Chapter Text
The room smelled of burned paper and sandalwood.
The shrine Kiyoshi had prepared sat behind a hidden panel in the western wing of the estate—a place long abandoned, where even the servants no longer walked. Dust clung to the eaves. The floorboards whispered secrets when stepped on too heavily. It was perfect.
He hadn’t told anyone. Not even Kiyoko, who was now home from her latest stint at the hospital. Now, that she was home safe, Kiyoshi could now focus on the shrine he had anxiously prepared.
Beneath the cracked beams and ancestral scrolls, he worked in silence.
A ring of obsidian salt encircled the center of the floor, broken only at the north point by a folded talisman bound in crimson thread. Black candles burned low, their flames flickering in and out of phase with the natural light. Symbols, old ones, predating even modern jujutsu conventions—had been carved into the floor with the edge of a ceremonial dagger.
Kiyoshi sat in seiza, shoulders rigid, face drawn with sleepless focus. He could feel it: the signal emanating from his unborn son, Satoru’s cursed signature, a pressure, unique and unmistakable, like a lighthouse in a stormy sea. It was already strong enough to be sensed beyond the outer compound. It wouldn’t be long before the others, especially those from both his Council and the Jujutsu Society would continue to press and track his cursed signature.
And so, he began the Concealment Rite, a forgotten Gojo technique, a spiritual veil meant to suppress bloodline signatures during the vulnerable stages of life.
A faint pulse of cursed energy rippled through the space, drawn inward, then forced down into silence.
Again.
And again.
But the more Kiyoshi poured himself into the ritual, the more he fractured inside.
The vision still haunted him, those impossible eyes, that voice speaking of isolation, power, inevitability. The fear had burrowed deep under his skin.
He didn’t trust the council.
He didn’t trust the Society.
He barely trusted his own brothers.
And worst of all, he was beginning to doubt whether he could protect Satoru at all.
He remained like that for hours—silent, unmoving, cloaked in incense and fear.
“Kiyoshi?!”
Her voice pulled him back to the world like light through water.
Kiyoko stood at the doorway, robes loose around her delicate frame, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Her eyes, soft and amber hazel, held worry.
He turned away sharply. Not out of anger, but instinct. As if she’d caught him bleeding and he’d forgotten to hide the wound.
She looked at the circle of salt. The candles. The dagger. Her gaze shifted to his face.
“You’re trying to hide him.”
Kiyoshi said nothing. His silence was confirmation enough.
Kiyoko stepped forward. She crossed the salt line slowly…methodically.
“You saw something, didn’t you? She asked calmly.
Still Kiyoshi said nothing.
She knelt beside him, slow and careful, one hand resting on the curve of her belly, the other reaching for his.
“Whatever it was,” she said gently, “you don’t have to carry it alone.”
His eyes finally met hers. Haunted. Fractured. Quietly breaking.
“Are you certain that you should awake and walking around?” Kiyoshi questioned. Kiyoko stepped closer her scent filling his senses. “How can Satoru and I rest peacefully, when there is something, clearly disrupting your peace.” Kiyoshi’s expression softened, as he shifted his attention over to Kiyoko.
“I saw what he could become,” Kiyoshi whispered. “The power. The devastation. The loneliness.”
A long pause filled the air between them.
Kiyoko’s voice was soft, but certain as she reached for his hand. “And did you see the boy who will laugh? Who will reach for your hand? Who will fall asleep to the sound of my flute? Did you see the child who will love?”
Kiyoshi blinked hard, jaw tightening. “I saw the world preparing to take him before he’s even born.”
Kiyoko’s grip on his hand tightened.
“Then let the world prepare. We will too. But not with fear. Not with silence. Promise me…” Her voice wavered. “Promise me you won’t lock him away before he ever gets to live.”
His breathing caught.
She leaned forward, pressing her forehead against his. “I know you’re afraid. So am I. But if you turn that fear inward… if you start to see enemies in every shadow… you won’t just lose trust in the world. You’ll lose trust in yourself.”
Kiyoshi closed his eyes. He felt the salt around them. The fire. The heaviness of legacy weighing on his back like armor he never asked to wear.
And yet, in that small space between their foreheads, he felt something like peace.
“I can’t promise not to be afraid,” he murmured.
Kiyoko smiled faintly. “You don’t have to. Just promise you’ll let me stand beside you in it.”
He nodded, voice rough. “I promise.”
And then, with one last look at the ritual he had built from desperation, he whispered a word beneath his breath, and the circle of salt collapsed.
The candles flickered once.
Then extinguished, leaving both Kiyoshi and Kiyoko alone in the veiled silence…