Gojo’s soul stood in the middle of a quiet train station—vast, sterile, and endless. The silence rang in his ears, broken only by the faint screech of steel against steel as another train pulled into the platform.

  He blinked. For just a moment, he thought he saw Yuji Itadori walking past. But beside him was another version—taller, marked with black tattoos and wearing a cruel smile. Sukuna.

  Gojo opened his mouth to shout, to call out, but his voice didn’t carry. No sound. Not even an echo.

  Yuji… smiled. At Sukuna. And Sukuna, for once, didn’t sneer. They walked side by side, boarding the train like old acquaintances, stepping out of this liminal realm without looking back.

  Gojo reached for them.

  Nothing.

  Then silence returned.

  And with it, the weight. The soul-deep ache of regret.

  Gojo looked around—hoping for someone, anyone. Suguru, maybe. Even Shoko. Or Nanami. But the station was barren. Cold. There were no students here. No friends. No family. Just Gojo Satoru—alone, again.

  Just like Bran the Builder, the one who tried to save the world and failed without ever being understood.

  He slumped onto a bench. “So that’s it,” he muttered. “Not even a proper goodbye.”

  Another train roared past.

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  Gojo looked up.

  And on the other side of the platform… stood a man in black, with a long cloak and dark eyes.

  Jon Snow. The real one.

  Gojo stood, surprised, and gave a faint smile. “Didn’t expect to meet you here.”

  Jon crossed the station quietly and sat beside him.

  “I’m sorry,” Gojo said. “I failed. The cursed energy, the moon shard, the children of the forest—I couldn’t protect the world. I tried to fight it all alone.”

  Jon gave a soft, tired chuckle. “You weren’t the only one who failed. I died too… stabbed by my own men at Castle Black.”

  Gojo blinked. Then let out a sudden laugh. “Lord Commanders really do have the worst job security.”

  “Seems so.”

  They sat in silence for a moment, the station humming with otherworldly stillness.

  Then Jon reached into his coat and handed Gojo a train ticket.

  Gojo looked at it, then shook his head. “No. I’ve had enough. I gave everything I had. There’s nothing left.”

  Jon frowned. “That’s not true. You still have time. There’s something waiting for you.”

  “No.” Gojo’s voice cracked. “I’ll just end up like him. Like Bran. Alone. Unloved. Forgotten. We… we always die alone, Jon. That’s the burden of the strongest.”

  Jon looked away, his voice low. “If I go back… I won’t be me anymore. I’ll be bitter. Angry. Melisandre’s lies will make sense. I’ll believe sacrifice is the answer. And then I’ll try to become something… something terrible. The second Night’s King.”

  His hands clenched. “I’ve seen it. Every version of me. Every time. I fail. Some times I sit on the iron throne. Some times I sit on the throne of winterfell. But it never works out”

  Gojo’s lips parted, eyes wide. “Then why give me the ticket?”

  Jon looked him dead in the eye. “Because it’s time someone else tried. Someone who still believes in the world. Someone who doesn’t think love is a curse.”

  He placed the ticket firmly in Gojo’s hand.

  Gojo held it tightly. “We’ll always be alone. That’s our fate.”

  Jon stood. “All men die alone. But not all leave something better behind.”

  Gojo stood too.

  They embraced—two broken warriors, too stubborn to stay dead.

  The next train whistled in the distance, its doors opening to nowhere and everywhere.

  As Jon began to fade, he gave a final whisper.

  “Take care of Daenerys.”

  The train doors closed.

  And Gojo Satoru stepped aboard.