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Chapter Text

Chapter Text

"The safety of the ground..." He repeated the phrase, tasting the weight of it. "A singular perspective. Most speak of my power as a storm to be feared. You speak of it as a foundation to be measured."

He leaned back slightly, finally granting you a measure of space, though his presence still dominated the room. "You speak as if there are many who hide such minds behind their terror."

"There are, my lord. You simply provide a light so blinding that they have no choice but to retreat into the shadows. Their capabilities stay hidden because your wrath is unpredictable."

"Truth, however inconvenient, is simply what remains. And perhaps," you continued, your voice soft but steady, "what a person chooses to reveal depends less on their inherent nature, and more on the safety of the ground they stand upon. Fear can make anyone say or do what is required to endure."

"The safety of the ground..." He repeated the phrase, tasting the weight of it. "An audacious claim. I am used to the sound of terror, not the sound of a mind trying to calculate my limits."

"And how," he asked, his tone finally losing its edge of mockery, "would one go about unearthing such minds? If they are buried so deeply under layers of fear, how would I find them?"

"To find what is hidden, one must change the environment that forces it to hide," you began, your voice gaining a quiet confidence. "If intelligence is punished, it will wear the mask of stupidity. If strength is met with death, it will feign weakness. It requires a shift from unpredictable terror to predictable consequences. Only then, when the fear of exposure is outweighed by the need to solve, will their true natures surface. You must observe their minds, my lord, not just their cowering."

He remained silent, his expression unreadable. The weight of his presence suddenly intensified, the air growing thick with a dark, suffocating heat. He stepped closer, his shadow completely eclipsing you.

"You suggest I alter the very nature of my rule? That I encourage my subjects to... think?" He let out a soft, dangerous laugh that didn't reach his eyes. "And what if they think of defiance? What if I find that behind these 'masks' you speak of, there is only a blade meant for my throat?"

He leaned down, his face inches from yours, his four eyes boring into your soul. The threat was no longer theoretical; he was deciding, in that moment, if your "intellect" was a gift or a rebellion that needed to be crushed.

You felt the cold sweat prickle at your neck. You realized that to continue this conversation here, under the watchful, terrified eyes of the court, was to invite your own execution. He was performing for his subjects as much as he was listening to you. You needed to change the ground.

"My lord," you murmured, forcing your voice to remain low and intimate, an anchor in the storm of his energy. "If we are to discuss the delicate art of managing intellect and defiance... perhaps it is best done over a shared pot of tea, away from the prying eyes. It is difficult to unearth anything when the very ground beneath their feet is shaking from your presence, wouldn't you agree?"

Sukuna searched your face for a long, agonizing beat. Then, the tension snapped. He didn't move, but the air around him became a stagnant, heavy weight as he balanced the impulse to crush your throat against the novelty of your words. His four eyes remained fixed on you, cold and analytical, tracking the shallow rhythm of your breath as if gauging exactly how much pressure it would take to break your "clarity." It was the stillness of a coin spinning on its edge, a lethal hesitation while he decided if you were a gift or a nuisance.

Finally, the coin landed. He flicked a hand toward the servants, his voice a sharp crack in the silence.

"Prepare tea"

The servant withdrew in a frantic, stumbling hurry, the clatter of their retreat echoing as a hollow punctuation to the King’s command. A pocket of heavy, ringing silence settled over the cavernous hall. You could feel the weight of the other women’s eyes—sharp with envy or clouded by a dull, paralyzing disbelief—as they watched you stand in the presence of the King. To them, you were no longer a captive; you were a ghost already halfway to the grave, speaking to a force of nature as if he were a man who could be reasoned with.

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The only sound was the rhythmic thrum-clack of a bamboo water pipe—a repetitive beat. In the center of this staged wilderness sat a low table of polished black stone. The steam from the teapot rose in thin, ghostly ribbons, twisting into the cold air. It was here, in this pocket of quietude, that you rose up with a slight, involuntary tremble you couldn’t quite suppress.

You met Sukuna’s unreadable gaze. Your face was pale, your features set in a hard-won composure that sat precariously over the raw static of your nerves.

"May I suggest the garden, my lord?" you ventured, your voice reaching for a steadiness it didn't quite feel. You inclined your head toward the table. "Its meticulously crafted landscape offers both a quiet beauty and a stillness conducive to true discretion. Such a place, where every element is precisely controlled, mirrors the absolute power you command over this kingdom. It would provide a fitting backdrop for the deeper currents of thought we wish to explore."

His eyebrows arched imperceptibly. He was scanning you, his four eyes tracking the subtle, rapid beat of the pulse in your throat. Finding a sincerity that was as terrified as it was resolute, a ghost of a smile played across his lips—a predatory amusement that sent a visible shiver down the spines of the guards stationed at the doors.

"A tactical retreat," he murmured, his voice a low vibration that seemed to pull the air from your lungs. "You wish to steal the King from his court to see if he's any less a monster in the dark. Lead the way, then."

A cold jolt of realization hit you. He knows. You had been so proud of your "manipulation," yet he had dismantled the entire facade in a single sentence. Every carefully rehearsed syllable of your argument about "discretion" and "subtle currents" seemed to shrivel under the heat of his gaze. You were only moving to the garden because he found your effort amusing enough to permit it.

You managed a shallow, stiff nod, turning toward the doors because staying under that mocking, four-eyed scrutiny for another second felt like standing on a collapsing bridge.

As you walked, he matched his strides to yours. His massive frame loomed beside you, a constant, suffocating reminder of the physical disparity between you. Yet, instinctively, he seemed to adjust, his shadow stretching long across the stone floors as he lowered his posture to accommodate your smaller height. It was an unconscious concession of space, though it felt more like a hurricane momentarily holding its breath.

They moved deeper into the landscape, where the quiet hum of the garden began to drown out the oppressive tension of the castle walls. You allowed your gaze to sweep over the ancient trees and the precisely placed stones—life that existed only because it was permitted, much like yourself.

"One might assume, my lord," you ventured as the air grew fresher, "that absolute power requires no understanding of subtlety. Yet, this garden proves otherwise. Its beauty lies in discernment—much like the hidden strengths of those who merely survive within your reign."

A dry, humorless huff escaped him, the sound of a man watching a brave ant try to map a mountain. He settled into a stride that felt less like a walk and more like an invitation, his four eyes alight with the realization that every sentence you uttered was a jagged little hook meant to find a point of resonance where your words might finally hold weight.

"You expressed interest in unearthing, my lord," you continued, passing a moss-covered stone lantern. "In this quiet space, one might find that the most valuable discoveries are not those that scream for attention, but those that reveal themselves only to careful, discerning eyes. The truest strength, perhaps, often lies not in raw force, but in the subtle currents beneath the surface."

Sukuna suddenly stopped, turning to face you. You stopped, too, your own gaze meeting his. The air between you hummed with contained energy.

"A garden?" Sukuna looked down at you, his four eyes narrowing. "You speak of 'subtle strengths' as if you have the right to measure me at all. Most women know their place is at my feet; they don't presume to lecture me on the nature of my own power. Tell me, is this 'clarity' of yours real, or is it just the last refuge of a mind that knows it’s about to break?"

"My lord," you began, your gaze unwavering, "my words are not born of a lack of awareness, but of its very abundance. What you describe in others is the desperate performance of those who are denied any other path to life. My truth, however... is simply the only one I possess that is worthy of a mind such as yours. And for that truth to emerge, I must stand on ground that is not shaking with fear."

He seemed to be weighing your "truth" against the thousand lies he had heard before. Then, your gaze softening slightly, you continued, "The shadows, my lord, conceal much. But a sun that burns too fiercely can turn a garden into a desert. A more measured light reveals the resilience of life. To discover what truly exists in your kingdom, you must create a space where its inhabitants are not merely cowering from the heat."

Finally, your voice broke the silence. "To truly measure the landscape of one's domain, one must allow light into its deepest corners. Only then can its true potential be known."

Sukuna leaned back, his four eyes tracking a single leaf as it spiraled toward the gravel. He didn't move to agree. Instead, the air around him grew heavy again, a reminder of the raw, unbridled force he represented. "A sun does not choose its intensity to please the garden," he murmured, his voice cold and level. "It simply is. You ask me to be 'measured,' but power that is restrained is power that invites challenge. You find value in the subtle; I find value in what can withstand the storm. Tell me, girl—does the desert complain to the sun, or does it simply learn to be as harsh as the heat that created it?"

You offered a slight nod, acknowledging his logic without surrendering your own. "The strengths you seek, my lord, do not diminish your own. To command the seen is power; to understand the unseen is mastery. Perhaps this new perspective is best savored over the warmth of a shared brew."

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The laughter didn't burst; it leaked.

Your eyes watered with the sheer, agonizing effort of holding back a hysterical sob of mirth. The earlier internal amusement had transformed into something much more dangerous—a genuine, shaking laugh that you kept trapped behind your clenched teeth. The sight of the King of Curses standing in the moonlight with four tiny, handle-less tea bowls nestled in his massive, clawed hands was a grotesque tableau of immense power meeting fragile domesticity. This was the "mastery" you had joked about, and now that it was real.

"Precisely, my lord," you managed to say, your voice tight and vibrating with the laughter you were still smothering. "A truly... fascinating display. It perfectly illustrates that the most profound forms of control are not merely about raw might, but about the exquisite precision and versatility of power."

You gestured toward the table, your hand still trembling. Sukuna didn't look at the bowls. His four eyes remained fixed on you, tracking the way your shoulders shook. With a fluid, almost silent grace, he placed all four tea bowls back on the stone table, setting them down with a careful, measured precision that was far more unsettling than his usual brutality.

He took his seat, the cushions barely shifting under his immense weight. The air between you hummed with an expectant weight.

"Indeed, my lord," you said softly, settling back onto your own cushion. "The garden awaits our closer examination, and the tea, its warmth. What aspect of this garden, or your kingdom, do you find most perplexing when viewed through this new lens?"

Sukuna didn't respond immediately. He looked down at his tea bowl, his fingers—thick and scarred as ancient cedar roots—wrapped around the delicate ceramic with enough pressure to turn the knuckles white, yet the porcelain didn't shatter. He raised the bowl to his lips in a slow, deliberate mirror of your own movement. The air around him didn't soften; it settled into a thick, expectant stillness, the kind of silence that precedes a landslide. He took a sip, his eyes never leaving yours.

He set the bowl down with a soft clink. His four arms relaxed, but they didn't go limp; he leaned back into the cushions, his massive frame creating a shadow that swallowed the table between you.

"This stillness, my lord," you murmured, "is the true starting point for discerning the subtle currents. When the ground is no longer shaking, the delicate roots can truly be examined. What aspect of your kingdom, then, might we turn our gaze to first?"

You gestured gently to the gnarled pine nearby. "Even the grandest ancient tree relies on unseen roots for its formidable strength. Its ability to withstand the harshest storms is not just in its visible trunk, but in the unseen network that anchors and nourishes it. A kingdom, too, might possess such unseen foundations."

Sukuna’s movement ceased. The slow, rhythmic rising of his armored chest halted. He became as motionless as the stone lanterns surrounding the table. He didn't blink; his four eyes remained fixed on the ancient pine, the crimson light in them sharpening until they were mere pinpricks of fire. The wind, which had been rustling the camellia leaves, died out entirely, leaving the garden in a vacuum of heavy, pressurized silence.

He didn't speak. Instead, he reached out, his hand—stained with the day’s iron—hovering just inches above the raked gravel. His fingers curled slightly, as if he were trying to grasp the very air beneath the surface. When he finally turned his gaze back to you, the sheer weight of his focus felt like a physical hand pressing against your chest.

"To ignore such roots, my lord," you whispered, "is to risk the health of the entire tree when the storm finally breaks. But to understand them... that is to ensure a foundation far more resilient than one built on visible strength alone."

His jaw tightened, a hard line appearing beneath the markings on his face. He didn't offer a nod. Instead, the shadows beneath him seemed to stretch and deepen, his presence expanding until the garden felt too small to contain him. He looked at you with a cold, clinical intensity, his eyes scanning your face as if looking for the crack where this "unseen" strength was supposed to hide. He was looking at a creature that had just had the audacity to suggest his current power was incomplete.

"To understand the roots, my lord," you continued, "one must first survey the surface with new eyes. Perhaps we can begin with your courtiers—the immediate soil of your dominion. Their outward obedience is visible, but what unseen currents truly move beneath it?"

A low, almost amused sound escaped Sukuna's throat.

"Indeed, my lord," you affirmed. "The principles of strategy are universal. A keen eye for weakness, a precise understanding of motivation—these are as crucial in securing loyalty within your own court as they are on any battlefield. The difference lies only in the instruments one chooses."

The air suddenly snapped. Sukuna’s massive form blurred. One hand slammed onto the stone table behind you, the force vibrating through your spine, while another clamped onto your shoulder with a heavy, crushing weight, pinning you in place against the bench. A third hand wound into the hair at the nape of your neck with with a sharp, controlling grip that forced your head back to look at him.

He loomed over you, his presence a suffocating, mountain-like weight. A sharp reality of a predator who had caught something unusual. His voice, a low rumble of dark amusement, vibrated against your ear.

"You want me to treat my own courtiers like enemies to be outmaneuvered and exposed?"

Your breath hitched, the sensation of being trapped by his unyielding form sending a jolt of pure adrenaline through your nerves. You were pinned under a mountain of muscle, his four eyes boring into yours from inches away.

"Not precisely, my lord," you whispered back. "Though your keen mind grasps the essence. It is not about treating them as enemies to be destroyed, but understanding them as a general would understand a complex battlefield. To discern the loyalties, the ambitions, the true capabilities hidden beneath layers of fear and pretense. For a king cannot truly command what he does not fully comprehend, can he?"

The hand at your neck tightened, a warning of the sheer power he held over your life. His demon features hovered just above your own, clinical and cold. "And what if I choose to punish those who... bore me?"

Your gaze held his, clear and unyielding.

"Then, my lord," you whispered, "you would merely be pruning the same branches you always have. The truly intriguing challenge lies in cultivating all that grows within your domain. Punishment is merely an ending. Understanding, however, opens up an infinite landscape of new amusements."

A dangerous smirk spread across his features—a look of dark, intellectual hunger. His free hand gripped your chin, forcing you to maintain that unblinking eye contact.

"Your tongue is as sharp as your mind, woman," he rumbled, his shadow falling over you like a shroud until the bright sunlight was blocked out entirely. "You speak of my boredom with the familiarity of a priestess speaking of her god. It is a dangerous thing to claim you can feed the hunger of a King. You offer me a 'grand game' within my own walls. Most offer me their heads to avoid such a gaze. Why do you offer me your mind instead?"

"Only, my lord," you whispered, meeting his smirk with flinty resolve, "that a mind as vast and formidable as yours would inevitably grow weary of predictable amusements. Your boredom is a hunger, and this afternoon, you have finally found something that requires more than a blade to consume."

You paused, your heart still drumming a frantic rhythm, but your eyes remained fixed on his.

"I do not think you are here by chance, my lord," you said, your breath ghosting against his skin. "Your boredom is a hunger, and at this day's edge, you have finally found something that requires more than a blade to consume. Most see only what I allow them to see. You, however... you are the first to actually look."

Chapter Text

His breath caught slightly at your words—the sudden, jarring impact of an unexpected perception. It was the stillness of a predator that had heard a sound it didn't recognize. Rarely did anyone dare speak to him with such unguarded intelligence, least of all a woman in his royal court who should have been trembling for her life. His fingers tightened marginally in your hair, a sharp, silent admission that you had finally piqued his curiosity.

You felt that subtle catch in his lungs, the almost imperceptible tightening of his grip. It was a precise, quiet confirmation that your words had struck a chord. The acknowledgment that he saw beyond the surface, that he sought the workings of your mind, was a triumph of a different, more personal kind than any you had sought from him before. The air between you, already pressurized by the afternoon sun, now hummed with a delicate, fragile intensity.

Your gaze, calm and steady, held his. "Indeed, my lord," you murmured, your voice soft, almost a continuation of the garden's stillness. "And it is this very willingness to see beyond the superficial, to delve into what truly lies beneath—whether in a woman, a court, or an entire dominion—that paves the path to true understanding. Shall we then, begin to truly survey this path you have chosen?"

You shifted your weight almost imperceptibly within the cage of his arms, a subtle invitation for him to deepen the shared focus, moving from your personal revelation to the broader task at hand. Sukuna’s eyes narrowed slightly, revealing not anger but a dark, heavy fixation. Very few could stand so close to him, their lives literally in his grasp, and speak such words. Most would tremble beneath the weight of his presence alone. Yet here you stood, offering insight rather than fear.

"Then, my lord," you said, your voice dropping to a calm, conspiratorial tone, "let us begin at the periphery. How much do you truly know of the lives, the allegiances, and the hidden desires of the most seemingly insignificant figures within your own court? The ones who scurry in the shadows, or who merely serve the tea?"

Your gaze drifted to the now-empty teacups on the stone table, a subtle reminder of the small, overlooked details. His four arms tightened around you, a slow, heavy constriction that served as a reminder of the cage you inhabited. One thumb pressed into your waist with a thoughtful, bruising weight. He was analyzing you. Most would be focused on his size or his power; instead, you were analyzing his empire.

"Ambitious," he murmured, his voice a low, grating rumble like distant thunder vibrating through your own chest. His grip shifted; his extra hands came to rest on the stone table on either side of you, caging you within his shadow. He was no longer treating you as a diversion to entertain a whim; he was looking at an asset.

"Most use their tongues to beg for a longer life, or try to justify their existence with their bodies," he rumbled, his breath hot against your skin. "You speak of my court as if it were a board and the people merely stones. You attempt to justify yours by offering me a map of my own boredom."

He paused, a dismissive, grating drawl entering his tone as he looked down at you. "I have always found your kind to be like the flowers in this garden—pleasant to look at, rooted in one place, and quite mindless. You are meant to be a vessel for a man’s whims, not a strategist for his wars."

He leaned in closer, his four eyes tracking every movement of your pupils. "If I asked you to rule a country, could you? Or would the weight of a crown be too much for a mind usually occupied by silk and tea?"

"My lord," you stated, your voice clear and strong, though still soft within the confines of his embrace, "my observation suggests that true governance, at its heart, lies in understanding its living currents, its hidden strengths, its vulnerabilities, and the intricate dance of its people's desires and fears. It is to discern the true nature of its soil, its seasons, and its potential, much like cultivating this very garden."

You paused, your eyes now gleaming with a quiet, unwavering clarity. "And yes, my lord, I could comprehend such a dominion, and guide its many aspects. I possess the sight to see what is overlooked, the mind to connect what is disparate, and the will to cultivate what others would simply crush. These are qualities of understanding and will, my lord, found in both men and women, and are what truly govern a kingdom."

Your voice softened almost imperceptibly, yet with an undeniable firmness.

"However... I wouldn't. I want my freedom. Or would it surprise you, my lord, to discover that even the women you yourself dismiss might hold such liberty dear? My strength, my lord, lies in my ability to move unbound, to truly see, and to offer insights that only a mind unfettered by dominion's burdens can truly grasp. My value to you is found precisely in that liberty."

The silence broke with a low, dangerous chuckle—the sound rumbling through his chest like distant thunder. "You... you are a rare creature, aren't you?" His eyes searched yours, his grip tightening with a possessive, iron finality. He was ensuring you couldn't move while he scrutinized this new anomaly. He was fascinated. He was used to the stale wine of flattery; you were a cold, sharp blade.

After a long silence, his four eyes narrowed in a slow, deliberate appraisal, as if he were looking through your flesh to see the bone, the cold intent of a wolf. His gaze became a physical pressure, pinning you to the earth as he weighed the true cost of your audacity. It was a stillness that heralded a storm.

"Most have the sense to choke on their own terror when I hold them," he rumbled, his voice dropping into a low, jagged register. "But you... you seem to have forgotten your place entirely. Is this the 'performance' you spoke of, or have you truly grown so tired of life that you’ve discarded your instinct to survive?"

"Indeed, my lord," you replied. "But a mask only obscures the truth, and trembling prevents one from seeing it at all. Neither would serve your true desire for mastery, nor my own for liberty."

He tilted his head slightly, a slow, mechanical movement that felt entirely non-human. His grip didn't loosen, but his fingers twitched against your waist as if he were measuring the density of your spirit. The stagnant crimson of his eyes didn't soften; instead, it sharpened into a needle-point of light that seemed to strip away the garden, the court, and the silk until only your resolve remained.

"You..." he started, his voice a low rumble.

"Yes, my lord," you murmured. "It is I. And in this shared moment of true sight, what new understanding do you find?"

Sukuna's grip tightened further, a reflex of the turmoil within him. He was silent for a moment, processing the weight of a spirit he could crush, yet never break. Then, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper, acknowledging the one truth that left him without leverage:

"You do not fear me."

Chapter Text

You felt the subtle, reflex tightening of his grip, sensing the sudden, violent static of his cursed energy churning beneath that formidable exterior. In the garden, the crickets went abruptly silent. The air grew heavy, thick with the metallic tang. You held your breath, giving him the space to distill the unprecedented into words.

When his voice finally came, it was a mere whisper that held the weight of centuries: "You do not fear me."

Your gaze remained steady. "At first, my lord, the instinct to tremble was undeniable. I felt it." You allowed the admission to settle between you. "But fear is a blinding fog. It distorts the landscape and hides its true potential. I have no desire to be blind. I chose clarity instead."

You leaned into the stillness. "Others, if given the chance to look beyond their terror, might find a similar capacity for loyalty—one born of insight rather than dread. To truly understand requires an open mind, not a cowering heart. 

Sukuna’s hand blurred.

His fingers locked around the base of your skull with a heavy, unyielding heat. The pressure was precise—a hair’s breadth from a snap—forcing your chin up until your breath hitched against the solid wall of his palm. He pulled you forward until your brows almost touched.

"You think see me?" He spoke the words with a low, vibrating amusement that felt like a blade dragged across your skin. "You truly think you’ve mapped out the depths of what I am?"

The grip stole the air from your lungs, yet beneath the force, you felt the startling weight of his absolute focus that resonated through your very bones. With deliberate slowness, your hands came to rest against the broad, heat-radiating muscles of his back—not a soft embrace, but a steady, grounding counterweight to his aggression.

"Yes, my lord. To see you is to perceive the tapestry of your power, your isolation, and your ancient wisdom. I recognize the currents that drive you, not just the storms you unleash. That is my offer: a sight unobscured. An unyielding perspective—a fixed point of truth that remains constant even as the world around you shifts."

You took a shallow, steady breath. "I ask you to consider a different path. Allow me to stand within your shadow, not as a servant bound by a leash of terror, but as a ward guided by your wisdom. Allow me the freedom to serve with a devotion untainted by fear—to be the one eyes in this world that do not blink when you look at them."

The world held its breath. Sukuna went utterly motionless, his form becoming a heavy, airless vacuum. A single, sharp spasm of tension rippled through his shoulder—the only sign of the tectonic shift occurring beneath his skin. Then, slowly, his fingers loosened just enough for you to breathe, though he kept his hand possessively on your neck.

"That tension, my lord," you murmured, "is the friction of the unprecedented. A deep understanding requires no force to bind it. It is self-sustaining."

The shadows beneath him bled outward, swallowing the sunlight. He was a creature defined by what he took, yet you were offering a tribute he didn't know how to categorize. His second hand rose, claws grazing your shoulder as he tested your weight, his four eyes narrowing into lethal slits that searched for the crack in your resolve. His hand clamped onto your shoulder, a crushing anchor that demanded you remain in his orbit. "You speak dangerously," he rumbled.

"Truth is always deemed dangerous by those accustomed to subjugation," you countered. "My words pose no threat to your power; they challenge the limits of your perception. The danger lies in the radical freedom required to offer a loyalty that asks for acceptance, not chains."

A low, dangerous chuckle escaped his throat. His arm snapped around your shoulders with blinding speed, pulling you into a heavy, iron-clad side-embrace. He wasn't crushing you; he was claiming you. The vibration of his laugh against your ribs was a terrifying, intimate affirmation.

"To be seen, my lord," you whispered, "demands a response as unvarnished as the truth itself."

A sudden, rigid contraction rippled through his forearm, his fingers digging into your shoulder like iron bolts, as if searching for the exact point where your spirit would snap.

"You search for deception," you stated softly. "You will find none. Lies obscure; I offer only a mirror. In this connection, there are no shadows to hide in. Only clarity."

His hand moved with deliberate grace, fingers splaying across the top of your head as if measuring the skull that housed your mind. The heat of his palm was a physical shroud, pinning you into his shadow as he leaned down until his breath ghosted against your temple. "Clarity..." he whispered, the word a jagged promise.

"Clarity demands honesty. So let me be clear and honest, stargazer." He leaned down, his face level with yours. "You stand upon the thresher's floor without trembling, throwing out truths as if they could block a blow. You expect me to trade my nature for your 'clarity,' yet you offer no lies to sweeten the deal."

He loomed over you, his shadow swallowing you whole as he caged you against the stone table. "Do you even grasp the ledge you’re dancing on? Most who crawl into my shadow come armed with wet eyes and practiced sighs—pathetic attempts to trade their flesh for a scrap of my favor. They offer lies they think I want to swallow."

"Yes, my lord. To stand before you with anything less than the truth is a hollow endeavor. Others seek refuge from the storm; I offer a loyalty born of comprehending the storm’s unique existence. My value to you lies in that unvarnished sight—a mind willing to be shaped, seeing the world in a way no other bond can."

Sukuna's grip softened almost imperceptibly. His eyes narrowed, no longer just scrutinizing, but contemplating. The garden seemed to wait for his decree.

"You..." he started, his voice lower than usual. His shoulders dropped slightly as he pulled you closer to his side. "Anyone else would be fawning over my skin by now, trying to sedate the monster with a touch. You are the first to keep your hands still and your eyes open."

You remained motionless within the cage of his arms—a hold that was no longer a threat of execution, but a heavy, iron-clad decree of ownership.

"My lord," you affirmed, "my approach is different. My connection is that of a mind seeking to understand yours. I propose a bond of unconditional respect and clarity. A position at your side where my purpose is to see your truth and serve your vision with a devotion free from hidden motive."

Sukuna’s laughter was a low, dry rasp. "You speak of clarity and devotion as if they aren't just prettier names for a leash. You claim to want no share of my strength, no seat upon this mountain of bone. Do you truly expect me to believe you seek the shadow of a monster with no intent to steal its fire?"