Ataraxia 平静 | Gojo Satoru

-'๑'-𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟔𝟑-'๑'-

Van had always skirted around this question, his silence a wall I'd never dared to scale. But now, with the stakes teetering on a knife's edge, I couldn't afford to be patient any longer.

"You've never. . . talked about it?" Shoko's voice was fragile as she pulled her knees to her chest.

I pressed my lips together, tension coiling in my gut. Somewhere in the room, Van sighed.

"I need to know, Van," I said wearily. "If we're going to help Loan, this could be the key."

A taut silence followed. My heart raced in the stillness, and for a moment, the room tilted. Then, Van appeared behind me, the warmth of him seeping into my back.

"I know," he said softly, his breath brushing against my ear.

I flinched, twisting around on the bench to face him. His expression was carved from stone, but his eyes betrayed him—shadows of regret, of something deeper, swirling in their depths.

At the corner of the room, the little pup growled, baring his teeth. Shoko leaned down, scooping him into her arms again and stroking his fur to calm him. Meanwhile, Gojo and Suguru exchanged a glance, their postures shifting as they leaned against the table.

"If someone sees you. . ." I began, my words sharp with worry.

"No one will see me," he said, his tone clipped.

Every eye was on Van, his shoulders as solid as the tension suffusing the air. His tail swayed slowly, brushing against the dusty floor like a pendulum counting down.

"That night," he began, his voice low, "when the three of you went to retrieve the Tome."

A chill traced its way down my spine. My brows knitted, the memory of that night stirring like a shadow at the edge of my mind.

"That's when it happened."

"What?" My voice was barely a whisper, but I was already standing, drawn upright by a nameless instinct.

Van's jaw tightened, but his gaze softened, an apology written in his every feature.

"The curse that's been haunting your dreams. . ." His voice wavered, low and uneven. "It wasn't there by chance."

Something pressed against my chest until I could barely breathe. My stomach clenched as his words sank in.

"It was drawn to the cursed energy flowing from the Tome," Gojo murmured, as if telling himself a story.

But Van shook his head. "No," he said, voice strained. "It wasn't just that. I wasn't certain until months ago, but now I am. It was Akuryuu." He swallowed hard, his tail swishing once, twice, against the floor. "He was there for my relic."

The air fled my lungs in one brutal rush. Around me, I felt my friends stiffen, but their presence blurred, dimmed. My mind was caught in the memory of those red, twisted eyes—a sneer that crawled beneath my skin, grating against my bones.

"That's impossible," I breathed. My wide eyes searched Van's face for a lie, for some glimmer of uncertainty I could cling to. "That thing was. . . it wasn't anything but a cursed spirit. A mass of—" My voice faltered, my thoughts dragged backward into the vivid, unrelenting memory of my father's blood-red eyes. The drowned green beneath them, sharp and searing as we clashed.

Van watched me with downturned brows, his jaw grinding as though he, too, was unsure of what to say.

"How?" was all I let out. Shoko's hand found mine.

Van exhaled slowly. "Akuryuu must have been newly reborn. Without a host, without a form. That's why he seemed. . . unfinished. But even then, he wanted the Tome. That means he already knew about me. About my brother. He knew what we were." His golden gaze bore into me, searching my mind. "He wanted us both."