Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The late afternoon sun filtered through the thin paper panels of the Ubuyashiki estate, casting delicate silhouettes of branches that swayed gently in the wind. It was that hour of quiet before dusk, where time seemed to pause—just long enough for old ghosts to shift in their graves and for secrets to be held, if only a little longer.

Tomioka Giyuu stood at the far end of the engawa, silent as always. The meeting had yet to begin, but most of the Hashira had already arrived and taken their places, the familiar air of subtle tension threading between them like an invisible string.

Rengoku's booming laughter rang from the opposite veranda, an easy, bright sound that contrasted with the hushed atmosphere. Shinazugawa Sanemi stood nearby, arms crossed, a muscle ticking in his jaw each time Rengoku clapped someone on the back. Uzui Tengen lounged as if the whole event was beneath him, fingers gleaming with rings, while Himejima Gyoumei prayed quietly, beads sliding rhythmically through his large fingers.

Muichirou had not said a word since he arrived—his clouded eyes half-lidded, as though his mind had drifted far away. Yet every so often, he glanced at Giyuu with a sort of gentle confusion. The kind that might be born from something lost and half-remembered.

Kanzaburou, Giyuu’s aged Kasugai crow, dozed quietly atop a pillar beam, his feathers puffed and one eye closed. The other watched everything with the slow patience of age, as if the bird had seen every one of these meetings a hundred times before and would see a hundred more. The old crow preened once, then let out a quiet, irritable squawk—just loud enough to draw the attention of Obanai, whose white snake hissed in reply.

Ubuyashiki Kagaya arrived soon after, flanked by his children, his voice stilling all motion like mist blanketing a field.

“Thank you for gathering, my pillars,” he said softly, each syllable deliberate. “Let us begin.”

The meeting stretched slowly. Reports, missions, demon sightings. Nothing unusual. The kind of quiet stretch in time that Giyuu was most comfortable with—routine, measured. He listened, offered his thoughts only when asked, and otherwise stood beside Rengoku with the practiced stillness of water in a still pond.

And then—

A flurry of wings stirred the quiet.

It wasn’t Kanzaburou.

Another crow burst through the sky, small and dark and elegant, and landed with precision on Giyuu’s shoulder. The meeting paused, attention flickering.

This crow—slighter in build, feathers neat and dark as obsidian—wore a small scarf tied around its neck. Its patterned green-and-gold cloth was unlike anything issued by the Corps, and something about it... nagged at the eye.

Not his crow. Not any of theirs.

Only Muichirou’s gaze sharpened.

Shinobu tilted her head. “Curious. That crow isn’t part of the regular fleet.”

Sanemi grunted. “Another message from HQ?”

The crow cawed, then in perfect articulation announced, “Master has returned. He’s safe.”

The voice was crisp. Familiar to Giyuu—so familiar, it carved a line through the center of his chest. His jaw tightened, but his expression did not shift.

“Thank you, Shimizu,” he said quietly.

And then he smiled.

It was a fleeting thing, a curve of his lips so rare, so out of place, that it landed like a dropped stone into the still waters of the Hashira’s collective attention.

Tengen’s brow quirked. Rengoku blinked. Even Sanemi turned.

Shinobu’s eyes narrowed faintly, as though trying to solve a riddle. “Shimizu?” she echoed.

“I asked him not to come all this way just for that,” Giyuu added, brushing a finger against the crow’s side before it launched off into the sky once more.

Silence followed in its wake.

Kanzaburou let out a distinctly judgmental squawk from above, startling Muichirou out of his trance. “Was that… normal?” the boy asked, voice soft.

“No,” Obanai murmured. “No, that wasn’t.”

And yet, Giyuu said nothing else. The smile vanished, and he folded back into himself like a tide retreating from shore.

Kagaya’s voice picked up again, gentle, as though nothing had happened. As if he had not noticed the shift—though everyone suspected he always noticed.

Muichirou leaned slightly in Giyuu’s direction and whispered, just barely, “Can I come visit again? Soon?”

Giyuu glanced at him. Something unreadable flickered in his gaze—almost like warmth.

“…Of course,” he said knowing the boy would likely forget even asking in no time.

But the others heard none of it. Their attention remained pinned on the strange crow and the stranger smile. They did not know what had brushed their world today—only that something old and forgotten had stirred.

And it would not be still for long

Chapter Text

The aftermath of the Hashira meeting unfolded like ripples over still water—slow, quiet, and unnoticed by the untrained eye. But beneath the surface, something had shifted.

They had all seen it. Giyuu’s smile.

None of them knew what it meant. But it lingered, unspoken and uneasy, like the first chill of an approaching winter. The Hashira had always been a force of contradictions—brilliant yet brutal, revered and isolated. Secrets were as common as scars among them. But Giyuu had always kept his tucked away with such relentless precision that even seeing a flicker of something softer felt almost sacrilegious.

No one said anything immediately. Not during the last words exchanged. Not during the silent walk from the Master’s estate to the outer courtyard.

But Mitsuri was the first to break.

She caught up to Obanai and Shinobu under the cherry trees lining the northern walkway. “Did you see that?” she whispered, her voice tremulous with something between awe and concern.

Obanai didn’t look at her, his gaze fixed ahead. “The crow?”

“No. Well, yes, but—Tomioka-san. He smiled.”

Shinobu stopped walking, the corners of her lips twitching in something too sharp to be mirth. “I would’ve believed that man had forgotten how,” she said, soft and dry. “Strange… and yet not unpleasant.”

Obanai finally turned. “The crow wore a scarf.”

Mitsuri blinked. “You noticed?”

“It looked like… something familiar. But not from here.”

They shared a glance.

Back inside the manor, Giyuu lingered just long enough to receive the Master’s quiet nod—a gesture of thanks, perhaps, or permission. The exact meaning was unclear, but Giyuu bowed in return. His expression, once more, had settled into that unreadable calm.

As he stepped into the outer walkway, Kanzaburou descended from the rafters in a flutter of tired wings.

“Too many fools in one room,” the elderly crow grumbled in his scratchy voice, landing unsteadily on Giyuu’s shoulder. “You are lucky I did not bite the flashy one.”

Giyuu offered a soft, amused exhale. “You always say that.”

“He always deserves it.”

Kanzaburou preened a feather, clearly displeased. “And who was that *other* bird? The one with the preposterous little scarf?”

“Shimizu.”

Kanzaburou paused. “*That* Shimizu? Still delivering love notes, I see.”

Giyuu gave a rare, small huff of laughter, which made Kanzaburou puff up in pride.

But the mood sobered again when a quiet voice called out.

“Tomioka-san?”

Muichirou.

The boy was waiting at the end of the walkway, his mist-colored eyes as hazy as always. But his tone was clearer than usual. Intentional.

“I remembered something,” he said, squinting slightly. “A place. I think… I was there before.”

Giyuu’s hand paused on the edge of his haori.

Muichirou continued, tone flat but curious. “There was a house near a river. Quiet. And a man with pink hair. He laughed a lot. I think… he made rice porridge when I was sick.”

Kanzaburou let out a tiny coo. Giyuu’s expression didn’t change, but his posture shifted—subtly, protectively.

“You were injured,” he said gently. “You collapsed near the Water Estate. I brought you back.”

“And the other man?”

Giyuu hesitated. “He lives there.”

Muichirou blinked. “Is he your brother?”

“…No.”

“Then who—”

Giyuu stepped forward, placing a careful hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Do you want to come back there again?”

Muichirou nodded slowly. “I think I feel… safe there.”

A moment passed between them. Then another. Kanzaburou settled deeper into Giyuu’s shoulder.

“I’ll send for you,” Giyuu said at last. “Next month.”

Muichirou didn’t smile—but his shoulders relaxed. That, from him, meant more.

——

Elsewhere, the others whispered.

Sanemi cornered Rengoku beneath a covered walkway. “You’ve known Tomioka longer than the rest of us. Has he ever mentioned someone named ‘Shimizu’ before?”

Rengoku, always so full of light, frowned.

“No,” he said. “But I once saw him heading out toward the river. I thought it was for meditation. Now…”

Shinobu, eavesdropping without shame, stepped in. “I think there’s more to Tomioka-san than he lets on. But then again,” she smiled, “aren’t we all riddles?”

Sanemi growled. “I don’t like being kept in the dark.”

“You could always ask him.”

“I’d rather fight a demon.”

Shinobu giggled. “Exactly.”

——

Far from the estate, beneath the sloping hills and shadowed trees, a quiet estate sat nestled against a rushing stream. The Water Estate.

Inside its walls, Sabito stirred the embers of a fire and placed the kettle atop the iron trivet. His yukata was slightly wrinkled, his hair still damp from training. Shimizu had returned, the little crow now perched smugly on a beam above the hearth.

“I take it he got the message?” Sabito asked.

Shimizu cawed proudly.

Sabito smiled, but it faded a moment later as he looked toward the window, toward the world beyond the quiet safety of their walls.

“Sooner or later,” he murmured, “they’re going to find out.”

Shimizu flapped once, then settled.

Sabito glanced at the scarf tied around the bird’s neck—the old fabric from his training yukata, the green and yellow checkered pattern soft with age.

He exhaled.

“Let them come.”

Chapter Text

The sun had barely begun its climb when the Hashira assembled again, summoned to the Ubuyashiki estate under a sky the color of ash. The morning carried with it an uncanny quiet, the kind that precedes either revelation or catastrophe—none of them could tell which. Giyuu stood near the edge of the engawa, arms folded behind his back, face unreadable, but his crow, Kanzaburou, perched steadfastly on the railing beside him. The old crow’s eyes followed the movement of each Hashira as they arrived—watchful, grave, and far too knowing.

Rengoku greeted them all with his characteristic brightness, voice booming even in the somber atmosphere. Mitsuri arrived shortly after, her eyes scanning the horizon as if looking for something—or someone. Muichirou trailed behind Himejima, quietly observant, his gaze lingering on Giyuu just a second too long.

The others filed in one by one: Sanemi, all impatience and scowls; Tengen, draped in his usual flamboyance; Shinobu, smiling with the corners of her mouth but not her eyes; Obanai, silent as always, Kaburamaru coiled comfortably around his neck.

Kagaya-sama was already waiting, seated beneath the paper screens that filtered morning light like memory. His wife, Amane, knelt beside him, a silent sentinel.

“Thank you all for coming,” Kagaya began, his voice gentle and thin but steady. “This meeting is not just to report on missions. There are other matters. Matters... of legacy.”

That word settled uneasily in the air. Legacy.

While Kagaya spoke, Kanzaburou shifted on the railing and let out a croaky caw, drawing startled glances. Giyuu did not move, but his eyes flickered briefly with something unreadable.

At the far side of the meeting area, a crow cut through the air—sharp, sudden, like a blade. It wore a tiny scarf: green and gold in a diamond pattern, eerily reminiscent of a haori long gone. The crow spiraled before landing on the floorboards with delicate, precise steps.

“Shimizu,” Giyuu murmured under his breath. Not quietly enough.

Mitsuri blinked, brow furrowing. “That’s... not Kanzaburou, right?”

“No,” Giyuu replied, glancing down at Kanzaburou who remained still, as though carved from onyx. “He’s another.”

Shimizu fluffed his feathers and gave a decisive squawk. “Master has finished his mission. He’s preparing your tea, Giyuu-sama.”

“Master?” Tengen raised a brow, folding his arms. “You’ve got someone preparing tea for you? Must be someone important.”

Sabito’s name was not spoken.

Muichirou watched Shimizu with silent reverence. Unlike the others, his face softened with recognition. Not conscious recollection—more like the faint warmth of a place remembered only by the heart. “He’s from the Water Estate,” he said plainly. “I remember him. I remember... kindness.”

The other Hashira looked at him, startled. Shinobu tilted her head. “You stayed at the Water Estate once, didn’t you, Muichirou-kun? After that battle in the south?”

Muichirou nodded. “I was... lost. I don’t remember most of it. But I remember voices. A fire in the hearth. Someone... humming.”

“Who was it?” Sanemi asked, frowning.

“I don’t know,” Muichirou said. “But it felt like home.”

The words silenced the group.

Giyuu’s face had gone unreadable again, the stone mask returned. He turned his eyes back to Kagaya-sama, who merely watched with a serene expression that betrayed nothing. Not approval. Not concern. Only patience.

The meeting eventually turned to mission reports and logistics, but the air remained heavy with unspoken curiosity. When it adjourned, Kanzaburou cawed low in Giyuu’s direction. It sounded... warning.

As the group began to disperse, Muichirou approached Giyuu quietly. “Can I come to the Water Estate again soon?”

Giyuu turned to him, something like a flicker of surprise in his eyes. “Of course,” he said. “Anytime.”

Muichirou nodded, then looked up at Kanzaburou. “He remembers me too, doesn’t he?”

The old crow gave a low, hoarse croak and tilted his head toward the boy. Giyuu didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

From the shadows behind the gardens, Shimizu took off again, disappearing into the sky with a trailing call that echoed over the estate like a half-forgotten lullaby.

The Hashira did not ask again who the 'Master' was. Not yet.

But they would.