The child's white hair, soft as silk and drying quickly after the vigorous scrubbing in the shower, shimmered under Utahime's rhythmic brushstrokes. She hummed a soothing tune, trying to calm her rapidly beating heart – in vain.
"I like it when you sing," purred the cursed object, its milky white eyes hidden behind closed eyelids. "Don't stop."
No, Utahime wouldn't stop. She wasn't sure if her meager powers would have any effect on the creature before her, but she wove a calming quality into her song anyway. Perhaps it served only to soothe herself, effectively masking her bone-deep repulsion and fear. Gojo might have deemed the danger low enough to leave her alone with this abomination, but while her mind accepted his judgment, her heart insisted otherwise. Embarrassing, but the only place she would feel truly safe was pressed against Gojo's chest, cocooned by his Infinity against the rest of the world.
Gojo wasn't far, but she missed him painfully. It was the Binding Vow of course, but beyond that, kissing Gojo goodbye at the gates had felt frantic, a moment of clinging to each other with the sudden desperation of two people who feared not to meet again soon enough.
Upon their arrival at the estate a mere two hours ago, bearing the sorrowful news of Chia's and her son's passing, the place was transformed into one of mourning with almost frightening efficiency. Hundreds of hands removed vibrant colors from the house and grounds, replacing them with the white of sorrow. As expected, Aunt Kimiko had demanded to see Mayu, her grandchild, only to be met with a fabricated story about the child's trauma while Utahime had whisked her away to the guest wing. Nobody would be fooled for long, but this bought them some time to decide what to do with Michizane's horrifying present.
Their options were limited. Caution called for an immediate sealing. Curiosity on the other hand, and the battle to make the world a place normal humans could live in unencumbered, meant taking dangerous risks.
She, who had never taken dangerous risks in her life, now swam in a sea of dangers. Should have stayed in your lane, girl, Utahime thought ruefully, but that revelation came too late. There was no way back to a normal life after all this. Worse, the normalcy she'd craved and wrapped herself in had always only been an illusion, a flimsy curtain draped over the gruesome reality of the Jujutsu world.
The child sat before her, a picture of innocence in pink pajamas sprinkled with faded silver stars. She clutched a worn, floppy rabbit from her small suitcase in her hands. Her face held a serene expression as she focused intently on Utahime's ministrations. This was the most chilling aspect – the cursed object's uncanny resemblance to a six-year-old girl. Gojo's ability to see through illusions was a luxury she didn't possess, but even without it, an unsettling dissonance resonated within her.
Part of her loved the abomination.
It was the primal ache of a mother yearning for a child, the twisted part of her that wanted to believe she had given birth to it. Images of her little boy, his infectious laughter, the warmth of his tiny body against hers, flooded her mind, blurring the lines between memory and this chilling facsimile before her. The cruelty of it all was suffocating.
You are the one whose love binds me, the cursed object had said – and it was him speaking, lost to her without ever having real substance. Yet, the memory of tickling him until he squealed with delight felt so vivid, so real, that this twisted mockery of a child, a figment of cursed energy, held the power to evoke the most profound love and the most primal fear in her.
It made her sick. A deep-seated desire had been ripped from her chest and warped perversely, taking shape like curses did. It also made her sad. A real child born into this world had suffered a most cruel fate, her will extinguished by something born in the twilight between waking and sleeping. And it made her furious. Gojo's ancestor was ruthlessly exploiting her vulnerabilities, reaching from the past into her present without permission, and there was nothing she could do against it because she was too goddamn weak.
Only that she could no longer pretend to be an innocent bystander after today's revelations.
Whatever Gojo had said about taking the future into their own hands, even he couldn't simply erase the mistakes of the past just by wishing them gone. Her clan's mistakes. Oh, she wasn't saying his clan wasn't at fault, far from it, but this was about her ancestors who had not only run with the wrong crowd but had pledged their very souls to them.
Granted, it was probably love that made them fools. Michizane's vision for her had been full of yearning, then deep, hot passion, promising to turn into the familiar warmth of a loving companionship. Beneath the moon, I weep, alone… He had lost the love of his life in real life, his suffering seeping from the words of his poem. But there was more. She couldn't shake the ominous feeling of bad luck hovering over her head after hearing Naoya's words, nor could she forget what her father had told her about the age-old, toxic feud between the Gojos and the Ioris. She had no experience with things like this, but her suspicion had grown to an almost certainty in the last few hours.
"Dad, have we Ioris broken a binding vow with the Gojos in the past?"
Her message to her father remained unread. With no signal out at sea, she had no way of knowing when he'd receive it. Perhaps it didn't matter anyway. She kind of knew already: Love, yearning, followed by inevitable doom... a cruel cycle repeating through generations. The Gojos, her family... They were pawns in a game started by a long-ago mistake, a colossal error that now demanded its price.
And yet, she wanted to believe against all odds that there was one person in the world who could break through it all, because he knew no fear and his powers were unmatched. A broken chain could be mended and forged into something new. If he believed he could, she would believe in him.
Hope - it was such a wondrous thing.
###
"Where are you going, nephew?"
Aunt Narum's voice, sharp as a honed blade, stopped Gojo in his tracks. He turned around slowly, a sheepish grin threatening to bloom on his face before he schooled his features.
There she stood, a pillar of austere elegance in mourning attire. The family had chosen black, a concession to Chia's modern way, and it drained the life from the room. Gone was the twinkle in her eyes, replaced by a steely glint that mirrored Gojo's own simmering anger. The worry lines around her mouth looked deeper, etched with the weight of yet another tragedy that served as a reminder for how precarious their position was in the hierarchy of Jujutsu Society.
Gojo, for all his rebellion against the stifling expectations of clans and tradition, understood the responsibility that weighed on his shoulders. He'd seen firsthand the price of carelessness – the blood spilled, the lives extinguished. The day he realized his apathy could translate to the deaths of the people he was sworn to protect was the day his flippancy died. If he wanted to or not, leading the Gojo Clan was a solemn duty, a shield held high for those who depended on him.
If he'd still be alive, Geto would tease him about it relentlessly, wouldn't he. Ah, death… it would never not remind him of his once best friend, would it.
"We need you for the preparation of the rites," Aunt Narumi added, her tone softening as she looked at him with some concern.
With a morbid efficiency, Gojo's aunts had assumed the grim task of preparing the bodies straight away. Washed clean of earthly grime, they were attired in pristine white kimonos, their features meticulously made up to conceal any wounds or imperfections. As the caskets arrived – that, too, happened almost too quickly – the bodies were laid upon platforms of simple wood, each adorned with a sheet of immaculate white silk. Tucked into small cloth pouches near their hands lay six coins, offerings meant to serve as guides through the six realms of the afterlife. White lilies, chosen for their symbolism of purity and innocence, stood vigil around them, their delicate fragrance mingling with the sharp, acrid tang of burning incense. A small table held simple yet significant offerings: a bowl of rice, a cup of water, and a single sake cup.
"Where is Miss Iori?"
"In the guest wing," Gojo answered quickly. "It's where I was headed."
He knew he was needed. He also knew he would have to spend a lot of time paying service to the dead in the next seven weeks and so he had hoped for a glimpse of Utahime's face, perhaps another kiss, however fleeting. Not being in the same room with her made him restless and cranky.
"She's there with Mayu?" His aunt's question was laced with suspicion. Unsurprisingly, it hadn't taken her long to realize that they were hiding something from the rest of the family.
"Er, yes," he sighed.
"Why? What happened?" The concern in her voice, though veiled in sternness, tugged at a hidden corner of his heart. It was a proper mess he had brought to their doorstep and of course he owed them answers.
"Did the Zen'ins do this?" She added when he hesitated, unsure where to begin.
He shook his head. "Not directly. Utahime received a frantic text from Chia earlier today, threatening to end her own life if she wasn't rescued. Since I was on a mission, Utahime sought help from one of her students, a Zen'in herself, and rushed to the compound. Unfortunately, it was already too late."
Aunt Narumi gasped, a hand flying to her mouth. Her rigid posture faltered for a moment, the shock evident on her usually composed face. "Chia killed herself and her son?"
"Not exactly," Gojo began, his voice low. "Something happened to Mayu. She... she did it. But Mayu isn't Mayu anymore..."
He explained the situation – the possession, the strange transformation – as best he could. Aunt Narumi's hand remained trembling by her lips, her face draining of color as his words sank in.
"And you left that... that abomination with Miss Iori?" Her voice trembled with fear. "What if it kills her too?"
Gojo understood her apprehension. But the cursed object was tied to Utahime, if not thoroughly entangled in her very essence. It was a calculated risk, a difficult choice in a messy situation, but Utahime was the only one not in danger.
But his aunt couldn't understand all this. She didn't know about domain expansions, ghost children, and the ensuing heartbreak. A rare hesitancy settled over Gojo as he realized he had more explaining to do and that he was in for a scolding. "Aunt," he began, the word catching in his throat for a moment, "there's more."
And he told her about the Binding Vow of the Heart and his confrontation with the Higher Ups. If there was going to be a war, they needed to be ready. That, however, was not what she reacted to.
Aunt Narumi's sharp intake of breath echoed in the room once more. "You can't just declare a marriage like that!" she burst out, exasperation lacing her tone. "There are procedures, vetting, registrations! It's simply not done, Satoru! And think of Miss Iori in all of this – it's her who will face the consequences."
"I bound her to me," he conceded sullenly. "What other choice did I have?"
The truth that he didn't want to voice aloud was that a burning jealousy bordering on insanity had fueled his reckless vow. He craved Utahime with a fierce intensity that transcended reason. In that moment, he would have done anything to bind her to himself. And hadn't her acceptance been a silent confirmation of her feelings? He did not want to doubt their mutual love ever again.
"Nephew," his aunt's voice softened further, "you know I hold Miss Iori in high regard." He almost snorted – was this turning into some bizarre lecture about his love life? "But you also know," she continued, her gaze unwavering, "that the history between our clans is complicated and…"
"It's not complicated," he contradicted her hotly, he was fed up with people telling him this, "Utahime and I will be very happy together." Even after the terms of the binding vow are met, he added in his head, I will never let her go.
His aunt kept silent, but he knew what she wanted to say: History says otherwise, Satoru. Gojo men have repeatedly been fools for Iori women. It never ended well.
So what? Gojo never gave up. It was his vast arrogance, Yaga Sensei had once grumbled, this unwavering belief in his inevitable triumph that made him keep going no matter what. Perhaps tenacity was a more fitting term, but there were some truths Gojo simply refused to acknowledge as such.
The notion that his life was a preordained script dictated by binding vows turned chains of fate was one such truth. The past ties that bound the Gojo and Iori clans together: Wonderful, he'd say, the stronger the better! The binding vows did not taint their connection nor did they turn their moments together into lies. He was the maker of his own future. Nobody, nobody had power over him. Chains? Chains could be broken, shattered promises mended. He would not live his life without Utahime by his side, end of story.
"I cannot keep you from doing what you think is right," Aunt Narumi finally said, turning her head away from him briefly, "I never could, Satoru. But I tremble at the thought of what's to come. What allies do you have in this fight? You intend to defy the very fabric of fate, all by yourself? The forces you'll confront are far more formidable than any single sorcerer, no matter how strong."
That's where she was wrong.
"I am not alone, aunt," Gojo said resolutely. "I have Utahime."
With the name lingering in the air like a whispered prayer, he turned and continued down the hall, each step a reaffirmation of his determination. A glimpse of her face, a kiss? No, he was going to lie next to her and hold her tight, that's what he was going to do.
###
"Do you think it's asleep?" Utahime whispered, lifting her head to throw a look at the small body on the futon in the corner. Judging from the faint, rhythmic breaths emanating from it, it was.
Impatiently, Gojo's hand skimmed down her arm, sending a jolt of heat through her. His lips hovered near her ear, his voice a low purr that vibrated against her skin. "Doesn't matter," he murmured. "Don't even think of it, It's not a human child. It will be sealed in a warehouse soon." Utahime could feel the hardening of his flesh against her body, a sensation that brought her own body temperature up and made her breath short.
Twenty days without proper sex and counting, forty-nine days of mourning on top, which meant not a single joyous activity, a tough ritual every 7th day, and him living for his duty with no reprieve. He shouldn't even be here, he should be at the nocturnal wake. But now that he was, she didn't want to ever let him go again.
"I often wondered," Gojo continued, his voice trailing off into a thoughtful hum. He nuzzled her neck, showering her face with a cascade of soft kisses. "What our children would look like."
Utahime's breath caught in her throat. Classic Gojo. Blunt, direct, with a sweetness that disarmed her every time. Children. He was talking about their future, about dreams they could have shared, when she had messed it all up? A miscarriage, a ghost baby, and a reckless promise to a vengeful spirit, likely because the Ioris were bad news for the Gojos.
"I always imagined they would look like you," he added, his hand slipping between her pajamas and her skin. "But now I'm not sure. Perhaps they will have my hair and your eyes?"
"Satoru," she moaned when his hand cupped her breast and his fingers began to tease her nipple into a hard, sensitive peak.
"One day, soon, I'll know," he whispered, dipping his head to kiss her. His hand moved over her hip and to her ass. He pulled her flush against his strutting erection. Their tongues intertwined, making her desire flare. Wanton, needy wetness pooled between her legs. He wanted her children? She would give them to him. However many he wanted, if they could just…
"Tell me what you would like me to do if we could," he panted, beginning to grind against her core, delicious, much needed friction, his long fingers playing with her folds.
"I would like you to fuck me," Utahime blurted out, her own audacious words a huge turn on, her hips pressing against him, "I want to be pinned underneath you with me legs over your shoulder so that you can reach the deepest parts of me. I would spur you on. I would tell you to go harder, faster…"
"Torture," Gojo groaned, "I want you so much!"
She chased her high relentlessly and when she came, so did he, twitching and shuddering and panting, pressing her body to his so hard she couldn't breathe for a few seconds.
"Gods above and below," he whispered, looking down at the wet mess on his trouser front. "That was thoughtless. The image of you beneath me with your legs on my shoulders will have me kneel there all night with a raging hard-on."
Utahime giggled, because that image was very unchaste and naughty. But the sound of her merriment sobered her up very quickly.
"Gojo," she whispered, "this is wrong. We shouldn't be here like this."
He brushed a stray strand of hair from her face, his lips hovering tantalizingly close. "Wrong?" he countered, his voice a husky murmur. "Why? Will the heavens crack open and smite us?"
A sliver of his trademark arrogance flickered in his eyes, but beneath it, Utahime could see that he was well aware of the weight of societal expectations, the suffocating rituals demanded of him.
"It's not a joke," she insisted, moved that he would come to her anyway. "Not observing proper mourning… it disrupts the spirits' journey, making them restless."
"I will pray extra hard to make up for it," he pulled her closer against him and she let herself be engulfed by his warmth and his scent, "in about half an hour. Just let me get some rest in your arms, Utahime. Please?"
"I thought about it, we cannot keep your aunt Kimiko from seeing Mayu for much longer," Utahime murmured against his chest, listening to the strong, soothing sound of his heart. "I will insist on being in the room, unless you think that won't be necessary?"
"No, that's a good idea," Gojo mumbled drowsily. "As soon as I can get away, we take her to Master Tengen. He is the most potent barrier user among all jujutsu sorcerers after all and if anyone can tell us where this gate leads to, it's him."
Utahime had her suspicions about it but who was she to tell the likes of Gojo Satoru what they themselves could not figure out? Talking to Master Tengen sounded like a very good idea even though she was frankly terrified of the presence in the Tombs of the Star Corridor who, according to Shoko, looked nothing like a human anymore.
Immortality came with a price after all.
"I'll wake you in half an hour," she whispered, tracing a finger along the sharp angles of his jaw. Gojo didn't respond, but his hold on her tightened protectively. The gesture, both tender and desperate, was rather sweet and rather heartbreaking.
###
Half an hour. Impossible heaviness settled in Gojo's eyelids. The light dimmed at the edges of his vision, blurring the lines of the room. Exhaustion washed over him. Gojo felt a flicker of resistance, a half-formed thought that something wasn't right, but it was quickly swept away by the gigantic wave of fatigue. Despite the unease, he drifted off, the warmth of Utahime beside him fading away.
This shit again?
Happens when you get too close to a Shrine Maiden, a disembodied, intimately familiar voice mocked him, you know such things, did you choose to become ignorant? It's a dream revelation, she has opened a channel between us.
"You think you're a god?" Gojo scoffed, the hubris amusing him.
"But I am," his alter ego replied matter-of-factually. The mists swirling around him coalesced, revealing a figure clad in flowing blue robes. Gojo's breath hitched. It was him, yet older, his eyes hardened with a pain that echoed in Gojo's very soul. "And so are you. Only a god possesses the Six Eyes."
Gojo scoffed, a dismissive snort escaping his lips. "Spare me the theatrics," he drawled, eyeing the spectral figure with a cool skepticism. What kind of dream was this, trying to convince him he was just a reincarnation?
The echo of his ancestor chuckled. "Then tell me, Gojo Satoru, do you understand the true significance of the Six Eyes? When and why they appear?"
Gojo felt a prickle of irritation crawl up his spine. What kind of stupid quiz was this? "Of course I do," he lied, his voice laced with a bravado that even he recognized as hollow. It irked him, so much knowledge, so much history of Jujutsu Sorcery lay buried in the dust of time.
A harsh laugh erupted from the apparition. "Stubborn fool," it mocked, the amusement devoid of warmth. "This charade could have ended long ago if you weren't so resistant to your own destiny. Heed my words. The Chains of Fate were broken the day you died and the Star Plasma Vessel with you. What you are living through are the pieces of fate rearranging themselves. Listen well," the figure continued, his voice swelling in volume, "Master Tengen requires the power of the Six Eyes to navigate different vessels for his immortality. They appear, as fate dictates, every four to five hundred years."
Gojo's brow furrowed. Tengen needed the Six Eyes? A little more courtesy wouldn't hurt in that case!
"Opposing this grand design," the spectral Gojo continued, "is our old friend Kenjaku, who tricks time by having his brain planted into different bodies of his choosing. He seeks to disrupt Tengen's cycle out of spite. He also hunts each Six Eyes wielder, eliminating them before they reach their full potential. Why? Because fate decrees that the Six Eyes hold the power to destroy him. And Kenjaku, being the most cunning strategist among us, has taken steps to ensure his survival. A millennium ago, he struck a deal with another old friend – Sukuna. In exchange for a chance at reincarnation in the present day, Sukuna allowed Kenjaku to shatter his soul into twenty cursed fingers. Of course, you, the current Six Eyes wielder, won't let that happen. You'll find a way to neutralize those fingers, I have no doubt."
Gojo's frown deepened. He knew all too well about Sukuna's fingers – several were currently housed in the Jujutsu High warehouse alongside other cursed objects. For generations, sorcerers had debated who scattered them.
"And you, Michizane?" Gojo pressed, his voice laced with suspicion. "After I freed you from the temple, aren't you stuck tethered to me? Seems like a raw deal compared to your freely roaming buddies."
"Oh, but I'm living on in you and others before you," Michizane smiled slyly. "I'm the only one who doesn't need to force a vessel to house me. My powers and I are one and the same."
"You're lying," Gojo confronted his ancestor. "Didn't you manipulate Utahime to have a child so you could plant your soul into it?"
Michizane's smile deepened, a touch too predatory for comfort. "You forget, I have her child," he said, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "It changes everything. Kenjaku tried to stop me by poisoning the last Iori's womb, but fate intervened, forging a new Binding Vow between her and you, and by extension, her and me. Our son will end the madness by sealing Kenjaku forever."
The spectral figure began to fade, the blue robes dissolving into wisps of mist.
"Wait!" Gojo called out. "What does Kenjaku look like?"
Michizane's fading form flickered with amusement. "Wrong question, Satoru." A mocking laugh escaped him. "But what else can one expect from someone who can't even wield the Six Eyes to their full potential? The thought of you being the last inheritor..." His spectral form shimmered darkly, "...truly stings."
"Satoru?" A sweet voice caressed him, "Satoru, it's time to wake up. They're waiting for you."
Gojo groaned, forcing his eyes open. A white ceiling swam into focus. He blinked, trying to clear the dream from his head.
"Fuck," Gojo sat up so abruptly, he almost bumped his head against Utahime's. Not a dream!
The Cursed Object was looking in his direction expectantly, its white eyes shimmering eerily in the dim light.
"What else can the Six Eyes do?" He demanded to know.
"They can see the past and they can see the future," the Cursed Object said, its voice devoid of inflection. "Surely you want to know how?"