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

‧₊˚☀︎ ⋅ THREE ‧ ☀︎˚₊⋅

The millennium that passed since the discovery of your origins and the truth of your bloodline was filled with constant movement and self-reflection. Time became a blur of cycles, as you roamed the Earth, the eternal search for Sukuna's lost fingers your sole mission.

In those centuries, you witnessed the unfolding of history, the rise and fall of empires, and the shaping of the world. You stood silent as Japan underwent storms that ravaged the land, tsunamis that swallowed villages, and the relentless march of industrialization that transformed the country into something unrecognizable. The world around you evolved, modernizing with each passing day, yet you remained a constant figure, never aging, always searching.

You were there when cities were rebuilt when the landscape shifted from ancient temples to towering steel and glass. You saw how technology advanced, and how the nation, once steeped in tradition, became a beacon of innovation. The human world moved forward, but you remained tethered to a past long lost, forever searching for pieces of your origin.

In the quiet moments, you often found yourself pondering the changes you had witnessed—the people who lived and died in the blink of an eye, their lives flickering in and out like the lights of a city skyline. The world moved on, but you were still bound to a history that would never release its grip on you.

You found yourself visiting a particular museum in Tokyo, a place filled with the echoes of Japan's past. The place had been recommended to you by your coworkers, who were clueless of your long life. They believed you to be a history enthusiast. They had no idea how deep your connection to the past ran. They simply thought you were an intellectual with a love for historical artifacts.

You were an office worker in Tokyo, trying to blend in and not bring attention to yourself. With the rise of technology and legal documents, it has become more difficult for you to avoid suspicions of false identifications. You found yourself moving around Japan every ten years due to your unaging appearance. You have already ventured around the entire world in the last millennium, but you chose Japan to be your forever home, as it was rightfully your birthplace.

The museum was small and modest, nothing grand or special at first glance. But as you ventured deeper into its corridors, something caught your attention—an exhibit at the back that featured a diorama of Aokigahara, the Mother Tree. It wasn't completely accurate, but it was enough to stir something within you. You approached it, mesmerized by the sight of a miniature version of the forest that had been so important to your past. Aokigahara was still remembered, still honored in some way, even if it had no remnants left on Earth.

Beside the model were paintings of a strange man, someone you didn't recognize, and illustrations. Some seemed to depict Her from the outside, and some were paintings of the bizarre creatures that you grew up with. You weren't sure what to make of it, at first. Perhaps this was the man who had discovered the forest, or perhaps someone who had come before you. You couldn't be certain.

It wasn't until you read the plaque that everything changed.

"Aokigahara, a magical forest that thrived during the Heian Era. This forest was massive and impenetrable. It held hundreds of people prisoner until the heroic sorcerer, General Ono, infiltrated the land in 1018 A.D. in an attempt to free the people. Unfortunately, the magical forest retaliated and killed all the prisoners trapped within, as well as the brave troops that went in. To save the world from this dangerous magic, Aokigahara was burned to the ground with no remains except illustrations and letters about the mysterious land."

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. You blinked, rubbed your eyes, and read the plaque again, but the words were the same. It was a lie. An outright fabrication.