#Something something the divine heir is slain by a crow-haired mercenary who had a young child in tow.

[jadedbutler]

historical fantasy au wip -

The Divine Heir leaps out of the chariot as it clambers along the paved mountain path, much to the chagrin of his attendants.

He lands barefooted on the stone, light as smoke, and then he leaps again, down the fragmented cliffside. His pale robes flutter behind him like wings as he falls through the air. The cloth draped over his white hair like a veil, shrouding his eyes, drifts up as well. For just a breath of a second, the veil lifts, revealing a flash of such vibrant, otherworldly azure that it would surely leave any caught in his gaze stricken and reverent. 

As if reality itself bends to his will, he somehow lands soundlessly on the very same path, only 100 meters below, closer to the base of the mountainside. The cloth drops over his eyes once more, hiding them from the unworthy.

He strikes a pose, raising one arm to the heavens and the other before him in a mock Western half-bow. The sleeves of his robes are long, and drape over his arms in layers of fine silk, so white it’s practically translucent. 

“Hear me, beautiful people,” he declares, one to talk. “Pure as snow, blessed by the gods themselves, the Gojo clan heir bestows you with his divine presence!” 

Having watched him fly through the air, Geto hardly bats an eye at the Divine Heir’s – that is, Gojo Satoru’s – sudden arrival. “Giving your procession the runaround again,” he remarks dryly and, as if by invocation, the beleaguered cries of “GOJO-SAMA!!!!!” echo in the distance above. Satoru flashes him a grin, cheeky. 

Next to Geto, perched atop a stray boulder that had tumbled near the path, Shoko is similarly unimpressed. She takes a long drag out of her kiseru and blows it in Satoru’s general direction by way of greeting. 

“Want some dango?” she asks in her sleepy sing-song voice. 

“You dragged snacks all the way up here?”

She holds out an empty palm. “No, just askin’. I don’t have any money.”

Satoru drops his arms. “Ehhhhh ? I don’t carry coins in ritual clothes, though?”

Without missing a beat, Shoko and Satoru turn expectant stares towards Geto (Satoru’s is apparent even with the cloth covering half his face). 

Geto flicks his eyes up in a half roll, but a grin still creeps onto his face. “Yeah, yeah, let’s go before his Divine Holiness’s core guard figure out how to scale a hundred meter drop.”

He and Shoko had been following the procession from a humble distance for a reason. Naturally, the likes of Gojo Satoru, first Divine Heir born in centuries, can easily defend himself. But it still eases the Elders’ worries to assign guards to someone so fate-shattering. 

Of course, their worries only grow since their precious Divine Heir has a tendency of playing renegade and heeding the call of his own whims.

Satoru hadn’t always been this reckless, Geto has been told. As a child, he had been more cold and withdrawn. It’s hard to imagine, watching him mess around, dirtying the pristine robes meant for a highly prestigious ritual he’s currently skipping out on. 

Geto is more than happy to take him away from this anyways. He calls upon his rainbow dragonslkfjd;lfkjljs;dfkggdrf,mg