Satoru materialized in the doorway shortly before midnight, a dark silhouette only visible due to the sliver of silver moonlight filtering through the window. He remained rooted to the spot, an unmoving statue carved from the black of night.
Relief, sharp and giddy, washed over Utahime at the sight of him. And yet, it was laced with the bitter tang of regret. She had known he'd come back, she'd even expected him sooner - because he was compelled to by the Binding Vow.
She yearned for him, for the warmth of his touch, for his forgiveness, for whispered words of assurance that everything would be alright, but she was unsure of how to bridge the yawning rift between them. She had lain awake for hours thinking about what to say to him once he returned, a thousand apologies forming and dissolving on her tongue. It was futile, words felt inadequate, clumsy things incapable of conveying the depth of her emotions, the tangled mess of remorse and longing twisting in her gut.
And so, she lay still on the bed, the silence stretching into an agonizing eternity as she waited for him to acknowledge her and let her know what she still meant to him.
The prospects were frightening. It was possible that despite the Vow, Gojo Satoru would never again trust her. Frankly, she wouldn't blame him. In his eyes, it had to look like she had once again readily betrayed him. Worse, perhaps: She had entirely forgotten he existed and had given herself to another instead, more than willingly.
Only that things were far more complicated. Utahime did not understand what had happened this afternoon, even after going half-insane trying to put together the scattered pieces. Her memory of half a lifetime spent with someone who was long dead was hazy, not more substantial than a dream. And they had only been absent for about a minute or two, Shoko had assured her, absent as in: vacant, glassy eyes, no reaction even when spoken to. How could she have spent half a lifetime living with someone else in only one, two minutes!?
Time isn't linear, Michizane had said. And: The space between dream and reality is a curse. Only... What the heck did that mean?!
What she did understand, with burning certainty and a mounting sense of anger: That she had been used and abused by forces way above her pay grade. Manipulation and betrayal at their finest, with her merely a pawn in a game that transcended the ages.
Again. Why her? Why?!
Finally, when the pressure in her chest became unbearable, an urgent plea slipped out of her. "Please, Satoru."
Gojo remained silent for a moment, his shadowed form giving away no hint of his emotions. Then, slowly, he spoke. "You want me to come closer?"
Only the unadorned truth was worth expressing: "I need you here, with me."
Satoru shifted, finally stepping out of the doorway and into the meager moonlight. She saw that he had changed his clothes – he no longer wore the Japanese attire that echoed strangely with century old tradition and times long gone, but the familiar black uniform he wore as an educator and member of the Jujutsu Society.
His face remained unreadable, but a flicker of something, perhaps pain, crossed his eyes for a brief moment when he stepped into the moonlight. "Okay," he said.
He seemed to approach reluctantly. His steps, despite his imposing size, were almost silent. When he reached the bedside and stared down at her, the hesitation lingered. Eventually, he lifted a hand, hovering above her for a moment before reaching out with a feather-light touch to brush a stray strand of hair from her face. Utahime sucked in her breath.
Please.
With an unexpected gentleness, he reached out once more. This time, his hand found hers, the cool touch sending an electrifying spark through her.
With a sigh that seemed to vent frustration rather than regret, he lowered himself onto the edge of the bed. As if surrendering to an invisible force, Gojo eased himself further, the rustle of sheets the only sound as he joined her on the bed. He didn't move closer yet, their forms lying parallel, but close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body through the fabric of the blanket. She lay there, her senses hyperaware of the space that separated them, the tantalizing proximity that simultaneously comforted and tormented her.
Then, with a barely perceptible movement, he slipped under the covers, the warmth of his presence a stark contrast to the chill that had settled over her ever since he had left. Even beneath the sheets, there was a hesitance, and yet, the gap between them seemed to shrink with every breath they took.
"Please hold me," it broke out of her in full desperation. "I cannot live without you."
With an almost reverent movement, he pulled her close. The embrace was a paradox – a fierce possessiveness that spoke of the anger he harbored for the forces that had brought them to this point, yet careful, as if afraid to break something fragile and precious.
"My Utahime," Gojo whispered against her hair as a shudder went through his large frame, "do you know what power you hold over me? It's absolutely ridiculous."
"Satoru," she lifted her face from his chest, "why is this happening? What does he want?"
Immortality, a voice rasped in her head, laced with a bitter amusement. Surely, you know this by now.
"He wants you," Gojo whispered with a sigh. "Because you are my biggest weakness."
Behind Gojo's seemingly straightforward declaration lay a myriad of underlying tensions, power struggles, and unresolved grievances that threatened their world.
"Why did you cajole me into a Binding Vow?" Gojo continued, sounding determined. Yes, they had said they would talk. Talk they would, honestly. "One that would force me to return to your side if I wanted to or not. It's very clever. Did you know what he was planning?"
Utahime's breath caught. "No. I didn't cajole you into anything. It is obvious we both wanted his vow or else it wouldn't exist. You are the Strongest. I have very little to offer to you."
He considered her answer, his chest rising and falling with his quiet breaths.
"That means that what you offered is a thing I very much wanted. But you made a Vow with him too. When?" He asked after a while.
"I didn't really make a vow. It's…" Yes, it was forbidden to speak about a clan's secret techniques - but hell, the garbage technique had completely failed her, worse, had backfired spectacularly. "It is a secret technique of the Ioris," she explained quietly. "It's the ability to tell a lie so convincing it becomes indistinguishable from the truth."
Gojo exhaled slowly. Indeed, such underhanded secrets were not exactly the best way to ensure trust...
Shame burned in Utahime's cheeks. "I can use it only once," she explained quickly. "I used it to make him believe there's a Binding Vow between us when there wasn't. Obviously, he saw right through it though."
"What was the promise?" Gojo demanded to know.
Utahime felt stripped bare, utterly exposed yet compelled to be truthful. She forced back the bile rising in her throat and whispered, "His help to uncover the threat from the past in return for… A child. It's what he wanted last year, a child to plant his soul into."
"Utahime," Gojo choked out, his arms tightening around her. "Why?"
She could have claimed that ultimately, she had done it for him – but that was a coward's excuse. No, she had taken this decision for herself. She had gambled high because she had believed she could manipulate a Vengeful Spirit, that she could dupe Michizane, one of the first Jujutsu Sorcerers in history, into submission. What an utterly foolish woman she was!
"What have I done?" She groaned. Had she learned nothing from last year's calamity? She wasn't capable of shaping her own fate. She was too weak, much too weak for this world.
Gojo remained silent, only holding her against his chest, his large hand cradling the back of her head. His heartbeat was a slow, steady drum against her ear, a soothing counterpoint to the frantic rhythm of her own. Her question was hanging in the air, heavy and accusing. The silence stretched once again, and for several moments, Utahime feared the worst. What if there was no way back from this?
In a voice husky with emotion, Gojo spoke: "This is what I know. I've loved you for years and I will never stop loving you. That happened way before this binding vow, so I know it's true. Do with my heart what you want, it is yours."
She was struck mute by this confession. Coward Utahime's impulse was not to expose her own vulnerability to him, but such missed opportunities were in the past.
With trembling lips and a rush of courage, Utahime spoke the words she had kept locked away for far too long. "I love you too," she whispered.
###
The relief that washed over Gojo was warm and intoxicating. The tightness in his chest, a knot that had been building ever since he had seen her caught in Michizane's perverted illusion, loosened its iron grip. He instinctively held Utahime even tighter, the surge of possessiveness natural and welcome. He felt how the frantic pounding of her heart calmed, its rhythm syncing with his.
This. He needed nothing else.
This wasn't the binding vow nor some other desperate attempt to control him. This was simply the essence of her and what she meant to him. Utahime, fierce and independent, the woman who challenged him and calmed the storm within him in equal measure. The woman he'd loved for years, a love others had tried to convince him was a burden, a weakness, a folly on his part.
It wasn't.
As he held her, all the doubts and fears evaporated. This wasn't weakness, it was the strongest tether he'd ever known. Michizane could go fuck himself, he would never have her and he would not manage to drive them apart.
"Clever Utahime," he pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. Despite her protest, he was certain that this binding vow between them had been her idea, it bore her handwriting and
he wasn't capable of using cursed energy for anything but destruction.
It was thanks to the vow that he knew she hadn't truly cheated on him. How did he know? The brief visit to his tall, blonde Swiss banker in Zurich, a visit fueled first by business needs and second by a need for confirmation, had been a torment. Being near another woman with even the slightest hint of romantic intent towards him was now an excruciating experience.
What was between them wasn't just an emotional bond that satisfied the cravings of the soul; it was a weapon forged against those who sought to tear them apart.
Ingenious.
The rest, he'd figure out tomorrow. And there was a lot to figure out.
For example, why he couldn't sense even a hint of Michizane inside of him. Or what an illusional child born in a domain expansion was. And most importantly, what Michizane meant when he had said: "Do you really not see the gathering storm? Your eyes are given to you to guard against threats from the past as well as the future. If only you finally used them!"
###
Gojo's dreams were very violent but they faded into oblivion when he woke up with a ray of sunshine tickling his nose and Utahime's soft body in his arms. He shifted slightly, careful not to disturb her, but his movement drew a soft sigh from Utahime whose sleep face was a rare treasure. Brushing a stray strand of hair away from her face, Gojo leaned down to press the lightest of kisses to her forehead.
If he could freeze time, he would.
Despite his attempts not to wake her, her eyes fluttered open, revealing a flicker of surprise that melted into a smile when she met his gaze. Utahime stretched languidly and yawned, her pink sleepwear clinging to her curves in a way that sent a familiar thrill down his spine and a rush of blood to his crotch.
"Good morning," Gojo murmured, his voice a little rough with hastily suppressed desire.
"Hey," she replied, still smiling, "you look adorable with your bed hair."
Wariness wanted to intrude, but he wouldn't let it gain traction. He deserved some happiness in his life, and he wouldn't let it be taken from him, not by the ghosts of his past nor the weight of his responsibilities—and not by the likely answers to his questions that the night had revealed to him. His thumb brushed across her cheek, the pad tracing the soft curve with tenderness. "How about a proper good morning kiss?" he suggested.
Utahime's breath hitched slightly, her gaze flickering between his messy hair and his lips. Her smile softened as she closed the distance between them, her lips hovering tantalizingly close to his for a moment. Heat surged through him, want and happiness combined, he felt like he might burst.
Then, with a sigh that escaped both their lips at the same time, they met. He tasted sleep and something faintly sweet, like honeydew and strawberries. He savored it, the taste intertwining with the intoxicating scent of her beautiful hair. Utahime's hand, previously resting on his chest, drifted up to cup his face, her fingers weaving into the tousled strands of his hair. Her touch was light, hesitant at first, before mirroring the growing urgency in the kiss. A soft moan escaped her lips as Gojo deepened it, his tongue brushing against hers in a silent question.
The question was answered with a fervor that floored him. Utahime met his passion head-on, her own kiss turning hungry, desperate, fueled by a yearning that stole his breath away. She clawed at his clothes, mewling needily and he had to break them apart, his chest heaving with exertion as he struggled to regain his composure.
"Stop," he panted, his voice strained as he stared into her big, luminous eyes. "We can't."
Utahime's protest was immediate. "What? Why?" she demanded.
"Shoko," he managed to say between ragged breaths. "She said we can't for two full weeks, for medical reasons."
Utahime's frown deepened, her disappointment evident as she bit her lip in frustration.
"Okay," she conceded reluctantly. "I guess."
"I'm sorry," he added lamely, "I'm going to take a really cold shower now. And after that we're going to Tokyo together."
"To confront the Higher-Ups?" Utahime sounded eager.
Gojo nodded. That and other things, but there was time to explain later. "Yes. I've already demanded a meeting. I am going to show them my truly nasty side. Nobody will dare bother you after that."
The look she gave him was full of eagerness and adoration. Oh, he really needed that cold shower rather desperately.
###
Everything was different in the official Jujutsu world with Gojo Satoru by your side.
Clad in her familiar Miko outfit thanks to a brief visit to her apartment before teleporting to Tokyo, Utahime strode through the entryway of the Meiji Jingu Shrine, the current entrance to the Jujutsu Headquarters, and through Master Tengen's protective barrier with confidence. This time, the foreboding atmosphere of the corridors seemed to shrink away from them rather than to encroach on her. Even the air felt lighter, the oppressive weight she had felt last time replaced by a sense of tranquility.
"Do you think Naoya will hang around again?" she asked when it looked like they were nearing a large, illuminated space, signaling their imminent arrival at the waiting area.
"Likely," Gojo nodded. "He tends to trail after his father like a loyal hound, eager for any crumbs of favor that may fall from the table. He'll bark loudly, but he has no teeth."
Sure enough, Naoya, flanked by the Hei, was casting a menacing glare in their direction as they entered the small ante-room.
"Whatever little tantrum you've cooked up this time, it won't work, Satoru," Naoya snarled, his voice laced with impotent rage. "They all hate you in there, they won't listen and they sure won't do anything you ask of them."
Gojo's smile became wide and his voice annoying. "Such strong emotions for someone who gets relegated to the kiddie table. Don't worry, Naoya-kun, grown-up business shouldn't concern the likes of you."
Naoya narrowed his eyes, his voice low and dangerous. "Don't underestimate me, Gojo. You may think you have the upper hand now, but this isn't over. The Zen'in clan will have its revenge." His gaze fixated on Utahime. "Don't feel too safe, bitch," he hissed.
Utahime wasn't in the least afraid of him, so she smiled a little, noticing how Naoya looked suddenly more wary.
"Woof, woof," Gojo barked, then put his arm around Utahime's middle to enter the candle-lit room without waiting to be called in. Surprised by the unexpected gesture, Utahime straightened, her gaze instinctively drifting up to his face.
Yes, everything was different in the Jujutsu world with Gojo Satoru by your side—because both people and curses were scared of him. She understood why. He looked utterly terrifying —and at the same time more beautiful than ever. Something was probably off with her hormones.
A flurry of agitated whispers broke the tense silence as they stepped in and walked to stand in the center of the protective screens.
"What's that?" A shrill voice, laced with disdain, sliced through the room. "That woman has no business here!"
"And yet, you called her in just a few days ago," Gojo countered, his voice dripping with a honeyed sweetness as fake as a snake's charm, "ordering her to get involved in my business."
More agitated whispers. How Utahime hated them and their disdain for anything they considered beneath them!
"You are not pleased with her?" A frail voice, laced with confusion, sounded out. "We told her to make herself available to you and give you whatever you want. Did she not comply?"
"She probably did, but she is damaged. And old," another one explained. "We should have chosen one of the students instead. Does he not like that slightly dumb one? With the blue hair?"
The anger that surged inside of Gojo was of a frightening intensity and for a short moment, his cursed energy erupted all around him in purple flashes. Screams ripped through the room. Utahime would have screamed too, but Gojo held her steady and safe, his other hand raised, threatening to unleash his destructive powers on anything that displeased him.
"Apologize," Gojo ground out through clenched teeth. "If any of you continue to disrespect her, there will be consequences."
The Jujutsu Commander's voice rose in a desperate attempt to regain control. "Restrain yourself!" they cried out.
Gojo's response was chillingly calm. "Or what?" he challenged, his gaze cold and unyielding. "You have no idea just how grave your offense is."
A scoff cut through the thickening tension. "She is a mere semi-grade 1," someone called out. "People like her need to do our bidding!"
The air crackled with Gojo's barely contained cursed energy. "She is my wife," he declared, each syllable a tightly coiled fist.
This time, chaos erupted. Disbelief and outrage filled the room, but the voices of the Higher Ups were only a dull roar in Utahime's ears. Wife? Publicly declared? A surge of heat, a mix of fear and something suspiciously like pride, flared in her chest. This was undoubtedly a power play, a calculated move by Gojo to up the ante, and yet…
"No, she is not your wife! All marriages between sorcerers are registered by us, and there's no record of such a union!"
"Defying the established protocols will have serious ramifications! Unregistered unions are a security risk! We need to track bloodlines and cursed techniques!" another chimed in.
"It is a scam, a mere ruse by you to cause trouble!"
"Your transgressions will get you into exile, Gojo Satoru!"
"If one of you has some skill," Gojo interrupted the ruckus with icy calm, "check here." He pointed a finger towards his own chest, the gesture both casual and intimidating. "And tell me what you see."
A tense silence descended before someone muttered an incantation. Not long after, a gasp escaped their lips. "It is true, they are connected by an exceptionally strong binding vow of the heart!"
The outrage radiating from the screens erupted again. Disbelief morphed into fury, their voices a cacophony of accusations. She looked up at Gojo and he looked down at her, a gentle smile ghosting the corners of his mouth.
For the moment, it was enough. For the future, it wouldn't be. The Higher-Ups, guardians of tradition and law, would not leave them alone until the exact nature of this vow was confirmed.
"Someone has harmed my wife," Gojo's voice cut through the noise, his tone deadly serious as he turned his head back to address the Higher Ups. He made a small pause, then raised his voice to a commanding tone. "I demand retribution. An official inquiry and the public execution of the guilty party in accordance with the intra-sorcerer laws of 903."
The sudden stunned silence was like a tomb.
Oh boy. Utahime could feel her knees begin to shake. This was as close to a declaration of war as you could come without outright declaring one. Any member of the Big Three had the right to demand such an inquiry—at least in theory. Only that it had never been done before in the entire history of Jujutsu Sorcery.
Gojo produced a document from inside his jacket, the rustle of paper echoing in the tense silence.
"Here is the proof that her bodily integrity was violated by an unknown party and that what was done to her is an attack against my and my family's interests and, by extension, the Jujutsu world."
Shoko had given them the confirmation this morning. Utahime had believed it would ease her mind to know the truth. But no. There was no relief after learning the truth. Sometimes, being right meant that something horrible was true: What was growing inside of you was not human, Shoko had said. I declared it a cursed object. It is sealed and placed in the cursed warehouse.
"What is it you want us to do?" The Jujutsu Commander's voice shook. "This is madness!"
"Don't tell me you don't know how an inquiry is done?" Gojo taunted him. "Seems like a lapse in your otherwise impeccable memory."
The tension in the room was thick enough to choke on. The intra-sorcerer laws of 903 were about as popular as a plague of locusts. Their very essence was inflexibility. Once the gears of an inquiry were set in motion, they ground forward with the relentless momentum of a runaway train. No mortal hand could halt their progress, no clever strategist could exploit loopholes.
The laws of 903 didn't just compel honesty—they demanded it. The person leading the inquiry, bound by a binding vow etched in blood, would become a human lie detector. Witness after witness would be paraded before them, their every twitch, their subtlest change in expression scrutinized under the harsh glare of karmic justice.
Gojo's amusement morphed into a predatory glint. "Swear, Commander," he commanded, his voice sharp as a honed blade. "Swear on your very soul that you'll conduct this inquiry by the book. Swear that the one who orchestrated this travesty will face the ultimate judgment – a public death sentence."
###
Without even a word uttered between them, Gojo deposited Utahime at the Tokyo Jujutsu High after dropping a bomb into the heart of the Jujutsu Society.
"It's safe," he declared, his voice strangely devoid of feelings as he surveyed the wreckage – a twisted monument to the battle between Yuta Okkotsu and Geto. The school, once a bastion of order, resembled a disaster zone. Broken windows gaped like shattered eyes, and debris littered the once pristine grounds.
Utahime didn't miss the tremor in his hand as he detached it from hers.
"Where are you going?" she blurted, the words tumbling out before she could rein them in. The chaotic events of the day had left her drained, and a knot of apprehension tightened in her stomach as she realized he was leaving. Was this the familiar pattern? A declaration and then a disappearance?
Gojo's response was cryptic, mirroring the unsettled feeling in her gut. "Wait here," he said, his gaze fixed on some unseen point beyond her shoulder. "With Shoko."
So when would they speak about the revelation that had irrevocably altered their lives? Perhaps there simply wasn't time. Clearly, the world just kept spinning, even after being declared his wife, thrust into the center of an unprecedented inquiry, and branded as someone who harbored a womb susceptible to monsters.
"I'll be back shortly," he added, perhaps as a reaction to her rising panic, his touch lingering as he pressed a fleeting kiss to her knuckles.
With a final glance at her, Gojo turned and disappeared, leaving Utahime alone amidst the devastation. She looked at the spot where he had last stood, realizing with a sinking feeling that in their world, any goodbye could be final. That without him, she'd be so utterly lost, she'd be swallowed whole by the chaos.
Then, a choked sob reached her ears. Shoko emerged from the shadows, her eyes red-rimmed and puffy.
"Oh, girl," Shoko rasped. She surged forward, engulfing Utahime in a fierce hug. "That's all kinds of messed up. I owe you a massive apology for ever doubting you."
"It's okay," Utahime murmured, patting the younger woman's back a little awkwardly. "It's not every day someone gets… well…" Utahime trailed off, the absurdity of the situation more obvious than ever. "Impregnated by an evil force from the past," she finally finished, the words tasting strange on her tongue.
Shoko pulled back, her eyes wide and filled with concern. Grabbing Utahime's hand, she led her towards her office, a sanctuary within the sterile walls of the morgue, untouched by the grim reality of their surroundings.
"Holy crap, Utahime," Shoko muttered as she fumbled with the coffee machine. "How? And why?!"
The exhaustion weighed heavily on Utahime, threatening to pull her under. A laugh, tinged with hysteria, bubbled up in her chest. "Should I try to publish a novel about my life to become rich and famous?" she quipped, collapsing onto Shoko's worn leather sofa.
"Are you really feeling okay?" Shoko came over with a plastic cup in her hand that she handed Utahime.
Utahime took a long sip, the bitter warmth a small comfort. "Honestly?" she started, then paused to think. Yup. "Gojo whooped their asses," she finally blurted out, a small, satisfied smile tugging at her lips. "Yeah, I'm feeling pretty good about that."
"He's really grown up," Shoko mused, leaning against the desk and searching her pockets for a cigarette. "Well done, you."
Shoko probably hadn't yet heard about the "binding vow of the heart", but Utahime wasn't quite sure what to tell her about it. There were a hundred untold things swirling in Utahime's mind and a hundred questions she didn't have answers for.
"He demanded an inquiry," she finally decided to say. "All hell will break loose. Either they do it and nasty, nasty things will be made public—or they refuse, which means Gojo gains the right to take matters into his own hands."
"They will refuse," Shoko lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply.
Utahime nodded. It was probably better that way, after all, Gojo's own ancestor was tangled in this mess. Yet, a new unease gnawed at her. The satisfying fantasy of Gojo unleashing chaos for her sake had morphed into a chilling reality. She didn't want him to get blood on his hands for her.
"Did that young guy get back to you?" Shoko asked. "The one you were trying to reach last night."
Utahime shook her head. "Not yet. Which is a good thing because I realized I haven't talked to Gojo about it."
Shoko lifted her eyebrows questioningly and Utahime felt her face color. "I… I mean to promise the guy access to Gojo's family library, of course I need his permission first!"
"You two are very weird," Shoko murmured, giving Utahime a pronounced side-eye. "Definitely giving me old married couple vibes."
Just a binding vow, Shoko, no biggie. But Utahime couldn't say it, it would lead to too many questions, so she forced a smile. "Do you know where he went to?" she asked instead.
Shoko nodded gravely. "He has gone to fetch Geto's body."
Utahime's heart wanted to stop. "He will hand it over to them?" Finally freeing himself of the accusations that he was a traitor and had not done what they had sent him to do? But at what cost?
Shoko shook her head. "He asked me to burn it. No witnesses but us."
"But that's…" Utahime hesitated and swallowed hard. Wasn't he breaking the law that way? Or worse, confirming the Higher-Ups' suspicions that Gojo was somehow in league with Geto?
"'A sorcerer may take reasonable measures to neutralize the threat if it is deemed imminent'", Shoko quoted the regulations with a finger in the air. "He told me it is very urgent."
Urgent? What threat could Geto's body possibly pose that couldn't be contained by traditional methods? The possible answers, Utahime realized, were all rather chilling.
A cold dread seeped into her bones. Her mind whipped back to the presence she'd felt, the one lurking in the darkness, the one who had violated her in the most unnatural way. What had it rasped, its voice a grotesque parody of human speech? "Where is it?"
Utahime was suddenly, horrifyingly certain: It hadn't been asking about some abstract "it." It had been after Geto's body. And with the same certainty she knew: If that thing got its hands on that body, they were in deep, deep trouble.
And… It seemed as if Gojo had come to the same conclusion.
###
The sterile dark walls of the crematorium chamber were a stark contrast to the inferno raging within the furnace. Roaring flames, eerily silent behind the thick oven doors, consumed the physical remnants of Geto Suguru—friend, enemy, lost soul, epitome of everything that was right and everything that was wrong in the jujutsu world. Soon, he would be nothing more than a small pile of ash.
Gojo stood vigil, a statue sculpted from grief. He couldn't have moved even if he had wanted to. Raw, visceral pain tore at him, making the floor upon which he stood feel brittle and dangerous. No prayers escaped his lips; the well of faith in him had run dry ages ago, each horrific, pointless death of someone he knew well another crack in the foundation of his belief.
If only he had faith in something, maybe this calamity wouldn't have unfolded like this. He'd clung to Geto's body in a fool's attempt to hold onto a friend who was already lost in the swirling mists beyond. And by that, by not wanting to accept death for what it was out of guilt and the refusal to accept his own limits, he had invited an even bigger evil into the present.
Utahime, beside him, battled a rising tide of emotion. Her face, a mask of conflicting feelings, was illuminated by the firelight's morbid dance. The flickering flames highlighted the glistening tracks of tears that carved paths down her cheeks. Who were these tears for? The deceased or the living? The words "I am so very sorry, this is all my fault" burned on Gojo's tongue, a bitter offering he couldn't bring himself to utter to her. He could only stand there, a silent sentinel guarding the passing of his former comrade from the physical world.
A body, once a formidable jujutsu sorcerer, reduced to a mere shell. A shell brimming with potential and cursed energy, a coveted prize for entities trying to beat the pull of oblivion. He should have seen the signs, like Michizane had said, way sooner.
The hours blurred together, punctuated only by the gradual cooling of the incinerator. When the heat finally subsided enough, they entered the chamber beyond, the acrid scent of ash clinging heavy to the air. With numb efficiency, Gojo collected the remains, each meticulous movement a carefully constructed dam against the torrent of emotions threatening to drown him.
He scooped the remnants of Geto into a simple wooden urn, a specially crafted cursed object containing Myōan Eisai's blood and ground bones. The urn felt impossibly light in his hands, a stark contrast to Geto's larger than life presence. He held it a few moments longer than necessary, the weight of his failure pressing down on him. Could he be content with memories?
Giving himself a push, he handed the urn to Shoko who held a thread of talismans in her hand. "I am handing over the remains of Special Grade sorcerer Geto Suguru," spoke with solemn resolve. "May you bear witness and seal them."
Shoko met his gaze, her eyes filled with a profound sadness. "Yes," she whispered. "Be at peace."
She affixed the talisman to the urn and tapped it three times, its arcane symbols glowing faintly in the dim light before they disappeared into the wood.
"This is now a special grade cursed object," she declared, her voice firm but tinged with grief. "Sealed for one hundred and eleven years. It is assigned the number 598 and will be stored in Tokyo's cursed warehouse. Gojo Satoru is assigned to take it there and to receive an official acknowledgment by Master Tengen."
Cursed ashes contained within a special seal. This, Gojo knew with a chilling feeling, could as well have been him. Fate, it seemed, had a cruel sense of humor. It had spared him, for now, but left him burdened with the weight of his choices and the terrifying knowledge that a different path might still lead him to the same end, sealed within a similar urn.
Someone grasped his hand. The touch, warm and grounding, startled him out of his gloomy thoughts. "You're not alone in this, Satoru," Utahime said, her voice surprisingly steady. "We'll face whatever comes next, together."
Gojo's gaze flickered to her. Utahime's words were a lifeline thrown across the chasm of grief. No, he corrected himself, fate wasn't cruel. Fate was merely a challenge. He would face whatever loomed ahead, but he would do it with his eyes wide open.