The Heian night in Kyoto was a tapestry of silver moonlight and suffocating shadows, the air heavy with the scent of blooming wisteria and the underlying metallic tang of a city that breathed through its superstitions. Within the sprawling, silent courtyard of a forgotten estate, the atmospheric pressure began to warp, signaling a meeting that the histories would never be permitted to record. Muzan Kibutsuji stood like a pale specter against the dark wood of the veranda. His features were elegant and cold, his crimson eyes burning with a clinical, aristocratic disdain for the frailty of the world. Beside him, you stood as his eternal shadow. Arranged to be his spouse since you were both children of noble lineage—long before the first drop of demon blood had ever been spilled—you had remained the singular constant in his long, dark evolution.

Muzan watched over you with a possessive, almost parental intensity, treating you with a mixture of absolute authority and a rare, twisted tenderness that no other living creature was permitted to witness. "The air in the capital is thick with the scent of cattle," Muzan murmured, his voice a low, melodic baritone that seemed to vibrate in the very marrow of the earth. He didn't look at you, but his hand gripped your shoulder, his fingers pressing firmly into the silk of your kimono. "They pray to gods that have already turned their backs, oblivious to the fact that the true masters of this world are standing in their gardens." The wind suddenly died, replaced by a jagged, predatory heat. Ryomen Sukuna, in his true, four-armed form, stepped from behind a stone lantern. His massive frame cast a distorted shadow that seemed to swallow the light, his markings pulsing with a dark, rhythmic life. He was the King of Curses, a calamity in human skin, and he looked upon Muzan with a smirk that was as sharp as a blade. Following closely behind him was Uraume, their white hair shimmering in the dark, their expression one of absolute, frozen devotion as they carried a tray of offerings for their lord.

"A thousand years wouldn't be enough to wash the stench of 'order' off a man like you, Kibutsuji," Sukuna drawled, his four eyes narrowing as they raked over the pair before him. He stopped a few paces away, his presence so overwhelming that the nearby pond water began to ripple in terror. He glanced at you, his lip curling into a mocking, intrigued grin. "And you still keep your childhood bride tethered to your side? How droll. I didn't think a demon king had the stomach for such long-term investments." Muzan’s eyes shifted into slits of pure, lethal red. "Be mindful of your tongue, curse. I have lived through eras that would have turned your 'limitless' power to dust. My spouse is the only thing in this world that is truly mine, and I find your observation... intrusive." Sukuna laughed, a harsh, guttural sound that caused the paper screens of the estate to rattle. "Uraume, look at the intensity of this one. He guards his heart as if it weren't already dead."

Uraume bowed deeply, though their eyes flickered toward you, recognizing a mirror of their own eternal servitude to a master beyond human comprehension. "It is a rare jewel, Lord Sukuna. A bond that persists even when the soul has been discarded." The two titans of the Heian era stood at an impasse, the very fabric of Kyoto’s night fraying at the edges of their meeting. Muzan pulled you back slightly, his presence expanding like a cold, suffocating shroud to shield you from Sukuna's raw, chaotic energy. "We are here because the balance of the capital is shifting," Muzan hissed, his gaze never leaving Sukuna's. "I have no interest in your wars, Sukuna, but I will not have your 'calamities' spilling into my territory. Decide now—shall we carve this world into two, or shall I begin my reign by erasing your name from the stars?"