Shock after shock, that was all the boy had known.
Moments ago, he had been trapped in darkness, drifting as nothing more than a soul. Then came the light. For the first time, his eyes beheld something other than void. But it was no blessing.
The first sight that greeted him… was a demon tearing a human corpse.
Terror swallowed him whole. He almost died right then and there, ripped apart by claws dripping with blood... Until he appeared.
A man wielding a katana. A blade wreathed in fire.
The stranger cut the demon down as though it were nothing. Flames danced with every strike, burning so bright they seemed to sear the very night away.
The boy's memories, what little remained after his endless time in the void were hazy, broken. Most of who he was had been lost, but even so, he knew this much:
Demons, swords that breathed fire… none of this belonged in the word normal.
He wanted answers. Needed them. His wide gray eyes followed the swordsman, who now stood calmly speaking… to a crow.
A crow. Talking back.
The boy's lips trembled as questions swirled in his mind.
'What… what kind of world is this?'
'Is this what they call reincarnation? Did I… come back, only to end up in a place like this?'
"Sigh…"
The heavy breath escaped Shinjuro as his steps carried him closer to the boy. The child flinched and instinctively backed away, his gray eyes wide with unease, a stranger in this cruel, burning world.
Shinjuro froze mid-step, noticing the fear. He softened his tone.
"...Do not be afraid, boy. I'm not your enemy. I only wish to ask you a few questio-"
"Demon," The boy's voice cut through Shinjuro's words. His gaze lingered on the charred remains and smoldering flames. "Was that… really a demon? Am I… in Hell?"
The question was spoken with genuine curiosity, but to Shinjuro, it carried another weight entirely. He followed the boy's eyes. The fire still raged, and corpses littered the ground. A tragedy too familiar.
Pity tightened Shinjuro's chest. A village lost. A family gone. And before him stood a child who had nothing left. His mind drifted to home, his own one-year-old son, waiting. His heart ached.
Without another word, Shinjuro stepped forward and wrapped the boy in a firm embrace.
"…I'm sorry I came too late, boy. I know you're scared. But don't worry," his voice trembled, but his arms did not, "... with me here, no demon will ever harm you again"
The boy, who had wandered in the void for what felt like an eternity, froze as warmth spread through him. Shinjuro's embrace was unfamiliar yet steady, and for the first time since his return, he realized, he was alive. Truly alive.
Shinjuro held him for a few moments longer before finally loosening his arms. Still kneeling to match the boy's height, he looked into his eyes with quiet resolve.
"…Soon, my comrades will arrive. We'll give your village a proper burial. After that, we'll talk about what comes next. Is that alright?"
The boy, still dazed and half-accepting his reality, only nodded faintly.
Not long after, just as Shinjuro had said, a group of Demon Slayers in black uniforms appeared. They bowed lightly before him, awaiting orders. Shinjuro divided them swiftly, half were to douse the flames that still licked the smoldering ruins, while the other half gathered the fallen to prepare their graves.
Throughout it all, the boy stood in silence, watching without tears. He felt no bond to these people, no deep sorrow, only pity for their fate. His memories, fractured and incomplete, left him a stranger among the dead.
Shinjuro, however, read that silence differently. To him, it was the numbness of grief, a child crushed under shock. Unable to ease it with words, he simply stayed close, a steadfast presence beside the boy.
When the work was done, one of the Demon Slayers approached.
"Rengoku-san, the task is complete. We'll return to headquarters to report." His eyes flickered toward the boy. "And this child…?"
Shinjuro turned to him. "That's right, I never asked… boy, what is your name?"
The boy lifted his gaze, hesitating. The memories of his past lives were broken fragments, and this body carried none at all. He shook his head. "…A name… I don't remember, sir"
Shinjuro's expression darkened with concern. "You don't remember?"
"Yes," the boy answered softly.
"Then do you recognize any of the villagers?"
"…No, sir"
Shinjuro frowned, rubbing his chin. "…Perhaps the shock was too great"
The other Slayer stepped forward. "Shall I take him back to headquarters with me, Rengoku-san?"
Shinjuro looked at the boy for a long moment, then placed a firm hand on his shoulder. His voice was calm, but resolute. "No. I'll take responsibility for him for the time being. You all can return"
The Slayer bowed. "Understood. Then, excuse us"
And just like that, the others departed, leaving Shinjuro and the boy standing alone among the ashes.
After that, the boy remembered little. Only the steady rhythm of footsteps, the scent of ash fading into the cool air of the forest, and above all, a broad back that carried him with unwavering strength.
Safe upon that back, the weight of exhaustion finally overcame him. His eyes fluttered shut, and for the first time since his return, he slept.