𝑬𝑴𝑷𝑰𝑹𝑬 𝑶𝑭 𝑮𝑶𝑳𝑫 ⇢ Gojo Satoru

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐗𝐕𝐈𝐈𝐈 - 𝐀 𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐋𝐃, 𝐀 𝐑𝐈𝐅𝐓 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐍

KINZOKU MIKAZUKI TOOK A DEEP BREATH, her eyes locked onto her shoes as she stepped into the building. The Kinzoku chapel was beautiful; the walls and floors were made of marble while the vaulted ceiling was of pure gold. The inside was just as delicate and ostentatious as the outside, with everything coated in golden, the ornate designs on the wall narrating the story of the Jujutsu society before dissolving into meaningless patterns and spreading through the mixture of marble and pure gold.

The sorceress stood there for what felt like forever, admiring the build of the chapel until her eyes landed on the eastern wall. There, covered in cobwebs and with slightly chipped paint, stood the mural. It was just as grand as the last time she had seen it – on her knees, with her arms and feet chained to the floor like a vicious creature. Kogane still looked the same, her face unreadable, the blonde curls flattened under the heavy golden crown she wore on her head, the gilded bones of her ancestor glistening under the rays of sunshine.

The mosaic was unfairly beautiful, and it made Mikazuki's stomach churn in both awe and disgust. This was the sorceress she'd plead to, it was also the one she'd Cursed when she realized her prayers would never be answered. The sorceress sighed, turning away from the sight, eyes finally settling on the marble table that at in the middle of the room, right where she herself had stood not so long ago, confessing her sins to The Magistrate, pleading guilty to a crime that wasn't even hers. Not completely, at least.

As per tradition, the funeral ceremony – the farewell, as they called it – would take place outside, under the night sky. The family had chosen the gardens, the abundance of flowers and perfectly green grass of little to no comfort to Mikazuki, but her brother would have enjoyed it, so she tolerated it for his sake. Everyone was already outside, the gathering loud and chatty compared to the eery stillness that reigned inside of the chapel.

Mikazuki was the only one missing, not that she minded – people would have many questions, about her exile, her pardon and so many other things the sorceress did not deem herself capable of putting into words at the moment, at least not while her beloved brother's corpse was still there.

Keisuke's body was laid out on top of the marble table. He was covered by a white sheet, carefully draped of his preserved corpse, the stench of gold and embalming fluid filtering through the cloth. Despite the darkness, Mikazuki could still see the gold clinging to his skin, the faint traces of it lingering like small flakes against his pale skin.

Keisuke had always been pale, even when he was still alive. He and Mikazuki used to match, but now her skin had tanned from the years spent working in the Argentinian heat, her skin no longer soft and spotless like that of a princess. He was wearing the same outfit he'd been found with, though his hair was combed and the suit had clearly been cleaned and ironed, not a single wrinkle in sight. Mikazuki approached the table, her small steps echoing in the vaulted room like the irregular rhythm of a terrified heartbeat.

The sorceress pressed her hand against Keisuke's head, feeling the tangle of curls under her fingers. Her heart lurched at the contact, the action so painful it punched the air out of her lungs. Mikazuki closed her eyes, revelling in the sensation, letting go of reality and imagining she was seven again, playing tug-of-war with her brother and pulling at his perfect soft curls. The memory shattered something within her. Or maybe it wasn't the memory, but the feeling of her brother's lifeless corpse under her hands.

Mikazuki moved her hand, going from his curls to his arm. She squeezed it gently – like she used to when she was afraid or simply wanted his attention – before finally letting go. He was still warm. It had been nine days since he died, but he was still warm. Something inside the sorceress came undone at the thought.

She was never going to see him again.

The air shifted, like a crack in the folds of reality or a rip through space. Mikazuki stilled, immediately recognizing the familiar swirl of Cursed Energy that lingered in the air after he teleported himself in. There were only a handful of people capable of doing such a thing – the ability to teleport so easily was extremely rare, and no Kinzoku would ever do it so brazenly.

That only left one possibility.

"So... you're back."

The sorceress didn't even bother to look up, her golden eyes still draped over her brother's corpse.

His voice had changed – it was deeper now, huskier yet still velvety. His presence, the energy he exhumed like the atomic bomb he truly was, hadn't changed – those things rarely did.

Hers, on the other hand, was so overwhelming he almost stumbled, catching himself on the railing just before he could step back into the wall. Of course, he played it off, leaning against the wall, hands buried deep within his pockets, his expression unreadable. He wasn't wearing his blindfold, a pair of expensive sunglasses sitting atop his nose instead. The shades were so dark she could barely see the blue underneath. It reminded her of the ones he used to wear back then, the glass so neat she could see her reflection looking back whenever she stood in front of him.

"Gojo." Mikazuki greeted back, still glued to the same spot, unwilling to leave her brother's side – lest something happen to him.

Satoru stared at the woman in front of him, glasses slightly lowered, not that he needed them to see her. Despite the fact that Satoru knew the sorceress standing in front of him was Kinzoku Mikazuki, everything about her told him otherwise. She was different than the last time he'd seen her, not only in appearance, but in everything else as well. She held herself differently, even in this private moment of grief he'd so carelessly desecrated, she was on guard, alert.

Her golden eyes scanned the room, counting the exists, wondering which objects could be used as a weapon and which ones would a hindrance, counting the steps between them.

Twenty steps was safe, ten could mean the difference between life and death – it was a lesson well learned, that one.

Satoru could feel the power rolling off of her in waves, like an unstoppable force of chaos and disruption. She was trying to conceal it, a soft blanket of what he assumed to be a low perception veil atop it like a lid on a hurricane, but it wasn't nearly enough.

Satoru shifted his weight to his other leg. She was different than the last time he had seen her, already a decade ago. True, people changed, but never this much.

Mikazuki had been exiled from the Jujutsu society at the mere age of eighteen, seeing her there, standing in the middle of the room and feeling the power radiating from her presence, was unreal. He could still remember the last words she said to him, her hasty confession before he turned her down cold.

Just because we're engaged doesn't mean I'll love you.

Satoru felt the need to apologize, to reach out, hands twitching at the mere idea of it, though the thought was quickly shot down and snuffed out, aware of exactly what would happen were he to do so. In those ten years, he hadn't spared her a single thought, but now that he was standing in front of her, her brother's corpse between them and an extra twenty steps just for safety, Satoru couldn't help but wonder what it would feel like to touch her.

Gojo Satoru had never wondered such a thing before – even back then, when she was a shy school-girl and he an overconfident idiot, the two of them set to be wed, although no date had ever been set. Not that it ever would, considering they couldn't touch each other without untangling the threads of reality.

The sorcerer's eyes remained settled on the woman, noting just how much she had changed. Her usually black hair had turned the dullest shade of grey, her eyes the same beautiful shade of gold they'd always been, minus the pair of black paste glasses she insisted on wearing everywhere.

See, we match! – that's what she told him the first time she wore them to class, the frame of the glasses roughly the same shape as his, minus the shade, of course.

She'd been an idiot, back then.

She was pale like her brother had been, though there was a sunburn to her skin that wasn't there before. She was slightly smaller than Satoru in height, but still taller than most. The last time he had seen her, she was wearing the school uniform. Now, she was wearing nothing but black, almost the same shade of it, like a starless night sky with a string of lone peonies stitched against the fabric.