[❚❚] 𝝖S𝝦𝝞Ɍ𝝞𝝢Ᏽ 𝝡𝝤Ɍ𝝩𝝖Ⳑ & ƔƖƝƊƖƇƬƖƔЄ ƖMMƠƦƬƛԼ | R. Sukuna | 𝚋𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝟷&𝟸

‧₊˚☀︎ ⋅ TWO ‧ ☀︎˚₊⋅

WARNING! A slight graphic scene at the end! Read at your own risk!

After the massacre in the village, you dedicated yourself to relentless training. You were determined to understand the limits of your body and the true power of the blades. This resolve led you to the tallest mountain, where you climbed tirelessly for days. The higher you ascended, the icier the air became, but you never felt weakened by the cold. It was a strange feeling-the biting frost of this foreign world felt nothing like the gentle chill of Aokigahara.

When you reached a cave just below the summit, you began meditating, something you found comfort in. The stillness allowed you to listen, truly listen, to this unfamiliar world. The wind tasted harsh and foreign, the wildlife was alien in appearance and sound, and the sharp cold scraped your skin. Everything was different, even your own body.

This was a rebirth. You were an immortal child in a strange world, relearning everything once again. Unlike a child, however, you had no frailty. You did not age. You did not need food or sleep. Pain registered but never stopped you. Hunger gnawed but could never consume you. You were invincible, an endless force in an endless world.

Each day, after hours of meditating, you trained relentlessly. You pushed your body to its limits, testing speed, strength, and precision. You dropped stones from above your head, catching them before they fell. You threw rocks against the farthest walls of the cave, only to catch them before they struck. Your bare fists cracked stone with ease, leaving the cave with scars from your self-imposed trials. You would continue a lot of these exercises but with your blades to strengthen the bond.

Time slipped away on the mountaintop, lost to your immortal existence. The sun and moon became your only measure of the passage of time. Days blurred into weeks, months, and years. A decade passed in what felt like moments, but the transformation in you was profound. Your body was stronger and faster. Your connection to the blades had returned, as sharp and unyielding as they were in Aokigahara.

One day, you took a blade in hand, inspecting its ancient engravings. You traced the deep markings with your thumb, feeling a faint tremble in its metallic core. The engravings began to glow with a mesmerizing iridescence, and whispers of thousands filled your ears.

"Go to Nara, where Emperor Kanmu's previous capital resides. Seek, and you shall find," the voices murmured.

Adrenaline surged through you as you leapt from the mountain's edge, descending with bizarre speed. Landing with a thunderous impact, it only took you a moment to steady yourself before sprinting off into the forest. The voices of your ancestors guided you. Their whispers were faint but clear, their will tied to the blades you carried.

Days of relentless travel led you to a field of ruins. The remnants of an abandoned empire stretched before you, moss-covered stone and wood overtaken by nature. This was the original capital of Emperor Kanmu's reign before he relocated to Heian-kyo. How did you know this? You weren't sure, maybe it was the voices of your ancestors.

Deeper within the ruins, you discovered a sunken palace. At its center stood a rusted throne, and behind it, a vast, crumbling wall adorned with paintings and engravings. You stepped closer, tracing the carvings that told the story of this empire.

In the center of the wall was a large throne with a king resting gracefully on it, whom you assumed was Emperor Kanmu, the man they had whispered. Surrounding him was every valuable material he had, such as golden rice, vast gardens of luscious foods, and troops of powerful samurai, all painted gracefully and neatly around his large, shining figure. Below him were his subjects, painted smaller than him, who looked up at him in respect. However, someone small stood out from the rest, because he was aligned directly beside the emperor's place.