Chapter Text
It is the early peak of dawn as the sound of harsh winds echo through the trees, ripping at branches with lashing breaths as dark shadows rush along the trodden foliage that covers the forest's floors. As masses of obsidian cloud form into vaguely human-shaped figures, bodies breaking out from the swirling black mass, raspy whispers slither amongst the chilling air.
Above, a silent observer watches them from behind the eyes of a mask. The boy takes shallow breaths and remains perched in the trees, a large boar's head serving as a protective mask from the sniffling noses and peering eyes of the demonic spirits below. Two jagged swords in hand, the observer watches as the shadows peel away, revealing 6 demons huddled in congregation, the marred flesh of their backs still a vibrant red with the mark of a spirit official. Once beings thriving alongside nature, the corruption had begun to consume the hearts of many spirit leaders as it crawled amongst the fields and seas as fast as the wind could carry it. The figures below were foreign to the mountain-bound boy, but the marks on their backs were unmistakable, even if the wearers themselves had tried to rid themselves of it. It was the same mark the elders of the boy's own community wore, although the warm aura of his leaders was nothing against the biting chill that ran up his spine as the air suffocated with their presence. Each being only seemed more wicked than the next.
This is the mission the observer has been given. The warrior prince of the mass of forestry spread amongst the upper mountainside, the boy has been blessed by the dwelling spirits. In exchange for the life the forest has given him, he protects its spirits with his life. He holds his swords in deathly grip, as he follows the travelling beasts as they make their way through the forest, each step one closer to the deep dwellings of the spirit's cove. It is his duty to protect them, and the boy is stubborn and eager to fight. Such a task is fitting for the prince.
The unfamiliar faces wander along the trodden paths of the forest, surveying the empty wood as if they were starving men looking upon an indulgent feast. The boy readies his weapons, watching silently as a man in odd dress begins to talk to the group in a tongue the observer has only heard spoken amongst the elders of the mountain's spirit tribe.
Inching his way along the tree's branches, the prince pulls his mask above his eyes as he aim his weapon at one particularly puny-seeming demon.
(It may be a demonic general, sure, but the boy does not believe in limitations of battle or the concept of retreat. His blood boils with the rush of anticipation as he prepares for a fight.)
The observer lets out a soft breath, before curling his fingers tightly around the helm of his blade. As he lets the metal whiz out from his grasp, his eyes are met with the piercing red glare of one of the demons, whose lips pull into a small grin, murmuring something to the rest of the demons. A dull thud echoes throughout the forest, leaves still suspended in midair from the demon's sudden movements. The observer's heart begins to race as he rushes to escape, only one blade remaining in its sheath, slapping harshly against his leg as he pulls himself through the thick upper branches of the forest's trees. Beneath him, he can hear the leaves begin to rustle with the speed of a racing demon, but he's up too high for most of them to reach at this point.
As he begins to slow, approaching the mouth of the forest spirit's dwellings, there's a stiffness in the air. His skin runs cold, and he cannot even turn to see what is coming before a shadowy hand grabs him, pulling him under to the dangerous pits of the forest below.
Somewhere else, flames lick at buildings with fiery tongues, lapping at stone and wood until the village is a mass of red and oranges against the cool black of the night. Deep in the heart of the village, a boy lays restless, tossing and turning as he watches the same nightmare play out again and again. When he blinks, he sees the raging blazes ripping through the streets, his own body clambering in fear. He blinks again, and it is blue skies, the village the same as it was minutes prior.
It has always been a gift of his; the intuition. A coal smith's son, it has never hurt for the boy to get a glimpse of the market's crowd in advance, as his father would once praise to him. He remembers fondly the days his father would carry him to the market on his shoulders, indulging him along the way with questions about the daily trade, of who's rich and who's a hassle. Of course his intuition never works like that, but it feels him with a sense of purpose and pride that is warm within him. After his father's passing, it's never hurt either to have an eye on the futures of his siblings—him being the oldest son makes it a duty to support his family. In the end, the boy's insight is a blessing, always the subject of praise for his "quick wit" and intuitive eye.
He's blessed, and he believes so too, but it is nights such as these where he despises the ability. Vague nightmares plague him with paranoia as he dreams of his village in flames, bright figures standing amongst the smoke, huddling around shaking victims as they scream with voices of biting venom. Their appearance has become routine, every night they come and leave the boy trembling in tears, bedsheets crumpled from where he thrashed in his sleep. The boy prays that it might be only the stress of responsibility that comes to every child who has begun to grow up; that these dreams are nothing but remnants of his overprotectiveness towards younger siblings. He’d rather it be fear, though the sinking feeling in his gut insists otherwise.
This particular morning, he wakes up late; the sun was already high in the sky, shining upon the abandoned blankets spread around kicked aside by his younger siblings. The air around him is silent, save for the soft hum of the kettle in another room. His body is heavy as he pulls himself up, his nightclothes a wrinkled mess from his bad habit of tossing and turning while he sleeps. His back cracks as he stands, faring harshly after the shaky unconsciousness response to his dream- the bamboo matting of the floor not serving much in terms of comfort.
"Hm?" the boy mumbles as he slides open the door leading into the common space, where a woman sits hunched over a cloth, weaving colored thread in and out. "Has everyone already left?"
"Mm," the woman hums, setting her handiwork aside, turning to face the boy with a soft smile on her face. "You'd been looking sick lately, Tanjiro. We didn't want to disturb your rest."
A feeling of guilt swelled in Tanjiro's chest; he had never confided in his mother about the nature of his recent dreams. As much as he wished to pass it off as simple anxiety, he knew his mother would be quick to worry. After the passing of his father, he didn't want to add on any more stress to his mother's life.
"Ah, thank you," Tanjiro said, facing downwards as an embarrassed blush spread across his face. It always felt odd to hear such things, as he tended to push himself without break if it meant the security of his family. Perhaps that might be the reason of his clairvoyant talents: to ease some of his worry. It felt ironic, as the dreams had been like a curse lately, plaguing him with consistent worry.
Lifting up his head, he saw his mother's face scrunched in a look of worry.
"Tanjiro, you don't have to worry about your deliveries today. You can rest for now," she said, giving a soft smile. "You've been working so hard — a day's pushback won't do that much harm."
Tanjiro knew she was lying. It was easy to tell, with the way she averted his gaze, eyebrows tight together. Ever since his father's passing, it had been more and more crucial to uphold daily sales. His other siblings would chip in when they could, with his sisters selling school crafts along the traveller's road, and his brothers eagerly gathering the excess wood from the lumbers. However, it fell on Tanjiro to sell the coal, as he was the only one familiar enough with the bustling marketplace to even attempt selling amongst its vast expanse of barted. To take a day off...it was a luxury they couldn't afford. In the days when his father was alive, he remembers the days they spent together, feasting on the excess goods of the bakery, or the free gifts of passing merchants with too much stock to sell. In those days...Tanjiro's heart hung heavy as he pulled his mind away from the grief of his wandering thoughts.
"It's fine." Tanjiro smiled. "I feel much better after resting!"
His mother gave him another worried glance, before letting out a sigh. Her son was stubborn in the end; he wouldn't stop if there was something he could to help others. In his face, she saw his father. A caring man, who would do all he could for his family. Like father, like son.
"Don't stay out too late. And avoid the price hasslers; the baker said they've been prowling the markets again." His mother watched him with a concerned gaze as he smiled wide.
"Leave it to me!" Tanjiro said, already pulling the woven basket filled with coal onto his back. "Eat without me if I'm not back by dinner!"
His mother opened her mouth to protest, but Tanjiro was already out the door before she could say a thing. Shaking her head, a faint smile on her face, she looked at the empty chair facing the fireplace.
"We've raised a good boy…"
The way to the market was a rough rubble path, often covered with debris from passing horse-riders, or the upheaval from the occasional harsh winds that would send the environment into a flurry. Tanjiro and his family lived on the outskirts of the community, disconnected from the wealth and provisions of the inner cities. It was a harsh trek with its twisting ways and many dangers, even more if any roadside bandits happened to be travelling the routes that day. He would end up home as the night began to fall, the moon leading him along the empty path.
However, Tanjiro rarely grew weary of the travel. Every time he felt his body grow heavy, he remembered the way his father would dance along the roads, performing for the rush crowds of the early morning. Tanjiro would watch in awe as his father moved as easy as air, spirals of flame twisting around him in a cascade of sunset red, vivid ruby filling the crowd with a warm sense of awe. As a child, Tanjiro thought of it as a silly dance to make the trip go by faster, but he had since learned the true nature of his father's actions.
His father had been the epitome of kindness-- a man dedicated to soothing the worries and wounds of others. He was a light in times of dark, a reassuring voice during times where bread stretched thin and he'd end up home early, bag emptied and cuts along his clothes. Even as his wife sobbed Tanjiro's father spoke of tomorrow and promises of better life, that they would be blessed after their pains. In the times of Tanjiro's fear, where his dreams plagued him with insomniatic paranoia, his father would hold his small body, letting the boy clench tightly into his worn robes until he was lulling once again to sleep, this time resting peacefully.
If anything, Tanjiro knows he had to fulfill his father's legacy. For his family, and for the part of him that still hurt with loss. He would have to hold his head high. He would have to stay strong.
He couldn't give up now.
When he reaches the market, the sky has begun fading into warm hues, and the square has emptied itself of its boisterous crowd. Most of the travelling vendors had taken to nearby inns, already howling along the sides of bars and taverns, their pockets lined with the early morning's gold. Hailing from lines of artisans, of creators and geniuses, they sell luxuries as if it was second nature, snickering at the small vendors struggling to sustain the daily sales.
Tanjiro lets out a soft sigh as the plaza falls to a quiet lull, placing his basket on the tiled ground with a gentle thud. He watches as shopkeepers began to pack up their supplies, dust clouds filling the air as they shake out tablecloths with heavy flaps. A group of a few snobbish passersby looks upon him with a scoff and click of the tongue, before continuing to walk along what remained of the market. Tanjiro feels exhaustion weigh on his body; the consequence of so many sleepless nights. A scorching rasp burns at the back of his throat, his voice too sore to call out to any of the few people that still remained scattered amongst the marketplace.
"It's fine, we'll sell better tomorrow."
"Tomorrow, we'll be blessed."
"Tomorrow...you'll be better."
Letting out a shaky sigh, Tanjiro pulls himself up, his legs shaking with exhaust and numbness. Nevertheless, he pulls himself forward, walking back to the outskirts of the city, where he would walk his way home through the night.
Each step burns, as he finds his earlier enthusiasm wearing out quickly, now replaced with tiredness as heavy as lead. His breathing grows harsh as he reaches the edge of the city, arms aching with burning pains as the coal on his back began to weigh more and more on him. He stumbles along the street, fighting the settling faintness, when a shrill voice called to him from behind.
"Boy, don't tell me you're walking that road this late!" Tanjiro turned to see an old woman standing on her doorstep, pointing a harsh finger at him. He shook his head in disbelief, as she called out to him again. "Are you a moron? Kids these days.."
The woman clicks her tongue, before gesturing for Tanjiro to come to her. He obliges, too tired to fight back.
"I just need to get home…" He mutters as he reaches the old woman, who clicked her tongue again, this time rolling her eyes as she shakes her head furiously.
"They sayin' the roads are getting more dangerous at night. Not just bandits, but these nasty little beasts that've been prowling on the hunt for any living being traveling by." She looks out onto the road, her lips parting slightly as if she was going to say more, before letting her face fall into a saddened twist. "Don't wanna see another one of the market boys get taken up by them monsters. Come inside, will ya?"
Tanjiro didn't respond, staring blankly as his body began to let itself fall to sleep. He couldn't make the trip home; he was too weak to take another step. His mother...she would be wondering where he was. His siblings would leave him the softest blanket, only for nobody to fill it. He felt queasy at the thought, but as his knees began to shake, he gave the woman a rushed nod, before grabbing onto the handrail beside him to steady himself.
Gasping, the woman puts a steady hand on his back, leading him inside. He would only rest until dawn, then he would go home. He would...he would go...he…
The minute the woman guided him to a guest bed, Tanjiro found himself collapsing into a deep sleep.
It is cold and dark. A biting cold, an eternal dark. A boy floats in the abyss, alone. His body is not his, as he watches it float from some place above. He watches as his body shivers, chilled by the frosty air, convulsing violently as the temperature continues to fall.
The space begins to rattle, as if the boy is in a child's rattle, being tossed around carelessly. Raspy screams replace the numbing silence, and the boy covers his ears with clenched hands, fingers dug into his hair as the whispers get louder and louder.
Somewhere, a girl walks along the void. The boy watches, and feels that he knows her. He feels that he knows this , that it's something he should understand. The pulsing blood in his head, the racing drumbeat of his heart, the violent of his body; all of it is familiar.
The boy calls out to the girl, only he cannot understand the name he speaks. He cannot think to who it was, nor can he even hear the word slip off his lips.
The girl walks further and further, and the boy is being dragged into the darkness, screaming and yelling. He does not like this feeling; the panic overriding all his thoughts until he feels as if his body is being run through by spikes.
His lips form one last cry, and as his body sinks to nothing, the boy understands the name he yells.
Nezuko.
Tanjiro wakes up shaking, tears streaming down his face. He panics, seeing he has woken up in an unfamiliar room, only to remember the events of last night. His body aches, and his head pounded against his skull as if it were trying to shatter the bone. Wincing, he holds a hand to his forehead, mumbling under his breath as he pulls himself out of the bed, his feet shaking as he steps on the wooden floor. His body shook, both of weakness and aftershocks from his nightmare.
Making his way out of the room, he hears voices speaking in another room. They spoke fast, but Tanjiro could hear the urgency of their words. Limping, he walks himself to the edge of the hallway.
Hovering over a table, the old woman stood talking to a man who looked to be half her age, who wore a solemn look. He wore fine suit and hat, though his eyes were obscured behind wavy black locks that fell over them. The man stood stiffly and awkwardly, muttering something to the woman before tipping his hat and turning towards the door. However, as he went to close the door, Tanjiro met eyes with the man, who shot him a crimson glare and a sly smile, sending shivers up his spine as he lets out a soft gasp. However, as quickly as it happens, the man is gone. Oblivious to whatever might have just occurred, the woman shakes her head, sighing deeply as she begins to rub her forehead.
"What's happened?" Tanjiro asks, his voice raspy. His throat burns as he speaks, causing his voice to waver.
"Good's sakes, it's a good thing I stopped ye' from going out on the roads. Got word from the police that there's was an attack on a village out in the country lands by one of them little devils that've been prowling the trade road." The woman turns away from Tanjiro and sets to work, rummaging through her cabinets. Tanjiro stands frozen in place as the woman's words set in like burning coals, scorching and terrifying.
"Shame too. Said the whole house went up in flames afterwards."
There is a moment in every life where one does not think, but runs straight to action. Out of excitement, fear, panic, anger-- we are all subject to our fleeting emotions as they pass. We are not rational creatures, but emotional wells ready to burst open at any minute, sweeping us up in our own tides.
This moment came to Tanjiro like the spark of a matchstick, a sudden explosion of emotion welling up within him, until he too explodes.
Without thinking twice, Tanjiro bursts out the kitchen door, running as fast as he can towards the route, towards home. His heart feels as if thunder is rumbling upon it, shaking him with unstoppable clap of fear.
They'll be fine.
It wasn't them.
Your dreams were wrong…
You were wrong.
Tanjiro's body is shaking as he races down the road, balance teetering as his body begins its final exasperated gasp. His body weeps in pain, his skin drenched in layers of sweat, his clothes sticking to him like a second skin as he stumbles along the road. Every breath he takes is a sharp pang, breathing in dust and the morning winds beating against his face. He is blindly chasing time, running on hope and fear and the millions of thoughts filling his head.
If only he had just gone home, if only he hadn't insisted on going to the market, if only he woken early enough to see his siblings off, or to wish them goodnight. If only he hadn't been such a stubborn son, if only he could have waited until the next day. If only he had been a better son, a better brother…if only he hadn't been so lost in his own ideals.
Tanjiro falls to the sandy road, tears streaking down his muddy face as he sobbed, pulling himself along the ground. A loud pop rings out as an agonizing pain rips through his right arm, causing him to let out a piercing cry, coughing with sharp pain after. He couldn't be alone, he couldn't lose anyone else. He'd promised to follow in his father's footsteps, to make the life for his family that his father had always dreamed of.
In the distance, he could see the blurred outline of a village, smoke still rising in the air. Tanjiro cursed himself for being so damn weak, for letting himself fall here, for letting himself fail here. He couldn't...he couldn't fail here. He wouldn't fail here.
Pushing himself up, Tanjiro's dislocated arm roared with fierce pain, as if one had driven a sword through it, leaving his eyes overflowing with tears. His left leg had gone numb and limp as well, leaving him to frantically limp along the path.
Tanjiro remembered his father, coming home in cuts and wounds, bleeding through his clothes. He wondered if his father must have felt the same, if he had begun praying that he wouldn't die here , not yet . Would his father have begged the skies that he make it, that it all be a harsh dream and he would wake to his life as it had been? That he could apologize to the people he'd worried, that he could provide for them as they'd done for him. He didn't even wish them farewell. He wished he'd stopped to listen to his mother's warning, that he'd let himself rest. That he wouldn't give out now…
If I die, let me follow my mother's spirit. Please...don't leave me alone.
As he reached the village, he could see the flames devouring his home. They licked and burned and starved , yet Tanjiro still raced to meet them, to hope that they hadn't all died, that he wasn't alone, that he wasn't alive when all of those around him were dead. He couldn't handle this… he couldn't bear the weight pounding into his chest.
Around the streets huddled a mass of villagers, all screaming at a small figure within. Tanjiro could see the black and pink of a familiar haori from beneath, and he felt himself cry harder in relief.
"Nezuko!" He calls softly, body once again on the verge of collapse. "Nezuko!"
Pushing his way through the crowd, Tanjiro watched in horror as his sister writhes in pain, veins sticking out on her arms, teeth now bared as sharp fangs, her eyes a pulsing red. Her body convulses as she digs her nails into her skin, fighting against the terrifying instincts growling from within her. Her face is twisted as she bites back the sharp pains running throughout her own body, eyes welling with pleading tears as she spots her brother.
She's the one who killed them.
They said she sacrificed them to become a demon.
The whole family…how unsightly.
Panting, Tanjiro feels his head spin from the final collapse of his body and the yelling of the villagers. His body shakes as he desperately shoves his way into the center of the crowd, throwing himself over his sister's shaking body, holding her as best as he could with his dislocated arm and fading consciousness. Her body began to ease as well, as she desperately clutched onto her other brother, biting into her arm as her mouth began to twitch in anticipation. Sobbing, voice choking im his throat, Tanjiro lets out one last plea to the villagers.
"Please...please...somebody...save her."
Somewhere amongst the trees, echoing the pleas of a dying boy and his sister, lays a warrior, body covered in cuts and bruises. His vision has begun to fade, and his body writhes in agonizing pain, fist unable to grip even the hilt of his remaining sword. His lips shake, blood pooling on his chin as he sputters out one last request, his body surrendering to a deep sleep. His eyes well with tears, eyebrows scrunched in familiar anger with himself.
"Let me protect them again, dammit. Let me...be strong enough...to save them."