𝑫𝒀𝑵𝑨𝑺𝑻𝒀 𝑶𝑭 𝑺𝑶𝑼𝑳𝑺 ⇢ Gojo Satoru

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐗𝐗𝐕𝐈𝐈𝐈 - 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐒

HIMARI CACKLED, BUT EVEN AS THE SOUND ECHOED IN THE VAULTED CEILING, she could feel the change in atmosphere. Mikazuki had gone from dangerous to fucking mental and she could see it in her eyes. Unfortunately for her, Himari had never been the kind of woman to simply roll over and die quietly. If she was going down tonight, then she was taking down Mikazuki with her. To the fucking grave, if need be.

"Why don't you tell me the truth?" Himari asked, her tone harsh. "You know our history, you were instructed on it at an early age. I'm sure you can narrate it for me."

She could remember it clearly, all the days her dear granddaughter spent indoors, sitting at her desk and enduring hour upon hour of endless history – most of which was a lie, not that the young girl could have known it at the time. These days, everything remotely related to the Kinzoku Clan was a fucking lie, but Mikazuki was no longer the pliable little girl she used to be and she was done swallowing down these bitter lies that had been spoon-fed to her throughout her childhood. The Kinzoku heiress rolled her eyes again, an annoyed expression appearing on her face. She seemed petulant, like a spoiled child who wasn't getting her way.

"This isn't about a history lesson."

Himari scoffed. Mikazuki had changed a lot during her ten years in exile, but deep down she was still the same obstinate little girl she had been during the first eighteen years of her life, and as such, Himari knew exactly what buttons to push to incite a reaction. Mikazuki believed herself to be invincible, but in her grandmother's eyes she was just as gullible as everyone else.

"But it is, and I want you to tell it. So, go ahead: humour me."

Himari waited, her sharp words hanging in the air while the woman crossed her arms in front of her chest, the golden blood slowly turning ochre as the oxygen melted with the metal staining her clothes. The cut across her arm had stopped bleeding, but there was puddle of pure liquid gold at her feet and her black kimono was drenched in it, completely ruined.

Mikazuki hesitated for a second, a heavy weight settling on her shoulders. She could easily take Himari down, force her to submit and pull the gold from her lifeless form, but violence was not what she craved; it was truth – and that, she could only get from Himari while she was still alive and breathing, not that the idea of torturing the woman didn't spark in Mikazuki's mind.

The young Kinzoku took a deep breath, finally submitting to her grandmother as her arms fell slackly at her sides.

"Midas was the first of our kind. He was a Greek king who had just returned from his conquest, bringing a number of slaves from Asia– some say he fell in love with one of the maidens, others that he forced himself on her." History was not written in stone, and as such, pieces of the truth had been muddied over the years, parts of it completely lost in ruin.

Still, Mikazuki was familiar with most of it. She had been instructed in it since she could walk, and once she awakened the true power of the Kinzoku and joined her twin in his training, the lessons became even more engrained. It was their history, and Midas was their maker. Mikazuki wiggled her fingers uncomfortably, an uncertain expression settling on her face.

"Then, when his kingdom was attacked by Curses, he prayed day and night to the Gods, who blessed his child with the power of the sun. He became the first Kinzoku, a child capable of moulding the precious metal of gold into whatever he fancied, a true god in the eyes of his people."

Himari remained calm, her expression softening as she watched her granddaughter, but even through Mikazuki's calm exterior she could sense the thirst for violence and chaos, like she was a black hole created for the sole purpose of destruction. Himari's chest rose quietly, a solitary tear running down her cheek as a bitter taste settled at the pit of her stomach. She watched the grey-haired sorceress in front of her with sorrow, yet another feeling permeated over it, a sense of inevitability. Kinzoku Mikazuki was inevitable, and Himari could not fault her for becoming exactly what they made her into.

Mikazuki opened her mouth, a second of hesitation before she finally spoke. She could see the fight in Himari's stare, the storm waging behind her blown out golden irises, almost as if she was debating between the ruthless Kinzoku they both knew she was and the kind grandmother Mikazuki remembered her as. But that Himari was just as old memory, and much like the feelings Mikazuki harboured from before her exile, she was ready to be rid of it.

"This is the truth I – and every other sorcerer – grew up with." Mikazuki spoke softly yet with enough sharpness for her voice to echo in the room before a tired sigh escaped her lips. "How many of it is true? Or is it another lie just like everything else that has ever come out of the mouth of a Kinzoku?"

Himari remained still, unfaltering. It was infuriating, the way she could just be while Mikazuki's entire world was burning to ashes because of the lies she had perpetuated, the tales she had spun expertly and turned to truth for the rest of the world to consume. Himari was a liar and, for the first time ever, Mikazuki could see it too. The older Kinzoku cackled, her expression cold.

"Don't pretend to be better than us, Mikazuki." She warned before her shoulders became slack and she locked her jaw. "But you are right, most of what you have been taught is nothing but a fantastic fabrication created by our elders a long time ago. Building a story was far easier than telling the truth, back then. Some say it still is."

Mikazuki kept her gaze locked on her grandmother, the gold in her veins churning like the clouds of an oncoming storm.

"What happened, truly?"

Himari sighed, tiredness visible in her face as she sat back down on the stone bench, her back towards the mural while she faced Mikazuki. There was something oddly fragile in the way she moved, yet her gaze remained just as fierce as it had been seconds ago, the might of the Kinzoku still present in it. Mikazuki swallowed past the hatred building in her mind and, for a brief moment, she imagined herself gauging those eyes out and tearing the truth away from the woman. The Kinzoku heiress took a deep breath, pushing the thought away as she tilted her head to the side, ready to listen to the truth Himari had kept for so long.

"Midas was no king. He was an alchemist, a man of science who devoted most of his life to research." She began, her tone solemn. "By the time he became an adult, Curses had already plagued the earth for multiple millennia and extraordinary bloodlines blossomed from the bloodshed."

"Sorcerers." Mikazuki spoke quietly and Himari nodded.

"Yes. They led the war against Curses, advising kings and parading around pretending to be true gods. Midas became obsessed with their power, searching for a way to harness it. He was also fascinated by gold, and so he made his first attempt."

Why did all stories begin the same way? A greedy man who believed himself to be king falling to the dark side. Except, now that Mikazuki was standing on the wrong side of that particular line, she did understand, but power wasn't what she craved – she already had plenty. What Mikazuki truly desired was peace, the kind of calmness that settled after the storm passed. But she was the storm, and the calmness that would follow would be that of dead bodies littering the floor.

Himari continued with her tale as she slowly wrapped her arm with the loose fabric of her dress.

"But the human body is not designed for such things, and so his experiments failed, leaving dozens of people dead at the castle doors."

Mikazuki shivered, either from the gold of from the terrible sensation she could feel growing at the pit of her stomach. It was not fear or pity – it had been long since she could experience either of those, but something else altogether, a sense of anticipation that made her skin crawl with excitement.

"This was not enough to discourage the man, but somehow he was able to marry and impregnate his wife – she was a slave, taken from the East, and she suffered terrible unspeakable things at the hands of the king." She paused, a sad smile playing on her lips. "It was around that time that Midas learned of a tribe, living deep into the mountains. They called themselves the Sun Tribe, but what most people cared about was their innate ability to regenerate."