For fourteen endless years, the world moved on without him. For fourteen years, the name Gojo Satoru was spoken in hushed tones—half in hope, half in despair.

Now, at last, the prison realm shatters.

The blinding white of infinity bends and cracks like glass until the strongest sorcerer of his time is forced back into reality. But something feels… wrong. It takes a moment for him to realize: he has been sealed far longer than Kenjaku ever intended. Fourteen years. Fourteen years stolen from him.

As consciousness claws its way back into his body, Satoru staggers, his head heavy, his chest rising with shallow breaths. The world around him is unrecognizable—different, yet achingly familiar. His Six Eyes adjust, scanning the distance, until they land on a lone figure standing not far away.

For a heartbeat, something inside him stirs. A flicker of recognition. Familiar… but impossible.

His lips part, voice rough, weak from years of silence, and he manages only a broken whisper:

"Where… am I?"