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There was a pleasant and refreshing breeze on the wind, blowing in from the South-West at around ten miles per hour, catching in the dark hair of Ubuyashiki Kagaya. He was sitting on the Headquarter’s engawa, his vision clear and focused as he looked out into the Garden. It was deep into the night– lit up by a cloudless, star-filled sky and a shining full moon, and as chilling as the night air was, it was chased away by a four-foot high fire in the centre of the clearing, but additional tall torches brightened the darker corners of the Garden; and under those flickering lights were various groups of his children just… quietly enjoying themselves. There was even wonderful music coming from a shamisen, played by a young boy he recognised as Agatsuma Zenitsu, the heir apparent of Kuwajima Jigoro. Moreover, there felt like there was a lightness to him, as though the burden of sickness had been purged from his body.
“So, instead of continuing with the chain, you want to double up here…” Rengoku Senjuro was sitting deep into the middle of a large cluster of ten, leaning over a girl in a hemp leaf kimono that was around his age and a young red-clad boy with black hair, a patented hyottoko mask close to his leg. There was a fourth person that leaned over to watch how the young Rengoku weaved the flowers into a beautiful crown; her back was turned to him and her white hair tipped green was long enough to trail against the ground and obscure any appearance she would offer.
“Like this?” She asked, and Senjuro cocked his head to her.
“Almost. If you slide the bloom down a little– yeah! Like that! Perfect.” The girl giggled happily, reaching back into her small pile of flowers.
“Hey, Kotetsu? How does this one look?” The voice of Tokito Muichiro was light and sweet, so much unlike the breathy distance it usually portrayed. He showed a book to the black-haired boy, Kotetsu, who studied it carefully for a few moments.
“I don’t… the movement seems slightly off– the Yoriichi Type Zero’s stance was slightly tighter I think…” Despite his uncertain words, his voice was stern with surety, and the Mist Hashira took back the book with a pout.
“I’m sorry, I’m not so good at drawing…” He muttered, glaring at his work with a scrutinising gaze.
“What it is you’re trying to do?” The gruff speak of who he recognised as the tsuguko of Himejima Gyomei, Shinazugawa Genya, asked, his larger frame towering over the small Hashira as he also tried to make sense of the drawing.
“Well– we’re trying to fix a training doll, but to do that we need to draw down all of the motions, but… I’m not any good at it,” the Mist Hashira sighed, now looking dejected.
“I can draw for you if you remember the forms?” Genya asked, holding his hand out for the pad. Kotetsu and Muichiro looked at him with hopeful shock. “What?”
“Will you really?!” Kotetsu gasped, his body shaking with excitement.
“Yeah, sure,” Genya shrugged. “You got your blade? We can start now if you want to?” Muichiro nodded, handing off the drawing equipment and standing up, slipping his blade into his belt as they got some safe distance away from the group.
“Would you like some tempura, Inosuke-san?” One of the butterfly girls, Kiyo if he remembered correctly, held a tray of tempura and other goods as she reached the group. The two-toned haired boy immediately didn’t answer. “Inosuke-san?”
“Hm?! Wha?!” Inosuke snapped out of his daze, his eyes widening in excitement as he realised what he was being offered. “Tempura!” He growled gleefully, although half the word was obscured as he ate said treat.
“Hey, Tanjiro-kun, didn’t you train with that doll as well?” Kanroji Mitsuri asked from where she sat on the other side of the fire. “Are you going to help too?”
The boy in question sat opposite Inosuke, and looked up to meet the Love Hashira’s eyes properly. “I think Muichiro-san wants to do it properly, and Genya can only draw so fast. I’d probably just get in the way. But…” He looked at Kotetsu. “I’d love to trial run it as you program each move?”
“Of course!” The boy smiled, then took a pause. “I mean… we might not need it anymore, but it’s nice to keep your skills sharp, right?” Tanjiro nodded with a hum, turning away again as the tsuguko of Kocho Shinobu, Tsuyuri Kanao, sat beside him– looking meaningfully into his eyes with a smile, holding out a bowl of oyakodon. Tanjiro perked up, thanking her with a bow before taking the bowl.
“You’re welcome!” Her quiet, breathy voice strained out as she tucked into her bowl of sweet potato udon.
“Oh? I didn’t know you liked udon, Kanao?” Tanjiro asked good-naturedly.
“Oh yes, Rengoku-san shared his meal with me a little while ago! It’s really nice!” Her lips and eyes were shaking nervously, but she seemed determined to speak her mind.
“Why don’t you go join them, Kaigaku?” Kuwajima Jigoro asked from where he stood at the fence. The boy in question looked up to a figure that was hidden behind the tree he sat under, the figure lifting his head to the boy’s former sensei to shake his head, his long, red-tipped black hair swaying in the light breeze.
Jigoro turned away from the two with a sigh, offering a pout with Urokodaki Sakoji– who wore a smile upon his uncovered face. “What are you smiling about?” The former Rumble Hashira pouted, although it was in good nature.
“This peace.” The former Water Hashira responded simply, looking out over the gathered people not unlike how Kagaya was doing. Seeing his face was a welcome change to the usual masked visage he wore, and he couldn’t help but wonder why he had taken it off.
“I will admit…” The former Flame Hashira began, handing his two seniors drinks. “It is nice.”
“Yeah, but I’ll admit,” the familiar voice of the Kakushi named Goto countered, “in no way couldn’t it have been done with your boy, Rengoku-sama.”
“Oh, totally!” The Demon Slayer Murata pressed from a little ways away, accepting a bowl of udon from Naho, who was also nodding in agreement.
“And don’t I know it…” Shinjuro chuckled bitterly. “He never says it, but Senjuro has been giving me this look of just… ‘I told you so. We all did’.” There was a melancholy, and a deep-seeded guilt in his words, but the figure behind the tree finally spoke up.
“It was your fault, it is good that you recognise that. But take a good look at your boys.” His words were harsh, and Shinjuro felt no other choice than to follow his instruction:
Well– he had been glancing at Senjuro every now and then. It was easier, knowing that he hadn’t been a good father to him, but hadn’t treated him as badly as he had treated Kyojuro. Senjuro was teaching people how to make the exact same flower crowns Ruka had taught Kyojuro how to make– he knew that Senjuro was taught by his brother, and that Kyojuro had told countless story of their darling mother.
There was one thing clear more than anything, more than his bloodline, more than his gentleness or his kindness, and it was that Rengoku Kyojuro was Ruka’s son. And it took all of his strength to turn to look at his eldest son.
He was laid on top of the chest of Uzui Tengen, who sat lounging back against a tree, his right arm holding Kyojuro close to him, while his left arm did the same with one of his wives, Suma, who was playing mindlessly with Kyojuro’s fingers. Hinatsuru was setting out a bowl of udon by Kyojuro and her marriage partners as they were handed to her by Kiyo, and Makio sat with her own flower crown out of tiger lillies, cocking her head to try and follow Senjuro’s teachings. There was also a man behind Kyojuro, with black hair and electric blue eyes– eyes that were so full of love that it made Shinjuro’s heart ache as he watched a tattooed arm gently caress over Kyojuro.
And Kyojuro seemed to be at the centre of it all, to the point that it wasn’t uncommon to find other people glancing at him, or calling out his name to bring them into their conversation, or they were telling stories about something he had said or done. It had taken everyone, but without a doubt, Kyojuro was at the centre– not even Kagaya had such a widespread and consistent influence among the Demon Slayer Corps.
And more important than anything was… he looked happy– and the second he realised Shinjuro was looking at him, instead of frowning or glaring, his smile grew ever brighter. Shinjuro didn’t deserve his son’s forgiveness, either of their forgiveness.
“Here, Mitsuri…” A soft-spoken voice spoke gently, handing out a pile of cutely decorated mochi. Obanai sat beside her as she took the food with her usual gush of gusto. Although his face was covered, even a blind person could tell just how much love the Serpent Hashira held for the pink-and-green haired girl. So many years ago, Shinjuro remembered how that very same boy flinched and shied away from any woman, with good reason to, but to see him willfully approach one with such a gentle expression drove that home again, Kyojuro had raised and supported another boy on top of raising Senjuro, and on top of training Mitsuri.
But all four of them, regardless of what Shinjuro had done, were now smiling; they had friends who cared about them, they had people who loved them, and they had done so without him, despite him.
“They’re all happy…” He whispered, a smile of his own creeping onto his face as he sat back against the fence.
“Are you wanting anything to eat, Kocho-san? Shinazugawa-san?” Little Kiyo asked, and Kagaya turned to look past his right shoulder at the couple, half expecting the Wind Hashira to snap.
“Yeah, sure,” he spoke easily, and even with a smile. “You want anything?” He asked the woman leaning into his arm.
“Of course! Thank you, Kiyo!” Kiyo giggled at the two; the broad and brash Shinazugawa with the soft and gentle Kanae almost seemed perfect. As the younger butterfly girl skipped off to continue feeding the rest of the group, the Wind Breather placed a kiss atop Kanae’s head, closing his eyes as he lingered there before pulling back so they could eat.
“And how about some mitarashi dango for you, Haganezuka-san?” The sweet treats were gone from Kanzaki Aoi’s hand before she had even finished, the man revering the treat long before he began to eat it. With a sigh, she moved on to the other two swordsmiths; Chief Tecchin and Kanamori Kozo both took their meals with grace, thanking Aoi for still working despite the celebrations.
“Everyone here has worked far harder than I have, and you all deserve a good hearty meal anyway!” The girl said smiling, her usual sternness set aside for the time being.
“Onii-chan!” The white haired girl called, standing up and running over to a thin, sickly-looking boy set out away from everyone else. “I made you this flower crown!” She set the ornament onto his head, and he smiled at her in the way that only an older brother could smile at his younger sister.
“Thank you, Ume.” And with that, Suma was wearing her own flower crown from Makio, and Muichiro was wearing one from Kotetsu. Senjuro looked at his own crown, glancing up over to his brother, who gave him an encouraging nod– and moments later the boy was scurrying away from his father, a red blush over his cheeks and a fresh flower crown on Shinjuro’s head.
“Aren’t they all cute?” The fair voice of Kocho Shinobu asked, her hand holding out a bowl of food to Tomioka Giyu; who, rather in character, was sitting off to the side on a bench behind Obanai and Mitsuri.
Giyu, rather out of character, smiled up at the younger Kocho sister. “They are.” Shinobu smiled back at him, sitting down next to him without asking, but he didn’t seem to mind.
A blond man looked up from nearby, giving the two a confusing pout…
Kagaya looked around again, taking in all the faces and all the joy and merriment, and yet felt a deepening melancholy in his heart. There was someone missing– his longest friend, Himejima Gyomei had a rather unmistakable appearance, but he could not be seen amongst the crowd, or in the shadows, or enjoying any of the merriment…
“And it was such a wonderful dream, Amane…” Kagaya whispered, his smile melancholy but hopeful all the same. “Everyone was there, and they were all happy– even some sour relationships were on the mend. There didn’t seem to be one truly unhappy soul…”
“It sounds so nice, so hopeful,” his wife agreed, administering some medicine to dampen his fever. His illness always seemed to spike whenever he had a vision, and the proceeding hours could get obscenely long and gruelling.
“Indeed, but… Gyomei was not there. I know any one of my children would lay down their life for our cause, however– knowing such a fact never makes it any easier, and knowing that I may lose someone who has been by my side for so long… it brings great grief to me…
“I fear I have grown close to all of my Hashira, they are my most dearest and most loyal children…”