Hyejin wandered through the village, her pale hanbok fluttering like mist. The villagers whispered as she passed, her beauty unearthly, her steps too quiet. They did not know what she truly was, but they sensed the truth in their bones: Hyejin was a Kumiho.

Once, centuries ago, she had been like her sisters, devouring the hearts of men to taste fleeting humanity. But something had changed. She had tasted enough pain to see its futility, watched countless lives extinguished by her hunger. One night, standing beneath the full moon, she vowed to live differently.

She discovered her gift by accident. The first man she saved was a boy, barely fifteen, who had been overcome by grief after losing his mother. Hyejin had felt the ache of his sorrow like a physical weight. She had reached into herself, pulling free a shard of her immortal heart—a glowing ember, warm and alive.

When she placed it in his trembling hands, the light filled him. His tears stopped, and his eyes cleared. The despair melted away, replaced by something gentler: hope.

But the shard she gave him did not return. A small, aching void lingered in her chest.

Now, she carried eight shards.

Hyejin became known as the Silent Fox. She roamed from town to town, finding those whose humanity teetered on the edge—consumed by rage, despair, or hatred. She gave away pieces of her heart sparingly, knowing each gift brought her closer to the end.

Her latest journey brought her to a war-torn village. The crops were blackened, homes reduced to ash, and the air was thick with the metallic tang of blood. Hyejin saw a young woman crouched beside a ruined house, clutching a blade, her hands stained red.

The woman’s name was Yeona. She had taken vengeance on the soldiers who had destroyed her family. But now, she was empty. Her eyes were dull, her soul weighed down by what she had done.

“Why did you come here?” Yeona hissed, her voice trembling.

“I came to help,” Hyejin replied.

“Help?” Yeona laughed bitterly. “Nothing can undo this.”

Hyejin knelt beside her, ignoring the blood and the blade. Slowly, she reached into her chest and pulled free another shard. It flickered in her palm, brighter than the stars.

“What are you doing?” Yeona’s voice wavered.

“This is for you,” Hyejin said, placing the shard into Yeona’s hands.

The light seeped into Yeona, filling the cracks in her spirit. Her breath hitched as warmth spread through her chest. The weight of her grief didn’t vanish, but it became bearable, softened by the ember of hope.

Yeona dropped the blade, her shoulders shaking with quiet sobs.

As the shard left her, Hyejin felt the familiar hollowness return. Seven shards remained.

She stayed in the village until it began to heal. Yeona, inspired by the light Hyejin had given her, became a leader among the survivors, rebuilding what had been lost.

One evening, Yeona asked, “Why do you do this? Doesn’t it hurt, giving pieces of yourself away?”

Hyejin smiled faintly. “It does. But what is the purpose of immortality if not to make the world better for those who live within it?”

She didn’t tell Yeona that when the last shard of her heart was gone, so would she be.

The night she left, the villagers gathered to bid her farewell, their faces glowing with gratitude. Yeona held her hand tightly, tears glistening in her eyes.

Hyejin looked at the stars, her seven shards still burning within her. She had no regrets. Even if her light was fleeting, it would leave the world a little brighter.

And when her final piece was gone, the name of the Kumiho would no longer be a thing of fear, but a legend of love and sacrifice.