𝑬𝑴𝑷𝑰𝑹𝑬 𝑶𝑭 𝑮𝑶𝑳𝑫 ⇢ Gojo Satoru

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐗 - 𝐓𝐎𝐊𝐘𝐎 𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒

MIKAZUKI STOOD AGAINST THE WINDOW, her body leaning on the cool frame as she stared out at the city lights. The sorceress was completely naked, a thin robe covering her private parts while the rest was exposed to the harsh and cold winter air. The woman grinned, picking up the glass of scotch she'd previously abandoned on the table.

Mikazuki walked towards the balcony, leaning against the metal railing and surveying the city below. The air was cold, but the sorceress could barely feel as it caressed her delicate skin, the thin translucent robe she wore covering her breast thrashing wildly at the sudden air current.

Tokyo's skyline, despite being miles away from her current location, could still be seen in the distance, its lights dancing in the endless night like stars falling in the water. It was beautiful, but not in the way most things were. It was an energetic sort of beauty, filled with life, the kind that Mikazuki had rarely had the time to appreciate during her decade long exile.

La Patagonia had been quiet, nearly deserted. Even the small village she learned to call home was somewhat abandoned, the few elders that still remained there and the children who didn't have the courage to move out being the only presence there. Tokyo was different, it was loud, bustling with life, vibrant and chaotic.

Mikazuki shifted, feeling as the metal of the railing pushed against her bare stomach, not that she minded the cold. In a way, it was a reminder – a reminder of the things she could no longer feel, of exactly what she had been willing to give up for the sake of her survival. Her eighteen-year-old self would be appalled, but then again, that particular part of Mikazuki was as dead as her brother.

Dead and buried, in fact.

Mikazuki yawned, scanning the view as she took another short sip of her drink, delighting in the sensation as it burned her insides on its way down. The view was different from what she was used to, the tall buildings climbed up into the sky as the city came alive, so many souls wandering from one place to another, crowding the streets as the night grew darker and darker, the solitary moon greeting them silently.

Mikazuki could feel every single one of those souls, her innate cursed technique reaching out into the darkness and over the ledge of the balcony, spiralling into the night sky and swirling around the city like a living breathing thing.

The sorceress hadn't expected her abilities to grow during her exile, and for a moment, she wondered whether Keisuke had taken the time to nurture them for her sake. It was the sort of thing her twin would do, always thinking of the future, of everyone else but himself. Maybe that's what got him killed in the end.

Mikazuki grimaced, the scotch turning sour in her mouth. Thinking of Keisuke would only bring her pain and sorrow, two things for which the Kinzoku did not have the time at the moment.

She looked back down at the city, half expecting the view would stir something in her chest – right where her heart had once been – but, unsurprisingly, she felt nothing as she watched the tendrils of her gold scatter through the streets of Tokyo and quietly unravelling into the night, mixing in with the shadows and the darkness that lingered in it.

Instead, Mikazuki felt hollow and cold, the concrete under her bare feet just another reminder that she was not, in fact, home. Home was on the other side of the globe, inside a makeshift cabin on the wild planes of Argentina, in that poor village where she learned to love herself – and hate her family.

Tokyo had never been home, it was harsh and unforgiving, just like its biting weather in the wintertime. But maybe the city wasn't the problem.

No, Tokyo had never been the problem. They were the problem – the Kinzoku, the family she'd learned to hate for the past decade, the bunch of vultures who proclaimed themselves the elite, the pillars of the society of Jujutsu.

Mikazuki scoffed at the thought, wondering when exactly she started harbouring these feelings, when this unadulterated hatred had taken root within her, festering like an old wound that refused to heal and poisoning everything in its wake. The sorceress liked to think it was on that fateful day where she stood in the chapel trapped in chains, powerlessly watching as they ripped her soul from her body while her family idly stood by, but Mikazuki wasn't foolish enough to not realize the cracks had been there for far longer.

Mikazuki grimaced, taking a sip of her scotch before twirling the glass in her hand, staring at the honey-coloured liquid as the city lights blinked in the distance. Tokyo would never be her home, neither would Hokkaido nor the Kinzoku estate, but that did not mean she wasn't willing to make them into her playground.

If Tokyo was her father's empire, then she'd gladly watch it burn.

In fact, she would light that first flame herself.