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Kanzaburo’s feathers bled into the night, every beat of his wings a stroke of ink.
He circled the sky in a halo of ebony, christening him with responsibilities of this false rank.
A beacon. A call.
An omen.
“Mission! Caw!”
The slayer rested a hand on the leather handle of his blade.
“Head to Mount Kumotori! Investigate rumored demon sightings!”
He looked up, eyes following the golden sun dipping into the horizon.
“Mount Kumotori! Caw!”
A long exhale escaped the gaps of his teeth and lips, forming a crystallizing cloud of mist, glimmering under the fading sunlight.
Giyuu pressed his lips into a firm line and turned his gaze ahead.
Winter was coming.
Quiet purpose carried Giyuu’s steps as he weaved through the village; silent as a ghost, haunting as a phantom.
Gazes gravitated towards him, whispers exchanged under hushed tones. He paid none of it any mind.
Wherever demons lurked, they marked. Like wolves urinating to claim territory, a demon’s stench crawled into every decrepit crevice, serving as a warning to unfriendly competition. The stronger the demon, the more pungent their presence.
Yet here, despite Kanzaburo’s message, he could not sense any demonic activity. Not a drop.
Perhaps he’d simply misheard his old friend. More often than not, Giyuu was accustomed to ambushes and expiring information; but rarely did Kanzaburo steer him wrong. More… off-course, but never straying too far from the mark.
There was the possibility of the demon actively hiding its presence from him. Not improbable, but still unlikely. The village’s meager population and isolation had inadvertently become its greatest strength. To consume its residents, the risk far outweighed the reward, even for higher ranked demons.
Then, from the local eatery’s customers, he learned of a family. One they sang only praises for.
A hardworking, honest son. A diligent, bright daughter. A family of fire and light, selling charcoal, fractals of a sun, so they may too witness a piece of day within their own homes.
Giyuu’s eyes flicked towards the peak of the mountain, its tip bathing in the dim, fading sunlight of winter.
It was highly unlikely a demon would travel such a great distance without protection to consume one single family, especially one who resided closer to the heavens than most.
But Giyuu did not meet his diligence in the middle.
He gathered a lung full of air, willing his vessels to dilate for warmth, and raced against sunlight to the top.
Giyuu circled the parameters and studied every shadow cast on the first sheet of snow. It was as if he were chasing ghosts – except the dead would have more substantial evidence of their existence.
There was no demon. Only a loving family with smiles blessed by the sun god themself.
The children had spotted him from a distance, his presence stirring interest in their round eyes. With hands painted with soot, they pulled at their mother’s sleeve, calling out a stranger in their otherwise lonesome home.
The mother was kind, her voice soft but aged with the weight of her years. “Please, come inside,” she said, opening the doors to a stranger. “You must have been caught in the snow.”
He had not, but he saw no reason to squander her invitation. So he dipped his head, removed his slippers, and folded his knees across the boiling kettle.
Their house was mediocre, primitive; just about what was expected for a family living beyond society’s confines. Yet it was rich with history and memory, a physical memento of the Kamados’ family.
Kie sat across him, her gentle smile radiating with firmness. “What brings you here?” she asked, laying out ceramic cups by her seat. “Are you lost, perhaps?”
Giyuu folded his hands on his lap. “I am a demon slayer,” he answered, “and I am here to slay demons.”
He studied her expression, searching for any indication of ridicule or concern, but was instead met with a nod as she removed the kettle by its handle. “Oh?”
“Have you encountered any demons?”
With both hands, she offered him a cup of tea, the surface smoothed from use. The heat of the tea bloomed through the ceramic, steam wafting from the dark blue surface like incense.
“No, and I am thankful for such.” She cradled her own tea, her thumb tracing the cup’s rim. “It is curious, however, that you speak of them as if they were real.”
Giyuu raised his cup to his chapped lips, its floral scent flooding his mouth. The earthy undertones of the tea complimented the faint astringency of the blend. It tasted of a blossomed lily untainted by filth, leeching nutrients from rot so it may reach for the sun.
It was as if his tongue was lapping up the molten gold of the sun’s rays, its solstice melting into his tongue, warming up every pore in his body.
In lieu of an answer, he said, “The tea is nice.”
Kie smiled. “It’s the last of the leaves we dried during the summer. You’ve caught us just in time.”
Giyuu finished the rest of the tea, and did not fight Kie when she poured him another.
It was good tea.
The Kamados were a family of charcoal sellers. Every week, they travelled to the village below, trading fuel for money and wares.
Their income would not allow them to live lavishly, but it was enough for them to live comfortably. They grew their own vegetables with the mountain’s fertile soil, hunted rabbits and deer for meat in the forests, and drew fresh spring water from their well. There was little need for spending when they were self-sufficient in the necessities.
“This is my eldest son, Tanjirou.”
Giyuu nodded towards the boy, who had only just returned from chopping wood and unknowingly stumbled into the midst of what was soon to be a staring contest. He was not one for words, so he was mildly thankful for the intervention, even if unintended. He did not want to appear impolite.
“Yes! Nice to meet you, sir…” Ah, he’d neglected to introduce himself. He hoped it did not sour their impressions on him.
“Tomioka Giyuu.”
The boy paused, clearly waiting for more, but a chuckle from Kie drew him out of his thoughts.
“Don’t worry, he’s not much of a conversationalist,” she mused. “Be a dear and prepare an extra futon, won’t you?”
Giyuu flicked his gaze back towards the woman. “There is no need.” He had already taken advantage of her hospitality. He was not keen on intruding in her home any further. “I will be taking my leave.”
“I insist,” she refuted. “Nightfall is upon us. I cannot in good conscience allow you into the mountains alone.”
He was not alone. He had Kanzaburo, for all his forgetfulness and frailty. “I do not want to impose.”
The gentle creases in Kie’s face deepened with her smile. It was kind.
“Then you may earn your space,” she proposed. “Your labour in exchange for shelter.”
Giyuu turned his eyes downwards.
Kanzaburo had yet to return to his shoulders or the windows. Incorrect information or not, his current assignment was not completed.
A family on the mountain and a village beneath. If Giyuu were a lesser man, he would be inclined to sacrifice one and prioritize the other, but his conscience cannot allow himself to knowingly expose lives to the demons’ maws.
He cannot be in two places at once. Every second wasted travelling was another body bleeding out on a demon’s platter. If a demon emerged, it would be faster for him to descend a mountain rather than scale its steep inclines.
The life of a demon slayer was full of compromises. He hoped his diligence could mitigate the risks.
“I accept your offer,” he said. “Put me to work.”
Kamado Tanjirou was… a lot.
For all of Giyuu’s eloquence, that was the only word he could use to describe the boy.
Terrifyingly upbeat with boundless energy, near-theatrical movements that had yet to shed his adolescent awkwardness, and unapologetically, fiercely kind.
When Tanjirou had led him to a yard of hardened soil and splinters, he also handed Giyuu an axe. Worn down and well used, but hastily sharpened for their work. He had debated using his own nichirin sword, but he did not want to deny the boy’s kindness, overwhelming as it was.
As expected, he was not used to the axe, its tilted balance completely foreign to him. He was even less familiar with putting his bladework to use for cutting through anything but a demon’s neck. But it was enough to impress the young Kamado, his eyes growing impossibly wide when Giyuu had rendered a basketful of logs into sizable, uniform pieces for charcoal in the blink of an eye.
“W-Woah!” Tanjirou marveled, throwing his head between the pile of wood and the axe in Giyuu’s hand like he were a startled chicken. “I couldn’t even see your hands move! You were whoosh! and slice! Then the wood’s all chopped up!”
Suddenly self-conscious of the attention, Giyuu lowered his arm to let it rest by its side. “It is a learned skill,” he said. “Anyone can accomplish the same with practice.”
The boy’s gleaming eyes did not leave him. Rather, it was centered around Giyuu front and center, like he was singled out in the vast expanse of twilight by a spotlight from the heavens.
“Please! Teach me!”
“No,” came his swift reply. There were better teachers, ones more suitable for teaching. He was not qualified to teach the boy the basic breathing techniques, much less swordsmanship.
“Aww, please? I’m a fast learner, I promise!”
“No.”
“Pretty please?”
“No.”
“I’ll massage your shoulders! I’ll give you my portion of rice!”
The boy’s eager smile was blinding. Giyuu wondered if he’d cast the same admiration upon him if he noticed the rust caked under his nails.
A path of failures. Worlds of disappointment. This joy is merely a fleeting bygone.
“You are…”
Not weak, never weak.
“Untrained,” was the word he settled on.
Tanjirou blinked. “So that’s why I’m asking you to train me!”
This was when Giyuu realized he was fighting a losing battle. The boy was much too like his coworkers: optimistic, eccentric and stubborn to a fault. Nothing good came out of any attempts to reason, or communicate with them.
His saving grace came in the form of a call for dinner. Kamado Nezuko, the eldest daughter of the Kamado family as introduced by Tanjirou, poked her head from the house to inform them of the coming meal. Although Giyuu was relieved by the interruption, Tanjirou was less so, as he gathered the chopped wood into his arms and approached the kiln.
The stir in Giyuu’s gut entertained the possibility that this would not be the last of Tanjirou’s pleas. Hopefully the child would soon see sense and realize his privilege to never wield a blade.
Dinner was a simple affair; with rice, steamed cabbage and miso soup. This food was prepared with care. Cooked not to impress the tongue, but to fill a family’s stomachs so they may grow. By no means was it a grandiose spread, and it paled in comparison to the meals the Master treated them after grueling meetings, yet its minute seasonings and natural flavor carried an undisputable taste of love.
It was oddly reminiscent of his sister’s and teacher’s cooking, where they returned from work dragging their feet and shouldering the weight of the world, persisting to slave away at the stove only to ensure he could have a warm meal.
“I hope the food is to your liking,” said Kie. “We grew the vegetables ourselves.”
“It is good.” It tasted like home. Foreign but oddly familiar, like a childhood tale retold with different faces.
Throughout the meal, he could feel the children’s gazes on him, their attention split between his haori and sword, the latter which he had laid beside him out of courtesy and comfort. They picked at their food, whispered into each other’s ears, but they did not allow their curiosity to form the first syllable.
But like a mighty dam standing against a sea, all it took was for one single crack to seep into its foundations, bringing it to its knees.
“Are there really demons out there, Mister?” asked the youngest.
“... yes,” he replied hesitantly, for hidden claws may lurk within the bliss of ignorance.
“Do they have sharp teeth and claws?” another asked.
“Yes.”
“Does that mean they’re evil?”
“All demons are evil,” he finalized. “It is my duty to eliminate them.”
The younger children’s eyes all sparkled in awe and curiosity.
“If they are out there,” said Tanjirou, head tilting and blinking, “does that mean we might see them one day?”
Giyuu remained quiet.
Ignorance is bliss, running on borrowed time. This false peace was but poisoned honey, seeping through their teeth and bones, quietly rotting them until they crumpled under their own weight.
If the Lord allowed it, demons would remain a fantasy in the minds of this kind family. If Fate willed it, they would never feel the scorching warmth of fresh blood splattered on their skin. They could escape the destiny that had befallen upon Giyuu and many others, standing tall and unscathed in the sun.
Reality was often disappointing.
“Yes,” admitting such was akin to pulling teeth. “You may.”
Nezuko inhaled. “What do we do, then?” she quizzed. “What if we find one?”
Giyuu cannot remain on this mountain forever. He has duties to attend to, demons to kill elsewhere. Other slayers may not be able to transverse the terrain as fast as he had.
He lowered his gaze.
“If a demon finds you…”
“... it is already too late.”
The traveler’s eerie warning was the last thing echoing in Nezuko’s mind as a crimson crescent sprayed from her mother’s throat.
The woman’s body collapsed before a man clothed in foreign fabric, his silhouette bathed in the pale light of the moon.
His harsh red gaze pierced into the depths of her soul.