Rumi and Jinu: The Lullaby of the Moon Stage

Long after the concert lights dimmed and the city of Seoul fell into a soft, humming sleep, two figures moved quietly across the rooftops.

Rumi adjusted the silver charm at her wrist, its glow faint as starlight. By day, she was a dazzling K-pop idol with a voice that could make arenas roar. By night, she was something else entirely—a demon hunter, sworn to protect the world from shadows that fed on fear.

Beside her leapt Jinu, landing as lightly as a falling feather. His jacket fluttered behind him like a cape, and his eyes sparkled with calm confidence. Fans knew him for his sharp dance moves and warm smile. Demons knew him as the hunter whose rhythm could break curses apart.

Tonight, the moon hung low and golden. It meant trouble.

“They’re restless,” Rumi whispered, feeling the charm pulse. “Nightmares are leaking into the city.”

Jinu nodded. “Then let’s give them a better song.”

They followed the sound of distant whispers to an abandoned theatre, its stage cracked but still proud. From the darkness beneath the curtains, shadowy demons curled and stretched, stitched together from bad dreams and lonely thoughts.

Rumi stepped forward and began to sing.

Her voice wasn’t loud—it didn’t need to be. It flowed like a lullaby, warm and steady, wrapping around the theatre like a blanket. Jinu joined in with soft footwork, each step tapping out a rhythm that made the shadows tremble and soften.

The demons didn’t fight.

They listened.

As the song filled the space, the shadows shrank, their sharp edges rounding into harmless wisps. One by one, they dissolved into tiny sparks of light, drifting upward like fireflies returning to the stars.

When the last note faded, the theatre was quiet again.

Jinu stretched and smiled. “Another sold-out show.”

Rumi laughed softly. “And not a single scream.”

They sat together on the edge of the stage, watching the moon climb higher. Somewhere in the city, people slept more peacefully now, their dreams gentle and bright.

Before dawn, Rumi and Jinu slipped back into the waking world—back to rehearsals, fans, and flashing lights. No one would know what they’d done.

But that night, as children and grown-ups alike dreamed of music, moonlight, and safety, the city rested easily.

And if you listened very closely, just before sleep claimed you too, you might hear a soft melody in the dark—

Rumi and Jinu, still singing guard over your dreams.