Hidden beneath a tangle of mountains, waterfalls, and twisting caverns, the Swordsmith Village breathed like a secret heartbeat of the Demon Slayer Corps.
The scent of iron and flame lingered in the mist as Tanjiro, Nezuko, Genya, and Muichiro Tokito arrived—led by two masked villagers who swore them to silence.
Tanjiro looked around with wide eyes.
"It's so peaceful here…"
And then a blur of pink and green burst from a nearby corridor.
"Tanjiroooo!"
Mitsuri Kanroji practically tackled him into a hug, smiling radiantly.
"It's been so long! You're taller! Stronger! Ooooh, and Nezuko's so cute—wait, she's in the sun?!"
Tanjiro laughed nervously as Mitsuri spun in excitement, doting on Nezuko.
From behind them, Muichiro remained impassive.
"Let's get this over with. I need to train."
The contrast between them was stark—but they would all share the same battlefield, soon enough.
As the group settled in, Tharion quietly departed, cloaked beneath nightfall.
He'd seen Inosuke's reaction after the last battle—something stirred in the boy when he heard Daki mention "shelters," and Tharion remembered a whisper from the demon's dying breath.
"That blue-eyed woman… she ran from Doma's palace…"
A memory—flickering in demon blood.
"Doma's shelter..."
Tharion's boots moved swiftly across rooftops, toward the records the Corps had buried in a hidden branch. He'd asked for old survivor lists. Names. Refugees who had escaped the cults of demons.
One name surfaced.
Kotoha Hashibira.
Days later, Tharion arrived at a ruined shrine, now swallowed by vines and silence.
He stepped into the collapsed sanctuary where once, many women had taken refuge. Their names were scrawled into the blood-stained stone tiles below, scratched in desperate hands.
He found it.
"Kotoha. Forgive me. I had to save him. He must live free."
And beneath it, a mark.
The sigil of Doma—Upper Moon Two.
The cult had hidden women here, feeding off their despair and devotion. Kotoha had been one of them.
She fled with a baby. Tharion could see the path she took—ripped clothes in branches, scattered symbols, shattered tokens of false hope.
He stood before the cliff overlooking the gorge where her trail ended.
"She jumped," he muttered.
But he saw something else—a river path, wide enough to carry a basket downriver.
"She didn't fall with him. She threw him away from the monster. From Doma."
And somehow… the boy survived.
In the wilderness.
Raised by beasts.
"Inosuke."
Tanjiro trained hard.
Muichiro barely spoke, though Tanjiro noticed how he'd sometimes glance at Nezuko with faint curiosity.
Mitsuri cooked for them—spicy stew and grilled onigiri, always enough to feed an army. She trained in private but never missed a chance to smile at Tanjiro.
Then came Hotaru Haganezuka.
Or rather, his fury.
He stormed into Tanjiro's house with a blade and a vengeance, chased by two other swordsmiths.
"You broke another one?! Train harder or I won't give you this one either!"
But beneath the rage, he placed the blade down with reverence.
"This one… is my finest work."
And Tanjiro bowed deeply, honored.
Tharion returned in silence, a shadow in the woods. His hands bore a small, broken flute—retrieved from the shrine's ruins.
The last memory of Kotoha.
He approached Inosuke that evening as the boar-headed boy trained by himself, still trying to perfect a new Beast Breathing variation.
"Inosuke."
"Eh? You again, cape-guy?"
Tharion didn't speak at first. He gently held out the flute.
Inosuke stared.
"What… what's this?"
"Your mother's," Tharion said. "Her name was Kotoha. She died saving you—from Doma."
Inosuke's hands trembled as he touched the old wood.
The wind passed between them.
For a long time, the boy said nothing.
Then softly:
"She was… real?"
Tharion nodded.
"And she loved you more than her life."
Inosuke didn't cry. But he looked up at the sky for a long time that night—flute pressed to his chest.