They say every voice hides a story.
In K-Demon Hunters, that story belongs to Ejae — the real-life songwriter and singer whose voice became the soul of Rumi, the fearless leader of HUNTR/X.
It’s a rare harmony between reality and fiction, where one artist’s truth breathes life into a mythical world of music, fame, and shadow.
From Behind the Curtain to the Center Stage
Before K-Demon Hunters, few outside the industry knew the name Ejae.
Born Kim Eun-jae, she worked quietly in studios across Seoul, penning and producing songs for top K-POP acts — Red Velvet, TWICE, Le Sserafim, aespa, and more.
Her style was unmistakable: emotionally charged lyrics wrapped in shimmering melodies, balancing melancholy and hope like light caught in a raindrop.
But in 2025, destiny found her.
Sony Pictures Animation and Netflix approached Ejae not only to co-write the film’s main tracks but to lend her own voice to Rumi, the central heroine of K-Demon Hunters.
For the first time, the songwriter behind the curtain stepped into the spotlight — not as herself, but as a warrior-idol in a universe where music becomes magic.
And the moment she sang the first line of “Golden,” the world felt it — the sound of vulnerability turning into fire.
“Golden” — When Song Becomes Salvation
“Golden” is more than a soundtrack piece.
It’s the anthem of both Rumi and Ejae — a single heartbeat echoing across two realities.
The song opens with a restrained pulse, like a performer’s breath before the stage lights rise, then erupts into a cathartic chorus:
“We burn, we rise, we’re golden tonight.”
Through those words, Rumi claims her destiny, and Ejae transforms her artistry.
Listeners can feel the trembling behind her strength — the ache of perfection, the fear of losing one’s voice, the determination to rise again.
In that duality lies the very essence of K-Demon Hunters: the beauty and pain of creation.
Released on July 4, 2025, through Republic Records, “Golden” quickly topped international streaming charts and became a rallying cry for the film’s global fandom.
Critics called it “a pop hymn that turns self-doubt into light.”
For Ejae, it became something even deeper — her bridge between two worlds.
The Mirror Called Rumi
To understand Ejae is to understand Rumi.
Rumi is not a typical pop idol; she’s a symbol of contradiction — strong yet fragile, adored yet haunted.
Her gift is her voice, and her curse is the weight of expectation.
In the film, when Rumi loses her voice after a cursed performance, her silence feels eerily human — as if every artist who ever faced burnout is whispering through her.
Ejae channels that pain with startling authenticity.
Her vocals move from whisper to roar, embodying Rumi’s emotional chaos with surgical precision.
It’s acting through sound — not surprising, considering what runs in her blood.
A Legacy Etched in Film and Faith
Ejae’s artistic lineage reaches back more than half a century.
She is the granddaughter of Shin Young-kyun, one of South Korea’s most legendary film actors from the 1960s and 70s — a man who starred in over 300 films and defined an era of cinematic grace.
Ejae has often mentioned her grandfather’s influence:
“He taught me that singing is acting — every note must tell the truth.”
That lesson became her creed.
When she performs “Golden,” you can almost sense the lineage — the union of two worlds, one framed by film reels, the other by sound waves.
Just as Shin Young-kyun once moved audiences through the silver screen, his granddaughter now moves hearts through frequencies of emotion.
This heritage adds a layer of depth to K-Demon Hunters.
Ejae doesn’t just play Rumi’s role — she inherits a generational art form, translating cinematic storytelling into musical transcendence.
Between Light and Shadow
Every artist walks a tightrope between who they are and who the world wants them to be.
For Ejae, that tension defines both her life and her art.
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As a songwriter, she commands the unseen — the quiet architecture of other people’s fame.
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As a vocalist, she exposes her soul under blinding light.
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As Rumi’s voice, she becomes myth — part human, part legend, part flame.
The result is something rare: sincerity forged inside spectacle.
Ejae doesn’t chase perfection; she weaponizes imperfection.
Her breath, her breaks, her silences — all become tools of storytelling.
In that sense, she and Rumi are one and the same: both warriors singing against oblivion.
The Real and the Unreal
There’s a haunting beauty in how K-Demon Hunters blurred the line between fiction and life.
Rumi may live in a stylized animated world, but through Ejae’s voice, she feels profoundly real — like someone you might meet after a concert, exhausted but glowing.
When fans hear “Golden,” they aren’t just listening to a character; they’re hearing the echo of a real woman navigating her own labyrinth of creation, legacy, and love for music.
It’s a conversation across dimensions: the composer and her creation, the actress and her avatar, the artist and her reflection.
Perhaps that’s why “Who, Ejae (Rumi)” resonates so deeply.
It reminds us that every myth begins with a person brave enough to tell their truth — and every song, no matter how fantastical, carries the heartbeat of someone real.
Wrap-Up
Ejae (Rumi) is not simply a name on a soundtrack; she is the emotional architecture of the K-Demon Hunters universe.
Through her, the series transcends animation and becomes a mirror — reflecting the cost of creation, the price of passion, and the power of resilience.
As the “Who” series begins, we stand at the crossroads of reality and reverie, where legacy meets innovation, and where one woman’s voice — steady, luminous, unyielding — dares to sing against the dark.
