Age: 11
Three winters had come and gone since I last danced under the stars in my father's place.
I was eleven now. Taller. Stronger. My shoulders had begun to square out, my arms grown firm from woodcutting and hours of sword drills with my bokken. But I wasn't just growing—I was becoming deliberate. Each breath I took in the cold morning air felt like a thread in a web I had woven over the years, connecting past and future.
Sun Breathing wasn't just a technique anymore. It was becoming a part of me.
And in the silent moments, I could almost feel it whispering back.
---
Life in the Kamado household remained modest but joyful.
Father, though weaker now, still smiled often and shared what little strength he had. Sometimes he'd sit outside with a shawl around his shoulders, watching me practise the forms. He would nod slowly, eyes shining with something unspoken—perhaps pride, perhaps worry.
"You remind me of him sometimes," he said once, watching me finish the Flame Waltz Form.
"Who?" I asked.
He looked away for a moment. "My grandfather. He had a fire in him. Much like yours."
He didn't elaborate, and I didn't press. But I felt something stir in my chest.
---
The rest of the family had grown too.
Tanjiro, now seven, had started asking more questions.
"Nii-san, why do you move like that? It looks like dancing, but it feels like... fighting."
I smiled. "Maybe it's both. Want to try?"
His face lit up. And so began our new routine. Every evening, after finishing our chores, I would walk him through simple breathing techniques. Nothing intense—just grounding him in the basics. We'd stand barefoot in the snow, eyes closed, and listen to the forest.
"The air goes in, then comes out," he'd whisper.
"Good. Feel how it moves through your body."
Mother would watch us from the porch, a gentle smile on her face as she swayed Rokuta in her arms. Nezuko would tug at Hanako's sleeve, mimicking our stances with exaggerated movements.
These were fleeting, precious moments. But they were also sacred.
---
As for me, my training had moved beyond form repetition.
I had begun experimenting.
Using controlled breathing to jump higher. Training my reflexes by dodging falling snow clumps from tree branches. Testing footwork patterns through the uneven forest floor. I even began carrying water buckets up steep slopes, synchronizing each step with steady breaths.
The mountain became my dojo. Every tree, every rock, every breeze was part of the lesson.
But with progression came fear.
There were days I overreached—times when my lungs burned too sharply, or when I blacked out for a heartbeat after a misstep. Times when I'd wake in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat, haunted by visions of Muzan's eyes.
I still didn't remember everything about the story. Not clearly. But I knew that face. And I knew it would come one day.
---
One day, Mother found me standing in the snow, eyes closed, sword drawn, motionless.
"You'll catch your death," she said gently.
I opened my eyes and turned.
"I don't want to lose anything, Mama," I said. "Not you. Not Father. Not them."
She paused, surprised. Then she walked up, wrapped her shawl around my shoulders, and hugged me tight.
"We're here now," she said. "And we're proud of you, Satoshi. But don't carry the world on your back, alright?"
I didn't know how to respond. So I just nodded.
But I knew I would carry it anyway.
Because if I didn't, no one else could.
---
Later that spring
We started going to the nearby village more often.
Father was too sick now to make the trip, so I took over. I would carry charcoal, trade it for rice, thread, oil—whatever we needed. Tanjiro came with me sometimes, and he loved it. He made friends easily, remembered everyone's names, even helped an old man find his cat once.
It was during one of these visits that I first sensed something different.
There was a tension in the air, barely perceptible. A whisper of unease that didn't belong to the world I knew. It came and went like a breeze, but it was enough to raise the hairs on my neck.
No demons. Not yet.
But I knew.
The world beyond our mountain wasn't safe.
Not anymore.
---
Back at home
Takeo had started training with me now, mostly for fun. I taught him stretches, strength-building exercises, and how to fall properly when tumbling in the snow. He was full of life, eager to impress me, always calling out "Watch this, nii-san!" before tumbling head-first down a slope with a grin.
Nezuko could run faster than any of her siblings now, and would often chase Hanako and Shigeru around the house until they collapsed in laughter. Even little Rokuta had learned to throw snowballs with deadly aim.
Every time I saw them laugh, I trained harder.
I knew these days wouldn't last.
But I would not let them end in tragedy without a fight.
---
One night, under a full moon
I danced again, all thirteen forms, from memory. The cold air sliced my skin, the snow silenced my steps, and the wind bore witness.
At the peak of the final form, I closed my eyes.
I could feel it.
That familiar pressure in the center of my body. My breath aligned. My muscles moved with instinct, not thought.
For one, fleeting second—I became the flame.
And in the distance, far below the mountain, I saw a faint glimmer of red light flicker behind the trees.
I stopped.
It wasn't a campfire.
It wasn't a lantern.
It was something else.
Something I would not chase. Not yet.
This was not the time for confrontation.
But it was close.
Time was running out.