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The setting sun washes the thick forests of Ionia in sheets of bronze and molten gold. The demon hunter sits at ease, the bubbling stream and the sounds of bird calls high above his head being the only noise he can hear for miles. Though the sun sits high in the sky, Ionian hilltops basking in the last of daylight, he can see the coming night, the stars slowly making their appearance.
Yone looks down into the stream, a small fire blazing next to him.
His reflection peers back at him.
The azakana mask is bright, red like the blood that bleeds from his wounds. It is a stark contrast compared to the unearthly pallor of his skin, iridescent almost in the waning daylight.
Once upon a time, he hated his appearance. Death has made him gaunt and hollow, his cheeks sunken and his skin an ugly pallor when the sun was still high up in the sky. The shadows did nothing to hide his eccentricities. The mask did nothing to alleviate his concerns, either. An oddity glued to his face for the rest of time.
He looks at himself now, at the azakana mask and the glowing eye that peers back at him.
Despite his previous reservations, he considers the mask to be beautiful after all this time. Undoubtedly breathtaking. He never thought he would be able to find beauty in something he considered an annoyance for so long.
He did not come to this conclusion easily, of course.
The mask, much like everything else in his life, was a hindrance, a burden, a responsibility he was forced to bear. His responsibilities as the first-born son alienated him from children his age. It felt as if the world weighed on his shoulders at times, burdened by pressures no child should be forced to carry. Between keeping the rest of the clan happy, his younger brother, Yasuo, in line, and his mother none the wiser on the more gruesome matters, his own feelings always came last. He was nothing short of discontent when he was alive, unable to find joy in the person he had become if only because of how much of it was forced upon him.
Only in death was Yone able to find peace, and even then it was extremely short-lived.
He sighs heavily, looking away from the ripping stream when a frog jumps into the water, splashing. The sun has set since he began reminiscing, and the darkening sky makes his skin look like it is made of a glistening pearl. The ornaments on his body, dark and foreboding, seem to sparkle in the moonlight, too.
Yone stands and dusts off his robes. He puts the small fire out with his boot. As night settles, demons come out of hiding, no longer afraid of the daylight that might reveal them too soon. It is his duty to ensure they do not go any further.
His hand flexes against the hilts of his swords, at the ready as his footsteps, light and agile, echo against the dusty path.
It had taken Yone too long to realize he felt like a stranger in his own body, a revelation that only made itself apparent once he was given his new task. Who was he if not a failure of a son? A strange amalgamation that looked more monster than man?
There was a difference in the mask, however.
Where he was given no room to adapt and change in his mortal life, the curse of the azakana gave him the freedom he longed for.
Without the azakana, Yone would not have reunited with his brother, Yasuo’s forgiveness lightening the weight on his shoulders in ways he hadn’t thought possible. The eradication of his family brought him relief, even if it came with great loss. He no longer needed to fit the mold he had been forced into, he no longer needed to be what he was not.
The curse of death, the mask of the azakana, gave him an opportunity he did not understand at first. He had loathed the change, his spirit disrupted from its rest— as tumultuous and exhaustive as it already was— and forced into eternal servitude.
Yone was given the chance to live again. To walk, to eat, to breathe, to exist as the person they decided to be.
They hear something howl in the distance; a demon no doubt, if the way the screams warp and weave through the wind and treetops say anything at all. They stop in their tracks, waiting for the right moment, and something in their gut purrs at the prospect of bloodshed. Their feet begin to move once they are ready, their swords held tight in their grasp. Time seems to still for a moment, the air suffocating and still, and the world hangs in the balance as the Unforgotten makes their way through the dense forests.
Soon enough they see it, the demon coiled around the corpse of a fallen animal.
It shrieks as they draw near, falling onto all fours and launching itself in their direction.
Yone will pay their respects in due time, they decide, breathing deep as they, too, fall into position. There will be many more opportunities to reminisce in the future. For now, the demon must be slain.