Chapter Text
The night stretched deep and quiet, the kind of silence that felt like the world itself was holding its breath. Moonlight spilled through the paper screens in silver threads, glinting off the curve of the woman’s hair as she hummed softly.
Giyuu sat by the window, her lap cradling a small bundle wrapped in pale cloth. The child’s hair was white — soft wisps like down feathers, brushing against her wrist as she rocked gently. When she glanced down, half-lidded eyes that mirrored hers blinked up sleepily, dark and serene.
She smiled, barely — just enough to soften the corners of her lips.
“Shh…” she whispered, her voice as calm as the hush of a river. “It’s alright. You’re safe.”
The baby sighed, that tiny chest rising against hers, and Giyuu continued to hum. A tune without words, one she’d learned from memory rather than melody — something her heart had written long ago, in the space where loneliness once lived. Now it was full.
Outside, the forest was alive with wind and motion.
Sanemi’s blade tore through the dark like lightning, his breath steady, his blood hot. Every strike was clean, every step driven by purpose. Demons shrieked and fell before he could even blink.
“I don’t have time for you,” he growled under his breath, twisting his wrist, sending blood spraying against the dirt. “I’ve got somewhere to be—”
He moved faster, cutting down the last one with a roar that split the air. “—I’ve got to get home.”
The forest fell silent again, save for the wind carrying the scent of wisteria. Sanemi stood there for a second, chest heaving, before sheathing his sword and breaking into a run — toward the lights of their home, toward warmth, toward her.
Back inside, Giyuu’s song drew to a close. The baby’s breathing had evened, lashes brushing against plump cheeks. She pressed a soft kiss to the child’s forehead, her voice just a murmur.
“You’re his light,” she said, not knowing if the baby heard. “He’ll fight the world to see you smile.”
The door slid open.
She didn’t turn — her body already knew the rhythm of those steps, the faint creak of the floor beneath his weight. A sigh slipped from her lips when a pair of familiar arms encircled her waist from behind, the warmth of battle-roughened skin seeping through the thin cloth of her yukata.
The smell of rain, steel, and pine filled the air.
“You’re late,” she murmured, but there was no edge to it.
A chuckle rumbled low in his chest, followed by the gentle press of lips against her hair.
“I came as fast as I could,” he whispered hoarsely. “Didn’t want to miss this.”
Her hands tightened protectively around the child when his rough fingers brushed the edge of the blanket. The baby stirred — a small coo, a flutter — and Sanemi froze, his breath catching as he saw those dark eyes peeking up at him.
“Hey there…” he said softly, voice trembling in a way he’d never allow in battle. “You’re up, huh? Guess you knew I was here.”
The baby gurgled, as if answering him, and Giyuu’s quiet laugh filled the air. He watched her, moonlight touching her profile, and for a moment he forgot the world outside.
She leaned back into him slightly, the curve of her shoulder fitting perfectly beneath his chin.
“Welcome home,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Sanemi lowered his head until his lips brushed hers — a brief kiss, trembling with exhaustion and relief. “I’m home,” he breathed against her mouth.
And in that small room — with the night wind stirring, with their child between them and the world held still — peace finally felt like something real.