A/N: Aaaaand here's another chapter! Wanted to say thanks to Tohka123 for leaving a review, thank you very much, I'm glad you like the story!
Also, a bit of a digress here - did anyone else notice view stats not moving? I get reviews and follows, and all works fine with those stats but the view stats are not budging in the slightest. It's been almost a month like this, could it be the issue with the site or something? Honestly, I don't mind it because, again, I still get reviews and follows so I know people are reading this story. I'm just curious what's the reason behind the bug.
Bonus comment, is it just me, or does Gege seem to be a bit...repetitive? It's like wham, bam, afterlife talk, and off-screen death *THE END*. I mean, it's fine the first few times while you still have that element of surprise but...I don't know, I'm rambling at this point.
Anyway, enjoy the story! It's a short chapter this time.
Cursed Love
~ Summon Me Home ~
May 2009.
Small clouds of breath escape her lips as she heaves.
Tentatively, Liv stretches out her hand to the wooden door and pushes it. The hinges creak, as lack of oil after years of negligence has rendered them to nothing but rusted iron. The doors themselves are barely functional as the sea air has ruined the wood. As they fling open, Liv's breath hitches in her throat. The stench of decay and stale air permeates the room and she nearly retches. Bile stops in her throat as she pinches her nose.
Looking around, the ancient cabin is in utter disarray. Chairs and tables are destroyed, and splinters of wood are scattered across the floor. She sees scorch marks all over the room's walls but as she looks at the fireplace, there are no traces of embers ever being lit. Pots and vials are shattered across the floor, and dried-out spots of what she presumes to have been some kind of potions are splattered around the debris. With each step she takes, the dread further seeps into her soul. No, no, no, please, no, she prays hopelessly as she makes her way to the bedroom.
Her hazel eyes widen as she halts, clinging to the doorframe of the bedroom's entrance. Liv shakes her head in disbelief, soft denial slipping through her lips as she stands witness to a horrifying sight.
Laying on the wicker bed is the lifeless body of a man. His beard and hair are a tangled, greasy mess. His hazel eyes are open, their dull gaze fixated on the ceiling. The body of the deceased is bloated, indicating it's been some time since death took place. As she walks closer, Liv sees traces of dark liquid oozing from his mouth. She swallows the bile in her throat. I'm too late, she thinks to herself as she sits down next to the body. She doesn't even try to pry into his mind as the soul has moved on and the body is in the process of decomposition.
"Not yet," she hopelessly begs through inconsolable sobs. "Please - "
What was once a proud man, a powerful man, an epitome of strength in her eyes is now another human corpse, another casualty.
"Why you?" she mumbles as tears roll down her cheeks uninterrupted. "Why you, of all people?"
Why did you leave me too?
Agony, pain, disappointment, sorrow, anguish, bitterness, fury - she can't articulate her emotions any longer so she does the only thing that can make her feel a semblance of relief.
She screams.
November 2016.
Night has fallen above Tokyo yet the hustle and bustle of the city persists even in the smallest of hours.
However, while others are drinking their sorrows away or filling their insatiable heartaches with empty-promised gambles and whores, people like Satoru are working. Curses crawl everywhere, their omnipresent existence a constant reminder of the foul reality that encompasses both normal and jujutsu society. From the small fries like Fly Heads to special-grade potential apparitions, there is no shortage of work for jujutsu sorcerers.
Yet, for Satoru, it seems there's more work than for the rest of his colleagues. He doesn't particularly mind it currently as he needs a distraction. Exorcising curses and killing curse users can be good stress relief when everything else fails to do the job (in his case, that would be jumping from cafe to cafe and indulging his sweet tooth).
Tonight, he finds himself doing something else besides fighting foul ghosts and even fouler human beings. Atop the Tokyo Tower, Satoru surveys the surrounding area, searching for an appropriate spot for training. He has been pondering on the idea of pushing Megumi a bit, hopeful it would stimulate his desire for improvement.
Satoru's been feeling bummed as of late. Not including Liv's disappearance (that is a whole other can of worms), his plans have been on hold for a while now. Although he's not counting out any of his current investments, he has hit a rut as of late. Not many can hold a candle to the likes of Satoru Gojo and even less can hope to reach the level of his power. He's still hopeful, though despite the occasional obstacles on the way.
If Megumi's problem is a lack of desire for jujutsu sorcery (or anything, really), then Kinji Hakari's problem is his overzealous ambition. In Satoru's opinion, that's not a bad thing since it's the reason he took a liking to the boy in the first place. Yet, what Satoru sees as a commendable virtue, the higher-ups see as a detrimental flaw. Again, putting the issue of Liv's absence to the side, the higher-ups seemingly have a problem with every choice Satoru makes regarding his students. Be it that he's too lenient, or too forceful, or too much of anything, they never seem to be fine with his choices.
Satoru is not an easy person to get along with, he's aware of that. He's incredibly flawed and may have his priorities mixed up from time to time. That doesn't mean he's a bad guy - there are a plethora of examples he could use for comparison who are selfishly indulging their worst impulses while Satoru is stuck dealing with the entire geriatric department because he wants to do things the right way. Worse still, he's dealing with them alone.
The Gojo clan head sighs. Solitude, loneliness, isolation - whatever you call it, Satoru feels it. It didn't bother him as much before. He used to revel in his power; he was proud to be labeled as the messiah of the jujutsu world, the destined warrior fighting on the front lines against the accursed menaces. Over the years, his point of view shifted. He's still as proud and he adores the power he wields. The Limitless, the ability to control his surroundings, to keep danger away at all times without so much as a thought on his part. On the flip side, the more control he seems to have, the greater the divide between himself and the rest seems to grow.
He doesn't remember when he first noticed that distance. It always seemed to be there, despite him being spoiled as a child and adored as an adolescent. People never ostracized him nor did they curse him. He was nearly worshipped for the power he was born with. But, that same power is the reason he's strong and the others are weak. That line between himself and the weak is well-defined and it's not his fault they can't reach him.
Fate simply put him in an advantageous position.
There was one person who shared this position with him. Just as powerful, intelligent, and resourceful, Suguru Geto was his other half, his reflection in the mirror. Their names were spoken in tandem; their comrades felt safe with them around (their enemies not so much). Whatever obstacles they encountered, Satoru knew they'd be able to overcome them together.
After all, Suguru is his one and only.
Satoru never explicitly said it but he did think of it on numerous occasions, especially in recent years. When the raven-haired man's absence became more apparent, Satoru started to long for his high school years even more. He appreciated the innocence of the time, the ease with which he breathed and lived. Everything felt simpler. They were young and the world didn't seem to need them so much. All of them, together, enjoying the blue spring of their youth.
"You were there too," he mutters, a soft smile on his lips as he imagines Liv's face in front of him.
Liv Drakon is a constant in his life. They were childhood playmates (though it was mostly her playing at the Gojo Estate and him trying to get away from her) and then classmates (sort of, kind of), pen pals (what do you call the person you exchange photographs with?), and now spouses. It's worth mentioning that, throughout the years, there has been something present but never acknowledged between them. A feeling of certainty, not quite what he shared with Suguru but also similar, in a way.
It feels like it's just within his reach, dangling in front of his nose but he can't name it or see it or reach it for that matter.
When Mathias had asked him why he married Liv, Satoru laughed it off. In truth, he simply didn't have an answer. He thought it was to gain a political ally who also happens to be his oldest friend (though calling her a friend is not accurate either). It was supposed to be simple enough: they piss off the higher-ups, exchange vows and the rest is easy-peasy. The problem is, the rest isn't easy-peasy: the Shuuin are way more fucked up than he thought, Liv's life is more complex than she initially led him to believe (and it'll only get more head-spinning onward), their plan is jeopardized because someone is being awfully weird (again) and Satoru has no idea how to proceed from here.
And that's not the worst of it.
Aside from his closest colleagues and students, Satoru doesn't concern himself with other people's lives. He does not need to since he's The Strongest. His wife, on the other hand, has been a constant thought in the back of his head - annoyingly so. He worries but not for her safety - he's never worried for her safety, not once. No, what he worries about is if she's cold or warm, or if she had eaten today or yesterday, or the day before. He wonders if she's bored and wondering the same things about him. Sometimes, when he gets a wave of inspiration and wants to share his lame jokes, he calls out her name but she's not there.
And he often finds himself wishing for her to be there.
"This sucks big time," he groans as he throws his head back. "Can't one thing in this entire world go the way I want it to?"
An ear-piercing shriek is heard from the rooftop close to where Satoru is perched. Sighing, he scratches the back of his head. Guess not, he thinks to himself bitterly as he warps from the Tokyo Tower, making his way to the noisy curse.
Operation 'Training Spot' will have to wait a bit.
The Manor is cold and empty, as it always was.
No Shuuin will ever call the Manor 'home', no matter how much importance it has in their lives. However, out of all Shuuin, Mathias spent most of his time at the Manor as he was groomed to take the position of the Shuuin master. Sumiye, his mother, taught him the skills of subterfuge, the ones she used against the Great Mother to earn the same title. He was to be the one to lead them toward a new age. Years of training, developing his skills to perfection - all in hopes of inheriting her will, her vision for the future of the Shuuin. Mathias used to feel so proud to be her heir, her successor.
Then, as if he was woken up from a dream, his pink bubble burst as he took a good look at his life or rather, what was left of it.
His loyalty to his sister did not come initially of his own volition. There was a heated argument, followed by a lot of name-calling and stuff being thrown around. Some have spilled tears, and others have spilled blood but in the end, the Drakon siblings found common ground long enough to strike a deal.
In exchange for obeying her every command, Liv promised Mathias and his daughter Nova freedom - freedom from the jujutsu world, freedom from the Shuuin - once the Vow is made obsolete. They would be left to live their lives the way they see fit. Otherwise, Mathias would remain a weak link in the Shuuin chain with no true power at his disposal and his daughter would suffer no matter what he did to protect her.
With few options at his disposal at the time, Mathias agreed.
He resented her in the beginning - who wouldn't after being more or less forced into obedience? Yet, as she conquered each obstacle in her way, achieving and overcoming the impossible, Mathias acknowledged her prowess and her position as his mistress.
And now, with the Vow gone, he has no doubts she'll make good on her promise.
As he climbs up the narrow staircase, he notices how withered the Manor is. Centuries of annual visitation may have kept it from falling apart but not from aging. The Shuuin Mannor reflects its struggles through the eras perfectly. If one looks closer, there are scorch markings on the roof right above one of the guestrooms, part of the stone wall is caving in, and the woodwork is marred in claw marks and blade indentures. Mathias notices the rust on the handlebar as he reaches the front door of the Manor. He hasn't noticed it before.
Pushing the door open, he enters the corridor and takes off his shoes, as is customary in Japan. He searches for a pair of slippers in one of the spare bedrooms and also grabs a thick haori to warm himself. Trodding lazily, he makes his way to the living room, his eyes half-lidded. He knows the floorplan by heart so he makes a beeline to the leather couch, more than ready to plop down and go to sleep as soon as possible. His intention, however, is thwarted by another figure sitting on it. Mathias is certain no one was inside when he entered the Manor. Tove and Rune are enjoying some leisurely time in Shinjuku, with Tove explaining the contemporary Japanese culture to her subordinate (blind leading the blind, if Mathias is to be asked about his opinion on the matter). The rest of the Shuuin are abroad in their respective homes, far away from Tokyo. If there was an intruder, he'd have sensed their cursed energy the moment he walked inside the Manor.
It doesn't take him long to connect the dots.
"Are just going to stand there?" she asks, her back still turned to him.
Mathias stares wide-eyed. "You're back?"
Liv looks over her shoulder, hazel green eyes glowing faint crimson. Mathias swallows a lump in his throat. Those eyes still make him a bit on edge but he tries to suppress his shock and anxiety. This is your sister, he reminds himself. You have no reason to fear her. Liv then points to the leftmost wall and as Mathias turns his head in the pointed direction, he sees a single framed artwork hanging on the wall - a map. The Shuuin are artists and while there are many masterpieces in their collection, none are displayed inside the Manor. Instead, they are stored in the storage or kept elsewhere.
"That's new," he comments as he reverts his attention to his sister.
She sighs. "It's a gift from the Fushiguro's. I don't want to lose it accidentally."
He lifts a brow. "Gift?"
He doesn't see her smile. "Yup. I came across them in Koenji."
Koenji? he wonders. What was she doing there?
"I can hear your thoughts, brother," she reminds him, chuckling. "To answer your question, I was saying goodbye."
Mathias frowns. "To whom? No one we know lives in Koenji."
She shrugs. "Not anymore, I suppose."
That statement seems to shake his memory and he sighs. Toji Zen'in is a bit of a taboo subject in the Drakon household. Mathias disliked the man on principle and Liv seems to hold a strong attachment to the man well after his death at the hands of her husband, no less. With the involvement of the Fushiguro siblings, things are getting even messier.
"Liv - "
"Careful with your next words, Mat," she warns evenly. "I'm not in the best of moods right now."
He bites the inside of his cheek, restraining his tongue from blurting out something he might regret later on. He's too tired for this kind of conversation anyway. Instead, he sits next to her on the couch.
"You didn't answer my first question," he says softly after a while, his hazel eyes searching her expressionless face for any signs of emotion.
She hums. "Not yet. To be honest, I hoped no one would be at the Manor."
"You could've left before I came into the living room," he points out. "I couldn't sense your presence at all but you could sense mine, no doubt."
She smirks. "Touche."
He smirks as well.
She then clears her throat, asking, "Got something to report?"
He tries not to scoff.
"Well, most of the clan is questioning your authority," Mathias answers honestly. "Gojo is also running out of excuses to the higher-ups for your absence."
Liv frowns. "The clan shouldn't be a problem. Tell them I need more time."
"Why don't you tell them that?" Mathias counters before he can contemplate if it's a wise course of action at this moment.
"Because I can't talk to any of them without - " she struggles with her next words, "distractions."
He gives her a blank look. "Do I even want to know what that is supposed to mean?"
She shakes her head. "Until I solve that, I can't come back - I won't come back."
Mathias grunts in dissatisfaction but complies nonetheless. "And Gojo?"
Taking a deep breath, she leans on her knee for support as she stands, her kimono trailing after her. Mathias notices she's not wearing the clothing he last saw her in. He wonders where she got it from but his train of thought is interrupted as she turns to face him. There is a remorseful expression on her face.
"Don't tell him anything," she whispers.
He nods, not even questioning her motivations at this point. Instead, he observes her quietly as she walks out into the Manor's backyard, her back turned to him the entire time. She halts briefly once on the porch, her visage showered in the moonlight. He finds her mesmerizing in the current setting. Liv has always been a beautiful creature, there's no doubt about that but she always seems to appear most beautiful when she's not trying too hard. Part of her charm, Mathias believes, comes from her effortless ability to be herself - an undiluted, essential expression of self. Her true self is so defined that no matter how hard she tries, she can't be anything other than what she is.
That's why she perseveres, he notes to himself.
"Where will you go now?" he asks, his voice hushed, almost a whisper.
She hums. "North."
He quirks a brow, about to ask her for an explanation. However, before he can even muster a word, he sees her cross her arms and grasp her shoulder.
"Valkyries, summon me home."
She disappears yet again.
Svalbard is an archipelago in the Arctic Ocean, located midway between Norway and the North Pole. Whalers and fishermen made the archipelago their base of operation in the 17th and 18th centuries, but the area was abandoned subsequently. It became an Arctic tourist attraction, then people stumbled upon coal mines and eventually, it turned into a base for Arctic exploration.
Besides mountain ranges covered in snow and fjords covered in ice, there is little interest in Svalbard - for non-sorcerers, that is.
Understanding the importance of Svalbard for Scandinavian sorcerers is like understanding the importance of Hokkaido for jujutsu society. Short version, Svalbard is labeled as a holy place, untouched by the ongoings in the world.
Extended version - well.
Cursed energy has coexisted with humanity since the time humans developed cognitive thought and emotional intelligence. While Japan holds a de facto monopoly over the worldwide cursed energy, that doesn't mean there are no hotspots around the world.
Svalbard doesn't host cursed energy - hardly anyone lives here and even fewer people call it home. Instead, the area is considered the birthplace of the first human sorcerer in Scandinavia. Much of his origin story has been glamorized and given divine attributes. According to those tales, the man had gotten a vision from the goddess Freya and she blessed him with her knowledge of magic - seidr. With this newfound knowledge, the man helped his contemporaries fight off hexes and curses, protect their homes and crops, and divine good fortune for the warriors of old. Eventually, the man returned to Svalbard in the twilight of his life, erecting a mead hall in the ice fields before dying in his bed. His home is said to be an earthly replica of the mythical Valhalla, the hall of the slain.
History remembers him as Magnus Dreki, progenitor of the House of Dreki (the same family Liv descends from).
Today, the House of Dreki is extinct, its purpose long abandoned. All that is left of the once great family is Magnus Dreki's 'Valhalla' in the northern ice fields. Its location has never been revealed to Magnus' descendants, however. The only way to reach it is through the means of magic.
Valkyries, summon me home.
The incantation is both a one-way ticket and a VIP invitation card. The words are passed down through the generations as a warning to the Dreki shamans - pay a visit when you think you're about to die.
Liv ain't dying yet, though - she wants answers first.
The cold air hits her as Liv warps into the snow-covered fjords. Her purple kimono is hardly any protection against the cold. Luckily, she's not far from her destination. Liv finds that the great mead hall has lost much of its splendor. The gilded ornaments and woodwork are reduced to a plain display of divine worship, a remnant of what was possibly magnificent at the time of its construction. She notes the lack of shields - a witty remark, she thinks, of how this isn't the hall of a Viking but a shaman. Pushing the door open, she enters the mead hall and grunts as she inhales the stale air.
The main hall is a vast open space, its ceiling seemingly reaching the heavens themselves. Liv finds it astonishing that no one's been able to find this place given its massive structure. Maybe there's a barrier, she wonders, cocking her head to the side. Unlike other Viking settlements and buildings, the hall of the Dreki ancestor is rather lackluster in appearance. There is no hearth, no benches and tables, no horn sconces adorning the supporting pillars. She can't see a single barrel or kettle.
Instead, there are rows upon rows of bookshelves. Whatever couldn't fit on the shelves has been placed on the floor in large stacks and heaps. Liv reaches for the nearest pile and takes a book off the top. Dusting it off first, she reads the runes on the cover. It is the Old Futhark rune for the Norse god Freyr.
"The origin of Ynglings," she reads, flipping the pages carefully.
As she continues to read the scripture, she makes her way across the hall and toward another stack of neatly laid-out books. She reaches for another volume, this one bearing the rune for Tyr on its cover. Most of the books are part of the Poetic Edda and Prose Edda. Liv chuckles as she remembers the bedtime stories her father used to tell her: the great heroes of old, fighting their adversaries; tales of dragons guarding unimaginable treasures; the pointless conflicts between Aesir and Vanir -
"No matter what age," Liv muses out loud, putting the books down on the nearest pile, "it is always the same shit going down."
"That is an astute observation."
Liv halts her step and looks over her shoulder. She looks at her surroundings but finds no intruder.
"Visual hallucinations," she hums. "Auditory hallucinations. Tch, I hate it when she's right."
"Fortunately for you, I'm no hallucination."
Liv frowns as she searches behind bookshelves. A while passes with her searching aimlessly, checking behind every crook and cranny. Finally, she sighs and scratches the back of her head, convincing herself she's experiencing another hallucination.
"Seventh shelf, on your right."
Hesitantly, she turns to her left and peeks at the nearby bookshelf, craning her neck to see the seventh shelf. She quirks a brow as she notices the severed head of a bearded man nestled between stacks of books, looking a bit - lively. Its eyes are wide open, blinking, their attention focused solely on Liv. It even smiles at her and Liv imagines it'd wave if it had the rest of its body parts.
"I'm officially mad," she mutters under her breath.
The head chuckles. "That is a matter of perception."
Liv wants to agree but their conversation sounds too one-sided.
"You've come here so that means you were invited," the head goes on to speak. "Another Dreki shaman?"
"There have been others?" Liv asks, entertaining the idea that the head is a real deal and not a product of her insanity.
"Over the centuries, yes," the head says and Liv thinks it's trying to nod. "They've come here, seeking answers - much like yourself, I presume."
Liv hums. "You seem to know me but I don't know you, stranger."
The head clears its throat, again unnecessarily. "Mimir, my fair lady."
"'Mimir', huh?" Liv chuckles. "And what are you doing here, 'Mimir'?"
"Magnus Dreki put me here," he deadpans. "Part of his library, so to speak. I'm just another book on these shelves."
A short silence follows and Liv squints her eyes. She shakes her head, laughing mirthfully, before turning on her heel and waving goodbye to the severed head over her shoulder.
"Keep on collecting dust, then," she chuckles.
"You look so much like him, you know," Mimir says somewhat somberly. "You even act like him."
Liv halts in her step, her next words cold and callous. "Whom are you referring to?"
"Your father, of course," the head affirms. "He had a feeling you might come here."
The Shuuin mistress grabs onto the bookshelf and climbs up, her face at the same level as Mimir in a few short moments. A long, silvery beard hangs from its chin, decorated with golden rings and clasps, too similar to the ones her father used to wear. She notices numerous rune tattoos on the head, most of its ink faded. She cups the head's cheeks and lifts it, bringing it closer to her face, hazel eyes staring at the steel grey with piercing glare.
Legend has it that Aesir god Odin took Mimir's head and marinated it in a concoction of various herbs. The marinade served for embalming purposes, so when the god resurrected the deceased, his remains were fresh and not decomposed. The 'immortal' head provided unprecedented counsel to the leader of Aesir ever since.
Judging from the geldr runes on its head, Liv surmises that the legends may not be entirely fabricated.
"My father is dead," she says darkly.
Mimir is quiet for a moment. "Yes, I suspected as much."
Liv's breath deepens as she tries to calm her heartbeat, her grip on the head tightening.
"Tell me what happened," she says through her teeth.
"You won't like it - " Mimir begins.
"I don't care," Liv seethes. "Tell me."
The head hesitates for a while longer but ultimately relents.