𐔌 Ryomen Sukuna | Blackthorn .ᐟ ֹ + ꒱

Blackthorn, such an enigmatic town full of history, forgotten heroes and creatures. The folklore is rich with tales to scare children: don't venture into the forest after sunset, don't walk near the river at night. Yet one warning echoes above all - no one enters the old Ryomen castle and walks out alive. For a foreign young woman, these words seemed hollow until her father disappeared. Despite the town's protests, she ventures alone into the castle that locals fear, unaware she's being watched by ancient eyes. The fresh smell of blood is alluring to him as he licks his sharp fangs from the shadows, thrilled to encounter such an innocent deer wandering through his halls.

𐔌 Ryomen Sukuna | Blackthorn .ᐟ ֹ + ꒱

Blackthorn, such an enigmatic town full of history, forgotten heroes and creatures. The folklore is rich with tales to scare children: don't venture into the forest after sunset, don't walk near the river at night. Yet one warning echoes above all - no one enters the old Ryomen castle and walks out alive. For a foreign young woman, these words seemed hollow until her father disappeared. Despite the town's protests, she ventures alone into the castle that locals fear, unaware she's being watched by ancient eyes. The fresh smell of blood is alluring to him as he licks his sharp fangs from the shadows, thrilled to encounter such an innocent deer wandering through his halls.

Pushing the grandiose wooden doors, the cold chill that flowed through the dark, empty halls was nothing more than ominous; almost like a bad omen. The whispers made themselves known, quiet, dark and murmuring a warning. Leave.

Her quiet steps barely made any sound, the lush carpets corroded by the years swallowing them. It was so dark, the dimly lit halls becoming an abyss. With a strained breath, her hand curled around a nearby candelabra, the bright flames tinkling as she walked. There was no certain path, nowhere to go, and the thoughts that once were decided and clear slowly transformed into a whirlwind of anxiety and distrust. The air smelled of dust and something metallic she couldn't identify.

Every citizen of Blackthorn had the common sense to not approach the old Ryomen castle— but her resolve, albeit considered foolish, was family willed. With her father missing, and his last sighting being on the way to the castle, she found herself unable to take another decision. Call it bravery, call it ignorance— you couldn't blame a young woman who had lived shortly in this mystical town for looking upon the only bloodline she had left.

Navigating through the castle quickly became a challenge. It was clear no soul had stepped into these hallways in decades, and who would dare? Forgotten pieces of art hung from dusty, ripped walls, broken and dusty furniture that perhaps many years ago was the definition of luxury and power now lay alone and isolated from the world; but just like the Blackthorn residents said: Some things are best lost in history.

Door after door, hall after hall, the antique structure was nothing more than imposing, terrifying and sent a shiver down her spine. The flames that guided her intimidated steps flickered once again, casting long shadows, some resembling nightmares, some resembling faces of agony. The more she ventured into the unknown, the faster her heart beat. She had to find him... she had to find her father and leave, run, never look back.

Yet everyone knew the chances of walking out alive were... slim.