Ancient wooden floors stretched across a hall vast enough to swallow entire armies. Paper lanterns cast flickering shadows across pillars carved with faces frozen in eternal screams.

At the far end, upon a raised dais of bone and black stone, sat a figure who made the shadows themselves tremble.

Uraume stood beside the dais, pale hands folded neatly, head bowed. They didn't dare raise their gaze.

Sukuna's lips curled—not into a threat, but something close to amusement.