I spun around, my heart dropping like a lead weight. They were gone—Tanjiro, Zenitsu, Inosuke—swallowed up by the thick, eerie fog that choked the air. A tight knot of worry twisted in my gut, clashing with a sharp pang of caution that screamed at me to stay sharp. I shouted their names, but the mist ate my voice, leaving nothing but a dull echo. I reached out with my senses, straining to pick up anything—Tanjiro's steady presence, Zenitsu's frantic energy, Inosuke's wild edge. Nothing. The fog pressed in, heavy and unnatural, smothering everything.
Then, a faint glow cut through the swirling white. At first, it was just a blur, but as I squinted, it sharpened into the shape of a house. Warm lamplight spilled from its windows, and the sound of laughter—bright, familiar—drifted out. It hit me like a punch, tugging at some buried part of me I didn't want to face. I moved toward it, each step slow and heavy with dread, until I reached the door. My hand hesitated, then pushed it open.
The room inside was warm, alive with light, and what I saw broke me. There they were, sitting around a dinner table, laughing like nothing had ever gone wrong: my father, solid and gentle; my mother, her smile a beacon of comfort; and Hina, my little sister, all spark and mischief in her eyes. My breath snagged in my throat, chest squeezing tight.
My mother looked up, her eyes locking onto mine, and her smile grew. "Oh, Ryo, you finally came! We were waiting for you. Where's Ichiro?" Her voice was spot-on, every little quirk of it so perfectly her that it tore me open inside.
This wasn't real. They were gone. Dead.
Hina's small hand grabbed mine, warm and tugging me forward. "Come on, big brother, sit and eat dinner with us!" I stumbled into a chair, dazed, as my mother set a plate in front of me—a simple meal, steaming and smelling like every memory of home I'd tried to bury. "It's delicious, brother, eat!" Hina said, her voice bright and carefree.
My mother tilted her head, concern softening her gaze. "Ryo, dear, why are you so dirty and rugged? And truly, where is Ichiro? He should be here by now."
"I don't know," I mumbled, barely audible, my head spinning.
My father laughed, a low, easy sound. "He must be doing some work outside. Ryo, are you ready for the upcoming duel tournament? You've been practicing regularly, haven't you?"
I nodded, words stuck somewhere I couldn't reach. Hina pulled at my sleeve. "Ryo, I want to buy a new kimono! Will you come with me to choose it?"
Seeing them like this—so real, so alive—cracked me wide open. Tears burned down my cheeks, hot and unstoppable. They looked perfect, sounded perfect, but I knew better. There was no life in them, no warmth I could sense—just illusions, cruel and flawless. Hina and my mother stared at me, confused. "Ryo, why are you crying?" my mother asked, her voice soft and worried.
I choked on a sob, shoving myself up from the table. "I'm sorry," I rasped, and bolted out the door, leaving that unbearable, beautiful lie behind.
I ran through the fog, tears blurring everything, the pain clawing at me like a living thing. No matter how tough I tried to be, seeing them had ripped me apart. The grief lit a fire in me, raw and furious—I had to find the demon pulling these strings and end it. I had to find the others.
I sucked in shaky breaths, forcing the hurt down deep where it couldn't touch me. Focus, Ryo. Duty first: kill the threat, save your team. My senses were still muddled by the fog and some weird, cloying smell, but then it hit me—Shinobu's wisteria powder, stashed in my bag for emergencies.
I dropped to my knees, fumbling to pile up twigs and leaves. My hands shook as I sparked a small fire, then propped a flat rock over it like a makeshift stove. I poured in some river water I'd kept on me, then dumped a handful of the powder into it. Purple steam billowed up, and—just like I'd hoped—it started eating away at the fog around me.
The air cleared in a little pocket, and I could finally breathe right again. I sharpened my focus, reaching out for any sign of the others. It was faint, almost nothing, but there—a thin thread of Tanjiro's scent, right at the edge of my range. I took off, weaving through the mist, keeping my breaths shallow to dodge whatever tricks the fog still held.
After what felt like forever, a shrill scream cut through—Zenitsu. I sprinted toward it, bursting through a wall of fog to find him clutching a tree, bawling his eyes out. "Please don't leave me, Nezuko! Don't leave me alone!" he wailed, lost in some private hell I couldn't see.
I didn't think twice—just smacked him hard with the flat of my sword. He yelped, eyes snapping open, flailing as he came back to himself. "Ryo! Oh my god, Ryo! I was… I was trapped!"
"It's a demon's illusion," I said, grabbing his arm and yanking him up. "Stick close, or I'll lose you again."
Together, we plunged back into the swirling mist, to find Tanjiro and Inosuke.
To Be Continued…