Days turned into weeks.
Yoriichi, though burdened still by sorrow, found moments of peace in the Kamado household. They treated him not as a fallen warrior or a banished soul—but as family.
He would help with the chores, cut firewood with a single stroke, carry water from the spring, and play with the children. When the nights grew long and the air cold, he would stoke the fire and share tales, carefully choosing ones with light instead of blood.
One evening, as the sun dipped below the mountains, casting gold across the forest, the family gathered outside to celebrate the end of the harvest.
"Will you dance with us, Yoriichi-san?" one of the children asked, tugging at his sleeve.
He stood silent for a moment.
Then slowly… he nodded.
And there, under the setting sun, Yoriichi unsheathed his blade. But this was no dance of war.
It was beauty.
His steps were fluid, measured—his sword moving in arcs of fire and grace. It was as if he were one with the sun itself, breathing with the wind, becoming rhythm and radiance.
The children clapped in awe. The parents watched, mesmerized.
When he stopped, breath calm and eyes steady, the eldest son of the Kamado family stepped forward and asked:
"What is that dance called, Yoriichi-san?"
Yoriichi paused, gazing up at the sun now retreating behind the hills.
"It is something I once created to bring light in the face of darkness."
He looked at the boy and smiled—a soft, mournful smile.
"From now on, you may call it... Hinokami Kagura. The Dance of the Fire God. Pass it on to protect those you love."
The flames from the bonfire reflected in his crimson and violet eyes.
From that day forward, each New Year's Eve, the Kamado family would perform the dance in his honor—never knowing it would one day live on in the hands of another boy with a kind heart and a fiery spirit.
And so the legacy of the sun did not fade.
It was reborn—among embers, within kindness, and through memory.