The shrine stood forgotten among the twisted trees of Narukami Forest, its torii gate half-collapsed, moss climbing the cracked wood like green veins. Momo shivered as wind whispered through the trees, carrying a scent of rot and ancient smoke.
"This place feels like death," she muttered.
"Because it is," Aira replied, arms crossed. "My spiritual sense is screaming."
Riku stood in front of the main shrine doors, golden eyes flickering. "We have to go in."
Aira frowned. "Why here? Why now?"
"I had another dream last night," Riku said, his voice quiet. "Same one again. Crimson skies, black shrine, a figure standing beneath a cursed sun whispering my name in a voice I can't remember. But this time, I saw the kanji on the shrine gate."
He pointed to the rotting characters above the door.
宿儺神社 — Sukuna Shrine.
Momo swore. "Wait. That Sukuna?"
"Not just a name," Riku said. "A warning."
He placed his hand on the shrine doors. They hissed—not creaked—as if cursed air was sealing them shut.
Then the wood crumbled like dust.
Inside, darkness swallowed the space whole.
They stepped into the black.
The temperature dropped instantly. Riku's cursed energy pushed outward like sonar, revealing stone pillars etched with old symbols—some matching those on the Keeper's blade.
The interior chamber was shaped like a spiral, descending deep underground.
Momo flicked on a flashlight.
"Guys… the walls."
Every surface was covered in murals, old and faded but still vibrant with cursed aura. They depicted a figure with golden eyes and silver hair, his arms stretched wide, surrounded by monsters bowing.
Riku's breath hitched.
"That's… me."
Aira stepped closer. "No. That's the one before you."
Further along, the murals grew darker. The silver-haired figure split in two—one consumed by shadows, the other by light. The shrine's builders had tried to seal both halves in a swirling sigil.
At the spiral's bottom was a stone altar.
On it sat a small black box bound in cursed chains.
Riku approached, feeling his soul thrum in response.
Momo gripped his sleeve. "Don't."
"I have to know."
He reached forward—then stopped.
The chains were inscribed with binding vows. Old ones. Dangerous.
> "Only the Reborn May Open Me.
Only the True May Survive Me.
Falsehood Shall Be Unmade."
Riku touched the box.
The chains unraveled like they'd been waiting.
The moment the lid cracked open—a scream echoed from beneath the world.
The shrine shook. Dust rained from above.
A massive pulse of cursed energy exploded outward.
Aira staggered. "That was a beacon. Something's going to feel that. Everything's going to feel that."
Riku opened the box fully.
Inside, wrapped in red silk and blood-worn prayer paper, was a fragment of a black horn.
His fingers brushed it—and his body jerked.
Visions exploded behind his eyes.
A kingdom burning.
A man with four arms and a grin of knives.
A shrine made from bones.
And a whisper: "My heir walks blind. Open your eyes, vessel."
Riku fell to his knees, gasping.
The horn pulsed with heat, then disintegrated into ash.
The ashes merged with him.
His cursed energy shifted.
It didn't grow stronger—it grew older.
Deeper.
Aira's eyes widened. "That horn was part of Sukuna. A sealed remnant."
"And it just woke something inside him," Momo whispered.
Riku stood slowly. His body glowed faintly with a new pattern of cursed sigils, crawling along his arms.
"I remember a little more now," he said, voice distant. "There was a war. A betrayal. I wasn't just reborn—I was rebuilt. Someone tore a god apart and gave me part of what was left."
A noise echoed through the shrine.
A low, gravel-like hum.
Momo turned.
So did Aira.
A dozen shadowy figures stood at the spiral's top, silhouetted by moonlight.
Keepers.
"They followed the pulse," Aira whispered.
"More like they were waiting for it," Riku corrected, his voice sharper now.
He stepped forward, eyes glowing.
"Get ready," he said.
"They want to bury the past."
He cracked his knuckles.
> "Let's make them remember."