(3rd POV)
The city was bright, loud, and obnoxiously alive.
A few hours had passed since Sable slipped away from the chaos of idol fans and emotional revelations, and now he strolled along a quieter sidewalk, the early evening casting long shadows across glimmering storefronts and buzzing neon signs. His pace was leisurely—maybe even cocky—with a faint whistle trailing off his lips. If you listened closely, the tune suspiciously resembled Smooth Criminal.
In his hand, he casually flipped a leather wallet into the air like it was a coin meant to decide fate. The thing landed back in his palm each time with the kind of practiced ease that either meant he was a magician… or just really bored.
He took another turn down yet another alley—number who-even-knows at this point—and with a flick of his wrist, tossed the wallet over his shoulder.
Instead of hitting the ground, the space around it shimmered, rippling like disturbed water. The wallet sank into the ripple, vanishing entirely without a sound.
"Neat trick," Sable muttered, voice dry with approval. "Inconvenient world-hopping, ten out of ten. But this? At least this part's convenient."
He sighed, rubbing at his temple.
"So many alleys," he grumbled. "I swear there's probably a Korean folktale about the Alley Man who just paces around muttering to himself. I'm becoming local legend."
His footsteps echoed against the brick and metal around him, a lonely percussion section to his slowly bubbling frustration.
"I've spent all day learning new spells, brushing up on Tomb's library of cosmic nightmares, and you'd think I'd run into one—just one—demon. But no. Nada. Zip. Seoul: one. Sable: zero."
He held out his hand, flexed his fingers, and conjured another ripple in the air. This time, it hovered open like a glitch in reality—a visible tear that shimmered with faint white static. He reached in and pulled out a half-empty bottle of water, took a swig, and tossed it back into the fold, which zipped shut behind it.
"Spatial storage. Direct connection to my soulscape. Basically a physical void space I can store crap in. I even tested it on live animals. Don't ask. It worked. Mostly."
He rubbed the back of his neck. "Technically, I can expand the space if I pump Star-Fire into it, but I'm not keen on passing out in public and waking up with a police record. So, for now, it's backpack-sized."
Still no demons.
Still no leads.
Still no real progress on refueling the Chalice.
"Okay," he muttered, pacing in tight little circles, "let's brainstorm. Forest? Last place I saw demons. But also last place I nearly got my lungs clawed out, so that's a no. Civilian bait? Ugh, I'm not that evil. And it sounds like so much paperwork."
He paused. Tilted his head.
Then blinked.
"…Huntr/x."
He straightened, eyes widening in realization. "They attract demon drama like magnets dipped in angst."
With a smirk pulling at his lips, he nodded to himself.
"Alright. New plan. I casually—not creepily—observe them until the next demon encounter. Totally normal thing to do. Not stalkery at all."
He turned on his heel, paused mid-step, and grimaced. "Crap. I don't know where they are."
He glanced toward the studio he'd left hours ago, but by now the crowd had definitely dispersed, and the group was likely long gone.
"Great," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. "Amazing plan, executed with the finesse of a brick."
(PING)
He froze.
"Oh, now you chime in," he muttered.
Data bloomed in his mind—not words, but impressions. Instructions. A technique.
His lips quirked.
"Astral Sight," he whispered, letting the words sit on his tongue like a secret.
He closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, and focused.
A faint warmth bloomed behind his eyes, and as he exhaled, he opened them again.
The world was gone.
Not physically, but perceptually. The alleys, the buildings, the colors—they were replaced by a vast, endless dark. Not empty, but quiet. Peaceful. Floating in every direction were twinkling lights—thousands, maybe millions—each one pulsing like distant stars in a private cosmos.
Souls.
That's what he was seeing.
By channeling a steady stream of Star-Fire to his eyes, Sable could perceive the soul signatures of those around him. And unlike visual light, a soul had no interest in staying hidden.
His gaze swept the infinite expanse.
Then—there. A cluster of three. Not just brighter than the rest, but louder. He could feel them—vibrating, dancing, echoing with rhythmic pulses. Waves rippled from each star, like sound waves trapped in a visual medium.
"…They literally feel the music in their soul," Sable whispered, both impressed and vaguely horrified by his own pun.
He let the vision fade, blinking as the real world returned—grey concrete, rusted dumpsters, graffiti-tagged walls.
"Gotcha," he said, turning on his heel to follow the direction of those glowing soul signatures.
A beat passed.
Then he stopped, frowned.
"…I sounded real creepy just now, didn't I?"
He kept walking, hands stuffed in his coat pockets, whistling again—this time a bit more off-key.
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(Rumi POV)
The door to Han's little "clinic" clicked shut behind us, and I was still carrying the box of tonics like it might bite me.
Small plastic pouches rustled with each step. Supposedly, they were "specially brewed vocal restoratives, aged in sacred spring water under a full moon," but I wasn't convinced they were anything more than overpriced sugar water with an identity crisis.
Zoey bounced beside me like we'd just picked up miracle elixirs. Mira kept her hands stuffed in her pockets, looking like she'd rather be literally anywhere else.
I adjusted my grip on the box. We really just let that guy wave incense at my face, mutter some vague advice, and sell me a month's worth of mystery juice. It was either the start of my recovery… or the most elaborate placebo in history.
We looked ahead and saw shadows.
For one split-second, my brain screamed fans. But no — no merch, no cameras, no screaming. These four weren't approaching us; they were gliding past like the pavement belonged to them.
I glanced at Zoey and Mira.
They were staring. Hard.
"Ugh, you two are—" I started, ready to call them gross—
—and then I actually looked at the one in the back, a fifth one.
Tall. Sharp jawline. Eyes like he'd stepped straight out of a drama poster. My brain fuzzed over in that slow pan, cue romantic OST kind of way.
Which is why I didn't notice him move closer until—
Bam. Shoulder-check.
I stumbled. The box slipped. Bottles hit the ground and rolled everywhere.
For half a second, I thought he might help — his hand inched toward me. But instead, he brushed his own shoulder where we'd bumped.
"Be careful," he said smoothly, already turning away.
I gasped. "You— You go be careful! Y-Yourself!" But he and his friends were already halfway down the alley.
Mira crouched to grab a pouch, muttering, "Not even good-looking."
Zoey added, "So blegh," like she hadn't been drooling thirty seconds ago.
I rolled my eyes, shoving pouches back into the box, mentally lecturing myself. Nice work, Rumi. Totally not distracted at all.
The last bottle had just clinked into place when a faint noise drifted from the direction the three had gone — voices, a dull beat.
I looked at Mira and Zoey. "...You hear that?"
They nodded.
And just like that, we were heading toward it — completely unaware that, somewhere just a few streets over, a man with glowing eyes had already locked onto us.
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A/N: From thief to stalker, it just keeps getting worse and worse.😭
anyway, now we got a glimpse on where this going let's see how it plays out
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