Chapter Text
The fields were on fire.
Ash clung to the sky, the ground, his skin. Every breath scraped down his throat like glass, but he didn’t slow. The air pulsed with the weight of something feral—ancient, gleeful, cruel.
He saw her again, just ahead. A flash of silver hair tangled in soot and moonlight. Her legs buckled as she stumbled barefoot through the burning grass, blood slicking one knee. She was a streak of desperation against the blaze, her too-small frame nearly swallowed by the waist-high stalks.
And behind her—the thing.
The demon loped on all fours, unnaturally long limbs bending the wrong way with each stride. Its tongue lolled, wet and grinning, snatching embers from the air. It was toying with her. Every few steps, it let out a delighted cackle. It could have killed her already. That wasn’t the point.
I’m too slow.
Giyuu ground his teeth and surged forward, narrowing his body into the wind. He tore through the flaming field like a blade slicing water, lungs seizing with smoke. His sandals skidded across the dirt, kicking up plumes of ash. His grip on the sword at his hip still faltered—calluses not yet hardened—but he had trained. And more than that, he had seen it.
The aftermath. The silence. The blood-soaked tatami. Tsutako’s still body. Sabito’s blade, broken in the grass.
He knew exactly what would be left behind if he failed again.
Not again. Not this time. I won’t lose another.
He hit the ditch just before the edge of the rice paddy and leapt without hesitation, clearing the embankment. His knees screamed on impact, but he rolled, dirt grinding into his palms, and sprang up faster. The girl was closer now. She glanced back.
Lilac eyes, rimmed in pink. Wild with terror.
The demon lunged. Giyuu moved.
There was no time to think—only breath, motion, instinct. Draw, step, strike. His sword arced through the air, slicing across the demon’s shoulder. It shrieked and recoiled, rearing back on its limbs like a puppet with tangled strings.
The girl hit the ground hard. Her body curled inward, bracing, but she didn’t cry out. Just pressed a trembling arm over her face and waited for death.
“Move,” Giyuu barked. His voice came out flat and hoarse, roughened by smoke and something older—fear, maybe, though he wouldn’t name it. “Now.”
She didn’t hesitate. She scrambled to her feet, dirt caked on her legs, and bolted without a word.
The demon hissed, twitching in jerky spasms. Its mouth split wider, revealing too many teeth. “Little slayer,” it cooed. “Just a baby.”
Giyuu didn’t answer. He stepped between it and the girl, lowering into his stance. His hands weren’t steady, but his eyes were clear. He’d drilled this form under Urokodaki until his knees gave out, until his vision blurred. He could hold it.
“Move, and I cut,” he said, voice low.
The demon cocked its head. “You think you matter?” it whispered, not with anger, but pity. “You smell like loss.”
The sword wavered in his hand. Tsutako in the doorway. Her back to him. Blood soaking the earth. Silence after the scream.
The girl had turned back, smoke curling between them, as if something in her refused to leave him behind. Even through the haze, he saw it—she was waiting.
Tch.
He charged.
His form wasn’t perfect. Too short in the stance. Breathing uneven. Grip not yet tempered by time. But he moved with everything he had. Water Breathing, First Form—Water Surface Slash.
The demon blocked with one jagged arm. Claws raked his cheek. He didn’t scream. Just pivoted, dragged the edge of his blade across its ribs—bought himself two heartbeats of distance.
It wasn’t enough.
The demon struck him full in the chest. Something gave—bone or breath, he couldn’t tell. He hit the ground hard, pain flaring bright behind his eyes. The sword flew from his grasp, vanishing into the grass beside him.
The demon leaned down. Its breath reeked of blood and rot. “You’ll die slow, little slayer.”
Its talons tore through the smoke—too fast to dodge, too close to counter.
Giyuu twisted toward the fallen sword, his fingers brushing the hilt—just as the thing’s gnarled hand came down to tear out his throat—
A scream.
The demon shrieked—a high, wet, furious sound. It reared back, flailing. Clawed hands tore at its own face.
Giyuu grabbed his sword and rolled onto his side, gasping through the pain splintering his ribs. For a moment, he thought it was a hallucination. The smoke, the heat, the blood loss—it could’ve conjured anything. But no.
The girl was on its back. She had leapt onto the demon, clung to it—small hands locked around a single rusted kama. Dull and pitted with age, the kind used to cut weeds, not flesh. She drove it into the demon’s right eye socket. All the way to the hilt.
The demon thrashed, bucking and spinning, trying to throw her off. One of its arms snapped backward, striking her shoulder with a force that could’ve dropped a grown man. She didn’t fall.
She screamed—wordless, raw. Her body trembled from the blow, but her free hand raked down the demon’s face, nails carving furrows in its cheek.
She’s buying me time.
Giyuu surged to his feet.
He exhaled. One breath.
Centered his stance. Two.
Drew power from his legs. Three.
Water Breathing: Second Form—Water Wheel.
He spun into the arc like a tidal surge breaking loose, his blade whistling through the smoke. The demon sensed it too late. It turned—half-blinded, shrieking, the girl still clinging like a curse to its spine—and raised one arm to block.
The Nichirin blade cleaved clean through its neck.
Blood erupted in a wide spray. The demon’s body slackened, limbs twitching in grotesque spasms as it collapsed first to its knees, then into the dirt.
Giyuu landed in a crouch, breath short and uneven.
The girl rolled off its back as the corpse sagged beneath her, hitting the ground hard. For a moment, she didn’t move—just lay there, cheek pressed to the earth, the dull kama still clenched in her grip.
The demon’s flesh melted from bone until nothing remained but ash, already unraveling into the grass on a weak gust of wind.
Giyuu stumbled forward and knelt beside her, chest heaving. His arms had begun to shake now that the adrenaline was bleeding out of him. “You—” His voice cracked. He swallowed, tried again. “Are you injured?”
She blinked up at him. Her eyes were leaking tears she clearly hadn’t noticed. Her mouth opened, then closed. A breath passed. Then she sat up and began to retch—dry, wrenching heaves into the grass, one hand braced to her stomach.
He slid his blade back into its sheath with a soft shhhk, careful not to favor the ribs he knew were bruised, if not cracked. Each breath felt like a quiet argument with his own body. But he didn’t wince. He stood. Straightened his spine.
“…Thank you,” he said—low, clipped. Almost too quiet to be heard.
The girl was still breathing. That was enough.
So he turned. And ran.
He didn’t look back.
The silence that followed wasn’t peaceful. It was brittle—like the stillness in a house just after the screaming stops, when echoes still cling to the walls. The night felt hollowed out. Wrong.
Pain lanced down his side like a hidden blade. His legs throbbed. His lungs dragged fire through torn cartilage. But he kept moving—because if he stopped, the moment might stretch into something unbearable. Into memory. Into shame.
He had done what he came to do.
Then—behind him—
“Wait!”
A single word. Thin. Frantic.
He froze mid-step and turned his head.
She was chasing him.
Her bare feet stumbled over the uneven earth, arms flailing for balance. “Please—” she gasped, voice hoarse. “Please don’t leave—don’t—don’t go, I—” She tripped again, knees folding. Her hands reached for him blindly, fingers knotting into the fabric of his uniform. “I’m scared—” Her eyes rolled back. Her body went slack.
Giyuu caught her before she hit the ground.
His arms locked around her, but the movement tore a white-hot streak of pain through his ribs. He grunted, jaw tightening as the breath punched out of him. For a second, his vision blurred—knees nearly giving—but he didn’t let go.
Her head sagged against his chest. She’d passed out completely. Pulse shallow but steady, her body feverish from shock and overexertion.
He shifted his grip, carefully adjusting her weight in his arms. She was lighter than he expected—bird-boned and fragile—yet her grip a moment ago had left a dull ache where her fingers had dug into his sleeve.
In the distance, firelight curled upward from the farmhouse, where the walls continued to collapse inward. The scent of scorched wood and blistered grain hung heavy in the air. No other survivors would be found here. Of that, he was certain.
Giyuu looked down at her.
Her hair had turned ashen, tangled with soot and streaked with blood—some hers, some not. Even unconscious, her expression wasn’t peaceful. Lips parted. Brow drawn tight. As if her mind was still running, long after her body had fallen still.
She had begged. She had come back.
And if she hadn’t...
He swallowed the thought.
He adjusted her again, slipping one arm beneath her knees and drawing her close to his chest. The pain in his side flared bright, but he welcomed it. It gave him something solid to hold onto.
With one last glance at the burning farmhouse, he turned toward the trees and started walking. Step by step. Then faster. The fire in his ribs kept pace, but he kept his breathing steady. He had trained for this. He knew the routes. He would make it.
Behind him, the wind shifted—carrying the groan of falling beams, the snap of wood giving way.
Giyuu didn’t look back again.
He carried her all the way through the night.
The journey back to headquarters carved itself into Giyuu’s muscles like a scar.
Two days through rain-slick forests and bone-dry fields, along footpaths that crumbled beneath his step. He carried her the entire way. She hadn’t stirred. Not to eat. Not to speak. Her breath stayed steady against his collarbone—light, shallow, as if she didn’t quite trust herself to take up too much space.
Once, on the second night, she whimpered in her sleep. Then curled tighter against his chest, like someone who knew she had no right to be comforted—but couldn’t stop seeking it, anyway.
By the time they reached the gates of the Demon Slayer Corps headquarters, dawn had already begun clawing its way up from the east—thin streaks of color smearing the pale sky. The gates creaked open with a groan.
The Kakushi appeared at once—five of them, robed in black, faces masked, movements silent and synchronized. One stepped forward, arms raised. “We’ll take her now.”
Giyuu said nothing. He only held her tighter. His arms were numb. His legs no longer felt like they belonged to him. But still—he hesitated.
The way her fingers had knotted in the collar of his haori days ago had left creases in the fabric. Her head was tucked into the curve of his throat like she belonged there.
“She needs treatment,” said the Kakushi. “The Butterfly Mansion is ready. Kanae-sama is waiting.”
Giyuu’s jaw locked. A breath passed. Then another.
At last, he eased his grip just enough. They slipped her from his arms. The ache in his ribs bloomed again the moment she was gone—sharper now. As if her weight had been the only thing keeping him upright.
Still, he said nothing.
One of the Kakushi offered a small bow, then turned and vanished down the stone corridor, cradling her with surprising care. The others followed in step, their dark forms swallowed by the eastern garden.
A flutter of wings pulled his attention. Crows weren’t uncommon in the compound, but this one circled him twice before spiraling once more and dipping. It dropped something from its claws—a thin rolled parchment.
It landed in his palm.
He recognized the handwriting immediately. Elegant. Sparse. Unmistakable.
The Master.
Giyuu, You did well to bring her.
The girl is now your responsibility. I have already made the arrangements. You may train her, or not. But her life is now bound to yours.
Whatever she becomes—let it be decided by the one who did not leave her behind.
He read it twice. Then once more.
She was his responsibility now.
Giyuu folded the note once and tucked it into the inner lining of his uniform, over the place where his ribs still throbbed. He looked once toward the direction they had taken her. Then turned to follow.