𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑. all falls apart

WHEN MIYEON YU WAS SEVEN, SHE BROKE her ankle by falling off her bike. It had been early, the kind of early where the world hadn't yet decided what kind of day it would be. The sun was still a smudge of pale yellow on the horizon, and the ground beneath her wheels was dark, the asphalt still slick with dew. The silence of the morning wrapped around her, broken only by the soft whirring of her bike tires, a rhythm that felt steady, comforting.

One moment, there was solid ground beneath her wheels. Next the world tilted. A sharp, unexpected shift. Her body lurched forward, and then there was water. The cold slap of it was immediate, the sensation jarring.

Time seemed to stretch in that moment, expanding and pulling her down as she sank beneath the surface of the canal. She felt the cold swallow her, seeping into her skin, dragging her under. Her arms stretched out in front of her, hands skimming the bottom of the canal, fingers brushing against the smooth stones that lined it. The water clung to her, heavy, but not unkind.

And then, as if waking from a dream, Miyeon stood, the water waist-deep, her wet hair plastered against her face. The world had returned to its normal speed, but something inside her remained still. To her parents' surprise, what they heard next wasn't a cry for help or a wail of pain — it was her laughter.

Laughter, bright and full, like she had been told the funniest joke in the world. She didn't scream, didn't yell about the odd sensation in her ankle, didn't even mention that it hurt. She just stood there, soaked to the bone, clutching her bike with one hand, and laughing. The sound echoed across the canal, a contrast to the silence that had come before it.

Her parents, rushing down the embankment, didn't know what to make of it. Was she in shock? Had she hit her head? But Miyeon only laughed again, louder this time, her small body shaking with it, sending ripples through the still water.

The bruising began almost immediately. By the time her father, Yu Intak, reached her and helped pull her out of the canal, a bold, dark mark had already begun to bloom on her ankle. It was a deep, ugly purple, spreading out like a bruise made of ink, staining the pale skin around it. The laughter from her parents, which had started as nervous relief at seeing her seemingly unharmed, died in their throats when they saw the swelling.

The bruise was only the surface wound. What lay underneath, hidden in the delicate structure of her small bones, was much worse. The fall had caused a fracture in her ankle — a clean, sharp break that should have sent any normal child into hysterics. But Miyeon showed no response to the pain. Her face remained calm, almost serene, as she stood there, dripping wet, watching her parents' panic with quiet detachment.

It didn't take long before her father scooped her up in his arms, his face tight with worry, and carried her to the car. The drive to the hospital was a blur of tension and hurried whispers, her mother, Sooyoung, wringing her hands in the front seat, whispering prayers in Korean under her breath, while her father muttered to himself about the incompetence of bike manufacturers and the recklessness of ruts in the road.

By the time they arrived at the emergency room, Miyeon had already begun to yawn, her body relaxed in a way that was entirely incongruent with the situation. The doctors rushed to assess her, poking and prodding, their fingers cold against her skin, but Miyeon didn't flinch. She sat on the examination table, sipping on the juice the nurse had offered her, the straw balanced between her lips as if she were at a picnic instead of an emergency room.

The doctor, a middle-aged man with tired eyes and a clipboard tucked under his arm, looked over at her parents. "I'm sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Yu —"

"Oh my God, is my baby going to die?" Sooyoung's voice cracked, her words trembling as she wrapped her arms around Miyeon, clutching her close like she could shield her from the reality of the situation. Her hands were shaking, and Miyeon felt the tremors pass through her, but she didn't move, just kept sipping her juice.

"No, no, nothing like that, I —"

"What kind of doctor are you?" Intak's voice was sharp, accusatory, cutting through the sterile air of the room. He stood abruptly, towering over the doctor, his face dark with anger. "Fix her!"

Miyeon glanced up from her juice, mildly curious. The doctor looked more tired now, his shoulders sagging as he tried to explain. "She's going to be fine —"

"The infection — it's already gotten to her head!" Intak's voice wavered now, panic creeping in as he turned toward Miyeon. "Look at her! She's too calm! She's not even crying. You're a shitty doctor."

Miyeon yawned, blinking slowly as the room swirled with their chaos. "I feel fine," she said, her voice a soft murmur, as if she were commenting on the weather rather than the injury that had sent her parents spiraling. She shifted on the patient bed, pulling the blanket over her lap. "It doesn't hurt."

If there was one thing people knew about Yu Intak, it was that he adored his daughter.

His child was his heart, his soul made flesh, the axis upon which his entire universe spun. Boy or girl, it never mattered to him. His Minnie, as he called her, held his spirit in her small hands, and he, in turn, entrusted his heart entirely to hers. In Miyeon, there was a sacredness that words couldn't quite capture. She was his legacy, his joy, his reason for waking up each morning. The lines between their lives blurred, not in a way that made him overbearing or possessive, but in a way that made him fiercely devoted, his love quiet but unwavering.

She was free to live as she pleased, to explore and make mistakes, to learn from them without fear of his judgment. She could love whom she chose, for there was no rule in his book that could ever contain such a sacred thing as love. My child will always have my support, he thought, for always and for whatever path she chooses to walk, even if it diverges from mine.

His guidance was there, should she ever need it, but he never imposed it. There was a deep trust between them, a mutual understanding that ran beneath their interactions like an unspoken melody.

"You have a life to lead, Minnie, so lead it. Make your own choices, even when it seems like you have none. And always, my darling, make love your highest principle. If you do that, you'll be okay. You really will."

He would walk through the gates of hell for Miyeon, without hesitation, and he would feel honored to do so, as if protecting her were not just a duty but a privilege. To him, Miyeon was a sacred gift, and every moment with her was a blessing to be cherished.

So, when the doctor sighed and said, "Your daughter is fine," Intak's world stopped for a second.

Miyeon, sitting with her legs swinging off the patient bed, took another sip of juice, her face serious. "See? I told you."

Intak blinked, his mind struggling to process the words. "Whaaa.. what do you mean, fine?" His voice wavered, betraying the confusion and disbelief swimming in his chest. I saw it, he thought. The bruised, swollen ankle, the limp when she walked, the strange bend in her foot. I know what I saw. He looked at the doctor, waiting for an explanation that made sense. Something was wrong here.

The doctor smirked, leaning back against the counter as if winding him up was some sort of personal sport. "I mean, she has no broken bones. She's perfectly fine. Kids fall off their bikes all the time. It happens."

Intak stared at him. His brain couldn't catch up with his heart, which was still in crisis mode, racing with adrenaline. The doctor's grin widened as he continued, "Since there's nothing wrong, you're free to go. Believe it or not, people come in with real injuries." He winked at Miyeon before leaving the room, his white coat flaring out behind him like he was walking off a stage after a performance.

Intak's world tilted. He turned to Sooyoung, his expression a whirlwind of confusion and relief. But Sooyoung's face was carefully composed, her lips pressed into a tight line. She nodded along with the doctor's words, but her hands were still wringing the strap of her purse, her knuckles white with tension.

Intak hesitated, his gaze flickering between Miyeon and the doctor. He opened his mouth to argue, to insist that they double-check, but Sooyoung placed a hand on his arm.

"Let's go home," she said quietly, her voice steady in a way that belied the turmoil in her eyes.

Intak stood still, staring at Miyeon, whose eyes were now focused intently on the last few drops of juice in her cup. He felt the tension in his shoulders relax, but only slightly. There was still something deeply unsettling about the whole thing.

"Minnie," he said, his voice calm but with a hint of that protective edge, "never ride a bike again." His face, usually so expressive, had gone poker straight, but the corner of his mouth twitched as if he were fighting off a smile. He didn't want to laugh, but the absurdity of it all — the fall, the hospital, the non-injury — was gnawing at him, threatening to spill over into laughter.

Miyeon looked up at him with a grin so wide her eyes squinted into little crescents. "Okay," she said, as if agreeing to a completely reasonable request. "Maybe we can get training wheels?"

Intak couldn't help it. A laugh escaped him, soft at first, then louder, his shoulders shaking with the release of all the pent-up worry and fear. "Yeah," he said, his hand reaching out to pat her head. "Training wheels will help."

Intak, feeling the weight of the moment lift, tried to straighten his face again, making it serious for Miyeon's sake. "Actually, no," he said, his voice deepening into mock authority. "I forbid you from ever riding a bike. Ever again."

His face was so serious, so stern, that for a second, Miyeon paused, blinking up at him, her expression caught between confusion and amusement. But then she giggled, the sound soft and bubbling like water running over stones in a stream. Her laughter filled the room, lightening the mood, as if she were the only one who truly understood the ridiculousness of the situation.

Intak couldn't hold back any longer. He laughed again, shaking his head in disbelief, and patted her on the head once more. "I'm serious," he added, trying to sound stern, but failing miserably.

The whole thing was just a little freaky. They had seen the injury. There was no question about it. Yet here was Miyeon, completely fine, as if nothing had happened. No pain, no limp, no trace of the fall except the faintest bruise, already fading. It was strange, yes, but Miyeon... she just smiled, completely at ease, her body and mind unfazed by what had transpired.

And for a brief moment, as Intak looked at his daughter's bright eyes and radiant smile, he wondered if maybe there was something more to her. Something beyond what he could understand. Something that had been there all along, quiet and hidden, like a secret waiting for the right time to reveal itself.

He gathered Miyeon into his arms again, her small body light against his chest, and carried her out to the car. Sooyoung followed, her footsteps soft and measured, but her mind was racing.

Because she knew.

She had felt it, the warm rush of energy that flowed from her fingertips to Miyeon's ankle as they drove to the hospital. She had pressed her hand against the swollen skin, her whispered prayers transforming into something more — something she couldn't explain but had always known she could do.

Intak didn't know. He had been too consumed by his own panic to notice the subtle shift in the air, the way Miyeon's breathing had evened out, her pain dissolving as though it had never existed.

Sooyoung had hidden it well, burying her own fear beneath a mask of maternal concern. But now, as they drove home in silence, she couldn't shake the weight of what she had done.

Miyeon was fine. The doctor had said so. But Sooyoung's hands were still trembling, her fingers clutching the edge of her seat as she stared out the window. She had healed her daughter, and Intak didn't know.

He could never know.

In the backseat, Miyeon hummed softly to herself, her gaze fixed on the passing trees. She had no idea what had happened, no understanding of the gift her mother had just revealed.

For her, the day was already fading into memory, a blur of movement and sound that would leave no lasting impression. But for Sooyoung, it was a turning point — a moment that would linger in the shadows of her mind, reshaping everything she thought she knew about herself, her family, and the fragile balance they had built together.

Sooyoung's disbelief lingered, a palpable weight that hung in the air even after the events of the day had settled into uneasy quiet.

She sat at her desk, her delicate features illuminated by the soft, wavering glow of the oil lamp. The flame flickered, casting restless shadows across the room — shadows that seemed alive, shifting and twisting as if they were tethered to her thoughts.

The book before her was old, its leather cover worn smooth by years of use. She ran her fingers over its surface, tracing the faint, indented lines where her pen had left its mark. The pages beneath her hands smelled of time and ink, the scent stirring memories she had worked hard to bury. With a slow, deliberate motion, she opened it to a fresh page, the blank space staring back at her like an unspoken question.

Her ink pen hovered for a moment before descending. Words flowed quickly at first, her hand gliding over the paper in an elegant, practiced script. The scratch of ink against paper was soothing, a rhythm that momentarily drowned out the echo of her racing thoughts. But as she wrote, her pace faltered. Her hand stilled, and she set the pen down, the sound of its weight against the desk sharp in the silence.

The light from the oil lamp flickered again, drawing her gaze. She reached out to adjust the mechanism, her fingers deftly turning the small metal knob. The flame grew, its brightness pushing back the shadows, but it only seemed to deepen the room's oppressive quiet.

The shelves lining the walls glimmered faintly as the gold lettering on the spines of books caught the light, their titles whispering secrets of a world Sooyoung had spent her life trying to navigate.

The clock on the far wall ticked steadily, its pendulum swinging in a slow, hypnotic rhythm. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. It was a sound that might have been comforting under different circumstances, but tonight it only underscored the silence, each beat like a heartbeat that was not her own. She sighed, the sound escaping her lips unbidden, a soft exhale that carried the weight of her weariness.

Her gaze drifted to the open window. Beyond its frame, the night stretched out endlessly, a tapestry of deep blues and silvers. The stars blinked in and out, their light too far away to offer any real comfort. The cool breeze that filtered through the opening ruffled the edges of her papers, teasing the words she had so carefully inscribed. She watched the curtains flutter like ghostly wings, her thoughts distant, her heart heavy.

Abruptly, she pushed back her chair, the legs scraping against the floor with a sharp protest. She stood, the motion decisive, and reached for the oil lamp. Its brass handle was warm against her palm as she lifted it, the light following her as she moved through the room. The shadows shifted with her, clinging to the corners and stretching out behind her like silent observers.

She set the lamp down on the floor beside one of the tall mirrors that lined the wall. Its light cast an eerie glow upward, illuminating her face from below. The effect was startling, the sharp contrast transforming her soft features into something otherworldly.

Her eyes, dark and wide, seemed to hold secrets too heavy to be spoken aloud.

The play of light and shadow made her look almost like the specters she had glimpsed over the years — those invisible figures that existed on the edges of reality.

Sooyoung knelt before the mirror, her reflection staring back at her with an intensity that was unnerving.

She raised her hands, moving them deliberately through the air as though conducting an unseen orchestra. Her gestures were fluid, almost dance-like, each motion precise and imbued with purpose. The light seemed to respond, bending and shifting, as if it were an extension of her will.

She touched her face lightly, her fingertips grazing the curve of her cheek.

The mirror's surface shimmered, a ripple of light spreading outward like water disturbed by a stone. And then, as if summoned by her touch, a cascade of golden dust appeared, swirling in the air before her. The particles glowed softly, their light casting intricate patterns on the walls and ceiling. They moved with a life of their own, coalescing into images that hovered just beyond reach.

Scenes began to take shape within the golden haze, their forms fluid and dreamlike.

She saw Miyeon as she had been earlier that day, her laughter ringing out as she rode her bike with carefree abandon. The memory shifted, darkening, as a shadow emerged from the periphery. It was a creature, grotesque and menacing, its form indistinct but unmistakably real. Sooyoung watched, her breath catching, as the creature's claw lashed out, striking Miyeon's ankle. The bike wobbled, tipped, and Miyeon fell, the water swallowing her small form as the shadow retreated into the depths.

The images flickered, the golden dust shifting restlessly as if stirred by an unseen wind. Sooyoung's hands trembled, her fingers curling into fists as she forced herself to watch.

Guilt clawed at her chest, sharp and unrelenting.

She had healed her daughter's injury, yes, but she had not protected her. She had not seen the danger until it was too late. The weight of that failure pressed down on her, a burden she could not shake.

The golden dust grew brighter, the images within it expanding. Sooyoung saw herself now, carrying Miyeon to safety, the strain in her own face as clear as the tear streaks on her cheeks. She saw Intak, unaware, his presence a painful reminder of the secrets she held. And then, as if in a cruel twist of fate, the golden haze swirled once more, revealing a scene she had not witnessed before — the shadow lingering near Miyeon's bedroom, its malevolent gaze fixed on her child.

A sound broke through her reverie — soft, tentative footsteps on the floorboards behind her. Her heart leapt, panic flaring in her chest. She waved her arm through the golden dust, the motion swift and desperate. The images dissolved instantly, the particles scattering like fireflies extinguished mid-flight. The room was plunged back into silence, the only light now the steady glow of the oil lamp.

Sooyoung turned, her expression carefully composed, as Miyeon appeared in the doorway. The child's wide eyes met her mother's, curiosity and concern mingling in their depths.

Sooyoung forced a smile, her heart aching as she opened her arms in welcome, hiding the shadows that still lingered in her gaze.

Miyeon lingered in the doorway, her small frame framed by the faint glow of the hallway light. Her gaze flitted from her mother to the faint golden specks that still hung in the air, like remnants of a dream trying to dissipate. "What was that, Mama?" she asked, her voice soft but curious, her fingers gripping the edge of the doorframe.

Sooyoung's breath caught for a fraction of a second before she exhaled slowly, her face smoothing into an expression of practiced calm. She rose from her kneeling position, the oil lamp casting its warm glow on her features, softening the shadows under her eyes. "Just dust, my darling," she said, her voice as even as the tick of the clock behind her. "Nothing to worry about. The light plays tricks sometimes, doesn't it?"

Miyeon tilted her head, her dark eyes narrowing slightly, a gesture so subtle yet so distinctly her. "It looked... sparkly," she insisted, stepping further into the room, her bare feet padding softly on the wooden floor. "Like stars."

Sooyoung crouched down, bringing herself to Miyeon's level, and brushed a stray strand of hair from her daughter's face. She hesitated, her fingers lingering for a moment too long. Her heart ached with the weight of secrets she had carried for so long.

How much easier it would be to tell her — to let the truth spill out and lighten the burden that had grown heavier with each passing year. But she knew better. The world Miyeon would inherit if she knew — the curses, the danger, the eyes of the higher-ups always watching — it was not a world she would thrust upon her child. Not yet.

Instead, Sooyoung smiled, the corners of her mouth curving in that soft, familiar way that always made Miyeon feel safe. "Do you remember the story I told you about the wind that carries whispers?" she asked, her voice low and melodic.

Miyeon nodded eagerly, her earlier curiosity momentarily replaced by excitement. "The wind that knows everything but never tells?"

"That's the one," Sooyoung said, her smile widening. "Well, sometimes the wind leaves little traces of what it's seen — tiny, sparkling bits of its memory. It's not dust, exactly, but it's not something to be afraid of either."

Miyeon's brow furrowed, her young mind clearly trying to grasp the intangible threads of her mother's words. "So the wind was here? In your room?"

"Perhaps," Sooyoung said, tilting her head playfully, as though sharing a secret with the stars outside. "Or maybe it was just passing through, curious about the stories we carry."

Miyeon giggled, the sound light and pure, filling the room with a warmth that seemed to push back the lingering shadows. "That's silly, Mama," she said, though there was a sparkle in her eyes that suggested she didn't entirely disbelieve it.

Sooyoung's smile faltered for a fraction of a second before she recovered. She reached out and pulled Miyeon into a gentle embrace, wrapping her arms around her daughter and holding her close. The warmth of Miyeon's small body against her own was both a comfort and a reminder of what she had to protect. "Silly stories are the best kind," she murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of Miyeon's head.

Miyeon pulled back slightly, her face upturned and thoughtful. "But why do the stories have to stay secret? If the wind knows everything, why doesn't it just tell everyone?"

Sooyoung's hands cupped Miyeon's cheeks, her thumbs brushing lightly over the soft skin. "Because some stories are too heavy to share all at once," she said, her voice tinged with a wistfulness she couldn't entirely hide. "And some secrets aren't meant to be known until we're ready to understand them."

Miyeon's lips pursed, her young mind grappling with the idea. "Like puzzles?"

"Exactly," Sooyoung said, her smile returning. "Like puzzles. And when the time is right, all the pieces will come together."

Miyeon seemed satisfied with that answer, her earlier curiosity giving way to a child's easy acceptance of mysteries they could revisit later. She hugged her mother again, tight and brief, before stepping back. "I like puzzles," she declared, her voice bright.

"I know you do," Sooyoung said softly, watching as her daughter turned and padded back toward the door. She lingered for a moment, her small silhouette framed by the light from the hallway. "Goodnight, Mama."

"Goodnight, my little star," Sooyoung replied, her voice steady despite the ache in her chest. As Miyeon disappeared down the hall, her soft footsteps fading into silence, Sooyoung let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. She turned back to the mirror, its surface now still and unremarkable, and reached for the oil lamp.

As she extinguished the flame, the room plunged into darkness, the shadows reclaiming their territory. Sooyoung sat in the quiet, her hands folded tightly in her lap, and stared into the void where the golden dust had once danced. Her resolve hardened.

One day, Miyeon would know the truth. But not tonight.

Tonight, she would let her daughter dream of puzzles and playful winds, of secrets that were still safe and stories that didn't yet have to be told.

THE LIBRARY HAD A STILLNESS ABOUT it, a hush that wasn't quite peaceful. It felt forced, almost contrived, like a scene set for a play that no one cared to attend. The scent was a mixture of old paper, leather bindings, and the faint tang of floor polish — a smell that clung to the air and lingered in the back of the throat. Rows of bookshelves stretched into neat lines, their contents organized but neglected, as if the knowledge contained within had long since become irrelevant.

The tables were heavy oak, their surfaces scarred with decades of graffiti carved by students long gone. Names, dates, and crude drawings etched into the wood told stories of their own. Miyeon sat at one of these tables, her fingers tracing the edge of a particularly deep carving of a heart with initials she couldn't make out.

The chairs creaked ominously with every movement, their joints loose but stubbornly holding together. Each seat seemed to have its own peculiar personality: some wobbled, others leaned too far back, and a few stood rigidly upright like sentinels.

And then there were the lamps — those peculiar green-shaded, retro pull-chain ones. They cast pools of yellow light onto the tables, their glow too warm and too dim all at once, creating little islands of visibility in an otherwise shadowed room.

Miyeon had always found them odd, as though they belonged to another era entirely, yet here they stood, defiant in their antiquity.

The room wasn't empty. The others assigned to detention had scattered themselves across the library, each occupying their own space like planets in a reluctant orbit. Miyeon's gaze drifted over them, lingering briefly on each face.

She'd heard the rumors, of course. This was Beacon Hills High, where stories traveled faster than sound.

Scott McCall sat at the far end of the table, his face clouded with guilt — a telltale sign of his involvement in a fight with Jackson Whittemore.

Jackson himself was a few seats away, radiating indifference but with an unmistakable tension in his posture. Even seated, he looked like a coiled spring.

Allison Argent was nearby.

Erica Reyes sat before Miyeon, the embodiment of nonchalance, but her eyes darted between Scott and Stiles like she was watching for the next explosion.

Matt Daehler sat awkwardly. He'd been caught in the crossfire of chaos — collateral damage when Mr. Harris decided to hand out detention slips like candy to everyone in the hallway.

And then there was Stiles Stilinski, his restless energy barely contained. He tapped his fingers against the table rhythmically, his knee bouncing under the surface.

Unlike the others, Miyeon's reason for being here had nothing to do with schoolyard brawls or scandalous encounters. Her detour to detention was entirely self-inflicted. She'd been a storm all day, a maelstrom of frustration and anger that refused to dissipate. The past few days had been a blur of scavenging through her parents' bedroom, tearing apart drawers and closets, searching desperately for answers that never came.

She'd hoped to find something — a book, a journal, a note — anything that could validate her memories or align with what Deaton had suggested. But there was nothing. Only the stark emptiness of drawers and the hollow silence of unanswered questions.

Coach Finstock had been the unlucky recipient of her misplaced ire. His usual quips and jokes, meant to rile up the class in good humor, had struck a nerve. When he'd asked her — loudly and with exaggerated flair — if she'd ever considered smiling, she'd shot back with a comment sharp enough to cut. "Maybe I'll smile when you actually teach something worth paying attention to," she'd said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

It wasn't her intention to be cruel, but the words had tumbled out before she could stop them, laced with the venom of her pent-up frustration. The room had gone silent. Finstock's jovial expression faltered, replaced by a curt declaration of detention.

Now here she was, trapped in this strange purgatory of fluorescent lights and whispered rumors. She shifted in her chair, the scrape of wood against wood drawing a sharp glance from Mr. Harris, who sat at the librarian's desk like a warden overseeing his charges.

Miyeon avoided his gaze, focusing instead on the lamp in front of her. The green glass shade distorted the light, creating ripples on the table like sunlight filtering through water. She found herself mesmerized, the glow softening the edges of her frustration.

But it wasn't enough. The weight of her unanswered questions pressed against her ribs, each breath a reminder of her failure to find clarity. She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms, grounding herself in the sensation. Around her, the low murmur of whispers and the occasional shuffle of chairs filled the air, a soundtrack to the collective discomfort of detention.

Miyeon's gaze drifted to the window. Outside, the sky was a muted gray, heavy with the threat of rain. The weather matched her mood, a reflection of the storm brewing within.

She thought of her parents' room again, of the drawers she'd emptied and the closets she'd rifled through. There had to be something she'd missed, some corner left unexplored. The thought gnawed at her, a persistent itch she couldn't scratch.

Across the room, Scott leaned over to whisper something to Stiles, whose eyebrows shot up in exaggerated surprise. The two of them exchanged a look, half-conspiratorial, half-amused.

Miyeon remained at her table, head propped on her hand as she stared at the carved graffiti on the wood, feigning disinterest in everything around her. The warm pools of yellow light from the retro green-shaded lamps did little to alleviate the weariness that pressed against her temples. The whispers of others in detention floated across the room like static, easily ignored.

Then, with a scrape of chairs and soft footfalls, Scott and Stiles broke her solitary bubble. Scott slid into the seat directly across from her, his movements careful, almost hesitant. Stiles plopped down next to her with less grace, the chair groaning in protest. Miyeon didn't bother looking up, her fingers continuing to trace the grooves in the table's surface.

"Hey," Scott started, his voice quiet but probing. "How... how are you feeling? You know, after everything?"

Miyeon finally glanced up, her eyes narrowing as she processed the question. A wry smile curved her lips, sharp and humorless. "Oh, you mean after getting tackled by Derek and his band of merry psychos? Fantastic," she said, the sarcasm dripping from her tone like honey too thick to spread.

Stiles let out a short laugh, his lips twitching into a grin. "Well, glad to see your sense of humor is intact."

Scott didn't share the amusement, his brow furrowing as he leaned forward, elbows resting on the table. "We tried to find you after you ran off from Deaton's," he said, his voice carrying a note of reproach wrapped in concern. "You just... disappeared."

Miyeon dropped her gaze back to the table, her fingers halting their idle movement. A cold prickle spread across her skin, raising goosebumps along her arms. It wasn't Scott's words that unsettled her — it was the sensation creeping into her awareness, a warning she'd come to recognize all too well. She exhaled sharply, resisting the urge to glance over her shoulder.

"You okay?" Stiles asked, noticing her shift in demeanor. "You look cold or something."

Miyeon shook her head, wrapping her hands around her upper arms as if to soothe the strange energy coursing through her. "I'm fine," she muttered, her voice clipped. She massaged her arms absentmindedly, trying to banish the sensation.

Scott exchanged a worried glance with Stiles, but before either could press further, Mr. Harris's sharp movements drew their attention.

He was gathering his belongings with an air of finality, slipping books and papers into his bag. The students watched him with mixed anticipation and relief. Miyeon silently thanked the universe for small mercies; at least detention was over. She began reaching for her bag when Harris turned to address them, a saccharine smile plastered on his face.

"Oh, no," he said, his tone mockingly apologetic. "I'm sorry. Yes, I'm leaving. But none of you are." A collective groan rose from the group, and Miyeon clenched her jaw, her irritation bubbling just beneath the surface. "You may go," Harris continued, gesturing to the carts stacked high with books, "when you're done with the re-shelving. Enjoy your evening."

With that, he sauntered out, his smug satisfaction hanging in the air like an unpleasant odor. Miyeon exhaled sharply through her nose and immediately rose from her seat, striding toward the shelves with single-minded determination.

She didn't want to waste another second sitting in proximity to Scott and Stiles, but they clearly hadn't taken the hint. Their footsteps echoed behind her, trailing her like shadows.

She grabbed a stack of books from the nearest cart and started toward the farthest aisle, hoping to lose them in the labyrinth of shelves. The smell of aging paper and wood polish grew stronger as she moved deeper into the library, her pace brisk. But Stiles and Scott weren't deterred. They followed, their voices a low murmur as they exchanged hurried words.

Finally, they caught up, planting themselves in front of her. Scott looked hesitant, as though he were bracing for an argument. Stiles, on the other hand, wore his usual expression of nervous determination.

"Look, we need to talk," Scott said, his tone firm but not unkind.

Miyeon sighed heavily, clutching the books tighter against her chest. "Do we? Because I really don't think we do."

"Yeah, we do," Stiles cut in, glancing at Scott for support. "It's about... everything. The attack, the... creatures. All of it."

She narrowed her eyes, her frustration bubbling over. "You mean the part where your buddy Derek tried to kill me? Or the part where nobody bothered to explain why?"

Scott winced, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's complicated."

"Oh, I'm sure it is." Miyeon's voice was dry, her words razor-sharp.

Stiles took a deep breath, plunging forward. "Okay, fine. Here it is: supernatural stuff? Totally real. Werewolves, hunters, kanimas... all of it. And yeah, Derek thought you might have something to do with the kanima."

Miyeon's eyes widened, her grip on the books loosening slightly. "What the hell is that?"

Scott stepped in, his voice steady but urgent. "It's a... shapeshifter. Kind of. A creature born out of pain and vengeance. And we know who it is now — Jackson."

Her brows knit together, her mind racing to piece together the information. "You're telling me Jackson Whittemore turns into some kind of monster?"

"Basically, yeah," Stiles said.

"But it's more than that," Scott added, his voice growing quieter. "We don't know why he became a kanima. It's not... normal."

Miyeon stared at them, her frustration now mingled with disbelief. Her brow furrowed, her thoughts snagging on the word "kanima" as though it had hooked some dormant memory in the back of her mind. She tried to brush it aside, but the syllables lingered, almost vibrating in the stillness of the library aisle.

Scott's sharp intake of breath brought her back, his eyes narrowing as he tilted his head slightly, the way he always did when he was listening to something only he could hear. "Your heart rate just... spiked," Scott said, his voice low but tinged with curiosity. "Do you know what it is?"

Miyeon blinked, snapping out of her reverie. "No," she said quickly, shaking her head. "I mean, I've heard the word before, but it's..." She trailed off, her lips pressing into a thin line as she tried to piece together her scattered thoughts.

"What do you mean, you've heard it before?" Stiles's voice was sharp with intrigue, his eyes darting between Miyeon and Scott. "Like on a podcast? In a weird book? Because trust me, I've been down some rabbit holes, and 'kanima' isn't exactly trending on BuzzFeed."

Miyeon rolled her eyes, adjusting the books in her arms. "No, not like that. I mean..." She paused, exhaling through her nose. "They... talk to me. The monsters. The ones I see."

Scott and Stiles froze, the weight of her words hanging heavy between them. Scott's expression hardened into something close to concern, while Stiles's eyebrows shot up, his mouth falling open slightly.

"Wait. Hold on," Stiles interrupted, holding up a hand as if physically stopping her train of thought. "They talk to you? Like in English? Or is it, like, some spooky demon language?"

"Mostly gibberish," Miyeon admitted, leaning one shoulder against the nearest shelf. "It's like listening to Yoda on speed."

Stiles's face lit up instantly. "Okay, first of all, Yoda is a linguistic genius —"

"You're missing the point," Scott interjected, shooting Stiles a look before turning back to Miyeon. "So they... talk to you. Like, they actually say things?"

Miyeon sighed, rubbing her temples. "Yes. No. I don't know. It's not always words. Sometimes it's just noises or feelings, like static in my head. But occasionally, yeah, I hear actual sentences. Small ones. Short phrases."

"And they said 'kanima'?" Scott pressed, leaning forward slightly.

"Once or twice," Miyeon admitted. "But it didn't stand out to me because, like I said, most of it is nonsense. I figured it was just... more gibberish."

Stiles frowned, tilting his head. "How would they even know about the kanima? I mean, yeah, they're... monsters, but how would some random... ghosty-things or whatever know more than we do?"

Miyeon hesitated, the question ricocheting through her mind. She'd never thought about it that way before. Her encounters with the creatures had always been so overwhelming, so visceral, that she'd never stopped to consider the implications of their words.

"I don't know," she said finally, her voice quieter now. "But it's not like they give me a lot of context. They just... exist. And sometimes they whisper things. It's not like I can ask them for a PowerPoint presentation."

Stiles opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, another voice cut through the tension.

"Scott?"

The three of them turned to see Allison standing at the end of the aisle, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her expression was hesitant, her brow furrowed as her gaze flickered between them.

"Hey," Scott said softly, straightening up. "It's okay. She knows."

Allison's frown deepened. "She knows?" she repeated, her tone tinged with disbelief. Her eyes lingered on Miyeon, who met her gaze with a level stare.

"Yeah," Scott confirmed. "She... well, it's complicated."

Allison's lips pressed into a thin line, her confusion evident. "Why would she even be involved in any of this?" she asked, her voice quieter now, almost as if she were speaking to herself.

Miyeon bristled at the implication, but Allison didn't wait for an answer. Instead, she took a deep breath and stepped closer, her expression shifting from skepticism to determination.

Scott watched her carefully, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he tried to bridge the gap between them. But Miyeon's mind was elsewhere, her thoughts tangled in the threads of what she'd just revealed — and what it might mean about her connection to the creatures that haunted her every waking moment.

The aisle was dimly lit, the overhead fluorescent bulbs buzzing faintly above as Scott, Allison, and Stiles huddled together, their conversation hushed but filled with urgency. Miyeon could hear snippets of their discussion — Jackson, kanima, and something about an unresolved past — but the words were distant, muffled against the backdrop of her own spiraling thoughts.

But Miyeon wasn't listening. Not really. The suffocating weight of the air around her was growing heavier, pressing against her chest like an unseen hand. She tried to focus, to ground herself in the moment, but the sensation was overwhelming. It was fear, pure and unrelenting, but it wasn't hers.

It was an aura, radiating from something nearby — something she couldn't see but could feel as if it were standing right behind her.

She shivered, goosebumps erupting along her arms. Stiles noticed immediately. "Are you cold?" he asked, his voice breaking the tension. He started to shrug off his flannel, but Miyeon shook her head, her movements jerky and distracted.

"No," she murmured, barely audible. Her fingers rubbed at her forearms as if trying to dispel the crawling sensation under her skin. The aura was growing stronger, denser, as if it were coiling around her, tightening its grip. She blinked rapidly, trying to clear the haze clouding her vision. The room felt smaller, the shelves looming like walls closing in.

Scott's head tilted slightly, his eyes narrowing as he studied her. "What's wrong?"

Before she could answer, her knees buckled slightly, and she stumbled back against the bookshelf. The wood creaked under her weight, books shifting precariously on their shelves. Allison stepped forward, concern etched on her face. "Miyeon, are you okay?"

But Miyeon couldn't respond. The aura had shifted, no longer just a suffocating presence but something sharper, more defined. It was here, fully formed, and its energy was unlike anything she had ever felt before. It wasn't just fear now; it was malevolence, raw and unfiltered, seeping into her very being.

She pushed past them without a word, her movements frantic as she stumbled out of the aisle and into the main section of the library. Her breath came in short gasps, her vision tunneling as she tried to escape the oppressive weight of the aura. She didn't stop until she reached the far end of the library, where the shadows seemed deeper and the light from the retro green lamps barely reached.

And then she saw it.

It was grotesque, a twisted amalgamation of limbs and features that defied logic. Its body was hunched, covered in a mottled, glistening skin that seemed to writhe as if alive. Its elongated arms ended in clawed fingers, each nail jagged and stained.

The creature's head was the most horrifying part: a grotesque parody of a human face, its eyes glowing an unnatural yellow, sunken deep into its misshapen skull. Its mouth was filled with rows of sharp, uneven teeth, and a thick, black tongue lolled out, dripping with some viscous substance that sizzled as it hit the floor.

The aura it emitted was unbearable, a suffocating wave of dread and malice that pressed against her chest like a vice. It moved with an unnatural grace, its limbs bending at impossible angles as it stepped closer. The sound it made was a low, guttural growl, layered with an almost imperceptible whispering, as if a thousand voices were speaking in unison.

Miyeon froze, her back pressed against the wall, her breath coming in shallow, rapid gasps. Her mind screamed at her to run, to get as far away as possible, but her body wouldn't obey. She could only stare as the creature tilted its head, its glowing eyes locking onto hers. The whispers grew louder, more insistent, but she couldn't make out the words. They were gibberish, like static on an old radio, but the malice behind them was clear.

"Miyeon?" Scott's voice called from behind her, distant and faint, like a sound heard through water. "What's going on?"

She didn't turn. Couldn't turn. The creature took another step closer, its claws scraping against the floor with a sound that made her stomach churn. Her knees trembled, threatening to give out entirely.

"Miyeon, answer us!" Stiles's voice was sharper now, tinged with panic. She heard their footsteps approaching, but they felt so far away, like an echo from another world.

The creature let out a deafening screech, its mouth opening impossibly wide, revealing more rows of jagged teeth. The sound was a physical force, slamming into her and sending her crumpling to the floor.

Miyeon's entire body tensed as the creature screamed, a sound that wasn't merely auditory but visceral, burrowing into her skull like shards of glass. She clutched her head, her knees nearly buckling under the weight of the shrill, soul-piercing noise. It was unlike anything she'd experienced before, and for a moment, she thought she might collapse. Her vision blurred, the world around her a kaleidoscope of distorted shapes and shadows.

Scott was beside her in an instant. His hands gripped her shoulders, steadying her as she swayed precariously. "What's happening?" His voice was frantic, tinged with desperation, but she couldn't form words. Her breathing was erratic, shallow gasps that did little to quell the suffocating pressure building in her chest. Her nails dug into her temples as if she could claw the noise out of her mind.

Scott's grip tightened, his own panic rising. He didn't know what else to do. She was in agony, and it was tearing him apart to see her like this. Without thinking, he wrapped one arm around her back, pulling her closer, hoping to anchor her to reality.

Miyeon's eyes snapped open, wild and glassy, locking onto Scott's. Her hand shot out, grabbing his arm with a force that made him wince. Her fingers dug into his skin, and Scott immediately felt the pressure, a bruising grip that defied her seemingly frail frame. He sucked in a sharp breath, his teeth clenching to suppress the instinctive growl building in his throat.

"Minnie," he hissed, his voice strained. "You're — hurting me..."

But she didn't let go. Her focus was razor-sharp, her eyes burning into his with an intensity that made his skin crawl. There was something in her gaze — a mixture of desperation and conviction — that rooted him in place despite the pain. Her grip tightened further, and Scott's restraint faltered for just a moment.

A low, guttural sound escaped him, his eyes flashing an unmistakable golden hue.

The glow caught Miyeon's attention, her gaze darting to his eyes. Her breath hitched, her pupils dilating as if something deep inside her had been triggered. Slowly, trembling, she lifted her other hand, pointing beyond Scott, her finger trembling in the direction of the creature. Her lips moved, but the words were caught in her throat, a choked, guttural sound replacing speech.

Scott's heart pounded in his chest, the sound of it thundering in his ears. He wanted to ask what she was pointing at, but her expression left him with no doubt that it was something horrific. And then — almost against his will — he turned to look.

His breath caught in his throat. There, looming in the shadows between the shelves, was the most grotesque thing he had ever seen. It wasn't just its appearance; it was the way it seemed to radiate malice, a suffocating aura that pressed down on him like a lead weight. The creature's form was a twisted amalgamation of nightmares, its body impossibly elongated, with limbs that stretched and bent at unnatural angles.

Every movement it made was accompanied by a sound like creaking wood and snapping sinew, a grotesque symphony of decay and malice.

Scott's entire body went rigid. His instincts screamed at him to run, to transform, to do something... but he was frozen.

For the first time since becoming a werewolf, he felt utterly powerless.

The creature's presence was overwhelming, an oppressive force that seemed to drain the very air from the room. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think. All he could do was stare, his mind struggling to process the impossibility of what he was seeing.

"Oh my God," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I see it. I see it."

Her grip on his arm loosened, but she didn't let go completely. Her gaze remained fixed on the creature, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she fought to regain control.

Scott's head spun. He hadn't believed her before, but seeing it with his own eyes was something else entirely. The weight of her words, her fear, her anguish... it all hit him like a freight train. He turned back to her, his golden eyes meeting hers.

Before Miyeon could speak, the creature shifted, its head tilting unnaturally as it focused on them. The glowing orbs in its hollow face seemed to brighten, and a low, guttural growl reverberated through the air. It took a step forward, its elongated limbs creaking ominously as its claws scraped against the floor.

Miyeon's breath hitched, and she instinctively moved closer to Scott, her body trembling. Scott's protective instincts kicked in, and he stepped in front of her, his stance widening as he prepared for whatever was about to happen. He could feel his claws itching to emerge, his fangs threatening to elongate, but he wasn't sure if it would be enough against something like this.

"What the hell is that?" Stiles's voice cut through the tension like a knife, and Scott turned his head just enough to see him standing a few feet away, his face pale and his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and disbelief.

"You can see it?" Scott asked, his voice tinged with both hope and dread.

Stiles shook his head vehemently. "No! But I can feel it. And judging by your face, I'm really glad I can't see whatever that is."

Allison appeared behind Stiles, her bow in hand and an arrow nocked, though her expression was one of confusion. "What's going on? What are we dealing with?"

"Something bad," Scott said grimly, not taking his eyes off the creature. "Really bad."

Miyeon's voice trembled as she spoke. "It's stronger than the others. I can feel it. It's... it's like it's feeding off something. I don't know."

The creature took another step forward, its growl deepening. The air around them seemed to thicken, and the oppressive aura grew more intense. Scott's knees almost buckled under the weight of it, but he forced himself to stay upright. He glanced at Miyeon, who looked like she was on the verge of collapse.

"We need to get out of here," he said firmly. "Now."

The creature let out another ear-splitting screech, its claws slamming into the ground as it prepared to attack. Miyeon took a deep breath, steadying herself. She didn't know how this would end, but she knew one thing for certain: she wasn't running anymore.

And if things couldn't get any worse, a crash shattered the tense air like a thunderclap, and all heads snapped upward.

The ceiling groaned ominously, dust cascading from above as fissures split through the plaster. Before anyone could react, the entire section of the ceiling caved in with a deafening roar. A figure — hulking, sinewy, grotesque in its half-transformed state — landed amidst the chaos, scattering chunks of debris and dislodged books across the room.

Jackson, caught somewhere between his human and kanima forms, hissed low and venomous, his claws raking the air as his serpentine tail coiled behind him like a whip.

Miyeon barely had time to register the scene before a shriek tore through the library. She turned sharply toward the sound, catching a glimpse of Erica sprawled against the floor, her eyes wide with terror, and Matt — motionless and pale — sprawled on the ground near her like a discarded rag doll.

Her breath hitched. The atmosphere grew heavy, stifling, as though the very air around them had thickened.

Scott lunged forward with a roar, only for Jackson to meet him with feral precision, slamming him into a cart of books with bone-jarring force. The impact sent volumes flying in all directions, some slamming into the nearby shelves and others landing with dull thuds on the carpeted floor.

Miyeon's pulse raced as she darted toward Stiles and Allison, her instincts overriding any semblance of rational thought. She reached them just as Scott staggered to his feet, shaking off the attack, and joined their huddle.

Jackson loomed in front of them, his half-lidded, reptilian eyes glowing an unnatural green. His movements were eerily fluid as he turned toward the chalkboard, the tip of his claw dragging across its surface with an ear-piercing screech.

The sound made Miyeon wince, but she forced herself to focus. Words appeared on the board, jagged and uneven, written with the urgency of someone — or something — desperate to communicate. But before she could decipher them, her attention was ripped away.

Behind them, the oppressive presence she had felt earlier materialized into something far more tangible. Miyeon's body stiffened as a suffocating wave of fear crashed over her, its force nearly buckling her knees. Her goosebumps multiplied tenfold, a visceral reaction to the malevolent aura closing in on them. She turned, heart pounding, and found herself face-to-face with the creature.

It was a monstrosity that defied logic, a grotesque amalgamation of limbs, eyes, and jagged teeth that seemed to pulsate with an otherworldly energy. Its form shifted and writhed as though it could barely contain itself, its sheer size dwarfing anything she had encountered before. The air around it shimmered with a toxic haze, distorting the space like heat waves rising off asphalt.

Stiles followed her gaze, his expression shifting from confusion to alarm as he noticed her retreating step by step.

"Hey," he whispered urgently, "where are you..." His words trailed off as he saw her hands trembling, her eyes wide and unblinking.

She took another step back, putting more distance between herself and the others. Her breaths came in shallow, rapid gasps, each one hitching in her throat as the creature's aura pressed against her like an invisible weight. It had been stalking her, biding its time, and now it had found its moment.

Stiles moved as if to follow, but Scott placed a hand on his arm, shaking his head. "Wait," Scott said, his tone laced with both concern and caution. He didn't finish the thought, his eyes fixed on Miyeon as she squared her shoulders and turned fully toward the creature.

The world around her seemed to blur and fade, leaving only the monstrosity in her field of vision. Its distorted mouth opened, releasing a sound that was more vibration than noise, and her body seemed to act on instinct, her hand reaching for the black-beaded bracelet on her wrist.

The creature's aura flared in response, a challenge that sent shockwaves through the air. Miyeon didn't hesitate. She pulled a single bead from the bracelet, its surface smooth and cold against her fingertips, and held it tightly in her palm.

The creature lunged, its grotesque form contorting as it advanced. Miyeon stepped forward, meeting it head-on. Her free hand extended toward the monstrosity, her palm glowing faintly with an energy she didn't fully understand.

The creature shrieked again, but this time, the sound seemed to splinter and fade as her energy collided with its own.

She touched the creature's writhing form, and it exploded on contact, disintegrating into a fine, glowing yellow sand that filled the air around her. The particles shimmered like fireflies caught in a golden haze, swirling chaotically before settling around her in a luminescent cloud.

She exhaled shakily, her hand still outstretched as she willed the sand to condense.

Her fingers moved almost unconsciously, tracing patterns in the air as the glowing dust spiraled inward. The particles shrank and compacted, drawn toward the bead in her palm. She felt the energy pulse and shift, as though it were alive, resisting her efforts to contain it. But she didn't relent. She tightened her grip on the bead, her focus narrowing until the sand was no longer a cloud but a single point of light.

When the last particle vanished, Miyeon opened her hand. The bead that had once been black now gleamed with a radiant golden hue. She turned it over in her palm, her breath catching as she realized what she had done.

The oppressive aura that had suffocated her moments ago was gone, replaced by an almost serene stillness.

Behind her, Scott and Stiles stared in stunned silence. Allison, who had been watching from a safe distance, stepped closer cautiously. "What just happened?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Miyeon didn't answer. Her eyes remained fixed on the golden bead, the weight of what she had done settling over her like a heavy cloak.

She had no explanation, no understanding of the power she had just wielded.

All she knew was that something inside her had awakened, something ancient and terrifying.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

did not know writing her into the show was going to be more complicated than i thought. especially bc she's still human, like she's not actually supernatural she just sees imaginary shit. and she doesn't know how to control her shit so it's not like i can make her badass from the get

and yes, sorcerers are human. had to look that up. thank u jjk wiki.

also if we're confused about her technique don't worry i'll explain more in the future!!!

i gave a lot of hints as to how it kinda works tho

the beginning with her mom really gave a lot away.

i call it dreamweaving technique hehe

i was gonna give her geto's technique but thought it was too unoriginal lol

but i think im eating IDK!!!!

but once everything is out there i know im gonna make a chapter dedicated to just explaining her technique, especially because i know not everyone has seen jujutsu kaisen. but just know i do have everything planned at least technique / power wise.

also really liked the idea that scott can see what she's seeing when his eyes glow. but dw everyone will see them soon heheehehheh