The morning mist clung to the mountain path like reluctant ghosts. Akira matched Tanjiro's steady pace, each step carrying them deeper into forest that awakened memories she'd spent two years trying to forget.
"Tell me about your breathing technique," she said, needing conversation to ward off the growing familiarity of their surroundings. Pine needles crunched beneath their feet, releasing sharp-sweet scent into morning air that tasted too much like home.
"I've heard it's unlike any traditional form."
"Water Breathing came naturally to me, but during the fight with Muzan..." Tanjiro paused, considering his words with characteristic thoughtfulness. "Something changed. Like I could see connections between all the breathing styles."
𝘍𝘢𝘴𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨. His hybrid technique suggested adaptability that could prove either useful or dangerous. "You essentially created your own form?"
"Not created. More like... remembered? As if it was always there, waiting."
Tanjiro glanced at her curiously, burgundy eyes bright with genuine interest. "Your Breath of Lies must have a similar origin story. Self-taught techniques often feel that way."
𝘊𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘭. Truth and lies balanced on knife's edge. "In a sense. Though mine developed from necessity rather than intuition."
"Necessity?"
"When traditional methods fail, we must find new ways to reach our goals."
Akira stepped carefully over a fallen log. Tanjiro automatically moved to steady her. Such instinctive protectiveness. Admirable and exploitable in equal measure.
"Don't you think the Corps sometimes becomes too rigid in its approaches?"
"Tradition exists for good reasons." But his tone carried uncertainty—the first crack in absolute faith. "Though I suppose adaptation isn't always bad."
"Exactly. Evolution serves survival."
She stumbled slightly—deliberately—and caught his arm. Solid muscle, quick reflexes, the coiled tension of someone always ready to protect others.
"Thank you. You have excellent reflexes."
"Are you alright?"
"Just clumsy today."
But she'd felt his muscles tense, seen his eyes scan for threats that weren't there. His protective instincts were even stronger than she'd estimated.
𝘜𝘴𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳.
---
The path curved through ancient cedars that stood like cathedral columns. Their massive trunks created natural architecture. Dappled sunlight painted the forest floor in shifting patterns of gold and green.
Akira stopped abruptly, staring at the grove with sudden recognition. The arrangement, the spacing, the way morning light filtered through branches—it all triggered memories she'd kept carefully buried.
"My father would have loved this place," she murmured without thinking.
"Your father?"
𝘔𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦. She never discussed family, never let personal history contaminate professional relationships. But something about this forest, this moment, this man's gentle curiosity, had unlocked words she'd sworn to keep silent.
"He was... interested in natural patterns. How living things organize themselves."
The memories rose unbidden—her father's voice echoing through similar groves as he explained his theories about demon psychology and behavioral modification.
---
"𝘓𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘸, 𝘈𝘬𝘪𝘳𝘢-𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯." 𝘋𝘳. 𝘚𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘶𝘪 𝘒𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘪 𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳 𝘭𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺. 𝘏𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘦'𝘥 𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘣𝘦 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘴. "𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘵𝘺, 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘢 𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘴. 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦'𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦, 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳."
𝘍𝘪𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘯-𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳-𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘈𝘬𝘪𝘳𝘢 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘢 𝘴𝘢𝘧𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦. 𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘪𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘻𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘸 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘨𝘦𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘦𝘴. "𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘍𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘊𝘰𝘳𝘱𝘴 𝘴𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘭 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘴."
"𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘊𝘰𝘳𝘱𝘴 𝘴𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘣𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘵𝘩." 𝘏𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳'𝘴 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘨𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘤𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴. "𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘴, 𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴, 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 𝘞𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘪𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘶𝘭𝘪."
𝘏𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘥 𝘶𝘱 𝘢 𝘮𝘪𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘳. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘧𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘭𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘧𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘦.
"𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮?"
"𝘐 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮. 𝘜𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴." 𝘏𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘳. 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘸 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴. "𝘐𝘧 𝘸𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘱 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘱𝘴𝘺𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘴, 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘴 𝘸𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘭𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘧𝘢𝘳𝘦."
"𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘦𝘱𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵."
"𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥. 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴."
"He sounds wise," Tanjiro said gently, pulling her back to the present forest where sunlight had shifted and cooled.
"He was." Akira's voice caught unexpectedly, raw emotion bleeding through carefully maintained composure. "Too wise for his own good."
The path ahead curved deeper into the forest, but her mind remained trapped in that long-ago laboratory where her father had sought to heal rather than destroy.
Such noble intentions. Such tragic consequences.
---
𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘦𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳'𝘴 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥-𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘴—𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘺, 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘭 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘤𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯. 𝘋𝘳. 𝘚𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘶𝘪 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘦𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘳𝘺 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘷𝘢𝘭 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘩 𝘧𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨.
"𝘒𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘪, 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘯'𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘴," 𝘚𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘶𝘪 𝘠𝘶𝘬𝘪 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘥, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘥 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘯. 𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘥𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘣𝘰𝘸𝘭 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘦𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘺. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘤 𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘴 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘳.
"𝘋𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘧𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘥𝘺, 𝘮𝘺 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘳." 𝘋𝘳. 𝘚𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘶𝘪 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘷𝘦𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘥𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘩. 𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘥 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘴—𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘴, 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴, 𝘣𝘦𝘥𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘖𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘰𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘦.
"𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘩, 𝘍𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳." 𝘛𝘦𝘦𝘯𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘈𝘬𝘪𝘳𝘢'𝘴 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘦𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘦𝘹𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘨𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘴. "𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘩𝘯𝘪𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘥𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘥—"
"𝘈𝘣𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘶𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘯𝘰𝘵." 𝘏𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳'𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘯𝘰 𝘢𝘳𝘨𝘶𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵—𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘣𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘬. "𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧-𝘥𝘦𝘧𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦, 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘥𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘴."
"𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘔𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳, 𝘪𝘧 𝘍𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳'𝘴 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘥𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘱𝘴𝘺𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘺—"
^"𝘐𝘧 𝘍𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳'𝘴 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘥𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘩." 𝘠𝘶𝘬𝘪 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘻𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘳'𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥. 𝘊𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘮𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴. "𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘫𝘰𝘣 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘸. 𝘓𝘦𝘵 𝘶𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬."^
𝘌𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵-𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳-𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘶𝘱 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘭, 𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘬. "𝘈𝘳𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘺 𝘢𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘺𝘴?"
"𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺'𝘳𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺'𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘧𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥," 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘏𝘦 𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘩𝘦'𝘥 𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘣𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘫𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘴 𝘣𝘪𝘵𝘦. "𝘓𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘴. 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘣𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘥."
"𝘞𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮, 𝘍𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳?"
"𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮. 𝘜𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘱 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨."
𝘚𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘺. 𝘚𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘧𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘦𝘥𝘨𝘦 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦.
Akira blinked hard, surprised by the tears that threatened. Her family had been so certain that compassion could bridge any gap, that research could solve any problem. They'd approached demons the way scholars approached ancient texts—with patience, curiosity, and absolute confidence in reason over prejudice.
They'd been wrong. Not about demons, but about humans.
"What happened to them?" Tanjiro asked quietly, his voice carrying the same gentle concern he'd shown Nezuko during her worst nightmares.
The question hung between them like a sword suspended over their heads. Truth balanced against necessity, genuine emotion warring with calculated deception. She could lie completely—fabricate a demon attack, claim her parents died heroically defending villagers. He would believe it, offer comfort, never question the story.
Or she could tell the truth that would damn the Corps in his eyes.
Or she could find the narrow path between truth and lies that had become her specialty.
"They were killed by people who feared what they didn't understand."
---
𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘮 𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘋𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘚𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘛𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘭𝘢𝘻𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘮𝘺 𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴.
"𝘋𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘚𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘳 𝘊𝘰𝘳𝘱𝘴! 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘦!"
𝘍𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘮 𝘤𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘢𝘳, 𝘧𝘪𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘯-𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳-𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘈𝘬𝘪𝘳𝘢 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘨𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺. 𝘙𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘩 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘦𝘭𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘯𝘰 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯.
"𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦," 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯. "𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥—𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦'𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘢 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘪𝘯 𝘥𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘭 𝘮𝘰𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯—"
"𝘚𝘵𝘦𝘱 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘶𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨." 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘚𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘳'𝘴 𝘴𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘨𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯, 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴. "𝘞𝘦'𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘥𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯."
"𝘊𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯?" 𝘏𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳'𝘴 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘧𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯. "𝘕𝘰, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥. 𝘐'𝘮 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘶𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘻𝘦𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘩 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘨𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯—"
"𝘙𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘩?" 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘳'𝘴 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥. "𝘖𝘯 𝘥𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘴?"
"𝘉𝘦𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘭 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘗𝘴𝘺𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘺𝘴𝘪𝘴. 𝘈𝘭𝘭 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘰𝘤𝘶𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘨𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘢𝘥𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳." 𝘋𝘳. 𝘚𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘶𝘪 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺, 𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯. "𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦, 𝘦𝘹𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘢𝘭𝘴."
"𝘊𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘢𝘭𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘣𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘥."
"𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘦𝘹𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬! 𝘔𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘰𝘭𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘻𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘦 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘥𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘩𝘢𝘣𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯—"
"𝘙𝘦𝘩𝘢𝘣𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯?" 𝘈𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘚𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘴𝘰𝘯. "𝘋𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘯'𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘩𝘢𝘣𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥. 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺'𝘳𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘺𝘦𝘥."
"𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘧 𝘸𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘤𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦—"
"𝘊𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘴."
𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘤𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘸𝘪𝘧𝘵, 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦. 𝘋𝘳. 𝘚𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘶𝘪 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥. 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘩 𝘱𝘢𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘮 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘥𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘪𝘳𝘥𝘴.
𝘠𝘶𝘬𝘪'𝘴 𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮 𝘱𝘪𝘦𝘳𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘤𝘶𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵. 𝘓𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘢 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨.
𝘍𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘢𝘳, 𝘈𝘬𝘪𝘳𝘢 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘪𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘺𝘦𝘥.
Tanjiro's scent carried grief sharp as winter wind. He didn't press for details, didn't demand elaborate explanations. Simply accepted her pain as valid and worthy of respect.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "Loss like that... it changes everything."
𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨. The word landed with perfect accuracy. The girl who'd believed in her father's dreams of peaceful coexistence had died that night. What emerged from the storm cellar was something harder, colder, infinitely more dangerous.
---
"We should focus on the mission," she said, deflecting attention from emotions that threatened to compromise her carefully maintained facade.
They walked deeper into forest that looked too much like the one where her family had died. Each step brought them closer to the hidden cave where Kage waited with their assembled recruits. Time to shift from memory to action, from Akira the daughter to Akira the teacher of lies.
"Wait here," she told Tanjiro when they reached a small clearing marked by three ancient pines. "I want to scout ahead before we commit to this approach."
"I should come with you."
"Your scent is too distinctive. If demons are nearby, they'll sense you long before we spot them." She smiled with practiced reassurance, the expression feeling strange after the raw honesty of shared grief. "I'll be back within the hour."
The hidden cave entrance lay exactly where Kage had promised, concealed behind flowering vines. Akira descended into phosphorescent-lit chambers where a dozen demons waited in organized ranks.
"You're late," Kage observed.
"I'm thorough. There's a difference." Akira settled onto a natural stone seat. "What's the progress with our new recruits?"
A pig-faced demon stepped forward eagerly. "The breathing techniques work, Teacher. I haven't felt the hunger in days."
"Good." Akira turned to address the full group. "Remember, the goal isn't to eliminate your nature, but to master it. Hunger controlled becomes a tool. Strength directed becomes power."
Around the chamber, demons nodded with understanding that would have terrified any traditional Slayer. Intelligence guided by purpose rather than blind compulsion.
"Your Slayer partner—he grows suspicious?" Kage asked.
"Tanjiro is... perceptive. But manageable."
"And if he discovers your true purpose?"
"Then he becomes a liability to be eliminated." The words tasted like poison, but she spoke them with conviction her followers needed to hear. "I won't let personal feelings compromise our mission."
But even as she spoke the necessary lies, part of her mind was already planning how to ensure Tanjiro survived what was coming.
---
The climb back to surface felt like emerging from one world into another. Above ground, she was Akira the devoted Hashira. Below ground, she was Teacher, architect of change.
Tanjiro looked up as she emerged from the trees. "Find anything interesting?"
"The usual signs. Demon presence, but they're avoiding direct confrontation." She noted how his nostrils flared as he analyzed the mixed scents clinging to her clothes. "Probably moved deeper into the cave systems."
"Your scent is different. Mixed with others. Like you've been around people, but... not quite people."
𝘋𝘢𝘮𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘴𝘦. "I encountered some mountain folk. Hermits who live in the caves."
Before he could ask more questions, rustling announced their target's arrival. A demon emerged—one of her trained subjects. The creature snarled convincingly, then stopped mid-charge as Akira began her breathing pattern. Confusion replaced fury, and within moments it stood motionless.
"Incredible," Tanjiro breathed. "It's completely pacified."
"Not pacified. Enlightened." Akira approached the motionless demon. "Can you feel it? The absence of murderous intent?"
"I can smell the change. The bloodlust is gone, but there's something else. Like it's still aware but not... itself?"
𝘛𝘰𝘰 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘤𝘦𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘧. "Transformation takes time. The demon nature must be gradually replaced with human consciousness."
The demon shambled away into deeper woods, following its instructions. Another successful "purification" for the records, another infiltrator positioned for future operations.
"Have you ever followed up on the ones you've purified?" Tanjiro asked quietly.
The question lodged in her mind like a splinter. "Would you track a wolf you'd freed from a trap? Some kindnesses are best left unexamined."
---
The afternoon sun filtered through the canopy as they began their journey back. Despite the successful mission, Akira found herself walking slower than necessary. Reluctant to end their time alone together.
"You're quiet," Tanjiro observed.
"Just thinking about what you said earlier. About following up on purified demons." She surprised herself with honesty. "Do you ever wonder if kindness is just another form of cruelty?"
Tanjiro considered this seriously. "I think the kindest thing is usually to ask what kind of help someone wants, rather than assuming we know what's best for them."
"And if they don't know what they want?"
"Then we stay close enough to help if they ask, but far enough away that they can find their own path."
"That sounds lonely."
"Sometimes. But loneliness is better than false connection." He glanced at her curiously. "Why? Do you feel like you're struggling alone with something?"
When had she last had a genuine conversation with someone who cared about her answer? "Everyone struggles alone with something. The trick is deciding which struggles are worth sharing."
"I've found that sharing usually makes struggles smaller."
𝘖𝘩, 𝘛𝘢𝘯𝘫𝘪𝘳𝘰. "And what if sharing them would hurt the person you're sharing with?"
"Then you have to decide whether protecting them from pain is more important than trusting them to