some say they were dancing.
Some say they were answering.
---
They were not idols.
Not human.
Not even entities in the traditional sense.
BLOOM was a language. A vessel. A choir of concepts compressed into feminine shape.
They came not to entertain.
But to awaken.
Their harmonies were keys.
Their choreography, sigils.
Their lyrics, permission.
---
One Year Later
There are no recordings.
No physical proof BLOOM ever existed.
But people remember.
Every now and then, someone will hum a melody no one taught them.
They'll stare at a mirror and see too many reflections.
They'll dream of a concert where the sky sang back.
And they'll wake up crying.
Not in fear.
But in awe.
We were meant to bloom.
[END]
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Been into K-Pop since a movie on Netflix came out about a girl group hunting demons