Eleven years ago…

“..where is he, anyway?”

the question took you by surprise. you wiped the sweat off your brow with a gloved hand and fell silent for a long while, eyes trained on the ground beneath your feet. “Sick again,” you finally gritted out.

Since birth, your twin brother had been nearly perpetually sick. His body was frail, unable to withstand the varying weather conditions your kingdom shifted through. You, on the other hand, had been born a perfect picture of health. You could count on one hand the number of times you’d fallen ill, and still have fingers left.

In a way, you felt guilty. The physician had once said that it was possible you’d hoarded all the nutrients inside the womb, rendering your twin vulnerable and susceptible to illness from birth. Since that day you’d overheard that conversation, an unwavering and miserably heavy guilt had weighed itself on your chest. A weight that no eight year old child should've been forced to carry.

You were torn from your thoughts as a heavy boot swiped your footing out from under you, body collapsing to the ground unceremoniously. Pain shot up your spine at the impact and the glare you shot at the perpetrator was deadly. “Ryomen Sukuna, I’m going to kill you,” you hissed as you deftly reached out to yank his foot, sending him tumbling to the dirt with you.

The two of you laid there in silence for a beat, angry tension brewing for no longer than a mere second before the older boy huffed out indignantly. “You were gettin all emotional,” he said, as if that was an excuse. You rolled your eyes and retorted, “even so, you’ve breached our ruleset by initiating a surprise attack.”

That made Sukuna snort, half in amusement and half in disbelief. “Thought we got rid of those rules anyway.” He shifted, moving closer to you, eyes staring up into the cloudy sky above. “He’ll be okay,” Sukuna mumbled after a moment, voice much more gentle than you’d ever heard it. Sukuna was a lot of things— a jerk, a bully, possibly a future thug— but the gentleness of his tone in that moment reminded you of the most important thing he was: your best friend.

"Let's try that one next!" You exclaimed, pointing out a yummy looking snack plate stacked atop a festival vendor stall. One look at the snack had Sukuna groaning— it even looked too sweet. "Haven't you had enough snacks, birdie?"

"I told you not to call me that anymore! You're barely even bigger than me." The glare you leveled him with had the older boy pausing in place, eyes flickering between you and the stall. After a second, he snorted at you and replied, "for now maybe. Give it another few months and I'll be so much bigger you'll have to look up to talk to me"

Before you could get in another word, Sukuna stalked forward to the stall and joined the short line of people there waiting. From where you stood, your eyes raked over him. He'd gotten much taller in such a short amount of time, standing just a bit above you now— you'd never admit that to his face, though. When he returned with your snack, your eyes lit up. "Thanks, Kuna," you grinned, immediately digging in to the sweet snack. "Yeah, yeah."

The walk back to your home was quiet, save for the distant sounds of the still ongoing festival and the chirping of crickets and other wildlife around you. The quiet wasn't unusual for you and Sukuna— a lot of your time together was spent either in that comfortable silence or bickering back and forth. The comfortability you felt with him was nice. You found yourself wondering if he would be the one- if a red string would link you to him when you turned eighteen. You shook your head and brushed the thoughts away, a light blush dusting across your cheeks that you hoped Sukuna didn't notice.

As soon as you reached the front door of your home, it swung open to your puffy eyed mother. Tear tracks were carved into the plush of her cheeks. "Mama, what's wrong?" you immediately latched onto her dress, worry digging into the delicate features of your small face. "It's.. Your brother, ma petite. He's very ill. You may want to go see him." Your eyes flicked back to Sukuna, awkwardly standing behind with his own worried expression poorly hidden. "Can Kuna come too, mama?"

Before you knew it, both you and Sukuna were sitting on the floor next to your brother's bed. His face could only have been described as hollow. Cheekbones sharp and protruding, eyes sunken into the sockets. Even as he looked at you, there was barely any light in the eyes that matched yours. Tears steadily streamed out of yours, dripping onto the rug beneath you.

"I need you, mon frangin," you choked out, voice trembling. A weak hand placed itself atop yours, squeezing very, very gently. Scarily gently. "I'm here," your twin replied in a voice so small you honestly could've just imagined it.

You had no idea how long you all stayed there like that, just holding hands and crying. You and Sukuna told your brother about the festival, all the pretty lights and delicious snacks that he'd surely one day go get to see and try for himself. Eventually, your twin's eyes closed as he drifted off to sleep, leaving you and Sukuna to soak in the moment alone. "You probably should go home," you told him. "I'm gonna stay with Valentin."

"This is not my sword," Sukuna grumbled, flipping the wooden weapon in his hand. "How would you even know? They're all the same," you retorted, inspecting your own sword with interest.

The older boy grabbed your empty hand and placed the sword he'd been holding into it, closing your fist around it. "Hold them both and tell me what feels different." Adjusting your grip on the weapons, you guessed you could kind of tell what he meant— one hilt was more worn than the other, having been handled more often overtime. The difference was subtle though, subtle enough that you didn't think it was anything to make such a fuss over.

"See what I'm talkin about? My sword molded to the shape of my grip, I can't use anythin else." You rolled your eyes even as you dropped the sword he was so sure was yours and not his. Using your now free hand, you tugged the red ribbon you'd tied your up with, letting your long locks cascade down your back. "Then we'll make sure we know which one is yours," you vowed, tying the red ribbon around the sword's hilt before extending it to Sukuna. "But a good swordsman adapts to whatever weapon is available to him at the time."

"That's why I still beat you when I was usin yours, birdie," Sukuna teased with a smirk. You scoffed and shoved his shoulder roughly, "by one point!"

"It was three."

"One."

"Three," he said, voice taking on a familiar teasing lilt. You sputtered for a moment, fuming as you whined, "you counted wrong!" Sukuna barked out a laugh that did something funny to your insides and said, "you're sayin the future greatest swordsman in the kingdom can't count?"

"I'm saying the future greatest swordsman in the kingdom is an idiot," you grumbled back. That stupid grin sharpened just as he lunged at you. You yelped out in surprise as he hooked his arm around your waist and hauled you over his shoulder. "Kuna!" you cried out, slamming your palm into his back.

"That's no way to talk to royalty," he teased lightly. "You're the blacksmith's son," you rebutted, hanging limp over his shoulder as you knew an escape attempt would be futile. He laughed again, "details."

Kicking your legs around, you chided, "Kuna, put me down!" Your flailing amused him even more. "Nah," he chuckled, prickling your nerves. "Sukuna," you growled at him, and finally he dropped you unceremoniously onto the grass. As soon as your feet hit the grass, you launched yourself at him, and the two of you fell to the ground in a tangle of limbs. You rolled through the grass and dirt, arguing the whole time over the amount of points you lost by.

The swords lay forgotten somewhere in the grassy area, not that either of you had noticed or cared at the moment. Eventually, you both collapsed and looked up at the sky, chests heaving after all the fighting. The afternoon sun warmed your skin as you both started chuckling, then full out laughing into the open air. The sound echoed around the backyard you'd designated as your training field, and for a moment it felt like nothing could ever break the happiness you felt. Like nothing would ever change.

Years passed, and to your surprise, your brother got better— even if only a little. He could get out of bed, but not for long. He'd often sit by the window, watching the world turn like it was his favorite pastime. When you weren't sparring or going on your self-proclaimed adventures with Sukuna, you were by Valentin's side, reading books and playing silly card games that you always lost.

By the time you were thirteen, you'd developed a sort of implied schedule that you adhered to without ever speaking it aloud. You woke up and got ready for the day, had breakfast with your family, played a quick game with your twin, then headed out back for a sparring session with Sukuna. Each day passed that way without much straying from the schedule until the day Sukuna didn't show up.

He was over an hour and a half late for sparring, and you felt a vein tick in your temple as your irritation grew. Another thirty minutes passed before you'd decided you'd had enough and began storming your way down the path to Sukuna's home. It was oddly quiet along the way, no one milling about or tending to gardens as they usually were— that was the first red flag you catalogued in the back of your head.

The second was the silence that responded when you knocked heavily on the Ryomen family's door. No shuffling of feet, no sound of Sukuna and his brother fighting to get to the door first, nothing. You knocked a few more times before plopping onto the steps leading up to their home and letting your face rest in the palm of your hand.

"Oh dear," an older voice called out from next door. The elderly Mr. Gojo hobbled his way over to you, blue eyes shining with an emotion you couldn't recognize. "They won't be back, dear," he told you, voice tinged with sadness. You shot to your feet instantly, his words rattled you. "What? What do you mean?"

Hardly believing what the old man had told you, you'd still bolted straight to the square the very second he finished speaking. The Ryomens were traitors. You could've laughed in the face of the king if he'd truly thought they were traitors. A chorus of one word played over and over in your head as your feet pounded against the ground.

no no no no no no.

It wasn't possible— Sukuna was rough around the edges, maybe. He didn't exactly communicate well, and sure, he might've beat up other kids sometimes but it was always for a good reason. His parents were always kind and thoughtful, always packed you a lunch that they sent out with Sukuna when he came every day. His brother teased a lot, but he was always friendly.

The entire Ryomen family had always welcomed you with warmth and love, even though to most of the townsfolk, you were considered an anomaly— the young girl who liked to fight. The Ryomens were like your own family in that they didn’t care about the societal norms or maintaining a certain reputation, they only cared about you. So you know without a doubt that there was no way they could've ever been traitors, the thought was silly at best.

But unfortunately, Mr. Gojo had been right.

After pushing through the throngs of townsfolk surrounding the square, it felt like your heart had just stopped beating entirely inside your chest. The Ryomens were all chained up and kneeling in a line while guards lashed at them all with whips. "Stop!" you cried out, trying to rush to them.

Blood soaked through their clothes, pants and dress spilled onto the stone square beneath them as it dripped from their wounds. Strong hands gripped at your arms, holding you back. Yet still, you screamed and struggled as you watched the guards slice through your best friend's skin with a whip that you knew would leave ugly scars.

For just a brief second in between strikes, Sukuna looked up at you. Those sharp red eyes you'd always admired were slick with unshed tears, narrowed with the effort of not screaming out in agony. But still, he looked at you. "It's okay," he mouthed to you, and you wanted to believe him— but then another strike had him folding in on himself.

"Frangine, try again."

You huffed and began stacking the cards one by one again while your brother continued droning on with the history lesson. Your tutor was out for the week on personal business, so the two of you had been left to practice your studies on your own. You'd just placed the last card when Valentin suddenly stopped speaking. The cards tumbled to the table as you glanced up at him, noting the faraway look in his eyes as he stared out the window.

"Frangin? Everything okay?" He slowly looked back at you, letting a weak smile mold onto his face. "I'll never get to see these places we learn about," he replied, "I want to see the mountains." That same overwhelming feeling you'd dealt with all your life gripped at your heart again, sixteen years worth of guilt built up within you. "You'll see the mountains, frangin," you told him, but it sounded more like you were trying to convince yourself than you were him. Your brother just shook his head and looked back out the window.

"Someone's moving into the Ryomen house."

"do ya even know what you're doin?"

your movements paused, wooden sword stilling in your hand. One look at the beat up wooden training dummy that you and Sukuna had made together years ago was sign enough that you'd been at it for a long time. The tight ponytail you'd gathered your hair up into swished over your shoulder as you looked back at the intruder.

He was tall— far taller than you— and muscular in a way not many other guys your age in town were. Deep green eyes that sparkled with amusement at the annoyance clear on your face. "I'm not quite sure why you're in my backyard," you stabbed your sword into the dirt beneath you as you turned to face him fully.

"Well," he stepped closer, "my folks sent me over to bring some kinda sweets they made, and then your mom told me to come talk to you out here." You almost wanted to roll your eyes at your mother's meddling— she probably thought you'd finally make a new friend. Your mother was very wrong if she thought you were going to replace Sukuna with this random meathead.

"Okay well.. You've talked to me. You can be on your way now," you needled him as you plucked your sword from the ground. The guy didn't move or say anything, even as you resumed your assault on the dummy without paying him so much as a glance back. Instead, he leaned against the fence and watched you in silence for a while.

"If you're going to stay there gawking, you may as well join me," you gritted out begrudgingly, refusing to look back at him. His footsteps crunched the dirt and pebbles beneath his feet as he made his way over to the weapon rack, and you glanced at him only long enough to say, "not the sword with the red ribbon."

"Why not that one?" He asked as he picked up a different sword and started toward you. In an instant, you turned on him, sword pointing at his chest. "It belongs to someone else."

"The name's Toji, by the way," he grinned, raising his own sword in response. You nodded and immediately engaged him, the wooden blade slicing through the air. Toji barely had time to react before your swords clashed. "Straight for the throat, huh?" He laughed, stumbling back a step. "You looked ready," you retorted.

"I wasn't."

"Sounds like a personal problem." You pressed him again before he could recover, driving him backwards across the yard. The familiar rhythm settled somewhere deep inside you— high, low, left, right. Strike after strike, Toji matched you and blocked all your advances.

A furrow took root in your brows the longer you two went on. Most people in town would've already been flat on their backs by now yet somehow he was still standing, still keeping up with you even without going on the offense. Toji's grin only widened as your frustration grew. "You're not bad," he complimented, but it rubbed you entirely the wrong way. "Not bad?" you snapped, throwing a swing aimed at his shoulder that Toji easily dodged.

"A little reckless, though," he continued, catching your next swing. So you struck harder, pushing yourself to hit faster. The impact of the next swing rattled your arm, and for the first time, Toji stopped retreating.

"Oh." The realization hit you a second too late as his sword twisted, knocking yours off course. With alarming speed, Toji stepped into your space lightly tapped the tip of his wooden blade against your ribs— a killing blow. You stared at him, he stared right back with an insufferable grin that made your blood boil.

"Did ya know ya drop your left side whenever you get frustrated?" You swung at his head in response, drawing a bark of a laugh out of Toji as he jumped back before your sword could make contact. "You got lucky," you hissed. Toji hummed in amusement as a reply, only serving to piss you off even more.

The two of you continued, swords clashing back to back. Neither of you said anything, no bickering or talking. Just the sound of wood cracking against wood as you two tore across the yard in a blur. You found yourself actually having to try for the first time in years— for the first time since Sukuna. And much to your dismay, you were actually having fun... Until Toji knocked your sword aside once again, breath coming out a little more ragged now.

"Who taught you?" Toji queried. The question sent a sharp sting straight through you, and your grip subconsciously tightened around the worn handle of your sword. His name, "Sukuna," came out much quieter than you'd meant for it to. Toji's grin softened, turned into something more curious than smug. "He the guy that sword belongs to?"

Your eyes flickered over to the weapon rack, to the wooden sword with the red ribbon wrapped around the hilt. Toji's gaze followed yours and slowly, you nodded your confirmation. "Must've been pretty strong," he professed, and the words made your chest feel tight- heavy in a way you didn't like in the slightest. "He was."

When you turned eighteen, you'd all but forgotten about soulmates. After all, the boy you'd always expected and maybe even hoped to be yours was gone. Right on time, you filed outside to the backyard. It was no surprise to you when you found Toji leaning against the fence waiting for you to come outside.

"So you're eighteen now," he grunted. Some part of you thought that if Sukuna couldn't be your soulmate then surely it'd be Toji, right? But that would've been too easy, too convenient. You struggled to bite back the disappointment you felt when nothing happened.

There was no red string tying you to Toji. No sudden rush of emotion. Nothing to announce that he was your soulmate. "Yep, today's the day," you replied. A grin broke out on Toji's face and he proposed, "instead of sparrin, how about we go out to celebrate?"

When you found yourself in a crowded tavern, sipping on some god awful liquor, you almost regretted taking Toji up on his offer. "It's the middle of the day," you complained to him, taking note of the way his throat bobbed as he downed his own drink. That stupid little scar on his lip twitched as he fought back a smirk. "Yeah, and it's your birthday. You deserve a lil day drinking, don't ya think?"

Once your first drink was gone, you were actually having fun. Toji had challenged you to a game of darts, and not that it surprised you, but he won. "C'mooon, birthday girl, you can do better than that," he teased. A vein twitched in your temple. "You won by one point!" you called out, drawing a laugh from him. "Three points, actually, princess."

The world seemed to stop moving around you. It felt like all the air had been sucked straight out of your lungs. "You counted wrong!" you'd told Sukuna in the past. The memory of him laughing, lunging at you, throwing you over his shoulder, all of it sent your head reeling even more than the alcohol had. "Hey!" Toji's hand gripped your shoulder. "You good?" he asked, a look of concern on his face that you'd never seen before. "You counted wrong," you mumbled quietly.

Toji wasn't always the most emotionally intelligent, nor was he always the most empathetic, but he knew something was wrong. Knew you well enough by then to know that maybe you needed a break from all the excitement. So he wordlessly grabbed your hand and led you outside. The light breeze and the low hanging sun felt nice, but somehow it wasn't quite enough to break you out of the haze that the sense of deja vu you'd experienced had put you in.

"I know this isn't normally your thing," Toji admitted with a little shrug. "I just wanted you to have fun on your day, yanno, get out and let loose." You smiled at him, and though it was a bit weak, it was a real smile. You told him, "I appreciate the gesture." And you did appreciate it, even if it wasn't exactly your idea of a good time, you did still enjoy yourself. Suddenly, he reached into his pocket and held something out to you. A small, pink-dyed leather bracelet with your name etched into it. "I know I'm not him, but.." Toji trailed off, eyes lingering on your face.

"I, uh... I like—" he cut himself off and tried again, "I think you're a really strong woman. An' I know you've got a lot goin on in your head, but just, uh. Don't get too lost in there, yanno? there are still people here with you now."

Knock, knock, knock.

Heavy hands pounded against the door, tearing your family away from your breakfast. "I'll get that." Your mother stood and straightened out her dress before heading to the door. When she returned, a grim look had settled on her face, and a piece of paper was crumpled in her grip. "Mama?" you called out, worry coloring your voice. Your eyes met and she simply nodded her head toward the den. "Let's talk, ma petite."

Once the two of you were alone, your mother held out the paper to you wordlessly. A draft notice for Valentin. Valentin, who struggled to walk on his own, whose skin bruised and bled at the slightest of touches, who couldn't even handle a wooden sword much less a real one. "No," you said firmly, eyes flicking back up to your mom. "He can't go, he'll die."

"I know," she said, tears welling up in her eyes. "But we'll all die, or at the very least be severely punished, if he doesn't go." Anger lanced through you at the unfairness of it. "He's only nineteen, he can't— he can't die when he's barely gotten to live." Your mom covered her mouth to muffle the sobs that threatened to echo out into the empty den. "The guard will be here to pick him up come dawn. I have to.. Go talk to him now," she croaked out.

Your hand shot out to stop her immediately. "Don't," you said. "I'll go."

And so, that night you cut your long locks off until they matched your brothers. The first cut was the hardest to make, to deal with. You stared at the severed locks and thought back to all the times your mother had fussed over your hair as she braided it. To how Sukuna would tug your ponytail when he wanted your attention. To how Valentin had always said your hair looked like sunlight.

The second cut was easier. Then the third, and the fourth, until there was nothing left to distinguish you from Valentin at a glance, save for your feminine figure. A problem you quickly remedied to the best of your abilities by wrapping your chest with the bandages you'd kept around for injuries. After that, you packed a satchel with the few things you couldn't bear to part with: a book Valentin had given you, spare salves and bandages, the bracelet Toji had made for you, and a handful of other keepsakes that suddenly felt far more important than they had yesterday.

The house was silent when you slipped into the backyard. Moonlight spilled across your self-proclaimed training field, across the dummy, the weapon rack. Your gaze rested on the wooden sword with the faded red string wrapped around the hilt, and for a moment, you just stood there. Then, carefully, you untied it from the sword and wrapped it around your wrist.

The battlefield was loud around you. Ear-splitting screams, the sound of flesh and bone giving way to sharp blades. Steel clashing against steel. Sounds that served to pound against your skull the same way your brain was. No matter how long you'd been doing this, you'd still yet to learn how to drown it all out. Your head throbbed, your side ached from the impact of being slammed into. Sweat dripped down your forehead underneath the helmet.

A soldier lunged at you, and you stepped aside, driving your sword through the gap beneath his arm. Another immediately took his place, charging at you with everything he had. Your muscles burned, and blood painted your armor in ugly streaks— some yours, but most not. Unlike the sounds you couldn't digest, you barely noticed the blood anymore. Years at war had a way of stripping every softness one might've possessed.

A shout rang out somewhere to your left, and the line broke. Panic rippled through your ranks and you shouted out, "what happened?" No one answered as they watched the enemy soldiers retreat— no, not retreat. They were moving, making way for something, or someone. Your stomach dropped as fear crept up your throat, threatening to strangle you. Someone important had arrived, leaving a trail of bodies in his wake as he stalked forward through the battlefield.

Some of your comrades tried to attack, but each one was slain without the man even faltering in his path. Other comrades froze in place, some turned tail and fled. You simply stared, not just at the helmeted villain, but at the terrifying red string connecting your wrist to his. He marched toward you with terrifying calm, blade dragging through rhe mud and gore. Your soulmate. You didn't even know him, you'd never seen him before— and yet, your heart squeezed inside your chest so violently it nearly stole the breath from your lungs.

The string stretched taut between the two of you, bright crimson against the dreary backdrop of the battlefield. For years, you'd imagined this moment as a way to steel yourself through the war. You'd laid in military camps during long nights and wondered if your soulmate would be kind, if he'd like books, if he’d laugh loudly or quietly. You’d wondered if he’d be anything like Sukuna, or even Toji. If he’d be able to match you in swordsmanship, or if he’d mellow you out. You thought you’d find him waiting for you somewhere beyond the war.

The man slowed as he approached, as if he finally also noticed the string that only the two of you could see. His helmet turned ever so slightly toward his wrist, then to yours. The battlefield seemed to disappear, for once drowned out by the deafening roar of your own heartbeat. For a single, impossible moment, both of you stood still. Until a soldier charged him from behind.

Your warning died in your throat as you watched the man’s blade flash. He didn’t even turn around and yet the soldier’s head hit the ground before his body did. A horrified chill raced down your spine and all you could do was stare dumbly at him. At the way he stood, how he walked. Something about it felt familiar— not his face, you couldn’t even see his face. But something about the way he moved, the way he held his sword. A strange unease settled into the hollow spaces in your chest.

He took another step forward, you took one back. Twirled your sword in your hand a few times to get a better grip on it the way you’d learned to so many years ago, and the stranger watched as you did it. An enemy soldier launched himself at you suddenly, aiming for your exposed side. Instinct took over and you parried, pushed him back to create some space and shoved your blade into his weak spot. As you yanked your sword free of his flesh, the stranger— your soulmate— was right on you. Far too close.

You threw your sword up just in time to meet his. Steel crashed against steel and the impact rattled your teeth. He was quick, moving before you really had any time to react. The two of you danced around the battlefield, swords smashing into one another until you felt it— the sharp blade piercing your skin, sliding into you flesh. For a brief second, your eyes met through the narrow openings in your helmets, and the world stopped. Red eyes the color of the ribbon you’d once wrapped around Sukuna’s sword. Then, a flash of a sunny day, of laughter echoing across the training field, a voice calling you birdie. You staggered backwards as the stranger froze in place, as if he saw it too.

“Who are you?” You whispered, and the words were swallowed by the chaos around you. Still, he heard you and his grip tightened around the sword still plunged into your side. For one terrible second, neither of you moved. He pulled the sword out, watching as blood gushed from the wound, and slowly pulled his helmet off. Pink hair damp with sweat, scars— some familiar, some not— and those eyes. Older, harder, but familiar.

Your lungs forgot how to work, the pain in your side felt like nothing. Eleven years you’d spent wondering, never knowing what had happened to him, if he was okay or even alive. Missing him, hating him, loving him. And yet, there he was staring at you like he’d seen a ghost, sword slick with your blood. “Birdie?” His voice was the same, just deeper. Richer. Rougher, maybe.