Age: 14 — Early Summer
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The mountain path twisted like a serpent beneath my feet, the morning mist clinging to the hem of Father's haori. Behind me, the Kamado home shrank into the green haze, its smoke curling skyward—a thread binding me to the ones I'd sworn to protect. Ahead lay the unknown: a world of dust, demons, and whispers.
Tanjiro's paper crane pressed against my chest, its edges sharp through the fabric. *I'll return*, I'd promised. But as the forest thinned and the first rooftops of the foothill village emerged, doubt gnawed at me. Would I even recognize the world beyond charcoal and hearthlight?
***
The village was smaller than I'd imagined—a cluster of wooden homes huddled around a dirt road. Farmers trundled carts of turnips, their faces leathery from sun and labor. A group of children chased a stray dog, their laughter raw and bright. No one noticed the boy in the checkered haori, charcoal dust still beneath his nails.
"Oy! You there!"
A bony hand gripped my shoulder. I turned to see an old woman squinting up at me, her eyes milky with cataracts. She smelled of ginger and sickness.
"You're one of the Kamado charcoal burners, aren't you?" she croaked.
"Yes, obaa-san."
Her grip tightened. "Tell your mother… the *monsters* are hunting again. Last night, Old Man Hideo's goats vanished. Not a drop of blood left." She leaned closer, her breath sour. "They say it's the work of *things that shouldn't exist*."
My pulse quickened. *Demons*. "Where?"
She pointed a trembling finger westward, toward the dense thicket bordering the river. "The woods near the bridge. But boy—" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "—don't go poking at shadows. They bite back."
***
I traded the charcoal swiftly, haggling for medicine and rice with a hollow-cheeked merchant. His stall reeked of dried fish and desperation.
"Times are lean," he muttered, eyeing my coins. "Bandits on the roads, sickness in the fields. Even the monks at the temple won't take in travelers after sundown."
"Why not?"
He glanced around before hissing, "The *White Thing*."
I frowned. "A demon?"
"Worse—it's *unnatural*. People whisper about beasts that walk like men out there. Appears to those who stray into the western woods at night. It… *speaks*. And those who answer…" He drew a finger across his throat.
I forced a laugh. "Ghost stories."
But my hand drifted to the hatchet at my belt.
***
Dusk painted the sky blood-orange as I reached the bridge. The river churned below, its waters swallowing the last light. The woods here were different from our mountain forest—gnarled pines clawing at the sky, roots coiled like serpents.
*Breathe. Focus.*
The steps of the Hinokami Kagura guided my body—a dance of fire and resolve, transformed into clumsy, desperate strikes. Father's words echoed: *"This is a prayer, not a weapon."* But tonight, it was all I had.
Every rustle of leaves, every snapped twig sharpened my senses. Ten paces in, I found the first sign: claw marks raking a tree trunk. Deep, deliberate. *Fresh*.
Then came the smell—rotten plums and iron.
A low growl rumbled behind me.
I spun, hatchet raised.
A wolf. No—*larger*. Its fur was patchy, ribs protruding, but its eyes… They glowed faintly amber, pupils slit like a cat's. Saliva dripped from jagged teeth as it lunged.
*First Form: Dance of the Fire God.*
My body moved before my mind could follow. The hatchet blade arced upward, grazing the beast's throat. It yelped, skidding into the underbrush. But as I steadied my stance, a chilling laugh echoed through the trees.
"*Oh? A little flame in the dark? How… nostalgic.*"
The voice was honey-smooth, male, and utterly inhuman.
***
The wolf whimpered, crawling toward the shadows. A pale hand emerged from the darkness, resting atop its mangy head.
"Poor thing. You let a child best you."
The man—no, the *demon*—stepped into the fading light. He wore a tattered Western-style suit, its buttons gleaming like bone, and a dented pocket watch dangled from his neck. His smile split his cheeks too wide, revealing needle-like teeth.
"You're no ghost," I said, tightening my grip on the hatchet.
He chuckled. "And you're no ordinary brat. That stance… Those eyes. You've seen *Him*, haven't you? The one who gifted us this cursed night."
*Him?*
Before I could speak, he vanished.
A cold breath tickled my ear. "*Run home, little ember. Before the sun sets on your family.*"
Pain exploded across my back—claws raking through fabric and flesh. I stumbled, hot blood soaking the haori. The demon loomed above me, his face now fully visible: one eye gold, the other blazing crimson, with the number *Six* etched into the iris.
He recoiled, his amber eye twitching as if scalded. "What *are* you? Your stench… it burns!"
I spat blood onto the leaves. "Who?"
His gold eye dilated with fear. "You'll learn… when He tears it from your chest."
***
The world narrowed to the demon's throat and the rhythm of my breath.
*Second Form: Burning Bones, Summer Sun.*
My hatchet struck true, but the blade shattered against his neck. He laughed, seizing my wrist.
"Stupid boy. Did you think a toy could kill me?"
Then—a whistle.
Silver flashed. The demon's arm fell to the ground, severed at the elbow.
"**Tasty!**"
A man in a flame-patterned haori landed between us, his golden eyes sparkling like embers. He sheathed his sword with a flourish and turned to me, grinning broadly. "That was quite the fiery spirit, young man! But next time, aim for the neck—**a proper strike ends things faster!**"
The demon's severed arm disintegrated into ash as he retreated, snarling. "This isn't over… *sun-bearer*."
The swordsman didn't pursue. Instead, he struck a pose, hands on hips. "**Kyojuro Rengoku, Flame Hashira of the Demon Slayer Corps!** And you, Kamado Satoshi, have a rare gift! That dance of yours—**it's blazing with potential!**"
***
Rengoku bought me udon at a roadside stall, slurping noodles loudly as if we'd just met at a festival. "**Eat up!**" he declared, sliding a steaming bowl toward me. "A growing flame needs fuel!"
I winced, adjusting my bandaged arm. "Why did that demon call me 'sun-bearer'?"
"Demons hate light," Rengoku said, pointing his chopsticks at me. "Your dance—it's wild! Untamed! What do you call it?"
"Hinokami Kagura," I said. "A family ritual."
"**A dance?**" He laughed, loud enough to startle crows from the rooftops. "Then dance until your flames scorch the night! Sharpen it, Kamado!"
"What's coming?"
His grin softened, but his eyes burned fierce. "Demons will hunt you now. They *hate* bright flames like yours! But remember—**strength isn't just a sword!**" He leaned forward, voice warm as a hearth. "Protect your family's smiles. That's the truest power!"
***
As we parted at dawn, Rengoku adjusted his haori, the rising sun haloing his figure. "**When we meet again, show me how your flame has grown!**"
"Wait—who is 'He'? The one the demon feared?"
Rengoku paused, his smile unwavering. "**A coward who fears daylight!**" he declared, as if it were obvious. "Now! Train hard, Kamado Satoshi! **Flames burn brightest with resolve!**"
With a wave, he vanished down the road, his laughter echoing long after he'd gone.
***
Far away, in the shadows of Tokyo, a pale hand clenched. Wine-red eyes narrowed as a phantom pain flared—a memory of blades dancing like sunlight. *That* ***thing*** *still lingers…?* Muzan Kibutsuji dissolved into the night, his fury a silent storm.
In the depths of Infinity Castle, a six-eyed demon paused mid-strike. His blade hummed, resonating with a distant, fragmented echo—*that* rhythm. *That* cadence. A ghost of a memory.
*"…Brother?"* Kokushibo's whisper faded into the void.
***
I returned to the mountain three days early.
Tanjiro found me at the training clearing, bandages peeking beneath my haori.
"You're hurt," he whispered.
I adjusted his grip on the wooden sword, ignoring the sting in my back. "Next time, I'll teach you the Second Form."
"There was a fight?"
"A small one."
He studied my face, his empathy sharp as a blade. "You're lying."
I ruffled his hair. "When you're older, I'll tell you the story."
But as night fell, I slipped into the woods alone. The steps of the Hinokami Kagura flowed fiercer now, each spin and strike igniting the memory of amber eyes and a demon's taunt.
*Burn brighter.*
Somewhere, a shadow was watching.
And I'd be ready.