Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

‘This was the best decision of my life. No regrets!’ I thought happily as I explored the gardens of the Myoshinji Temple. A gentle breeze rustled through the lush green trees, fluttering my hair.

Following the stone path back to the main temple, I stopped at a small bridge overlooking the koi pond, stepping aside to let a group of women in traditional kimonos pass. I bowed slightly, greeting them in Japanese.
“Good morning! Please enjoy the rest of your day.”

They looked a little surprised but smiled warmly, returning my bow before continuing on their way.

Still smiling, I approached the temple and paused at the front door. I pulled my phone from my small bag, turning back to snap a picture of the garden to send my sister. My family thought I was crazy for coming—none of them understood my sudden need to get away.

I had always dreamed of coming to Japan. Not just because I was a huge manga and anime fan, but because Japan itself felt almost otherworldly. The beauty, the people, the food, the culture—it was magical. So different from my dreary home life in Idaho. The U.S. had become too heavy, too chaotic; I couldn’t stand it anymore. After the breakup, after everything… I needed to escape. At least for a while. If I could find a job and apartment, maybe I could stay for good.

I texted my sister the picture, and she replied instantly:

“How pretty! I’m surprised your first stop wasn’t the nearest anime shop to stock up on Demon Slayer stuff!”

I grinned, replying: “Nope! That’s tomorrow!”

Slipping my phone away, I walked inside. My sister always teased me about my “obsession” with Demon Slayer, but it truly was one of my favorites. I had cried for days after finishing the manga—especially when Kyojuro Rengoku died. Koyoharu Gotouge had a cruel gift for making you fall in love with characters before ripping them away.

I was pulled out of my thoughts by a sudden, sharp pain in my chest. Wincing, I rubbed at the spot. Heartburn, maybe?

The temple entrance was empty. An eerie silence pressed against me as I hovered in the doorway. Then—thud. The sound came from my right.

I froze.

A faint clinking followed by another thud echoed from the darkened room nearby. The door stood slightly ajar, but no light spilled from within. I almost ignored it—until I thought I heard a whisper. My body jolted. Against every instinct screaming at me to leave, I stepped closer. There were many caretakers in the shrine… maybe someone had fallen? But why would the room be pitch-black?

“Hello?” I whispered, my voice trembling. “Is someone there?”

A weak reply drifted out. “H…he…help.”

My eyes widened. I rushed forward, calling again as I pushed the door open. “Hello? Do you need help?”

Fumbling along the wall, I searched for a switch. Nothing.

“Damn it,” I cursed in English, pulling out my phone to use as a flashlight. The dark and I had never been friends.

The beam swept over bare walls and tatami, then across a bed at the center of the room. No one. I sighed in relief—until a rustle came from behind the bed.

“Hello?” I tried again, creeping closer. But the other side was empty. Confused, I straightened—

Click.

The door shut.

I whipped my light toward it—and screamed.

A figure leaned against the door, staring at me with glowing red eyes.

He was tall, easily over six feet, with long dark-blue hair pulled back into a short ponytail. Stray bangs shadowed one eye. His grin stretched too wide, revealing long canines. His skin was pale, almost bluish, with strange markings crawling up his arms and face. Clawed hands flexed, the talons sharp and black.

I stumbled back, but in an instant, he was gone—then his claw clamped around my throat. My scream was smothered as I clawed at his grip, my phone clattering to the floor. His other hand seized my arm, claws piercing deep.

Agony seared through me. Fire licked up my arm, across my chest, down my side, burning every nerve until my whole body blazed. Tears blurred my vision as I writhed, choking on sobs.

The demon smiled sweetly, pressing his forehead to mine. “Poor, poor little human,” he crooned, his voice soft, almost feminine. “I know it hurts, but it is necessary. Soon, I will take you back with me.”

“P…please,” I gasped. “Please stop. Hurts…”

He tilted his head, fascinated by my tears. “Soon.” And strangely—he was right. The fire dulled, replaced by a glowing sensation spreading across my skin.

Light flared to my right—golden, shimmering. I blinked down at my arm. Vines and stars—tattoo-like markings—unfurled across my flesh, glowing brilliantly.

The demon’s expression sharpened. He gathered me into his arms, murmuring: “Blood Demon Art: Leaping Universes Manipulation.”

Darkness swallowed the room. The warmth vanished as something cocooned us.

“Time to go, pretty,” he whispered, clutching me tighter. “But I’ll need strength to travel. Don’t fight me—it excites me.”

Before I could react, he bared my throat and lowered his mouth. His lips brushed my skin, heat flooding my cheeks.
“What are you doing? Stop it!” I thrashed weakly.

He ignored me, fangs sinking deep.

Pain flared white-hot. I yanked his hair, but he only moaned, drinking greedily. My blood ran down my collarbone in sticky rivulets.

Fight, Sabrina, fight! my mind screamed. Don’t be a victim!

Fueled by rage, I clawed and kicked, recalling every self-defense trick I knew. Nothing worked. His grip was iron. My strength bled away with every swallow.

Only when my body went slack did he release me, licking his lips with a blissful sigh. “Exquisite. The master will be pleased. Perhaps he’ll let me keep you.”

“Who…who are you? Where are you taking me?” I croaked, trembling.

He leaned close, his blood-smeared mouth curling into a grin. “I am Akal. My blood demon art is universal travel. That mark ties you to me. Only I can take you back. Obey, if you want to survive.”

Then his lips crashed onto mine. I gagged at the metallic taste of blood and saliva, thrashing as tears streamed down my face. His claw slid down my thigh, hooking it around his waist as he ground against me, whispering threats and promises.

Something inside me snapped. Rage blazed like molten fire, mingling with the strange energy pulsing beneath my skin. My markings flared again, electric and wild.

When his hand pressed lower, I screamed. Light exploded—white, blinding. Akal shrieked in shock.

And then—nothing. Just the sensation of falling, and darkness swallowing me whole.

 

My body jerked violently as I came to, dazed and shivering. I lay still, blinking up at the sky, trying to piece together what had happened. The shrine. I had been exploring Japan—it was only my second day here. So why was I lying in the grass? Was I that exhausted from traveling?

I pushed myself up, confused. Where’s the shrine?

Shock dulled the fear for the moment. I sat on the dew-soaked ground, trying to steady my breath. Then I noticed my front, sticky with dried blood. Heart pounding, I touched my shoulder wound. The bleeding had stopped, but panic hit hard. Akal. Where is he?

He was nowhere in sight. I braced myself on shaky arms, fighting dizziness and nausea, and forced myself to take in my surroundings.

A forest stretched in every direction, trees looming high into a storm-darkened sky. Thunder rumbled, lightning flashing above me. The wind cut cold through my sage green tank top and jean shorts, no protection against the chill. My shoes were still on—thank God. Hugging my arms to my body, I shivered, pulling myself inward for warmth.

I glanced at my right arm. The strange markings were still there, darker than my tan skin, curling across my forearm in elegant designs. I remembered them glowing, spreading from my arm across my chest, shoulder, and leg when Akal first marked me. The thought of a demon etching them into my skin made bile rise in my throat, no matter how strangely beautiful they looked.

A crack of lightning lit the forest, thunder booming overhead. I flinched, stumbling back—my heel struck something solid.

A sword.

It lay gleaming in the grass, its pure white sheath sparkling like crystal beneath the lightning. I crouched, brushing my fingers across the hilt before sliding it partway free. The blade looked plain, ordinary steel. But the guard was breathtaking—shaped like a sun, rimmed with tiny multicolored jewels that caught the light. It was gorgeous... and familiar.

Why did I know this sword?

My grip tightened. I drew it fully, holding it before me. The weight felt right—light, balanced, comfortable, like my old martial arts training kicking in. I preferred hand-to-hand combat, staves, or daggers, but I wasn’t useless with a sword. Relief washed through me. At least I had something if Akal returned.

Then the sword pulsed, warmth radiating up my arm.

A flood of light burst from the hilt, too bright to bear. I shielded my eyes with my free hand, unwilling to let go. When it finally dimmed, I gasped.

The katana’s steel had turned pure white, rainbow colors cascading down its length—blues, reds, purples, greens, blending like liquid light. The blade pulsed with energy, glowing with life.

Before I could even comprehend it, the bushes rustled ahead. Pain jolted through my chest to my stomach. Fucking ouch. Just like in the temple, before Akal appeared.

Praying it wasn’t him, I called weakly, “Hello? Please... I need help.”

No response. But I could feel someone there.

I realized my mistake. Switching to Japanese, I called out again. The bushes parted.

My heart dropped.

Not Akal—but another demon.

The creature stepped into the clearing, grinning to show rows of sharp teeth. Its skin was dark green and scaled, its eyes black and hungry. Bald, gilled, its lips fishlike, it looked like some hideous amphibian-man.

“Well, well. Look what we have here,” it rasped. “A young girl. Injured and all alone.” He licked his lips, tasting the air. “Were you the one who fell from the sky, pretty girl? Did you cause the storm?”

I narrowed my eyes, struggling to catch his words through the gravel of his voice. “I...I don’t know. I just woke up here. Something brought me.”

He snickered. “Curious. You don’t look from here. Spoke another language a moment ago, didn’t you? Wandered too far from home, little girl?” His grin faltered when his gaze dropped to the sword in my hands. “A Nichirin blade? What’s this—slayers recruiting foreigners now? You don’t look like Corps material, but no one carries that blade without being one.”

I froze. Did he just say demon slayer?

No. That wasn’t real. Demon Slayer was just a manga. Just an anime I adored. But Akal had called himself a demon. He’d used a Blood Demon Art.

My blood ran cold. “That...that would mean... I’m in the Taisho period.”

The demon scoffed. “Exactly. Good thing you’re pretty, because you’re dumb as hell. Maybe my master would be interested in you. If not... Upper Moon Two certainly would.”

My stomach turned ice. Muzan. Doma. I couldn’t meet either of them if I wanted to survive.

A caw split the air. I looked up, breath catching—two crows perched above me. Kasugai crows.

Hope surged. Help is coming.

“Please,” I whispered up to them. “Tell me someone is coming.”

One cocked its head, dipping low before looking back at me. I took that as a yes. Relief steadied me.

The demon noticed my distraction. “Hey, stupid girl! What are you staring at?”

I snapped back at him, gripping my sword. “Not going anywhere with you, ugly. I have no interest in meeting Muzan Kibutsuji or Doma, so you can kindly go fuck yourself!”

His face twisted in fury. He roared—and vanished.

My heart seized. He reappeared behind me, claw around my throat. I dropped my sword as he lifted me off my feet. I clawed at his hand, kicking wildly. He only sneered.

“How do you know the master’s name?!” Spittle hit my face as he screamed. Then his expression shifted, sniffing me. “You smell... like us. Like demon blood. Someone fed on you and let you live. Interesting.” His gaze darted to my marked shoulder.

Rage surged through me. I jammed my thumbs into his eyes. He shrieked, dropping me. Gasping, I scrambled on hands and knees.

“You little bitch!” He yanked me up by my hair, pain ripping through my scalp. Blood gushed from one of his ruined eyes, but the other glared bloodshot and furious.

I swung a roundhouse kick into his ribs. He grunted but caught my second kick, swinging me like a ragdoll and slamming me to the ground.

I hit hard, the wind blasted out of me. Pain radiated through my ribs as he kicked me again, sending me rolling. Tears blurred my vision. My sword lay too far away.

“You’re more trouble than you’re worth,” he snarled. “But I’ll drag you to my master if I have to break you first!”

Groaning, I baited him closer, then snapped a kick into his knee. It cracked sideways. As he collapsed, I drove my knee into his face, bone crunching. He fell.

I bolted for the sword—only for wind to whip past me. The demon stood between me and the blade, fully regenerated.

“Fuck me.”

I dropped low into stance, then charged. Feinting for his face, I instead drove an uppercut into his gut, then another kick into his ribs. He grunted, but when I lunged again, he caught my fist.

A sickening crack split the air. Pain ripped through my shoulder as he twisted my arm until it snapped. I screamed, collapsing. He kicked me across the clearing.

“That fool gave you his power, didn’t he?” the demon roared. “That’s why you can fight at all. I’ll see him punished for this!”

He loomed over me, leg raised to stomp.

“Water Breathing: First Form—Water Surface Slash!”

A wave of water crashed forward, the arc of a blade slicing through the demon’s abdomen. He screamed.

I forced myself up, diving for the sword. My fingers closed around the hilt as momentum flipped me forward into a crouch.

Breathing slowed. Focus sharpened. My blade glowed. Flames licked across the steel.

I swung, cutting clean through the demon’s neck. His head toppled, eyes wide with disbelief.

Ash scattered into the storm. His final curse faded on the wind.

I collapsed, cradling my broken shoulder, ribs screaming.

Footsteps. A presence close.

When I looked up, he was kneeling in front of me—black hair tipped with red, scar on his forehead, and red eyes wide with concern. His green-checkered haori draped over the standard Corps uniform.

Tanjiro Kamado.

“Oh my god,” I breathed. His eyes widened, like I had said his name aloud.

“Are you alright, miss? You’re hurt…” His voice was soft but steady, his gaze scanning me with clear worry.

Tears stung my eyes. In English, I whispered, “I’m okay. Thank you.” Then I repeated shakily, in Japanese.

His expression gentled into a small smile. “I’m relieved. I was afraid I wouldn’t make it in time.”

I followed his gaze down to my sword, then back up at me. “That’s… a Nichirin blade. Are you with the Corps? Forgive me, but I don’t recognize you.”

I shook my head, hesitant. “No… I’m not with the Corps. I’m… not from here.”

Tanjiro’s eyes softened with sympathy, but his brows furrowed. He inhaled sharply, his expression flickering with confusion.

“…Your scent,” he murmured, almost to himself. His eyes returned to mine, serious but gentle. “You smell human. But—there’s something else. A faint trace of demon blood. Did… did one attack you?”

I stiffened, my hand instinctively brushing the wound on my shoulder. “A demon called Akal brought me here. I don’t know why. I just woke up in this field with this sword, and then that demon found me.”

Tanjiro’s eyes hardened at the name, but his voice remained calm. “I see… thank you for telling me. That must have been terrifying.” He lowered his tone, warm with sincerity. “I’m sorry you had to endure that.”

His words caught me off guard, stirring something in me after everything I’d just gone through.

Then, with a hesitant tilt of his head, he added, “Your features… they’re different. And your Japanese… it’s good, but I can hear your accent.” His eyes widened suddenly, and he waved his hands, flustered. “Ah—! I don’t mean that in a bad way! Please forgive me. You’re very beautiful. I just… I’ve never met anyone like you before.”

Despite everything, a laugh escaped me. His honesty was disarming.

“My first language is English,” I explained softly. “I’m still learning. But… I can get by.”

He nodded. “That explains it.” He hesitated, then continued carefully. “Earlier… that demon said Muzan’s name. Did he say why he wanted you?”

“Just that I was… interesting,” I admitted with a shrug.

Tanjiro frowned deeply, his eyes flicking from my sword to the glowing markings still faintly visible on my skin. He inhaled again, his nose wrinkling as if trying to sort out the puzzle. “Your scent… it’s strange. Human, but marked. Whatever he did to you—it changed something. I can’t ignore it.”

I swallowed, uneasy, trembling now as the adrenaline drained away. My vision blurred. Without thinking, I let my head rest lightly against his shoulder.

He froze, then let out a quiet sigh, his voice soft and reassuring. “Don’t push yourself anymore. You’ve done enough.”

He shifted closer. “May I… at least know your name?”

It took me a moment, but I whispered, “Sabrina.”

He said it back gently, like he was testing the weight of it. Then, without hesitation, he slid an arm under me and lifted me into his arms, bridal-style.

“You fought bravely, Sabrina. Please rest now. I’ll keep you safe.”

And with those words, darkness finally claimed me.

Chapter Text

Tanjiro adjusted the girl in his arms, quietly retrieving her sword and slipping it alongside his own at his belt. He looked down at her face—peaceful but pale—and thought hard about what to do. She looked about his age—seventeen, maybe—but his instincts told him she wasn’t just an innocent bystander. She was secretive, yet she knew names she shouldn’t—Muzan—and she’d fought a demon on her own, even killing it. That wasn’t something an ordinary citizen could do.

His time at the Wisteria House was nearly up. He and his friends had recovered enough to be cleared for duty, waiting only for new orders. But Sabrina shivered in his arms, and in response he held her closer against his chest. The first blush of sunrise was beginning to warm the horizon.

He made his decision. Turning toward the Wisteria House, he spotted his crow perched in a tree with another crow. Hmm… whose crow is that?

“Matsuemon,” Tanjiro called softly.

His crow cawed and exchanged words with the other before both took flight. One circled down to him; the other veered away into the sky.

Matsuemon landed on his shoulder, tilting his head toward Sabrina.

“Who was that other crow?” Tanjiro asked.

“That was Kagura,” Matsuemon croaked. “Master Kagaya Ubuyashiki’s personal crow. He was sent here by the Master and will report about this girl and her strange arrival. Your orders are to keep her with you. She is your responsibility until further notice.”

Tanjiro nodded gravely. “Understood. I’ll protect her.”

By the time he reached the gates, his friends were waiting.

“Tanjiro!” Zenitsu cried, eyes wide. “What happened? You ran off without telling us anything! And—wait… who is that you’re carrying?”

Inosuke tilted his head, peering at the girl in Tanjiro’s arms. “Monjiro! I didn’t know you were looking for a mate. But you may have overdone it.”

Tanjiro’s face turned scarlet. “I am not looking for a mate, Inosuke! She was attacked by a demon. My crow said I was the closest, so I went to save her!”

Inosuke slapped Tanjiro’s shoulder approvingly. “Ahh, that makes more sense. You don’t smell like an aggressive mate anyway.”

Still flustered, Tanjiro hurried inside with his burden while Zenitsu and Inosuke followed. Zenitsu winced at Sabrina’s bloodied appearance, pity softening his face. Even so, he couldn’t help noticing her beauty.

“What happened to her?” he asked softly.

Tanjiro shook his head. “I don’t know everything yet. She didn’t want to explain much. All I know is she’s not from here. A demon brought her—though not the one she fought. She told me the demon wanted to take her to Muzan. She fought hard and held her own until I arrived. She even wielded a sword she doesn’t seem to remember receiving. My crow told me she’s my responsibility until further notice.”

Zenitsu’s eyes widened. “So… even if we’re sent on a mission, she’ll have to come with us?”

“I think so,” Tanjiro admitted. “But with injuries this bad, it will be a while.”

The elderly caretaker of the Wisteria House bustled over, instructing Tanjiro to place Sabrina in the room next to his. He set her down gently on the futon, brushing a strand of hair from her face. For a moment, he simply stared.

“Who are you, Sabrina?” he whispered. She knew his name, the Corps, Muzan. Far too much for a stranger.

The caretaker returned, informing him the doctor was on his way and asking Tanjiro to step outside so she could clean the girl’s wounds. Tanjiro flushed, bowed quickly, and hurried out to where his friends waited.

“I’ll check on Nezuko,” he said quietly.

Inosuke grunted something about training and wandered toward the yard. Zenitsu settled down outside Sabrina’s door, insisting he’d be there if she woke.

Tanjiro slid open the next door quietly. The room was dark.

“Nezuko? Are you awake?”

He stepped inside, shutting the door softly. His sister sat in her box, child-sized, waiting for him. Relief filled him as he smiled, patting her head. “Sorry I took so long, Nezuko.”

She hummed in contentment, leaning into his touch.

“I met someone today,” he told her quietly. “I brought her back. She fought off a demon on her own—and killed it. She’s different, Nezuko. Mysterious. She knew who I was… she even knew Muzan’s name. But she’s hiding something. I want her to trust me, so she’ll talk when she’s ready.”

Nezuko took his hand in both of hers, her pink eyes wide.

“I don’t think she’s dangerous,” Tanjiro said gently. “I didn’t smell any malice from her. Only fear, confusion… and something else I can’t place. My orders are to keep her safe until Master Ubuyashiki decides. When she feels stronger, I’ll introduce you two, alright?”

Nezuko clapped softly, then curled back into her box. Tanjiro rubbed her head once more, smiling. “Rest well, Nezuko.”

He slipped out just as his crow cawed outside.

 

When I woke, an old woman was leaning over me.

I blinked in confusion, trying to sit up—then froze, realizing I was naked beneath the sheet. I yelped, pulling the fabric tight around me.

The woman chuckled gently, her voice rasping with age. “Forgive me, miss. I needed to tend your injuries. The doctor just left. You’ve got broken ribs, a broken hand, and a dislocated shoulder. A bite wound on your shoulder as well. Some scrapes and bruises, but you’ll recover.”

Glancing under the sheet, I saw bandages wrapping my torso and shoulder, a brace on my hand. My body ached, but the pain wasn’t nearly as bad as I expected. Relieved, I loosened my grip on the sheets slightly.

“Thank you for helping me,” I murmured. “Where is the boy who brought me here? He didn’t leave, did he?”

The woman smiled knowingly. “He’s in the room next to yours. I can send him in—after you get dressed, of course.”

I flushed. “Yes, of course.”

She handed me a folded yukata and excused herself. Rising, I let the sheet fall, pausing in front of the mirror. The white bandages stood stark against my skin; bruises scattered across my thighs and shins; discoloration at my neck. Not as bad as I expected. My eyes traced the strange tattoo-like markings swirling faintly across my skin. They had glowed when Akal touched me, and again during my fight. And hadn’t my broken hand just… healed?

I flexed it experimentally, removing the brace. Painlessly, the fingers curled into a fist. “Holy shit,” I whispered. Whatever power Akal forced into me—it was real.

Shaking my head, I pulled on the yukata and stepped outside.

The yard stretched wide, neatly kept, with a training ground in the center. Inosuke’s boar mask was easy to spot as he bounded in circles around Tanjiro, who was calmly practicing Water forms.

“Fight me, Monjiro!” Inosuke roared. “We’re healed now—no excuses! And no headbutts this time!”

“Maybe later, Inosuke,” Tanjiro replied patiently, not breaking his form. “And please keep your voice down. The girl needs rest.”

I couldn’t help a laugh, covering my mouth as Tanjiro endured Inosuke’s endless antics. The sound caught Tanjiro’s attention. He turned, eyes brightening.

“Sabrina!” He jogged over, smiling warmly despite his sweat. “I’m glad to see you up. How are you feeling?”

“Better,” I said, hugging my torso. “A few broken parts, but I’ll be okay.”

His smile faltered, guilt clouding his features. “If only I’d gotten there sooner… you wouldn’t have been hurt.”

“Hey,” I said softly, stepping off the porch despite the twinge of pain. “It’s not your fault. I’m just grateful you came when you did. I wouldn’t be standing here otherwise.” I reached for his hands.

He blinked, then squeezed them gently. “You’re right. Still… it’s incredible you managed to kill a demon. Do you have demons where you’re from?”

I scoffed. “No. Humans do enough evil on their own.”

His eyes widened, unsettled by my words, before he changed the subject. He looked at the sky, noting how late it was getting. “Come—let’s sit. There are people I want you to meet.”

I nodded nervously, but before I could move, yellow filled my vision.

I shrieked—only to find myself face-to-face with a boy in a checkered yellow haori.

“Zenitsu!” Tanjiro scolded. “You scared her.”

Zenitsu ignored him completely, his eyes sparkling like stars as he leaned way too close to my face. “A… a girl?! You’re so pretty!! Your voice—your accent—it’s so cute I can’t stand it!!”

I stepped back, startled, but he followed, practically vibrating with excitement.

“Umm… hello. I’m Sabrina,” I said awkwardly, glancing helplessly at Tanjiro.

Zenitsu clutched his chest like he’d been struck by lightning. “Sabrina?! What a beautiful name! Please—please marry me! I’ll protect you with my life, I’ll be the best husband, I’ll—”

“Zenitsu!” Tanjiro cut in, voice sharper this time. “Stop overwhelming her.”

Zenitsu pouted, then immediately turned back to me, his expression flipping into adoration again. “But Tanjiro, look at her! Even covered in bandages she’s like an angel who fell from heaven! She must have fallen straight into my arms—ah, why didn’t I find you first instead of Tanjiro?!”

I blinked at him in disbelief. Oh boy. He’s every bit as dramatic as in the anime.

Before I could respond, a rough hand clamped on my shoulder and spun me around. Pain shot through me, and I hissed, finding myself inches away from a boar mask.

“Inosuke Hashibira!” he declared proudly. “That’s Lord Inosuke to you!”

I forced a smile. “Nice to meet you. I’m Sabrina.”

Tanjiro immediately stepped closer, his voice firm. “Inosuke, be careful—she’s still injured.”

Ignoring him, Inosuke tilted his head. “Hmph. She doesn’t smell like a weakling. She can fight. I’ll test her later!”

Before I could panic, Tanjiro’s hand pressed gently against my lower back, guiding me toward the house. His steady voice grounded me. “Come on, Sabrina. Dinner will be ready soon.”

Inside, the low table was set with four cushions. Tanjiro guided me to one, kneeling at my side. Zenitsu sat across, still staring dreamily at me, while Inosuke plopped down noisily, arms crossed.

Tanjiro cleared his throat, shooting Zenitsu a subtle glare. Zenitsu instantly sat straighter, though his eyes never left me.

As I looked around, my gaze fell to the corner of the room—where my sword rested upright against Nezuko’s box. My breath caught.

Before Tanjiro could begin the conversation, the woman who ran the house—damn, I really need to ask her name—brought us tea, announcing dinner would be out shortly. We thanked her as she left. Tanjiro poured our cups, passing mine first. The warmth felt good against my hands as I blew gently and took a sip.

Mmm… normally I’m a coffee girl, but this is delicious.

Tanjiro didn’t touch his tea right away, letting it cool as he smiled at my reaction. Then, settling in, he asked, “Sabrina, how much do you know about the Demon Slayer Corps?”

I set my cup down, meeting his eyes. “I know… some. I understand their purpose, that your enemy is the demon king Muzan Kibutsuji. I know there’s a Master who leads the Corps, and the Hashira—the most powerful swordsmen and swordswomen.” I paused, debating how much more to reveal. No… not yet. It’s best to share only on a need-to-know basis.

Taking another sip, I continued. “That’s about it. Have you met any of the Hashira or the Master yet, Tanjiro? Any of you?”

Tanjiro shook his head. “No. I didn’t even know who led the Corps until recently. I’m sure we’ll meet them soon… especially now, with you here. Once they know what they will do with you.”

“Do with me?” My pulse jumped in worry.

Tanjiro immediately reached across, laying a warm hand on my shoulder. “Please don’t misunderstand. You haven’t done anything wrong. But the fact you were brought here by a demon—and that another wanted to take you to Muzan—raises concerns. The Master will likely want to speak with you. Maybe…” his expression softened, “…maybe he can even help you get home.”

Zenitsu quickly refilled my cup the moment it emptied, his cheeks pink when I smiled in thanks. Off to the side, Inosuke lay flat on the floor, hands behind his head, boar mask firmly in place. I couldn’t tell if he was napping or ignoring us.

I doubted the Master could help me return. Only Akal could. But how?

“I don’t understand how the Master even knew about me,” I murmured.

Tanjiro rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Honestly… it’s strange. The Master’s crow was already there before I arrived, almost like he was expecting you. My crow said I was to investigate the storm over the area where I found you. The Master’s crow must have reported back. Then Matsuemon told me I was to take responsibility for you until further notice. I had to give him a report of everything you told me.”

My heart sank. The thought of standing before Ubuyashiki—and the Hashira—made me dizzy. Do I tell the truth? Lie? If I hold back too much, they’ll think I’m the enemy… especially with these markings. They’ll lock me up, or worse.

Zenitsu cleared his throat. “Gramps told me about the Hashira. He was the previous Thunder Hashira. He always said to show respect—otherwise you’re dead meat.”

Tanjiro nodded. “My master didn’t explain much either. He was the previous Water Hashira. Retired after Giyu Tomioka took over. Honestly, I didn’t question much about the Corps before joining.” His voice dropped, eyes flicking toward Nezuko’s box. “…I am worried about her, though. If the Hashira learn about Nezuko, they may not understand.”

I softened. “If you tell them the truth—that she hasn’t hurt anyone and even fights alongside you—it has to count for something.”

Tanjiro’s head snapped toward me, brows raising. I realized too late—I shouldn’t know about Nezuko yet. He exhaled, shaking his head. “This is what confuses me, Sabrina. You know things you shouldn’t. You knew my crow, my name before we met. You know about demons, Muzan, the Corps… you have a Nichirin blade but say you’re not a slayer. And…” his voice dropped lower, “…you know about my sister.”

He leaned forward, eyes searching mine. “Who are you, Sabrina? Where do you come from? How do you know all this?”

I lowered my gaze to the rim of my teacup, tracing it with my fingertip. What if I tell him the truth? Will he think I’m insane? Could I change the outcome of their battles? Should I?

Lifting my eyes back to his, I found them pleading—not accusing, but full of warmth. He reached out, covering my hand with his.

“I promise, no matter what you tell me, I’ll stay by your side and protect you. You’ll be safe with me.” His smile was soft, steady; his red eyes glowed with gentle light.

My heart fluttered. The anime never did justice to how real and kind he was.

I squeezed his hand, whispering, “I’m not sure how much I can say, Tanjiro. But I promise, I’m only doing what I think is best. For now.”

Both Tanjiro and Zenitsu leaned forward, waiting.

I drew in a breath. “I’m not from here. Not just another country—another time. A demon named Akal brought me here. I don’t know why. I remember his power, the markings, then a bright light… and waking up in that field where you found me. I know martial arts, some weapons training, but swords aren’t my specialty. As for how I know about you, Muzan, the Corps… I see things. Dreams. Maybe premonitions of what’s to come.”

I bit my lip, gauging their reactions. I couldn’t bring myself to tell them that I read about them in a manga, that their lives are used for other people’s entertainment. That felt too cruel, so I went with what I felt was a safer option.

To my surprise, both boys nodded. They didn’t dismiss me.

“So… what, you’re like a witch or something?” Inosuke grumbled, suddenly sitting up.

“Inosuke! That’s rude!” Tanjiro snapped.

I chuckled softly. “Maybe. I don’t really know what I am.”

A knock interrupted us, and the old caretaker entered with a younger girl, announcing that dinner was ready. Trays of steaming food were laid before us. My stomach growled loudly, making Tanjiro grin.

We thanked them as they left. I eagerly grabbed my chopsticks, digging into the rice and fish. I wasn’t bad with chopsticks, but I definitely wasn’t as skilled as the others. I ate quickly, only realizing it when I looked up to find everyone staring. Heat rushed to my cheeks as I forced myself to slow down.

“Sorry,” I mumbled.

Zenitsu tilted his head, smiling. “Wow… I thought Inosuke was the fast eater.”

“HEY!” Inosuke bellowed, shoving food into his mouth with his bare hands. “I am the fastest! Watch me beat her!”

Bits of rice flew from his lips. Zenitsu flinched, scooting back. “Ugh! That wasn’t a compliment, Inosuke! Or a challenge! Next time, I’m sitting beside Sabrina, Tanjiro.”

Tanjiro sighed. “Slow down before you choke, Inosuke.” His voice softened as his gaze returned to me. “Sabrina? You okay?”

I tried to fake a smile, but it faltered. “Yes. Just… taking a moment.”

The laughter faded into the background. Old memories pressed in—the cruel voices, the mocking laughter. Apparently, trauma never really dies.

I had always been self-conscious about my eating and my body. I never looked like the other girls at school. I always had a healthy appetite, and it took years to become comfortable in my own skin—to truly appreciate my curves. My body was thick and curvy, toned and strong, but not thin or delicate. Paired with my crimson hair and silver-grey eyes, I knew I drew attention—especially since coming to Japan. I tried to swallow my insecurities.

Zenitsu’s voice broke through, quieter than I’d ever heard it. “Sabrina… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just joking.”

I gave him a small nod. “It’s okay, Zenitsu. I’m just… being sensitive.”

He looked guilty, shifting in his seat, and for once didn’t argue.

Tanjiro urged softly, “Please eat. You’ll need your strength.”

The table grew quieter, each of them returning to their food more subdued than before. I sighed and forced myself to finish the fish, though it had lost its flavor.

After a while, I cleared my throat. “Tanjiro… when you get your next mission, are you planning to take me with you?”

He nodded firmly. “Yes. My orders are to keep you safe, and I will. But with your injuries, I don’t expect a mission too soon. How are you feeling, though? Are you in pain?”

I blinked in confusion. “Actually… no. Not at all. I forgot I was even injured.” I pressed my ribs, rotated my shoulder. No pain. None.

Tanjiro’s eyes widened. “Really? You were badly hurt earlier. But… I’m glad.”

Just then, Hera returned to clear the trays and mentioned the baths were ready.

Before I could answer, a soft sound came from Nezuko’s box. Zenitsu nearly screeched, but I clamped a hand over his mouth, glaring.

“No screaming or whining, Zenitsu. My head can’t take it. You know Nezuko’s a demon—you’ve known since you met Tanjiro. She won’t hurt us. Calm down.”

His wide eyes blinked at me. Slowly, he nodded. I let go.

I could barely contain my excitement as I crawled across the tatami to kneel where Nezuko could see me. Pink eyes peeked out, cautious but curious. My smile softened. “Hello, Nezuko. I’m so happy to finally meet you. I’m Sabrina.” I held both my hands out to her, waiting patiently.

She crept forward, studying me before placing her tiny hands in mine.

“Mmm.”

My heart melted as she climbed into my lap, looking up at me adoringly.

Tanjiro’s relief was palpable.

We played, talked, braided her hair until Hera returned to remind us of the awaiting baths. Nezuko insisted on joining me, tugging at my robe until Tanjiro panicked in embarrassment. “Nezuko, you can’t just invite yourself to bathe with Sabrina!”

I laughed. “It’s fine, Tanjiro. She can come. I don’t mind. We are both girls, after all.” Tanjiro nodded with a smile, then quickly elbowed Zenitsu in the gut before he could make a comment.

A short time later, clean and relaxed, I glided a comb through Nezuko’s long hair, very much enjoying myself. She was adorable and she hummed quietly in my lap. A soft knock drew my attention to my door.

Leaning against the doorframe, Tanjiro looked so happy just watching Nezuko and me getting along. He waited until I was finished braiding before suggesting we head to bed.

“Sabrina, do you need help re-bandaging your wounds?”

Smiling, I shook my head. “It’s strange, but actually no. I’m all healed. Isn’t that something?”

Tanjiro’s brows furrowed as his nose twitched slightly. He pushed away from the frame, walking a couple of steps closer, his eyes searching me. “Are you sure? It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours since you fought that demon.”

“I’m sure. I feel great—no pain at all.” I smirked at him playfully, raising a brow. “Did you want to check yourself?”

His cheeks flushed instantly, and he stumbled back a step. My laugh filled the room, light and teasing. A moment later, he laughed too, sheepish but warm.

“Okay, I believe you,” he said at last, though his eyes lingered on me with quiet doubt. “Still, I’d like the doctor to confirm it before we leave here.”

“Okay,” I agreed, turning back to Nezuko’s braid. My fingers moved automatically, but my thoughts tangled elsewhere. Mount Natagumo. The next mission. My chest tightened. Could I do it? So many wasted lives… young lives lost in such a tragic way—unless I changed things. Could I change it? Anxiety knotted with a dangerous thread of excitement in my stomach.

Tanjiro’s nose twitched again. He tilted his head almost imperceptibly, his sharp eyes softening with concern. Her scent… it shifted. Fear, tension… but also resolve. She’s hiding it, smiling, but she’s afraid. Still, beneath it—courage.

“Nezuko, let’s go back to the room and get some rest,” Tanjiro said gently, reaching out a hand for his sister.

Instead, Nezuko turned in my lap and suddenly threw her little arms around my neck.

Startled, I almost toppled backward, a small “whoa!” escaping my lips as I caught her.

“Nezuko!” Tanjiro scolded softly as he stepped forward, but I lifted my hand to stop him, laughing as I hugged her back.

Pulling back just enough to meet her eyes, I smiled before glancing up at her brother. “I think Nezuko wants to sleep with me tonight. Isn’t that right, Nezuko?”

“Mmm-mmm!” Nezuko nodded enthusiastically, throwing her arms into the air.

Tanjiro paused, his nose twitching again as if he were testing the air between us. Her scent softened… calmer now. Nezuko brings her comfort. Relief… almost joy. She really does see Nezuko as family. His shoulders eased, and his eyes softened.

“Well… if you’re okay with it,” he murmured, “then who am I to say no?”

“Yay! We get to have a sleepover, Nezuko! Your brother is so cool!”

Nezuko clapped happily, hugging me again. Tanjiro chuckled at the sight before sliding the door shut. “Good night, girls. See you in the morning.”

I pulled back the covers on my futon, thankful Nezuko was in her smaller form so we would both fit comfortably. But as I settled in, a thought struck me so sharply it nearly stole my breath.

Holy shit. I have an idea. And if I’m right… we could save lives at Mount Natagumo.

Turning to Nezuko, I found her staring up at me with bright, trusting eyes. My voice dropped to a whisper. “Hey, Nezuko, this may sound strange, but I’d like to talk to you about something. If my theory is right, maybe… we can change things for the better.”

She tilted her head at me in question, so sweet and curious. My heart melted, and I cooed inwardly. My god, this girl is adorable.

It had been about a week of staying at the Wisteria House when we were finally given the mission to Mount Natagumo. Nezuko had consistently been at my side—or at least shared my futon with me—every night. I’d even spent a couple of nights sleeping in the other room with the boys, but that ended quickly the morning I woke up to Zenitsu pressed against me in his sleep… with something poking into my back.

I had never moved so fast in my life, scooping up Nezuko and bolting back to our room. I didn’t tell them why—just said us girls needed our space—and they stopped asking questions. I wasn’t mad at Zenitsu; I knew it wasn’t on purpose. Still, it took me a whole day before I could look him in the face again.

On the seventh day, early in the morning, I groaned in annoyance as a light rapping at the door tried to drag me from sleep. Curling tighter around Nezuko, I pulled her closer to me. She was still fast asleep, her small hands clutching the front of my robe in tiny fists as she made a soft, content sound. Warm… so warm. I stroked her cheek gently, smiling as she hummed in her sleep, my own eyes starting to close again.

I didn’t hear the door slide open or the soft footsteps that approached our bedside until a voice whispered, “Sabrina?”

My eyes fluttered open. Blinking against the blur of sleep, I focused on the figure crouched before me. A warm hand brushed my arm, steadying me as my vision cleared. Tanjiro hovered with his usual soft smile.

“Time to get up,” he said gently. “We need to get ready to leave.”

I nodded groggily, pushing myself onto my forearms and glancing down at Nezuko. She didn’t stir at all, cuddling closer into my chest, utterly ignoring her brother’s urgency.

Tanjiro quietly set her box on the floor and reached to lift her. What he didn’t notice, though, was Nezuko’s iron grip on the front of my robe.

“Oh!” he exclaimed, his face flushing scarlet as he immediately turned away, mortified. “I’m so sorry—I didn’t realize she was holding your robe—!”

Not fully awake, I blinked in confusion before glancing down. Sure enough, my robe had fallen slightly open, revealing far too much cleavage. Gasping, I slapped a hand over myself, my own face burning.

“I—I’m so sorry, Sabrina! I didn’t mean to!” Tanjiro panicked, still refusing to turn around.

I gently pried Nezuko’s little fists free from my robe and pulled it closed, letting out an embarrassed laugh. “It’s okay, Tanjiro. It was an accident. You can turn around now.”

Slowly, he did. His face was still bright red, his eyes darting everywhere except me until I smiled to reassure him. “Really, Tanjiro—it’s fine.”

Finally, his gaze met mine, and he relaxed, realizing I wasn’t upset. I shifted the blanket over Nezuko, keeping my lower half covered just in case my robe betrayed me again. “She might still be tired. We didn’t go to sleep until late, so try not to wake her,” I murmured softly as Tanjiro gently lifted his sister into her box and closed it with care.

Standing, I noticed he was already fully dressed in his uniform, black and green checkered haori draped over his shoulders, sword at his side. He adjusted the box handles on his back with practiced ease before smiling at me, his eyes crinkling shut.

“Let’s get ready to go,” he said warmly. “We have our first mission together.”

When the door shut behind him, I threw off the covers and stretched, only to freeze mid-motion. What am I going to wear? Hera had taken my clothes, and I hadn’t seen them since.

Looking around, relief washed over me when I spotted my tank top, jean shorts, undergarments, and shoes folded neatly on the desk. I picked up the tank top, then my bra, pleasantly surprised to find them freshly cleaned and mended. For a moment, I considered asking Hera for something more traditional—something less attention-grabbing—but quickly shook my head. I didn’t want to trouble the old woman. My outfit might draw stares, but it was comfortable and easy to move in. I’d stand out no matter what I wore.

Something else caught my eye: a white haori folded neatly beside my clothes, patterned with wisps of pale green and purple sparkles. A matching white belt lay across it, perfectly suited to hold my sword. I smiled, making a mental note to thank Hera for taking such good care of me.

I dressed quickly, the haori brushing to just past my hips, slipped on my tennis shoes, grabbed my sword, and stepped outside.

The sun was just beginning to peek over the walls of the estate where my small group was waiting by the front gate.

Zenitsu lit up as soon as he saw me. “Good morning, Sabrina! You look absolutely radiant—especially in the morning light!”

I rolled my eyes with a chuckle. “Starting with the flirting early, I see. Good morning to you too.” My gaze shifted past him, landing on Inosuke, who was just staring at me with his hands planted on his hips. “Good morning, Inosuke! Are we ready?”

He tilted his head as if pondering the question, then grunted and turned without a word, striding out through the open gate.

“Wait,” I said quickly. “Shouldn’t we thank Hera before we leave?”

“I will walk you out, young miss,” came Hera’s voice right beside me.

I yelped, clutching my chest as I looked down at the tiny old woman who had appeared out of nowhere. “Goodness! How do you do that?” I asked, trying to calm my racing heart.

Behind me, I heard Tanjiro and Zenitsu stifle chuckles as they followed Inosuke through the gate, leaving me to trail after Hera.

Hera led me to the gate where the boys were waiting. Tanjiro and Zenitsu bowed deeply, murmuring their thanks, and I quickly followed their lead. I glanced at Inosuke, who looked like he had no idea what was going on.

Acting fast, I reached for his hand and whispered, “Don’t panic. Just follow our lead. Bow like us, okay?”

Inosuke scoffed but didn’t pull away. “I am Lord Inosuke, girly. I don’t follow anyone but me!”

I gave him a patient smile. “Even the best leaders have to learn when to follow sometimes.”

He blinked at me, clearly not sure whether to be offended or thoughtful. Before he could respond, Hera shuffled forward, her gentle voice cutting through the morning air.

“I wish to bestow luck upon you before you depart.”

Tanjiro, Zenitsu, and I bowed again, and this time—thankfully—Inosuke copied us, albeit stiffly. Hera struck sparks against a small stone she carried, the brief flash lighting her wrinkled face. The ritual was simple, but it carried a weight—a quiet blessing that settled warmly in my chest.

Straightening, I smiled and bowed once more. “Thank you, Hera.”

As I turned to leave with the others, Hera caught my wrist, pressing something small into my palm. I looked down to see a ribbon, sage green in color, its fabric soft and smooth.

“For your hair,” she said kindly. “May it bring you fortune.”

My throat tightened with emotion. I tied the ribbon securely around my wrist before bowing again, deeper this time. “Thank you—for everything. For taking such good care of me.”

Hera nodded, her eyes twinkling as if she knew more than she let on.

I jogged to catch up with the boys, who were waiting a short distance ahead. Zenitsu immediately smiled at me, his golden eyes bright. “See? Even the universe is blessing you, Sabrina.”

I laughed softly and tugged the ribbon free, tying it into my hair. “Or maybe it’s blessing us,” I corrected. My hair swayed as the ribbon caught the early morning breeze, and I felt lighter, steadier—like I was finally ready to face whatever waited on Mount Natagumo.

Acting clueless—to not raise suspicion—I asked where we were heading as Tanjiro handed me some rice balls for breakfast.

“Mount Natagumo. Apparently it is very urgent. Once you’re done eating, we’ll need to run. If you can’t keep up, I can carry you on my back,” Tanjiro said gently.

“Ha! Don’t insult me, kid. I can keep up!” I said confidently. Over the past seven days—even if it wasn’t long—I had worked on my sword skills and stamina with Tanjiro and the others.

It was a short time later that I internally cursed myself. Forget what I said. My stamina was shit. But I refused to ask to be carried. I pushed my legs as hard as I could, trailing behind Tanjiro. My lungs burned, my breathing ragged. When Zenitsu voiced his concerns, I silently agreed. The oppressive aura of the mountain pressed down like a weight, crawling over my skin.

As Tanjiro tried coaxing Zenitsu forward, my head shot up—memory striking hard. The boy! He should be just ahead. Without waiting, I sprinted off, ignoring their shouts.

A body lay in the road.

I gripped my sword, its glow flaring briefly as the boy lifted his tear-streaked face. “Please… help,” he croaked.

“Look at his uniform! That boy is one of us!” Tanjiro’s voice came from behind.

“I’m coming!” I shouted, slicing through the webbing binding him. I grabbed his hand, pulling—but resistance yanked us both skyward. Before I could react, we were dragged into the forest. My friends screamed my name as I was pulled into the trees.

“Nezuko!! I need you!” I screamed, wrapping around the boy as branches tore my arms and legs.

He sobbed against me. “I’m sorry! I didn’t know the threads were attached. Please—run, before it gets you too!”

“I won’t leave you,” I promised. The ground rushed up to meet us. “Brace yourself!”

At the last second, branches cracked and Nezuko slammed into us, arms wrapping around my body. She twisted midair, taking the brunt of the impact as we hit the ground hard. I gasped, wind knocked from my lungs, but the boy was alive.

Nezuko pressed a hand to my head. I gave her a shaky smile. “Nice catch, Nezuko.”

The boy’s eyes widened at her, confusion mixing with fear.

Before I could reassure him, a familiar voice called. “You guys okay?” A sweating slayer ran toward us—Murata.

Tanjiro appeared seconds later, panic in his tone. “Sabrina, Nezuko, are you hurt?”

“We’re fine,” I shouted back. “But the spiders—their webs control people! Don’t let them touch you!”

The rattling came next. Figures lurched from the shadows—slayers entangled in webs, groaning.

“Stay close! Don’t kill them if you can help it!” I barked. “Nezuko can help!”

Nezuko’s pink eyes met mine with trust. “Like we practiced, Nezuko. You can do it. Blood Demon Art—Exploding Blood.”

She clawed her arms open, blood spraying, igniting in pink fire.

“Nezuko!” Tanjiro cried, reaching for her, but I held him back.

The flames spread harmlessly over us, burning only webs and threads. Slayers collapsed to the ground, groaning but alive.

I hugged Nezuko tight. “Well done, Nezuko! You did it!” Then I darted to the fallen, checking pulses, scanning for injuries.

The boy I had saved—Luka—stared at me in shock. “A-are they okay? What just happened?”

“No time to explain. Your name?”

“Luka, miss.”

I spun toward Murata. “You and Luka stay here. Tend to the injured. Send your crows for help—request Hashira. Nezuko burned the webs, so it’s safe for now.”

Stares followed me—fear, admiration, confusion. Before I could snap at them, a voice sliced through the silence.

“Who are you?”

Every head snapped up.

Rui stood on a high branch, moonlight gleaming over his pale skin. Threads glistened between his fingers like spider silk. His voice was flat, childlike, but carried a cruel edge.

His eyes drifted to Nezuko, then back to me.

“I asked who you are, girl.”

My throat closed, but I forced the words out. “I… I am no one. No one to you.”

Rui tilted his head. “No one? That’s a lie.” He stepped lightly along his threads, his gaze sharp, dissecting. “I can smell it on you. The ties. The threads that bind. You already belong to someone.”

A shiver coursed through me.

He studied me like prey, but there was something disturbingly intimate in his voice. “You’d make a fine sister. Strong threads. Fragile… but still worth keeping.”

Inosuke growled, charging forward. “Shut up! You’re mine!” He leapt—blades flashing—but Rui vanished.

“What the—?!” Inosuke landed heavily, whipping around. Rui was gone.

“Family shouldn’t lie,” Rui’s voice whispered.

My blood went cold. He was behind me.

Before I could react, his hand clamped on my forearm. Agony blazed through me, burning like fire in my veins. I screamed, thrashing, but his grip was iron.

Tanjiro’s voice tore through the haze. “Sabrina!”

Rui leaned close, his glassy eyes locking on mine. “He will want to know you’re here. But me…” His lips curled into something between a smile and a sneer. “…I want you for my family. You’d make a perfect sister.”

He released me, and I stumbled back, clutching my glowing arm as he dissolved into the shadows.

The delicate markings across my skin flared, pulsing as if alive.

“Sabrina!” Tanjiro was at my side, frantic, his eyes flicking from the glowing marks to my face. “What’s happening?!”

“I’m… okay,” I breathed, though my voice sounded strange, airy. “This has happened before. I think… this is how I got here.”

I should have been terrified. But instead, I felt strong. Protected. As if Rui’s touch had awakened something.

I snapped my head up, meeting Tanjiro’s worried gaze. “We need to move. There are more slayers to save—and more demons to find.”

Tanjiro hesitated, still staring at my markings, then gave a single, firm nod. His eyes, however, lingered on me with worry and something sharper—like he could smell the faint, sticky trace Rui’s threads had left behind.

“What did Nezuko just do? Is that something you taught her?” Tanjiro asked. His tone was soft, but his eyes were sharp, unsettled. His nose twitched slightly, like he was chasing something in the air.

I blinked at his expression, only then realizing he might be upset. None of the others seemed to notice Luka crawling closer, his gaze fixed on the glowing markings along my arm.

“I’m sorry, Tanjiro. I should’ve explained before. I didn’t give Nezuko that ability—it’s her own. Her Blood Demon Art. I only gave her the information. Her flames burn demons but don’t harm humans. I thought it could help against the webs.”

Tanjiro shifted, his brows furrowing. “But… how? How did you know about any of this, Sabrina?” His voice wavered, but his nostrils flared again, and I saw him stiffen like he’d caught something on the wind.

I gaped up at him, words tangling in my throat. Damn it, I hadn’t thought through how I’d explain this. “Tanjiro… I—”

“So beautiful,” Luka whispered suddenly from beside me. His hand brushed my arm—

—and Tanjiro froze.

A warmth surged through me like lightning, but I wasn’t the only one reacting. Tanjiro’s eyes widened, and he inhaled sharply, his shoulders tense. The air around me shifted, sweet and heavy, like sunlight breaking through after rain.

That smell again, Tanjiro thought, unsettled. Pure, radiant… like blooming wisteria—but stronger, almost divine. Nothing about it is human. Nothing about it is safe.

My breath hitched as light flared between Luka and me. In a rush, I knew everything about his injuries—three broken ribs, a fractured ankle, a deep gash along his forearm. Instinct told me what to do.

I need to help.

I pushed more of the light into him. Luka gasped, the glow engulfing him. Then it was gone, leaving both of us panting, wide-eyed.

Arms wrapped around me from behind. A protective growl rumbled in the air. Startled, I realized Nezuko had pulled me tight against her chest, her demon eyes glaring at Luka.

I exhaled, patting her arms. “I’m okay, Nezuko.”

Her pink eyes softened. She gave me a small smile, and I patted her head affectionately.

Tanjiro’s voice cut in, wary. “What was that?” His gaze flicked between me and Luka, unsettled. His nose twitched again, and his expression only grew more conflicted. “The smell… it’s overwhelming. Light and warmth, but—there’s something else. Something I don’t understand.”

“Yeah, what Monjiro said!” Inosuke barked, stepping closer. “That was a whole lotta light. Did you cast a spell or something, girl?”

I rolled my eyes. “I’ll pretend you didn’t just call me a witch again, Inosuke.” Turning back to Luka, I asked gently, “Are you okay?”

He flexed his hands in wonder before looking up at me with amazement. “Better than okay. You… you healed me. That light—your light healed my injuries.”

I froze. “I did?”

Luka leapt to his feet, twisting and testing his body. He tugged off the bloody bandage around his forearm, revealing smooth, unbroken skin beneath the dried blood.

“Holy… shit,” Murata muttered, stunned.

My chest tightened. I had suspected I could heal myself, but others? This changed everything.

Excitement surged. I ignored their stares and hurried to a groaning slayer on the ground. The glow had faded, but I reached deep, calling that burning warmth back. The markings flared, and I cried out with relief. Pressing my hands to the slayer’s chest, I willed bones to mend, bleeding to stop, wounds to close. When the light ebbed, his pale eyes blinked up at me, wide and awed.

His lips trembled. “Are you… an angel?”

I only smiled, brighter this time, before moving to the next one.

“Tanjiro,” I called, glancing at him as I worked. “Go on ahead. I’ll finish here and catch up.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but I cut him off. “We’re wasting time. There are others who need you more. Go—I’ll find you.”

Tanjiro’s jaw clenched, but his nose flared once more, and he swallowed hard. That scent… it’s too close to Rui’s threads. Too unnatural. But it’s warm, not suffocating. Why… why does it make me want to trust her?

“Fine,” he ground out. “But Nezuko stays with you.”

“No,” I snapped. “Nezuko can burn the webs. You need her with you.”

His expression hardened, his voice firm. “It’s not negotiable. I won’t leave you unprotected. Hurry.” He turned, frustration sharp in his movements, before sprinting off with Inosuke into the forest.

Nezuko stepped closer, patient and ready.

I wiped sweat from my forehead, exhaustion setting in but exhilaration still buzzing through me. The admiration in the other slayers’ eyes was almost too much. “Murata, Luka—you two stay here. Keep the others safe until help arrives.”

Murata nodded, dazed. Luka just smiled at me, unreadable.

I scooped up my sword, tucking it into my belt. “If I can, I’ll send more to you. Be on guard, Murata.”

Murata frowned in confusion. “Wait… how do you know my name? I never told you.”

Shit. My stomach dropped. I forced a cheeky smile and shrugged before turning to Nezuko. “Let’s go.”

She hummed softly before kneeling, offering her back.

It took me a second to realize, then my eyes lit up. I climbed on, adjusting my sword, wrapping my arms lightly around her neck as her hands locked under my thighs.

Her body tensed—then we shot forward.

A startled squeal escaped my lips as the world blurred around us.

Chapter Text

We caught up to Tanjiro and Inosuke quickly as they stood beneath the trees, staring up at the slayers dangling helplessly from Rui’s webs. A girl and two boys hung there, their wide eyes brimming with terror.

“Oh no,” I whispered, horror catching in my throat. I leapt down from Nezuko’s back, my pulse racing.

“Nezuko, hurry! Burn the webs!”

Without hesitation, Nezuko clawed open her forearms and leapt upward, flinging her blood. Pink flames erupted across the threads, devouring them before they could tighten and snap. The freed slayers screamed as they fell, but Tanjiro and Inosuke caught two while Nezuko swooped in for the last.

I pressed a hand to my chest, heart hammering. God, that was too close. Another second, and the Demon Mother would have snapped their necks in her frustration.

A shrill, piercing cry echoed through the forest. My skin prickled. Whether Rui was punishing her or she was screaming in her own despair, I didn’t know—but the sound carried with it something far worse: desperation clawing at the edges of family bonds.

Tanjiro, Inosuke, and Nezuko laid the slayers at my feet. They didn’t need to ask what I planned to do.

The first boy’s body was mangled, his arms bent in grotesque angles, his chest hitching with each breath. Blood trickled from his lips as he rasped out a plea for death. End it. Please…

Tears blurred my vision. Before I could touch him, the ground shook with heavy, splintering crashes. Something massive moved through the trees—the headless puppet.

“Sabrina!” Tanjiro called, his voice urgent. His red eyes flicked from me to the shadows ahead. “Inosuke and I will go on. Catch up when you’re done! Nezuko—stay with Sabrina!”

“Wait!” I reached toward them desperately. “Inosuke—you’re bleeding. Tanjiro—if you’re hurt, I can help you too!”

“I don’t need your weird powers!” Inosuke barked, puffing out his bloodstained chest, arms slashed and bruised. “I’m not hurt at all!”

Tanjiro’s nose twitched, and he shot Inosuke a sharp look. “That’s a lie. Your scent is sharp with pain. You’re pushing yourself too hard, Inosuke.” His gaze softened as it slid to me. “And her scent…that warmth…it clings to you. She can heal you. Let her.”

I stepped closer, pleading. “Please, Inosuke. For me. I just want to know you’ll fight at your best.”

For once, he faltered. My puppy-eyed stare seemed to throw him off balance. He sighed, oddly subdued. “If it makes you happy.”

I smiled and extended my hand. Inosuke stabbed one sword into the dirt and, almost awkwardly, pressed his rough palm into mine.

The markings on my arms glowed, light flowing into him. His wounds knit shut, bruises fading, strength returning. He tensed, trying to yank away, but I held steady until I felt the damage vanish beneath my touch.

“There,” I murmured. “Please be careful. I don’t want to see you hurt again.”

Inosuke stared at me a moment too long before yanking his hand back, shaking it as though my warmth clung to his skin. His voice was lower when he muttered, “Let’s go,” and he turned away, unsettled.

Tanjiro lingered, his eyes catching mine. “I’m fine, Sabrina. See you soon.” His nostrils flared slightly as though committing my scent to memory—blood, fear, and something brighter laced with that strange glow. He gave me one last reassuring smile before following Inosuke into the dark.

I turned back to the slayers, kneeling before the broken one. My power surged again, light spilling from my markings as I set his body right. Bones aligned, bleeding slowed. His hand trembled in mine until his hazy eyes finally focused.

“Hey,” I whispered. “You’ll be okay.”

He nodded faintly, though his gaze was still hollow. He’ll live…but will he ever forget what Rui’s ‘family’ did to him?

The other two slayers thanked me shakily when I sent them toward Murata. But this first boy remained silent, and my chest ached with the weight of it. Children used as pawns, strung up like dolls in someone else’s twisted idea of family.

My jaw clenched. This is so wrong. This isn’t what family is supposed to be.

I smiled faintly, though my chest ached. Yes, he’d live—but the mind doesn’t heal as quickly as the body. His spirit looked fractured, maybe beyond repair. Would he stay with the Corps after this? I doubted it.

I glanced toward the forest, fists tightening. And how many more are we about to lose tonight?

Nezuko carried me swiftly through the trees, her movements fluid, effortless. The branches blurred past as I buried my face against her shoulder, trying to remember exactly where we were in the series. If I was right, the boys should be clashing with the Father Spider Demon by now. But when Nezuko suddenly skidded to a halt, clawing the ground with her feet, my stomach dropped.

Her pink eyes flicked between two directions, conflicted. She lifted her nose, sniffing deeply, before glancing back at me with wide eyes. I froze. They’re already separated. Which meant Tanjiro was with Rui.

“We stick with Tanjiro,” I said firmly, my voice trembling but sure. “He needs our help.” I didn’t feel good leaving Inosuke but I knew he would be okay. Giyu Tomioka would be there to help him.

Nezuko hummed low in her throat, then bolted.

The clash of steel on threads reached us first—Tanjiro’s breathing form, Rui’s slicing webs. A sharp gasp followed, the sound of a blade shattering. My heart lurched.

We broke through the clearing. Tanjiro staggered on his feet, staring in despair at the broken sword in his hands. Rui loomed opposite, calm, cruel, threads curling lazily from his fingers.

“Do I let this play out?” I whispered under my breath, frozen. “Or do I change it?”

I didn’t have the luxury of choice. Rui flicked his hand, sending a wide net of threads sweeping toward Tanjiro. He had no escape.

“Tanjiro!” I screamed, drawing my sword and lunging. But I wouldn’t make it in time.

A blur cut in front of him—Nezuko. She threw herself between them, catching the net on her own body. Blood sprayed, the pink flames of her demon blood searing the threads but not before her skin was torn open in deep gashes.

“Nezuko!” Tanjiro and I screamed in unison.

I dropped beside her, cradling her face, brushing damp strands of hair from her eyes. She groaned weakly, pink eyes clouded with pain.

Tanjiro crouched, his eyes filled with fear, desperation, and guilt that stung my chest. “Sabrina…can you help her?”

I blinked back tears, stroking Nezuko’s hair as gently as I could. “No. Not this time. She’ll heal—she’s a demon—but she can still feel pain. We need to move her out of his reach.”

“Right.” Tanjiro scooped her up, holding her close before placing her behind a thick tree. His nostrils flared again—her blood, my trembling fear, Rui’s unnatural stench of silk and obsession. “She’s…hurting so much,” he whispered, almost to himself, but forced his expression to steel.

I rose, sword in hand, planting myself between Tanjiro and Rui.

Rui tilted his head, recognition flickering in his cold eyes. “It’s you again. I wondered when I’d see you. Tell me—who is she? Why did she protect him?” His voice carried a strange excitement, almost hungry.

I glared at him. “It doesn’t matter. She’s no one to you. Leave her alone. Your fight is with me.”

Rui smiled thinly, then laughed. “A mere human, defiant? You’re not even a slayer. And yet…” His gaze slid to my glowing markings, the faint warmth still humming in my veins. “…I was told not to harm you. For now.”

His attention snapped back to Tanjiro. “But that girl…that demon. She’s your sister, isn’t she? She threw herself into my threads for you. That kind of love…that’s a bond I must have. Give her to me.”

Tanjiro recoiled, horror in his eyes. He moved to my side, his chest heaving. “What does it matter to you if she’s my sister?”

“Because family is everything,” Rui whispered, voice taut with obsession. “She protected you—proof of a bond stronger than blood. A bond I’ll claim. Give her to me, and I’ll spare your life.”

From the tree line, Rui’s sister whimpered, pleading with him not to replace her. Rui’s gaze turned sharp with fury. His threads sliced her apart mid-sentence. I flinched and turned away, bile rising in my throat.

I leaned toward Tanjiro, whispering urgently, “Is Nezuko healing?”

“Yes,” he said grimly, “but it’s slow. She’s burned too much strength already. I don’t know if she’ll be able to fight.” His eyes flicked to me, guilt laced in his scent. “She pushed herself too far.” Guilt surged in me.

“I’ll stand with you, Tanjiro. I’ll give everything I can. We just have to hold out until help comes.”

He blinked at me, startled. “Help?”

“Yes,” I said firmly, sword steady in my grip. “The Water Hashira and the Insect Hashira. They’ll be here. We just need to last long enough.”

Tanjiro’s scent shifted—weariness, disbelief, but also a fragile thread of hope. He nodded.

Rui’s lips curved as he watched us. “You two…you smell close. Siblings? No…there’s something else. A thread. Fragile, but growing.” His eyes lingered on me, then cut back to Tanjiro. “I could make it stronger. Bind you tighter. All it takes is blood and my threads. I can make you mine. Both of you.”

Tanjiro flushed red, choking on a denial, but I stepped forward first, my voice hard. “It doesn’t matter what we are to each other. All that matters is that we are your enemies. And you will not take us.”

Rui’s expression faltered at my words. When I named him—“Lower Moon Five”—his eyes widened briefly in surprise before narrowing to slits.

“Maybe he was right about you being different,” Rui murmured. “Yes…I’ll unravel you later. For now, I want the boy.”

He flicked his wrist. Threads lashed out, striking me before I could fully brace. I flew back, the impact slamming me into a tree. My ribs screamed, breath torn from my lungs.

“Sabrina!” Tanjiro shouted, starting toward me.

Rui’s calm voice cut him off. “Now, now. She’s fine. You and I, boy—let’s talk.”

Tanjiro growled low in his throat, the scent of rage mixing with his blood and sweat. Rui only smiled, unfazed. “I was moved by your sister’s sacrifice. That’s the bond I crave. Give her to me, and I’ll let you live. The girl can stay as she is. Broken. Fragile. A thread to cut when I’m finished.”

Tanjiro’s hand trembled on his broken sword, but his voice rang firm. “I’ll never give you Nezuko. She isn’t something to hand over. She has her own will, her own heart—and she would never go with you.”

Rui’s threads writhed in the air like living things, hungry to prove him wrong.

Behind him, I staggered to my feet, pain still burning in my chest. My markings glowed faintly, my grip tightening on my sword. Rui’s “family” obsession had already wrapped itself around us, and I knew—if we didn’t break free, he would consume us whole.

Rui knocked Tanjiro away with a flick of his threads, sending him crashing to the ground. At the same time, he tossed Nezuko high into the air, binding her tightly in his razor-sharp web.

“Nezuko!” I screamed, sprinting forward. I aimed my blade for Rui’s neck, begging it to cut through — but his threads intercepted, sparking against my sword. A brutal kick to my stomach stole my breath and hurled me to the dirt.

Above us, Nezuko cried out, thrashing against the threads. Rui narrowed his eyes and tightened his hold until her scream cracked into silence. Her body went limp.

“Nezuko!” Tanjiro roared, staggering upright, blood spattering from his mouth.

Pain stabbed my ribs as I rolled, pushing to my feet. I lunged back at Rui, recalling every lesson Tanjiro and the others had drilled into me. Parry, angle, breathe. I cut across his ribs, kicked at his side, forcing every ounce of strength into each strike. For a moment, I swore I saw surprise flicker across his face — but then his threads lashed out, swatting Tanjiro away again. His gaze locked on me.

The markings along my arm pulsed faintly. I called for the warmth, that strange burning current, forcing it to rise. Golden light rippled over my skin. Rui’s red eyes widened, his expression twisting into something I couldn’t place. Obsession? Longing?

I struck again, faster now, slicing through his arm when he reached for me. A thrill of hope shot through me — until threads snapped tight around my back. I gasped, lifted violently into the air. The silk bit deep into my skin, binding my thighs, crushing my ribs, dragging my wrists apart in a grotesque crucifixion. Blood streamed down my arms and legs.

“Stop!” I screamed, writhing. Panic flooded my chest. He was going to tear me to pieces.

“Hush, girl,” Rui said flatly, his threads twitching. “Marked by him, I see. I won’t destroy you — yet. But disobey me, and I’ll drain you dry.” His gaze lingered, cold and searching. “No wonder the Master discarded that failure.”

The name jolted me. My breath hitched. “Akal? He’s dead?”

Rui’s lip curled. “The fool failed. You slipped through his hands. He returned covered in your blood, so the Master assumed he devoured you. Worthless. He was erased.” His threads tightened cruelly, forcing a whimper from me.

Tears stung my eyes as Tanjiro shouted from below, face stricken. “I’ll get you down, Sabrina! I swear it!”

My vision swam. Blood loss left me weak, the markings flickering but refusing to stabilize. I tried to summon the light, but it sputtered, slipping through my fingers. Not enough strength. Not now.

Rui paused, staring at the stump of his missing arm. His brows furrowed. Confusion, disbelief, then fury darkened his face. “What did you do to me?” he snarled.

Blinking through dizziness, I realized what rattled him. “You… you can’t regenerate, can you?”

His silence was answer enough.

That was when Tanjiro attacked again. His determination burned as hot as his blood scent — sharp iron and desperate resolve — flooding the air. I could almost smell his will to fight through my own haze.

But Rui, even one-armed, overwhelmed him. Threads slashed, weaving a cage. Tanjiro’s water forms faltered, wrong rhythm, wrong style. He was running out of time. So was I. My head lolled toward Nezuko. Still unconscious. Please, wake up.

Tanjiro staggered upright again, sword cracked and trembling in his grip. His blood-drenched breath misted in the air. He couldn’t stop. He wouldn’t.

“Tanjiro,” I whispered hoarsely. His eyes flicked to me, desperate. I forced my voice to rise. “Remember your father. The dance. The fire.”

Shock widened his eyes. “Sabrina… what do you know?”

Rui’s threads yanked tighter, crushing my chest. “I told you to be silent, girl!” His voice cracked with irritation.

“Tanjiro, please! Remember the Hinokami Kagura!” My scream shredded my throat. Rui’s threads bit deeper, drawing more blood, but I didn’t care.

Tanjiro’s face changed. His expression sharpened, a memory flashing behind his eyes. And then — fire. Brilliant, searing fire. The air shifted as his scent did too — no longer water, no longer restrained. It was fierce and wild, like the sun igniting.

He charged Rui, his broken blade burning with flame.

At the same time, pink fire bloomed around me. Nezuko’s blood ignited, her power surging awake.

“Nezuko!” I sobbed, relief flooding me as her flames devoured Rui’s threads.

Tanjiro roared, his sword cleaving through the web of blades as the Dance of the Fire God illuminated the night. He struck, his blade blazing, and Rui’s head toppled clean from his shoulders.

The threads around me disintegrated. I fell — but Tanjiro’s arms caught me, cradling me against his chest. Pain wracked my body, but all I could do was cling weakly to him.

He set me down gently beside Nezuko. My sister-in-arms lay breathing but alive, her eyes faintly glowing with resolve.

“Are you okay?” I whispered, brushing Tanjiro’s blood-soaked hair back from his forehead.

Panting, he gave me a tired smile. “I’m fine. Just… drained. But we did it.” His gaze flicked to the cuts on my arms. “You’re bleeding—”

“I’ll heal,” I whispered, though the light refused to answer me this time. My hoari was in shreds so I peeled it off my shoulders, leaving my cut-up arms on display. “It’s okay. We’re okay.” My hand stroked Nezuko’s cheek, tears brimming. “We’re all still here.”

But then Tanjiro stiffened in my lap, his nostrils flaring. My blood ran cold at the same time I felt it — an oppressive, crawling scent of silk and decay.

We both turned.

Through the drifting smoke, Rui’s body stood. Threads lifted his severed head back into place. His arms were whole again. His red eyes gleamed with hunger.

And his voice was soft, with fury. “You are dead, boy. You and your sister.” Rui’s eyes locked on mine. “And you. You will wish for death before the end.”

“Fuck. I forgot—he cut his own head off with his threads before you did,” I muttered in frustration, clutching Nezuko tighter.

Groaning, Tanjiro pushed himself off my lap, staggering to his knees in front of us. He planted himself between me, Nezuko, and Rui, his broken sword gripped like a lifeline. His whole body trembled, but his eyes burned with defiance.

Rui chuckled at the sight. “Pathetic,” he hissed. Threads whipped outward, encasing Tanjiro in a dome of white silk. “I’ll carve you apart slowly, boy. Afterward, I’ll silence your sister forever.” His red gaze shifted to me, and my blood ran cold. “And her…I’ll keep her alive long enough to savor her screams. My master will be pleased.”

“No! Tanjiro!” I screamed, my hand outstretched helplessly.

And then—movement. A blur cut overhead, the air chilling with a blast of water. Rui’s cage unraveled, sliced to ribbons.

My mouth fell open. The Water Hashira stood before us, calm and unshaken, his blade steady.

“You did well to hold out this long,” Tomioka Giyu said flatly. “Leave the rest to me.”

“Total Concentration: Water Breathing… Eleventh Form—Dead Calm.”

A ring of silence crashed through the clearing. Rui lunged—only to be cut down in an instant. His body hit the ground headless, dissolving to ash.

It happened so quickly that my mind lagged behind. Tanjiro stumbled toward the fading remains, his hand hovering over Rui’s discarded haori. Even after all this, his aura radiated empathy.

But Giyu stepped past him, his sandal pressing onto the fabric. His voice was cool, detached. “Do not pity him. He was a demon. Child or not, do not be deceived.”

I lifted my eyes, and my breath caught. Seeing him in person—tall, broad-shouldered, his deep-blue eyes piercing from beneath unruly black hair—was overwhelming. He looked carved from water itself: calm, dangerous, untouchable. My face burned as his gaze shifted to me. He lingered too long, reading me in a way that made my stomach tighten. Recognition? Curiosity?

But his attention snapped over my shoulder.

Shinobu Kocho dropped lightly from the treetops, her smile sweet but her blade already drawn. Giyu stepped forward, blocking her advance, his haori rippling like a wall of steel.

“Oh my,” she said with mock sympathy. “Tomioka, you’re being quite protective tonight.”

I hugged Nezuko to my chest, nudging Tanjiro weakly. “We need to run,” I whispered.

Shinobu tilted her head at us, voice sing-song sweet. “Boy? Girl?”

Tanjiro lifted his head despite his exhaustion. “Yes?”

“That girl you cling to is a demon,” Shinobu said, her tone feather-light but merciless.

“We know,” I said firmly, steadying my shaking legs. “But she’s not like other demons. She hasn’t harmed anyone. She saved lives tonight.”

“She’s my little sister,” Tanjiro added hoarsely.

Shinobu’s expression softened into feigned sorrow. “How tragic. Don’t worry—I’ll make it painless. A special toxin. She won’t suffer.”

I grabbed Tanjiro’s arm before he could lunge at her, but Giyu cut in, voice flat. “ Move. Even if it’s difficult. Take her and go.”

“Yes,” Tanjiro said quickly, reaching for Nezuko. “Sabrina, grab the box.”

I slipped Nezuko from my arms, guiding her form into her brother’s arms. My body screamed in protest, cuts still raw, but I forced myself forward. Tanjiro bowed his head briefly toward Giyu. “Tomioka…thank you.” Then he bolted into the trees. I ran after him, gripping Nezuko’s box tight.

“Tanjiro, are you okay? Should I take her?” I panted.

“No… you’re hurt too, Sabrina. I can do it.” He winced, jaw tight with pain. I can feel the panic and worry coming off him in waves.

“Don’t overthink it,” I urged. “We’ll face the Master. They won’t take her from you.”

Relief flickered across his face—until my instincts screamed. “Look out!” I shoved Tanjiro aside just as steel flashed downward.

Clang! My sword locked against Kanao Tsuyuri’s. Her empty violet eyes blinked, her soft smile never wavering. She moved gracefully, attempting to slip past me, but I stepped into her path.

“Please move,” she said, her voice airy and detached. “I must kill the demon.”

“No,” I growled, my blade trembling. “She hasn’t done anything wrong. Just wait.”

I felt small hands clutch my thigh. I pushed by the hiss the threatrened to come forward when the tiny hands touched my lacerations. Thankfully, they didn’t reopen. Glancing down, I saw Nezuko in child form, holding me tight, her bright eyes trusting. Behind me, Tanjiro lay slumped against a tree, unconscious from the impact.

“Kanao, please,” I begged, rubbing circles on Nezuko’s back. “The Master’s crow will come. Just wait.”

Her head tilted curiously. “You…know me?”

“Yes,” I admitted softly. “I know of you.”

Before she could press further, Shinobu’s voice cut in. She descended lightly, her smile never fading. “Kanao, dear, why is that demon still alive?”

Kanao glanced at her. “This girl claims the Master’s crow will order us to bring them in.”

“Oh?” Shinobu’s gaze sharpened as she studied me. My skin prickled under her scrutiny. She hummed. “You know about the Master. About the Corps. Curious. Perhaps you’re bewitched…or a spy. Either way, we can’t allow you to interfere.”

She raised her blade delicately. “If you defend the demon, then you die with her.”

Kanao lifted her sword, stepping forward.

A bead of sweat traced down my face. My grip tightened. “Damn it—just listen to me! Look at me, I am covered in my own blood as well as others. I am actively bleeding in some spots. Does she look like she cares at all? Is she ravenous with hunger? Open your eyes!”

I didn’t get a chance to watch their reaction to my statement before a rush of wind hit me.

In a blink, Giyu was there, his blade unsheathed, body shielding me. His tone was flat but unyielding. “Kocho. She’s human. You are being unreasonable.”

Shinobu giggled, hand hiding her mouth. “Oh my, Tomioka. Enchanted already? First you protect a demon…now a strange girl? What are you doing?”

Before Giyu could answer, the crow’s cry split the night.

“Urgent message from headquarters! Bring Tanjiro Kamado, the demon Nezuko, and the foreign girl Sabrina to headquarters immediately!”

Silence fell. Shinobu’s smile didn’t waver, but suspicion gleamed in her eyes. Giyu’s expression softened ever so slightly. Kanao lowered her blade, uncertain.

I exhaled, relief trembling in my chest. I smiled down at Nezuko and she looked up at me adoringly. Taking her small hand in mine, I guided Nezuko to her box. I stroked her hair. “You did so well, Nezuko. I’m so proud of you. I know Tanjiro is too.” She cooed softly, curling inside before drifting to sleep.

Checking on Tanjiro, I couldn’t help to cringe based on the bump that was on his head, he must have gone headfirst into a tree. “Sorry,” I whispered to him as two Kakushi kneeled at his side. I stood, giving them room as I watched them for a moment.

I turned back—only to stiffen. Shinobu’s sweet voice cut the quiet. “Now…you sleep.”

Before I could react, pain lanced the side of my neck. Darkness rushed in, and I collapsed.

Giyu Tomioka caught the girl before she hit the ground, scooping her effortlessly into his arms. He cradled her carefully, gaze lingering on her face. There was something different about her — something otherworldly. No wonder the Master had asked to see her.

“Really, Tomioka? A Kakushi can carry her. You don’t need to.” Shinobu’s lilting voice carried behind him.

Giyu didn’t acknowledge her at first, only flicked his eyes toward her with a raised brow.
“You didn’t have to knock her out, Kocho. Blindfold and earplugs would’ve sufficed.”

Shinobu giggled into her sleeve, the sound airy and sharp. “Where’s the fun in that? Besides, I have questions for this girl. I’ve heard… curious things about her.” Shinobu bent down to collect the sword the girl had dropped from the ground. She held it up to the early morning light. “I wonder...where she obtained this sword.” Shinobu reached for the girl’s waist, grabbing the sheath from her belt. Shinobu observed the sheath as well before sliding the sword inside. Then Shinobu turned, humming as she walked ahead, the sword in hand.

Giyu exhaled quietly, shaking his head, then looked back down. The girl stirred faintly in his arms, silver-grey eyes fluttering open. Unfocused, they found his face. A trembling hand lifted, fingertips tracing the line of his cheek.

“Beautiful,” she whispered. Her eyes slipped shut again as she nestled closer against his chest.

Giyu stilled, caught off guard. He continued walking until a Kakushi cleared his throat beside him, bowing.
“My lord, would you like me to carry her?”

“No.” Giyu’s reply was low, firm. “I’ll take her.”

The girl didn’t wake again for the rest of the journey. Giyu carried her close, ignoring the stares. A few slayers approached, emboldened enough to ask after her condition. She was covered in dry blood, lacerations everywhere, clothing torn. Giyu only said she was unconscious, not gravely hurt. The relief on their faces was striking. Several spoke of how she had saved them on the mountain.

Shinobu stayed near him the whole way. Giyu couldn’t decide if she was watching the girl—or watching him.

By the time they reached the Master’s mansion, most of the Hashira were already assembled. A Kakushi whisked Nezuko’s box away, out of sight. Giyu was quietly grateful; she didn’t need to be anywhere near one particular Hashira when he arrived.

The Kakushi carrying Tanjiro tossed him carelessly to the floor. Giyu’s sharp hiss made the man pale, bowing repeatedly with apologies. Ignoring the stares of his comrades, Giyu lowered the girl gently beside Tanjiro, his eyes lingering on her face for a moment longer.

“Wow, Tomioka,” Tengen remarked, arms crossed. “Never seen you carry anyone in here. Friend of yours?”

“I don’t know her,” Giyu said flatly. “But she knew my name.”

Shinobu’s laugh rang out, sweet and cruel. “I think Giyu has a crush. He wouldn’t let a Kakushi touch her, insisted on carrying her himself.”

Giyu’s glare cut to her like ice. He looked away without a word.

Several Hashira exchanged glances. No one spoke it aloud, but Shinobu’s words had planted a spark of curiosity.

Rengoku stepped forward, his presence blazing. His golden eyes raked over the unconscious girl. Her clothing was unlike anything from their era — tattered but foreign, her shorts baring cut and bruised thighs, her green top torn at the edges. Crimson hair spilled in waves around her, lashes brushing high cheekbones, her lips full even in sleep.

“She is quite beautiful,” Rengoku noted aloud, voice booming with his usual candor. “Do we know her story?”

Shinobu shook her head lightly. “No. But if the Master requested her, then he knows more than we do. She’s not Japanese, clearly. The slayers on the mountain reported she fought with some skill — swordsmanship, martial arts. And there are… other details best left for the Master.”

“Well then, let’s wake them and start this trial,” Tengen cut in, rolling his shoulder until it popped. “I’d like to return to my wives before another mission drags me away.”

“Yes, sir!” Goto barked, stepping forward to rouse Tanjiro. He nudged him roughly. “Hey, are you going to sleep all day? Wake up already!”

Tanjiro jerked upright with a gasp, clutching his side. His wide eyes darted around the ring of Hashira. “Wh-where am I? Where’s Nezuko? And—Sabrina?”

He relaxed slightly when he saw the girl asleep beside him, but worry pulled at his features as he took in her bloodied clothes and slow-healing cuts. His eyes lingered a moment too long on the injuries along her thigh, guilt rising heavy in his chest. He scolded himself for not noticing sooner.

A stern throat cleared.
“It is indecent to stare so intently at a woman in such a vulnerable state, young man,” came the commanding voice of the Flame Hashira. Rengoku’s blazing eyes bore into him. “Avert your gaze.”

Tanjiro’s face flamed red as he threw his hands up. “Please, don’t misunderstand! She’s my friend! I was just checking her injuries. I’d never disrespect her!”

Rengoku hummed, not entirely convinced.

Tanjiro’s panic deepened when he realized Nezuko’s box was missing. “Where is my sister? Please—give her back!”

The smallest of the Hashira, Shinobu, stepped forward, her presence delicate as a butterfly. Her smile was polite, her words sharp. “Protecting a demon is against Corps law, Tanjiro Kamado. Whether or not you see your sister again depends on your trial.”

“Trial?” Tanjiro repeated, stunned.

“Yes.” Shinobu’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “You are on trial to be judged.”

Chapter Text

A groan slipped from my lips as I forced my eyes open against the harsh light overhead. My head throbbed; my body ached as voices swirled around me. When my vision cleared, Tanjiro’s worried face filled my sight.

“Sabrina, are you okay?”

Moaning softly, I sat up and pressed a hand to my pounding head. “Yes, I’m okay… but I’m awfully tempted to squash a butterfly right about now.”

An airy laugh chimed in response, and my stomach sank. The one voice I least wanted to hear.

“Oh my, I’d enjoy seeing you try, my lovely,” Shinobu teased, her tone sweet but sharp as glass.

I shot her a glare, not bothering to hide my irritation. Hashira or not, she didn’t have to knock me out. My skull was still ringing. Ignoring her smug amusement, I looked around the courtyard. The Hashira loomed in every direction, each aura pressing down like a storm. And among them—Kyojuro Rengoku. Our eyes caught and held—a quiet, charged click—until I looked away too fast. Warmth crawled up my throat. Focus, Sabrina. Don’t you dare start fangirling.

“Where’s Nezuko?” I whispered to Tanjiro, already dreading what I knew was coming.

“I don’t know. They won’t tell me. They said she can’t be trusted, even when I told them she protects humans and fights demons.”

A soft scoff came from above. Obanai Iguro leaned lazily in his tree, mismatched eyes sharp.

“It’s true,” I said, raising my voice. “Nezuko has fought demons and protected humans. She isn’t like the others.”

Before anyone could reply, a rough, grating voice cut across the garden like a blade.

“Well, well. What kind of fun’s brewing here? Is this the moron who dragged a demon with him? What the hell do you think you’re trying to pull?”

Sanemi Shinazugawa.

He was exactly as I imagined—scarred, broad-chested, his wild eyes glinting with something between madness and thrill. A dangerous kind of beautiful. My throat went dry for reasons I didn’t want to admit, especially when I saw the box in his hand. Nezuko’s box.

No.

A female Kakushi pleaded for him to put it down, but Sanemi ignored her completely. My body coiled, ready to act, while Tanjiro beside me tensed like a bowstring.

“Shinazugawa, please don’t act out of line,” Shinobu said lightly, though her voice barely carried.

“Run that by me again?” Sanemi spat. “She can fight demons as a demon slayer? You know what we call that? Completely impossible, you idiot!”

“Why?” I asked, my voice cutting across the space like a whip.

Sanemi froze, eyes sliding to me. I held his gaze, unflinching.

I forced my shaky legs under me and stood—grateful I wasn’t bound like Tanjiro. “I asked you a question, Wind Hashira. Why?”

His lip curled. “What do you mean, why?”

“I mean exactly that.” My voice was sharp despite the headache splitting my skull. “Why do you think it’s impossible?”

He straightened, scars catching the light as he looked me over, gaze lingering deliberately on the skin my haori didn’t cover. My blood burned, but I refused to flinch. His eyes finally met mine as he spoke slowly, each word a sneer.

“Because it’s a demon, stupid girl.”

A growl escaped me, low and frustrated. I stepped closer, my hand twitching at my side in case he dared move against the box. “Yes, thank you, I’m aware she’s a demon. That’s not an answer—it’s an excuse. You were all briefed about the mountain. You know Nezuko stood surrounded by wounded slayers and blood… and did nothing. She’s been a demon for two years, yet none of you heard of her until today. That’s because she doesn’t harm humans. She protects them.”

I held out my hand, palm firm, glare unwavering. “So hand over the box while we wait for the Master. Or are you incapable of following orders, Shinazugawa?”

Sanemi’s eyes narrowed, a cruel grin tugging at his lips.

“How’s this for following orders?”

“Don’t!” I screamed, hand outstretched.

Too late. He drew his blade in a flash and plunged it into the box.

Nezuko’s muffled cry ripped through me. My heart lurched, bile rising as rage overtook me. Tanjiro exploded forward, voice hoarse with fury.

“Anyone who harms my sister answers to me! I don’t care if you’re a Hashira!”

Sanemi ripped his blade free, flicking blood from its edge, smirking at Tanjiro’s rage. “That so? Good for you.”

Tanjiro charged, fury unrestrained. I surged forward too, ready to throw myself into the fight—

“Enough!” Giyu’s voice thundered, rare steel cutting through the chaos. “Stop this! The Master is arriving.”

The courtyard stilled, the air taut like a bowstring ready to snap.

Shinazugawa’s eyes flicked to the side as Tanjiro leapt. His sword slashed through the air, barely missing, and Tanjiro brought his forehead crashing down on the Wind Hashira’s nose with a sickening crack.

I wanted in on this. He needed a good ass-whipping, Hashira or not.

Time seemed to slow as I launched from the side. My leg snapped out in a roundhouse that connected squarely with Shinazugawa’s ribs, the force hurling him across the yard. He hit the ground hard and skidded, the wind knocked out of him.

My heart stuttered. Holy shit. When did I get this strong?

I caught Nezuko’s box before it hit the ground, clutching it protectively and lowering it between Tanjiro and me. “Are you okay, Nezuko?” I whispered.

A soft hum vibrated from within. Relief washed over both of us.

“Well,” Tengen sighed dramatically as he strode toward us, arms unfolding, “that was flamboyant… but also incredibly stupid.”

Rengoku followed at his side, expression bright and fierce as always. “Agreed. Very foolish indeed.”

“Ready, buddy?” Tengen muttered.

“Oh, I’m ready, Tengen!” Rengoku boomed with a grin.

Rengoku’s shoulder skimmed mine when he stepped forward; his haori whispered heat along my arm. He smelled like cedar and fire. Not a fantasy—a fight. Unfortunately.

A sudden flash of light burst across the courtyard. A furious gust slammed toward us, sending dust and debris swirling. Before I could move, Rengoku and Tengen intercepted, grappling with Shinazugawa’s raging form. His eyes had gone white with fury as he thrashed against their hold, teeth bared, spitting to be released.

My stomach knotted. Even restrained, his presence was terrifying. Without thinking, I pressed behind Tanjiro, his body shielding mine in case Sanemi broke free.

Gyomei Himejima stepped forward, ready to intervene if needed, prayer beads clutched tight. The ground trembled faintly beneath him, but Rengoku and Tengen’s hold held strong.

“Release me!” Sanemi roared, his voice raw with violence.

And then—two soft, childlike voices cut through the chaos.

“The Master has arrived.”

Everything stopped. Sanemi froze mid-struggle, the white fading from his eyes as if a switch had been flipped. The atmosphere shifted—anger melting into uneasy calm.

I turned.

Kagaya Ubuyashiki entered from a door on the engawa, walking with slow, steady grace. His robes trailed along the floor; his pale face, marked by the curse, was softened by a serene smile. Two children walked at his sides, holding his sleeves lightly.

The oppressive energy of the Hashira dissipated. Even my pounding heart seemed to slow. No wonder they said his presence brought peace—it was like being wrapped in warm light.

A familiar thud snapped me back. My body tensed, expecting to be forced down as Tanjiro had been. Instead, I realized the lineup had shifted. Somehow, I’d ended up between Tengen and Rengoku. Tanjiro knelt on Rengoku’s far side, Sanemi and Obanai beside him.

I caught Tanjiro’s stunned expression before a callused hand bracketed the nape of my neck. Heat poured through his palm, steady as a hearth, and my breath stuttered before he let go. I lowered my head to the ground, but when I glanced sideways, I locked eyes with Rengoku.

He was grinning.

My cheeks flamed hotter as he held me there for a moment before releasing. Tengen caught my flustered look and arched a brow at Rengoku, who only smirked back with a shrug. What the hell was that… and why can’t I stop blushing?!

“Good morning, everyone.” Ubuyashiki’s voice was gentle, each word floating across the courtyard like a blessing. “The weather is strikingly nice today, is it not? Perhaps a clear blue sky? It pleases me that we meet again, all the same faces. It brings me joy.”

The tension melted from my body, peace filling the space where panic had been. Well, that’s one hell of a superpower, I thought, forcing my gaze away from the men on either side of me.

“I am pleased to see you in good health, Master. I fervently pray for your continued fortune,” Sanemi said suddenly, his voice formal and controlled.

I blinked. I knew he said that—but still. What a switch. This was the same man who had just been snarling like a rabid beast? The shift was jarring. He must have felt my stare because when his eyes met mine, his lip curled, but he turned his attention back to the Master.

“Thank you, Sanemi.”

“Master,” Sanemi continued, “before we begin, would you enlighten us about this boy—Tanjiro Kamado—who dares travel with a demon? And the strange foreign woman you specifically requested we bring here as well?”

“Yes, of course,” Ubuyashiki replied warmly. His blind gaze turned toward Tanjiro and me, his smile unwavering. “About Tanjiro and Nezuko, I have sanctioned their situation. As for Sabrina… that matter is more complicated. I ask your patience, my dear.” His head tilted slightly as he looked at me. “Please, rise. There is no need for you to bow.”

I startled, realizing I should respond. “Y-Yes, Master,” I stammered, lifting my head. Butterflies churned in my stomach under his kind smile.

“Now, let us finish with Tanjiro and Nezuko, so we may proceed to you.”

The protests erupted as expected. Several Hashira spoke at once—accusing, suspicious, declaring Nezuko couldn’t be trusted. Ubuyashiki only listened, patient, before producing the letter. The former Water Hashira’s words were read aloud: his vow, along with Tanjiro’s and Giyu’s, to commit seppuku should Nezuko ever harm a human.

Tears slipped down Tanjiro’s cheeks at the weight of it. I reached past Rengoku, laying my hand gently on his head. He glanced up at me through blurred eyes, then over to where Giyu stood frozen, his face carved from stone.

“Who cares how they want to off themselves,” Sanemi snapped. “It still doesn’t change the fact it’s a terrible idea to risk lives on a demon.”

I rolled my eyes and scoffed loud enough for him to hear. His head snapped toward me, glare sharp enough to cut.

“Sabrina,” the Master said softly, amusement in his tone. “Would you like to say anything in Nezuko’s defense?”

I straightened, ignoring Sanemi’s simmering hostility. “Yes, Master. I realize you’ve already heard about me from the slayers who returned from Mount Natagumo. Can I assume they also mentioned Tanjiro’s demon sister?”

“They did, yes.”

“So what?” Sanemi snarled.

I met his glare head-on. “Some of those very slayers were carried out by Nezuko herself—broken, bloody, but alive. She shielded them instead of devouring them. She’s protected people again and again without harming a soul. Her blood demon art—her pink flames—burn demons but never humans. I was caught in Rui’s web when she lit it ablaze, and it didn’t hurt me at all. Nezuko has been a demon for two years. A normal demon would’ve gone mad with hunger by now. She hasn’t.”

The Master hummed thoughtfully, his smile never fading. “And why do you suppose she is different from other demons?”

I shrugged. “I think it’s because she was turned against her will. Demons usually ask if you want to become like them—as if they need your permission.”

“That is an intriguing thought.” The Master’s smile went faint and wistful as he tilted his head toward the sky. “I would like to discuss this further with you, Sabrina, when time allows.”

“You make valid points, little one,” Rengoku said, his booming voice steady, eyes serious, “but how can we be certain the demon girl won’t snap one day? It leaves me uneasy.”

The warmth in my chest leapt. His gaze skimmed my mouth before returning to my eyes; the grin that followed said he’d noticed—and liked—exactly what it did to me.

“Agreed,” Obanai muttered. “Allowing the demon to remain is an insult to our purpose.”

Gyomei’s voice rumbled low as he turned his prayer beads. “We must save this brother and sister—by giving them a swift, merciful death.”

“I’ll do whatever you ask, Master,” Mitsuri said gently.

“I’ll probably forget, so it doesn’t matter either way,” Muichiro added, staring up at the drifting clouds.

Tanjiro broke through the chatter, urgent. “Please allow my sister to fight beside me! I’ll take full responsibility for her—I know she can protect humans!”

Frustration snapped in my voice before I could temper it. “I don’t understand any of you! Yes, Nezuko is a demon—but she didn’t ask for this. She isn’t evil; she doesn’t thirst for blood. She chooses to atone for what she is by fighting demons and protecting humans. So tell me—what are Tanjiro and Nezuko’s crimes? Slaying demons? Traveling together?” I swept my gaze across the Hashira. “That doesn’t make sense. And her demon powers? They could be the greatest asset to your cause if you weren’t too blinded by tradition to see it.”

Silence fell. Several Hashira avoided my gaze.

The Master’s voice was calm and steady. “There is something else you must know. Tanjiro and Nezuko have already encountered Muzan Kibutsuji.”

Gasps rang out like thunder. Questions exploded—until Sanemi seized Tanjiro by the hair, yanking his head back.

“Stop!” I growled, fists clenching. “Give him a chance to speak before you tear him apart.”

“Enough.” The Master lifted a single finger, and the garden fell silent again.

“I believe Kibutsuji fears these two. Something about Nezuko is unlike anything he has faced before. That should tell you how significant this is.”

But Sanemi’s voice cut through, harsh and unyielding. “I don’t buy it, Master. Demons cannot be trusted. At all. We need proof.”

I dragged a palm across my forehead, pushing down my anger. The clouds above had darkened, thunder muttering on the horizon. Perfect. Storm to match my mood. “Then what will it take to prove she’s safe?”

Sanemi’s grin was sharp. “Blood. We test her with blood. If she doesn’t attack, then maybe I’ll believe you.”

“Fine,” I snapped. “With the Master’s permission, we’ll move her into the shade. You can offer your blood—it’s more potent, after all—and be done with it.”

Several Hashira jerked toward me, startled.

Sanemi’s eyes narrowed, a low growl in his throat. “How the hell do you know that about my blood?”

Shit. I grabbed Nezuko’s box, carrying it toward the veranda, and forced a casual tone. “I assumed. Look at you—so many scars. Either you used yourself as bait to lure demons, or you’re a terrible swordsman who gets his ass handed to him. And I don’t think it’s the second one. Now, can we move along? The sooner you get your proof, the sooner we can be done—and maybe you can finally take that nap you clearly need, grumpy.”

His snarl was feral. “Why you little—!”

I sprang back as he lunged, vaulting onto the veranda.

“Sanemi.” The Master’s voice was soft but carried like a blade.

And just like that, Sanemi stopped. His fists trembled at his sides, but he dared not defy him. He stalked toward me, gaze locked, towering as he jumped onto the veranda. I planted my feet, shoulders loose, meeting his glare head-on. The tension was suffocating. At last, he shoved past—his shoulder slammed mine—and stalked toward the shaded room with the box.

“Very mature, asshole,” I muttered under my breath. His fist clenched tighter, but he didn’t turn back.

“Don’t stab her again, Shinazugawa!” I called. “If she’s the ravenous demon you claim, hurting her won’t prove a damn thing.”

I dropped back beside Tanjiro. His hands were still bound, his expression tight with worry.

“Don’t worry,” I whispered, brushing his sleeve. “She’ll prove herself. He won’t break her.”

I reached for the ropes binding his wrists—but Obanai’s mismatched gaze snapped to me, his hand shooting out to grip my wrist.

“Don’t.” His voice was low, venomous. “You meddle in things beyond you, girl. Know your place.”

My teeth ground together. Before I could retort, another hand clamped down on Obanai’s wrist, prying him off with sheer force. Startled, I looked up to see Giyu. In his other hand, he held out a small dagger.

Relief surged through me. “Thank you,” I murmured, taking it and cutting Tanjiro free.

Obanai hissed, ripping his hand away. “What are you doing, Tomioka?”

Giyu only stood silent, returning the blade once I’d freed Tanjiro.

Together, we turned toward the veranda.

Sanemi had already sliced his arm, blood dripping in thick crimson trails. He let it fall onto Nezuko’s box before prying it open with his sword, stepping back with a cruel smirk.

Beside me, Tanjiro tensed. I clutched his arm, anchoring him. “She can do this. Give her the chance.”

Nezuko rose slowly, growing into her full form. She trembled, fists clenched, gaze locked on the blood. Drool pooled at her lips; sweat rolled down her face.

“Nezuko!” Tanjiro’s voice cracked, pained.

I stood too, anxiety clawing at my chest. I wrapped my arms around his, holding on as much for myself as for him.

“You can do this, Nezuko,” I called. My throat burned with guilt for putting her through this, but it had to be done. “You’re okay. You’re stronger than this.”

The tension was unbearable. My heart hammered.

Then—slowly, painfully—Nezuko turned her head aside, eyes squeezed shut in rejection.

Shock rippled across the Hashira. Even Sanemi’s lips parted, disbelief flashing across his scarred face.

The Master’s smile was radiant. “There we have it. Proof at last. Nezuko will not attack humans.”

Relief crashed through me.

Across the yard, Rengoku found my eyes and didn’t look away. The look was bright and warm enough to settle right under my ribs.

“Well done, Nezuko!” Tanjiro beamed.

“Didn’t doubt you for a second, my love!” I added, grinning as Nezuko glanced back at us, eyes soft, head tilted in her sweet little way.

Mitsuri squealed happily at the display, and I threw her a grateful smile. Then I turned my gaze on Sanemi—his jaw clenched, teeth grinding. Smug satisfaction warmed me, though I resisted the urge to blow him a kiss. I wasn’t ready to die today.

“Tanjiro,” said the Master, smiling, “there may still be those who doubt Nezuko, but work on changing their minds. I am sure Sabrina will have no problem helping you. Also, I never got to thank you for keeping her safe while she was in your care. You have done well.”

Tanjiro froze for a moment, then dropped into a low bow. “Yes, Master. Nezuko and I will work hard. We’ll defeat Muzan Kibutsuji and end this once and for all.”

The Master chuckled, soft and patient. “That may be a little ambitious, Tanjiro. Focus on defeating a Twelve Kizuki first.”

Tanjiro’s cheeks flushed. “Yes, sir!”

I grinned at him, cheeks burning with secondhand embarrassment as some of the Hashira chuckled behind us. I bowed respectfully.

“Tanjiro, Sabrina,” the Master soothed, “the Hashira have trained themselves nearly to the brink of death. They have defied it all and defeated members of the Twelve Kizuki. That is why they are respected, and why you must mind your manners when addressing them.”

“Y-Yes, sir!” Tanjiro and I answered together, my voice tripping over his.

The Master’s gaze swept behind us. “Sanemi. Obanai. Don’t torment the younger ones too much.”

Obanai inclined his head. “As you wish.”

Sanemi knelt reluctantly, voice gruff. “As you wish.”

I almost felt bad for him, his tone so hollow. Almost.

“Now that Tanjiro and Nezuko’s trial is concluded, let us move to our other matter,” the Master continued gently. “Tanjiro, Nezuko—you are dismissed. Please be well.”

“Master,” Shinobu said brightly, “please allow me to host the Kamados at my estate.” At her clap, two Kakushi appeared. One hurried to Nezuko’s box, surprised when Nezuko’s eyes met hers before she quietly shrank back inside.

Tanjiro stiffened beside me. “Master, what about Sabrina? Isn’t she coming with us?”

My breath caught. Heads turned in my direction.

The Master smiled calmly. “Oh yes, Sabrina is our next matter of business. She will join you shortly once we are done here.” He leaned toward one of his daughters, listened to her whispered words, then nodded. “This won’t take long. Some questions only she can answer.”

Tanjiro bowed again, but his voice was firm. “Then please, Master, may I stay with her during this meeting?”

A low laugh came from Tengen. “My, my. Kid, why can’t you part from this girl? I get it, she’s nice to look at, but this obsession is very unflashy.”

“It is strange,” Obanai muttered, eyes narrowing.

“Pathetic,” Sanemi scoffed.

But Mitsuri clasped her hands under her chin, voice airy and warm. “Now, now—maybe he’s just concerned for her! How sweet. Such love!”

“Agreed!” Rengoku boomed, grinning wide. “Friendship is a beautiful thing! Though—” his gaze lingered on me, and my face went hot—“I wouldn’t blame him if it were more.”

Tanjiro turned crimson, flailing. “W-Wait, it’s not like that! She’s my friend, that’s all! I promised we’d stay together, and I feel responsible for her. That’s why I ask to stay.”

My chest tightened. I smiled softly at him in thanks.

The Master’s voice calmed the garden again. “Tanjiro, it warms me that you care so deeply. But rest assured—Sabrina has committed no crime. I only wish to ask her questions. For now, tell us how you found her.”

I closed my eyes briefly, letting his voice wash over me while my headache pulsed back to life. My clothes itched with dried blood. I longed for a bath, for clean fabric against my skin.

It took me too long to realize the Master was speaking again. “Sabrina?”

My head snapped up too fast; pain shot through my skull. “Yes, Master? Forgive me—could you repeat that?”

A growl came from behind me. Sanemi, of course.

But the Master only bowed his head gently. “No, Sabrina. I must apologize. You have been through much. You need rest and care. Shinobu?”

“Yes, Master?”

“Accompany Sabrina with Lady Amane. See her treated and cleaned. We’ll continue once she is ready.”

Relief flooded me. Shinobu appeared at my side, her small hand pressing to my back, guiding me toward Lady Amane’s warm smile. I forced one in return, though it felt weak.

“Sabrina?” Tanjiro called softly.

I paused, glancing back. “I’m okay, Tanjiro. I promise.” Then I let them lead me inside.

The bathing chamber was simple but heavenly: a steaming shower, a wide tub. Lady Amane fetched clothes, leaving Shinobu and me alone. I blinked as she suddenly stood just a breath away.

“Where are you hurt?”

“My head mostly,” I admitted. “The cuts will heal.”

She handed me a vial of bluish liquid, her smile faint. “Medicine. For the pain.”

“You hit me,” I muttered flatly.

She giggled. “Yes, sorry. Consider this my apology.”

I drank it down, chasing with water; the bitter taste faded quickly. She started the shower, steam curling in the air.

“Please undress so I may check your injuries,” she said softly.

Heat climbed my face, but I obeyed, peeling off the ruined clothes. She examined the cuts, her touch feather-light; goosebumps broke across my skin. Her fingers lingered on the markings on my arm.

“These… this is how you healed the others?”

“Yes.”

“Can you show me?”

“I’ll try. My energy is low, so it may or may not work.”

I stepped to the mirror, summoning the warmth inside me. Golden markings flared to life, spilling across my skin—neck, chest, stomach, thigh. The cuts closed as though they’d never been. I smiled faintly at my reflection. Alive because of this gift… and yet I’d still kill Akal for giving it to me.

Shinobu’s fingers trailed lightly across my skin as she studied the glow. My breath caught, heart stuttering, but she only nodded thoughtfully and turned back to the shower.

“The water’s ready. Hurry and wash. We’ll talk more after.”

When she left, I stepped into the heat, sighing as red washed down the drain.

The steam clung to me as I dried and dressed in the crisp white clothes Lady Amane left behind. The fabric was soft, comforting, though it felt strange to be in something so plain after days in my torn outfit. I combed through my tangled crimson hair and let it fall loose down my back, too weary to care.

When I returned, the Master was alone. He waited patiently, calm and unthreatening, as I crossed the room.

I sat in front of him, waiting with bated breath for his questions to begin.

He smiled gently, as though to ease my nerves. “Please, be at ease, my dear. I only wish to have a conversation. I allowed you time to adjust and rest, and I thought it might feel less like an interrogation if it were just the two of us—without my Hashira. I’ve listened to the accounts of my Insect and Water Hashira, as well as young Tanjiro.”

My body tensed. Tanjiro had always seemed wary of my knowledge, but I hadn’t thought he would go behind my back and tell the Master.

The Master lifted a hand in reassurance. “Do not panic, Sabrina. Tanjiro was very tight-lipped. But he did say you carry much knowledge—too much for a foreigner. Knowledge of the Corps, of demons, even of Muzan. That is… unusual.”

My pulse quickened, but I held his gaze.

“Where do you come from, Sabrina?”

“I’m from America, Master.”

I gave him a censored version of my story: abducted by the demon Akal, marked to be dragged into Muzan’s world. I explained how the markings gave me power, how I discovered my healing, how martial arts were my foundation. I left out the darker truths.

Reaching behind him, he revealed my sword. “Where did you get this?”

I cleared my throat, honestly having no idea. “When I awoke in the field, it was next to me. That’s all I know. I recognized what it was and decided to take advantage of it.” The Master nodded slowly.

His voice remained soft but unyielding. “Shinobu told me of your markings. Tanjiro told me of your guardedness. You even knew the name of Shinobu’s Tsuguko, Kanao. You knew of my crows. How?”

I swallowed. “I… see things. In dreams. Premonitions.”

Silence stretched. Then, slowly: “If that is true, then your existence is both dangerous and invaluable. Can you prove it?”

I steadied my breath. “You are Muzan’s blood descendant. Your family bears a curse because of this—one that has left you ill. That is why your family has dedicated itself to his destruction. I also know Kiriya is your only male heir, and you disguise him among your daughters to protect him.”

The room went utterly still.

Finally, the Master inclined his head, voice calm but weighted. “I see. Then we will keep this between us. If word spreads, chaos will follow. But I ask you this: use this knowledge for our cause. To end Muzan. Do you accept?”

I bowed low. “Yes, Master.”

His faint smile returned. “Good. Then let us speak again—this time with my Hashira present. They have questions of their own. I will ask you to wait outside while I brief them on what we have discussed, and then I will invite you back inside.”

When I returned later, the Hashira and Master were gathered in a darkened chamber lit only by candles. Their eyes cut toward me the moment I slid the door open. The air was heavy; the silence, pointed.

The Master gestured to the cushion in the center of the room. “Please, sit.”

I lowered myself onto it, spine straight, pulse quickening.

“Tanjiro has given us his account. Shinobu has given hers,” the Master said gently. “Now, there is one matter left to confirm. But before that, my Hashira may ask what is on their minds.”

The moment he finished, Sanemi leaned forward, tone a blade. “How did you know Tomioka’s name before anyone spoke it?”

Obanai’s voice cut in, sharper. “And how did you know a crow would be coming to summon you and the Kamados? No outsider could possibly know that.”

My throat tightened. “I told the Master earlier. I see things—dreams. Premonitions.”

“Dreams,” Sanemi scoffed. “That’s convenient.”

Shinobu’s smile curved like a knife. “Yet oddly specific dreams. You named my Tsuguko, Kanao, before ever meeting her. Do your dreams tell you all our secrets, our pasts, Sabrina?”

“Or help Muzan,” Sanemi snapped, rising halfway to his feet.

Heat rushed to my cheeks as I hesitated. “I know some… of your past. Only fragments. I would never share…”

Obanai’s posture went tense, his voice rageful, with something else underneath—concern? fear? “What do you know, girl?”

I sat there in silence, unsure what to say. I could feel myself start to tremble as I grew overwhelmed. Luckily, the Master came to my rescue.

“Sabrina may know about your past, but I am sure that if she does, she will keep that to herself and not share it with anyone.”

I could only nod. I could tell not everyone was comfortable with that, but we moved on.

“She still knows too much. It is unnerving. She could go to our enemy,” Obanai said.

Panic started to rise in my chest as I held up my hands. “I would never help that monster. How could you think that?”

“That’s enough,” Rengoku’s booming voice broke across him. “You are being unfair to her. She risked herself for comrades she had never met. That is not the work of an enemy.”

Mitsuri nodded, pink braids swaying as she leaned forward earnestly. “I… I don’t think she’s lying. She seems so innocent.”

“You can’t be serious, Mitsuri,” Obanai hissed, his serpent shifting restlessly. “Her markings, her power—it isn’t natural. You all saw it. Humans don’t glow.”

Gyomei’s beads clicked softly in his massive hands. His blind eyes turned upward. “I felt no malice from her.”

Sanemi slammed a hand on the floor, rattling the boards. “That’s what makes it worse! Demons don’t hand out gifts without strings. She’s marked, and you’re all ready to trust her? Fools.”

The chamber erupted—voices rising, overlapping. Some skeptical, some defensive, others full of worry. My chest tightened as their eyes pressed in on me from every angle.

The Master raised a hand. “Enough.”

Silence fell like a blade.

“Sanemi,” he said softly, “if you doubt her, let her prove herself.”

Sanemi’s lip curled. “Fine. Show us. Heal me, then. If it’s real.”

Suppressing a sigh, I shakily unfastened the buttons of my shirt, sliding the fabric from my shoulder to reveal the markings. I tried not to think about the fact that I was only in my chest wrap in front of the Hashira. My tattoo pulsed faintly in the candlelight. I steadied my breath and summoned the warmth in my chest. It spread like fire, spilling outward until a golden glow shimmered over me, tattoos covering my body.

Gasps rippled through the Hashira.

Sanemi stepped forward, daring me with his eyes. “Go on, then.”

I turned his arm gently in my hands. The light seeped into his skin, closing the wound as though it had never been. My palm brushed his cheek, glowing until a soft pop reset his broken nose.

The light faded. My shoulders sagged with fatigue.

Sanemi froze, staring at his perfectly healed skin. For once, he said nothing.

Behind me, Tengen muttered, “Holy shit…”

Murmurs stirred. Mitsuri let out a squeak of amazement, covering her mouth. Shinobu’s eyes narrowed, analyzing every flicker of my glow.

The Master’s voice was calm. “Sanemi. What did you feel?”

Sanemi flexed his arm, jaw tight. “Warmth. Like the sun. No pain. …It felt nice.” The words sounded dragged from him.

The Master inclined his head. “Thank you. And you, Sabrina?”

“Tired, Master,” I admitted softly. “I wasn’t ready to use it again so soon. But I wanted to show you.”

“Of course.” His smile was kind. “You have given us much to think about. For now, rest. A Kakushi will escort you to the Butterfly Mansion.”

I bowed deeply, relief washing over me, then rose unsteadily. My glow was gone, leaving only bone-deep fatigue. Before I could leave, the Master called to me. “Sabrina?”

I turned back. “Yes, Master?”

“I will stress that you are to stay at the Butterfly Mansion until further notice. Do not leave and do not wander. It would be best that you stay where you can be watched and protected—for the time being.”

My voice was soft, my fight gone. “I understand.”

The hallway outside was cool and dim. A Kakushi waited with his hands folded neatly at his waist. He wore the standard mask, but when he straightened and gave me a polite bow, I recognized him from the Corps’ reports and whispers.

“Goto, at your service, miss,” he said briskly, voice firm yet kind. “I’ll see you safely to the Butterfly Mansion.”

“Thank you,” I murmured, though my voice sounded faint even to my own ears.

We started down the stone path, my bare feet in borrowed sandals scraping softly. Each step made the world tilt a little. My vision blurred at the edges, and I bit the inside of my cheek to stay focused.

After only a few yards, Goto slowed. “Miss Sabrina… forgive my boldness, but you look about ready to topple over.”

“I’m fine,” I lied, though my knees wobbled.

He sighed, crouching in front of me. “Then allow me. Climb on.”

For a heartbeat, I hesitated. But the ground seemed to sway beneath me, and pride wasn’t worth collapsing face-first into the dirt. With a soft groan, I clambered onto his back. He hooked his arms under my thighs with practiced ease, settling me securely.

“Better?” he asked.

I buried my face into his shoulder, the steady rhythm of his stride already lulling me. “Much.”

He adjusted his grip and set off at a light jog, the wind lifting strands of my damp crimson hair. “Don’t worry. It won’t take long. Just hold on.”

His voice was steady, grounding. The last thing I registered before sleep claimed me was the sound of his boots on the stone path, the warmth of his back beneath my cheek—and the ghost of Rengoku’s hand still lingering at my neck, heat that refused to fade.

Darkness swept in, and I surrendered to it.

******

As the doors closed behind Sabrina, her footsteps fading into the courtyard, the chamber simmered with silence.

It broke first with Obanai’s hiss. “She’s marked. That was no blessing—it reeked of something unnatural.” His mismatched eyes glinted in the candlelight, hand twitching at his sword. “Her light was not human.”

Sanemi snarled, nostrils flaring. “Exactly. You all saw it. That demon who branded her planted something in her. You’re fools if you think she won’t snap one day.”

“She has not snapped yet,” Rengoku shot back, his voice booming like fire through dry wood. “On Mount Natagumo she helped save the lives of our comrades. She risked her life for the Kamados. That is not the work of an enemy.”

“She could be playing us!” Sanemi barked.

“She isn’t,” Rengoku growled, standing taller, the flames of his conviction matching Sanemi’s fury.

Mitsuri’s voice rose high, desperate. “I don’t wish for us to fight, but she’s so kind! My heart tells me she is good!”

Obanai turned on her sharply. “Mitsuri, do not let softness blind you. She carries secrets—too many. Premonitions? Convenient lies, more like it.”

“Lies?” Shinobu’s laugh was soft but biting. “You sound so sure, Obanai. But weren’t you watching closely? I was. The way her markings flared, the precision of her healing… she fascinates me. Whatever she is, she’s unlike demons or humans. I intend to study her.”

Sanemi’s hand slammed against the floor, rattling the boards. “Study her? Are you insane? That’s Muzan’s filth carved into her skin! You’d bring poison into the heart of the Corps?”

“Sometimes poison cures, Sanemi,” Shinobu countered sweetly, eyes sharp as glass.

The chamber roared—Sanemi and Obanai spitting fire, Rengoku booming over them, Mitsuri pleading, Shinobu cutting in with silk-laced venom.

Then, a quieter voice cut through the storm.

“She isn’t our enemy.”

The noise stilled. All eyes turned to Tomioka, who had spoken at last. His expression was unreadable, blue eyes steady.

“I have watched her,” he said simply. “She healed slayers without hesitation. She risked herself for Tanjiro. If Muzan had sent her as a spy, she would have betrayed us already.” His gaze dropped; his tone stayed even and firm. “I don’t claim to understand what she is. But she is not like the demons we fight.”

Sanemi scoffed, lip curling. “Too soft, as always, Tomioka.”

Giyu didn’t flinch. “No. I just know the difference between a threat and someone struggling to survive.”

Rengoku’s fiery laugh broke the silence; he clapped a broad hand against his thigh. “Well said! Until she proves otherwise, she stands with us.”

The Master’s voice came next, calm yet absolute. “Enough. Your doubts are valid. Sabrina is not of this world, and her mark troubles me as well. But she has shown compassion, not malice—and already altered the course of battle. We will watch her. Learn from her. Protect her and never let her out of sight. She may not yet understand what she carries. Until then, she remains… a mystery.”

The Hashira exchanged hard glances—suspicion in Obanai’s glare, fury in Sanemi’s scowl, awe in Mitsuri’s wide eyes, fiery conviction in Rengoku’s stance, calculation in Shinobu’s smile, solemn prayer in Gyomei’s bowed head, quiet certainty in Giyu’s silence.

For just a moment, Ubuyashiki’s pale eyes lingered on Tomioka. A faint nod, almost imperceptible, passed between them—subtle approval, quiet trust.

The chamber held the weight of their division.

Sanemi broke it last, voice sharp as steel. “Mark my words—when she turns, I’ll be the first to put her down.”

“And when she doesn’t,” Rengoku countered, blazing, “I’ll be the first to remind you that you doubted her.”

The Master’s faint smile lingered, serene as always. “Time will reveal the truth. Until then, we will wait—and watch.”

The candles guttered low, shadows stretching tall across the walls, as if the chamber itself were holding its breath.

Chapter Text

When I awoke from my dreamless sleep, the room was empty. Pushing myself upright, I leaned against the headboard and let my eyes adjust. The space was small but cozy, a large window covered by thick curtains to keep the sunlight from drowning the room in brightness. A nightstand sat beside the bed, a glass of water and a chilled pitcher atop it, condensation dripping down its side and pooling into a small puddle.

I eagerly reached for the glass, downing it in one go. A soft groan escaped my parched lips as the cool water soothed my throat. By the time I’d finished my third glass, the door slid open.

“Ah, I’m pleased to see you awake, Sabrina. I was starting to worry,” Shinobu said as she glided to my bedside.

Setting the empty glass back down, I sat up straighter. “How long have I been asleep?” My voice was hoarse, and I realized I didn’t know how I was supposed to address her.

Shinobu’s smile was light but purposeful. “Please, call me Shinobu. I imagine our honorifics and titles must be confusing for someone not from here. To answer your question—you’ve been asleep for three days.”

I blinked, stunned. Three days? My gaze swept the room again before returning to her. “My friends?”

Instead of answering immediately, Shinobu crossed to a cabinet and pulled out a neatly folded set of clothes and sandals. “They’re fine. The demon girl is resting in her assigned room—just across from yours, in the darkest space we have. We’ve made all the proper precautions to ensure no sunlight will reach her. As for the boys, they’re in their assigned room, resting. They have been asking about you.”

Relief warmed me. Sliding out of bed, I tested my balance. My body was stiff, sore, but not unbearable. I’ve rested enough. Now it’s time to plan. The Mugen Train loomed in my thoughts, heavy and unavoidable. Kyojuro Rengoku will not die. I’ll make sure of it—somehow.

“Shinobu,” I asked carefully, “what will my role be while I’m here? I do have some skill in fighting. Will I be sent on missions, or is the plan to keep me here?” My tone was as neutral as I could manage, though unease crept into my chest.

Shinobu tilted her head, her gaze piercing. I fought the urge to fidget under her steady eyes. At last, she spoke. “Do you remember your conversation with the Master, Sabrina? It is his wish that you stay at the Butterfly Mansion until further notice. But first, let’s get you cleaned and fed. Then, we will discuss your place and duty will be while you stay here.”

 

It wasn’t long before I was fresh from a bath and with a full stomach. My hair, still damp, fell in loose waves down my back. I wore black hakama pants and a white blouse that sat loosely on my shoulders, stopping just above my navel to reveal a sliver of skin. My chest wrap was tight and secure.

Shinobu had left me to explore, instructing me where I could find my friends while she informed the Master of my recovery.

I followed her directions but once I reached their room, it was empty. I crinkled my brow in confusion. Where could they be?

As I explored the Butterfly Mansion, I soon spotted them beneath the shade of a wide tree. Zenitsu lay sprawled on his back, arms out like a starfish as he panted dramatically. Based on his shorten limbs, I knew he had confronted that creepy spider brother. So glad I didn’t have to see him in person. He would have terrified me.

I was surprised to see Inosuke out and about. I remember him being very down on himself from the anime. I am glad. Inosuke stretched his arms above his head, rotating his shoulders with a distant look in his eyes. And Tanjiro—Tanjiro sat cross-legged, hands resting lightly on his knees. His posture was calm, shoulders rising and falling with steady breaths, but I knew he was alert. All of them were bandaged up and I had a feeling Shinobu and Aoi would be upset if they saw they were not in their room.

The wind carried my scent forward, my hair drifting over my shoulder. Tanjiro’s nose twitched, his eyes snapping open, bright crimson locking onto me.

His whole face lit up—relief and joy mixing as he sprang to his feet. “Sabrina!”

I couldn’t help smiling as I walked toward him. He met me halfway, sweeping me into a crushing hug against his solid chest. I chuckled, looping my arms around his neck. “Hey, Tanjiro.”

He pulled back just enough to cup my face with his warm hands, his expression soft but urgent. “Sabrina, how are you feeling? We’ve been so worried about you. Nezuko’s been beside herself!”

Tanjiro didn’t let go right away, even after his words, and I felt his chest rise against me as he breathed me in again. His nose twitched slightly, and his brows pinched together.

“Your scent…” he murmured, almost to himself.

I blinked up at him. “My… scent?”

He flushed, pulling back quickly but not releasing my cheeks. “Ah—sorry, that sounded weird. It’s just—you don’t smell like before. When you were hurt and exhausted, your scent was heavy, sharp with pain. Now it’s… lighter, almost warm.” He tilted his head, eyes soft but curious. “But there’s something else too. Like… worry. Determination. It’s mixed in.”

My chest tightened at how much he could read from just a breath. “You can smell all that?” I whispered. I forgot how strong his sense of smell is.

He nodded solemnly. “Your scent tells the truth, even when your words don’t.”

I wasn’t sure what to say to that, so I only smiled weakly and gave his hands a gentle squeeze. So much for hiding anything from him.

 

Later that evening, I joined Tanjiro and Nezuko after dinner.

Nezuko sat at my side in her childlike form, resting her chin on the table as she peeked up at me with wide eyes. Tanjiro was halfway through explaining some of his training exercises when his nose twitched again, his gaze flicking toward Nezuko.

“She smells it too,” Tanjiro murmured, almost like he was connecting dots aloud.

Nezuko made a small humming sound, leaning closer to me. Her nose wriggled, and then she pressed her forehead gently into my arm as though to confirm what she already knew.

I looked between them, confused. “Okay, what? What’s going on?”

“She’s… curious,” Tanjiro said slowly, watching his sister. “Your scent shifts sometimes—like when you healed those slayers, or when Rui touched you. It’s not human, not demon, but… something in-between. Nezuko can smell it too.”

Shinobu’s voice floated from behind us, sweet and airy. “My, how fascinating. Even without instruments, your noses are sharper than any doctor’s tools.” She stood gracefully beside me, tilting her head as her violet eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “So, Sabrina… does your scent change with your power?”

Heat crept into my face. “I… don’t know. Maybe.”

Tanjiro nodded firmly, though his expression was serious. “It does. When you call on your strength, it smells brighter—like fire and light mixed together. But when you’re scared, it turns sharp, like burning metal.”

Shinobu hummed thoughtfully, tapping a finger to her lips. “That makes you even more of a mystery, doesn’t it? A human girl who heals with light… whose scent dances between states. Truly intriguing.”

I swallowed, glancing away as Nezuko’s small hands tugged at my sleeve, her wide pink eyes still fixed on me. Tanjiro didn’t look away either, his gaze steady—protective, but also searching, as though my scent had given away more than I realized.

I was left alone soon after, everyone opting to go to bed. I couldn’t sleep.

The Butterfly Mansion was still, its silence broken only by the faint rustle of leaves outside the window. I sat curled against the frame, chin resting on my knees, staring at the faint glow of moonlight seeping past the curtains.

The Mugen Train.

The thought carved itself into my skull every time I tried to rest. I didn’t know when it would happen, only that it was soon. And with it… Kyojuro Rengoku’s fate. A fire too bright, destined to be snuffed out. Unless I stopped it. Unless I changed everything.

I pressed my forehead against my knees, whispering silently to myself. He cannot die. Not this time. If he survives, maybe more of them survive. Maybe Muzan falls sooner. Maybe… just maybe… we win with more survivors.

The door slid open with a quiet shhk.

“Sabrina?” Tanjiro’s gentle voice filled the space.

I looked up, forcing a smile. “Tanjiro.”

He stepped inside, closing the door softly behind him. For a moment, he didn’t say anything—just inhaled, his brow furrowing. His nose twitched once, twice.

“…You smell… conflicted.” His voice was quiet, uncertain. “Like metal grinding against stone. There’s fear too… but it’s buried under something hot. A fire.” His eyes softened, almost pleading. “What are you carrying?”

My breath caught. God, his nose—why did it have to be this good?

I laughed weakly, waving a hand. “You and that nose of yours. I’m just… uneasy. It feels like something big is coming, and I hate not knowing what it is.”

Half a truth. A careful truth.

Tanjiro crouched in front of me, placing his warm hands over mine. His gaze was searching, steady in a way that made my stomach knot. “You’re not lying,” he said slowly, “but… you’re not telling me everything either.”

My chest tightened. He knew. He could smell the difference.

“I…” My throat closed around the words. I can’t tell you, Tanjiro. If you knew what was coming, you’d try to change it. And we can’t risk that. We can’t change the wrong thing.

Instead, I leaned my head against his shoulder, hiding my eyes. “It’s nothing dangerous. Just… nerves.”

Tanjiro hesitated, but after a long moment, his hand rose to pat my back gently. “Alright. But you don’t have to carry it alone, Sabrina. Whatever it is, I’ll be here.”

The sincerity in his voice broke something in me, and I shut my eyes tight, willing the guilt away. He trusted me. He trusted me enough to let the secret lie between us, even if he could smell it burning in me.

I’m sorry, Tanjiro.

Through the window, the air shifted, carrying the faint rumble of distant thunder. To me, it sounded like wheels grinding on steel. Like a train on its way.

 

The morning air was crisp, the courtyard alive with the sound of wood clashing against wood. Tanjiro’s practice blade met mine again and again, each strike purposeful, his form steady.

“You’re improving,” he said with a small grin, sweat rolling down his temple. “Your breathing is steadier now.”

I panted, keeping my sword up even as my arms trembled. “That’s because I have a good teacher.”

From the side, Inosuke barked a laugh. “Hah! Don’t flatter him! You want real training, you fight me!” He charged before I could respond, dual swords flashing.

“Wait, Inosuke—!” Tanjiro tried to intervene, but too late.

I ducked beneath Inosuke’s wild swing, narrowly avoiding a blow that would’ve taken my head off if these weren’t practice blades. I rolled and jabbed upward, catching him in the ribs. He staggered back with a grunt, his boar mask tilting.

“You got lucky!” he roared, barreling forward again.

“Not luck,” Zenitsu called from where he sat trembling under a tree, “she’s just way scarier than you think! Don’t make her mad, Inosuke!”

I blinked at him. “Zenitsu… are you encouraging me or warning him?”

Zenitsu squeaked, flailing his arms. “B-Both!”

Tanjiro’s laughter rang out, warm and grounding, and for a moment, the tension broke into simple joy.

We spend the day training and just hanging out with my friends. It was peaceful and very enjoyable.

Later that evening, I found Nezuko in her box, the sunset painting the mansion in warm light. I tapped the edge softly.

“Nezuko? You can come out. It’s safe.”

The lid creaked open, and she climbed out slowly, her childlike form dissolving into her taller one. She blinked at me, pink eyes bright, before padding over.

I crouched to meet her gaze. “Hey, Nezuko. You’ve been amazing. You deserve a break.”

She tilted her head before plopping right into my lap, her weight surprisingly solid. My heart melted as she tucked her head under my chin like a child seeking comfort.

“You really trust me, don’t you?” I whispered, stroking her soft hair.

She hummed low in her throat, a sound that vibrated against my chest. I realized suddenly that this wasn’t just trust—it was kinship. She saw me as part of her circle. Family.

Smiling, I held her closer. “Don’t worry. I’ll protect Tanjiro… and I’ll protect you too.”

Her hand rose slowly, touching the glowing lines on my arm as if fascinated. Instead of fear, her eyes sparkled with curiosity. Then, with a tiny smile, she bopped her forehead against mine in affection.

My heart ached, warmth spreading through me. “You’re too cute, Nezuko.”

The next morning, we trained as a group again, this time focusing on endurance. Tanjiro led breathing exercises, his voice calm and even.

“Concentrate your breathing. Steady. Fill every muscle with air.”

I tried, holding my stance, when suddenly a weight barreled into my back. “Giddy-up!”

“Inosuke!” I stumbled forward with him clinging like an overgrown child. “This isn’t training—it’s harassment!”

Zenitsu shrieked, clutching his head. “You’re going to kill her, Inosuke! She’s delicate—like a flower!”

“Delicate?!” I snapped, twisting and flipping Inosuke right over my shoulder. He hit the dirt with a heavy thud, his boar mask askew.

Tanjiro laughed so hard he nearly lost his balance mid-form. “You two really are something else.”

Nezuko peeked from her box nearby, her head tilting curiously. When I caught her gaze, I winked. She hummed approvingly, like a proud little sister, before curling back inside.

For a moment, with all of us together—sweaty, loud, alive—I let myself hope. Hope that this bond, this warmth, would survive what was coming.

The sun beat down in the Butterfly Mansion courtyard. Tanjiro and I stood across from each other, wooden blades ready.

“Focus on your breathing, Sabrina,” Tanjiro reminded gently. “If you steady that, the rest will follow.”

Sweat dripped into my eyes as our blades clashed. My footing was better this time, my strikes landing closer to target. But Tanjiro’s movements were smooth, instinctive, impossible to match.

From the sidelines, Zenitsu whined, “She’s going to get killed! You’re way too strong, Tanjiro!”

“Stop coddling her!” Inosuke bellowed. “If she can’t handle this, she doesn’t deserve to fight beside us!”

Growling, I lunged harder. I didn’t notice the grin tugging at Tanjiro’s lips as I managed to nick his sleeve.

“Good,” he praised. “That’s improvement.”

I staggered, panting. Improvement? Against him, that felt like climbing a mountain. Still, my chest swelled with pride.

 

Inosuke had declared himself my “true master.” Which explained why I was crawling through mud at dawn with a boulder tied to my back.

“FASTER! IF YOU DIE, YOU DIE!” he roared, sprinting beside me as if the boulder on his own back weighed nothing.

“I—hate—you—so—much—right—now!” I wheezed.

Zenitsu was off to the side crying into his hands. “Why is she doing this?! She’s going to break herself! Someone stop this barbarian!”

Tanjiro, calm as ever, only said, “It’ll build stamina. Just… maybe ease up on the weight next time, Inosuke.”

By the end of the day, I collapsed face-first into the dirt. Inosuke slapped my back proudly. “Good! You didn’t die!”

I groaned. “That’s the lowest bar I’ve ever cleared.”

 

It was Zenitsu’s turn. He pulled me aside nervously.

“L-Look, I know I scream a lot, but when I’m… unconscious I’m actually amazing, okay?! So maybe I can help you with footwork? The Thunder Breathing style is all about speed.”

To demonstrate, he tripped over his own sandal. I smothered a laugh. “Sure, Zenitsu. Show me.”

He surprised me—when he focused, his movements snapped sharp and quick, like lightning cracking. He coached me to channel all energy into one explosive burst.

My first attempt left me stumbling straight into a tree. Zenitsu panicked, shrieking, “I broke her! She’s dead!”

“Zenitsu,” Tanjiro sighed, helping me up. “She’s fine.”

But I caught the fire in Zenitsu’s eyes when he wasn’t panicking—he wanted to be taken seriously. So I gave him a genuine smile. “You’re a good teacher, Zenitsu. Thanks.”

He turned redder than a ripe tomato.

That evening, after training, Nezuko tapped the side of her box. I opened it, and she climbed out, her taller form shimmering in the moonlight.

She pulled at my hand, tugging me to the courtyard. I followed, confused, until she mimicked a stance, fists raised.

“You… want to spar with me?” I asked.

She nodded once, her pink eyes sparkling.

What followed wasn’t really sparring—it was more like play. She darted around me with surprising agility, tapping my arms and legs with quick strikes before darting back. I laughed, chasing her like a child playing tag.

At the end, she pounced and knocked me onto the grass, hovering over me with a satisfied grin.

“You win,” I admitted, ruffling her hair. She purred—a soft, happy hum—before flopping down beside me under the stars.

I whispered, “I’ll protect you. No matter what.” She squeezed my hand in response.

 

On the last day, Tanjiro suggested a mock mission in the evening: “We’ll treat it like a night patrol. Stay together, watch each other’s backs.”

Zenitsu whined. Inosuke howled with excitement. Nezuko bounded happily beside me.

We darted through the Butterfly Mansion’s training grounds, weaving between trees and dodging obstacles. Inosuke tried to charge ahead until Tanjiro pulled him back.

“Work together!” he reminded.

I found myself instinctively slipping into place between Zenitsu and Nezuko, shielding them as Tanjiro and Inosuke cut a path forward. For once, it felt natural—like I belonged here.

When we finally collapsed in the grass, sweaty and breathless, Tanjiro laughed. “See? We make a good team.”

My heart swelled. For a brief, perfect moment, it didn’t matter what secrets I held. All that mattered was this—the warmth of belonging.

 

The Butterfly Mansion was quiet. Zenitsu’s uneven snores rattled from one side of the room, Inosuke muttered in his sleep as if still fighting invisible foes, and Tanjiro lay curled protectively near Nezuko’s box, his hand draped across it even in slumber.

But I couldn’t rest.

I sat at the window, moonlight spilling over the tatami, painting me silver. My reflection in the glass looked like a stranger—hair wild from training, eyes dark with fatigue, but deep inside, that burn. That furious, unyielding fire.

The train is coming.

My chest ached at the thought of him—Kyojuro Rengoku. His voice, his laughter, his blazing presence. I knew what was meant to happen on that train. I knew how it ended. And every part of me rejected it.

“I won’t let you die,” I whispered, voice breaking. The words trembled out of me like a vow carved in steel.

The warmth stirred under my skin, my markings responding to my desperation. Golden light flickered alive across my arms, spiraling down my ribs, pulsing faintly against my thigh. The glow painted the room in soft firelight.

I rose and slipped outside into the courtyard, sword in hand. The night air was cool, grounding, but the energy inside me burned like a forge. I lowered into stance, my breath syncing with the rhythm Tanjiro had drilled into me.

Strike. Step. Pivot. Again.

Each slash through the air was a promise. Each breath a tether to my will. I could almost hear Rengoku’s voice in the wind: Set your heart ablaze.

“I will protect you,” I said louder this time. The light on my body flared bright, pulsing with my heartbeat. “Whatever it takes, we will not lose you.”

I gripped my sword tighter, as I practiced, pouring all of me into my sword work, lost to my thoughts. I need to be strong, and I need to be prepared.

The glow on my skin dimmed to nothing. My heart still burned.

Rengoku will not die. Not if I can help it.

*****

It has been two weeks since I came to the butterfly mansion before I heard what I was waiting for.

A crow’s call split the silence overhead. Its voice was sharp and insistent, echoing through the Butterfly Mansion halls:

“Attention! Tanjiro Kamado, Zenitsu Agatsuma, Inosuke Hashibira —prepare yourselves! You are to join Flame Hashira, Kyojuro Rengoku, on the Mugen Train!”

My breath caught, and for a moment, the world tilted beneath my feet. It was time. I followed the crow outside with my sword in hand.

I found Tanjiro and the others in the training yard, sweat still clinging to their brows. The crow circled above, repeating its orders. Zenitsu stiffened, shoulders rising to his ears. “The Mugen Train?” he muttered, voice tight. “Trains give me the creeps.”

Inosuke whooped, brandishing his swords at the bird like it had just declared war.

Tanjiro, however, stood very still. His nose twitched faintly, and then his crimson eyes flicked to me. “Sabrina.”

I forced a smile, though my stomach churned. “Looks like we’ve been called.”

“You too?” His voice carried both relief and curiosity.

I nodded. “I will be coming with you.” I didn’t wait for permission—because deep down, I knew the Master would never give it. But I wasn’t about to let anyone, or anything, stop me.

Zenitsu rubbed the back of his neck, his brow furrowed. “I don’t know… the mission sounds dangerous. A Hashira’s involved—that’s never a small thing.” He glanced at me, worry in his golden eyes. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

Inosuke headbutted him out of the way, snorting. “HAH! More danger! Finally! Let’s go!”

Tanjiro only gave me a small, steady smile. “We’ll all be together. That makes me feel better.”

Better. If only he knew. His scent carried the warmth of relief, of trust, of simple faith that I couldn’t bear to shatter.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. You can’t know, Tanjiro. You can’t know what’s waiting for us.

 

The Mugen Train loomed ahead, its black steel frame hissing and groaning like some great beast. Steam hissed from its pipes, the smell of hot metal and coal thick in the air. I swallowed hard as my stomach twisted. This is it. The moment everything begins.

Tanjiro steadied Nezuko’s box on his back. His nose twitched faintly, and he murmured, “The air smells heavy here… like iron and smoke. But also… something else. Almost like danger is already waiting.”

Zenitsu frowned, hugging his arms tight across his chest. “Great. Exactly what I wanted to hear.” He tried to laugh, but it came out brittle. “I guess we can’t expect anything less from a mission with a Hashira.”

“Shut up!” Inosuke barked, shoving past him. He puffed his chest out, swords rattling. “The louder it screams danger, the more excited I get! Let’s go fight whatever’s inside already!”

I tried to laugh, but my voice caught. My feet felt rooted in place. The air was thick with steam, and in it, a presence stronger than fire and smoke.

And then he was there.

Rengoku.

The carriage door slid open, and his voice boomed across the platform before I even saw him.

“Tasty!”

He was seated near the front, a tray stacked high with empty bento boxes at his side, chopsticks moving with enthusiastic rhythm. His golden hair flared like a halo in the lamplight, red tips glowing as if kissed by flames. His fiery eyes locked on us with immediate warmth.

“You must be the ones Master Ubuyashiki sent!” His voice was thunderous, commanding, but it rang with joy rather than intimidation. “I am the Flame Hashira, Kyojuro Rengoku!”

My chest seized. For a moment, all I could do was stare, heat rising to my cheeks, my throat closing around words that refused to come. Alive. Bright. Unshakable. He was everything I remembered—and everything I couldn’t bear to lose.

Tanjiro stepped forward first, bowing low. “Thank you for allowing us to accompany you, Rengoku-san! I’m Kamado Tanjiro, this is Nezuko, my sister—” He shifted the box slightly. “—and my friends Zenitsu, Inosuke, and Sabrina.”

Rengoku’s blazing gaze shifted to me when my name was spoken. I felt my knees weaken under his attention. Forcing myself to bow, I kept my voice steady. “It’s an honor to meet you, Rengoku.”

Rengoku’s blazing gaze shifted to me after introductions, his smile bright but his eyes sharp, like fire cutting through smoke.

“I am surprised to see you here, Sabrina,” he said, his voice lowering, though it still carried the weight of command. “Surely you know the Master would not have permitted it. You are still under watch, and the Butterfly Mansion was meant to keep you safe.”

Heat rose in my cheeks, though not entirely from shame. His golden-red eyes seemed to pierce straight through me, stern but steady, impossible to look away from.

I felt my friend’s eyes on me and I couldn’t bare to look at them. I had lied to them.

I forced myself to sit taller under his scrutiny. “I took it upon myself to come, Rengoku. I… I couldn’t stand by. Not when I can fight. Not when there are lives at stake.”

His brows drew together faintly, his gaze unwavering. “Bold words. But disobedience places more than just yourself in danger. The Master entrusted your safety to us, and you chose to abandon it.”

The gentle reprimand struck harder than a shout might have. My pulse hammered in my ears. He wasn’t angry, not exactly — but disappointed. The weight of it burned more than I expected.

Still, beneath the sternness, there was something else in his voice — not condemnation, but concern. He was worried for me. That warmth, mingling with his authority, sent a shiver through me I couldn’t suppress.

“I… understand,” I murmured, lowering my eyes, my heart racing. Why does even his disapproval make him so captivating?

For a moment, silence stretched between us, broken only by the steady rumble of the train. Then, his expression softened, the edges of his stern gaze easing.

“But,” he said at last, his voice lifting into something steadier, “you are here now. Then fight well, and prove that your resolve is more than recklessness. Protect others, and perhaps you will prove to the Master — and to yourself — that your place is truly among us.”

My chest tightened at the shift in his tone — stern flame giving way to radiant fire. He wasn’t pleased with me, but he wasn’t casting me aside either. And somehow, that balance of strength and warmth made him all the more magnetic.

I bowed my head slightly, unable to hold his gaze without blushing. “Yes, Rengoku.”

His wide smile returned, blazing once more. “Good! Then set your heart ablaze, and let us see what you are capable of!”

My heart skipped, heat curling low in my chest. Even when scolding me, he was… breathtaking.

 

As the train shuddered to life beneath us, steam rolling past the windows, I stole one more glance at him. Bright, unshakable, smiling. And in my heart, my vow burned hotter than ever.

Kyojuro Rengoku… I will not let you die.

The train rattled and swayed as it barreled forward, the rhythmic clack-clack of steel wheels steady beneath our feet. The warm scent of food wafted through the carriage—rice, miso, grilled fish—and for the first time in what felt like forever, my stomach growled.

We’d gathered at a narrow table bolted to the floor, bento boxes stacked high in front of Rengoku. He was already halfway through another, his chopsticks moving with mechanical precision, each bite followed by his thunderous declaration:

“Tasty!”

The walls practically shook with the force of his enthusiasm.

Zenitsu jumped in his seat, clutching at his chest. “C-Can you not yell while I’m eating?! You’ll give me a heart attack!”

Inosuke, however, was immediately inspired. He slammed his palms against the table, copying Rengoku’s booming voice. “Tasty!”

Rengoku grinned, eyes blazing as if Inosuke had just passed some secret test. “Yes! Well said!”

The two of them began shouting “Tasty!” in unison, their voices ricocheting through the carriage until Zenitsu shrieked, curling into himself. “I can’t eat like this! I can’t!”

Tanjiro, as usual, was the only calm one. His smile was small but full of admiration as he watched Rengoku. “You have a strong spirit, Rengoku. It’s inspiring.”

Rengoku swallowed his mouthful and laughed heartily, wiping his hands on his uniform. “A strong spirit is essential! If your heart wavers, your blade will too. Always remember that, Kamado!”

Tanjiro bowed his head respectfully. “Yes!”

My gaze lingered on Rengoku as he turned back to his food, his fiery eyes alight with passion, his laugh booming and alive. The vow I’d made at Butterfly Mansion pressed against my chest like a weight. I can’t let this flame go out.

But then his gaze caught mine.

“Sabrina!” he boomed suddenly, making me nearly drop my chopsticks. “You hail from a distant land, do you not? What a rare thing indeed! Tell me, what inspired you to wield a blade against demons?”

Heat flared in my face at the attention. “I—I suppose I just couldn’t stand by and do nothing. If I have the power to help, then I should use it.”

His smile widened, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Excellent answer! Your spirit burns brightly. Set your heart ablaze, young one, and never lose that resolve!”

I swallowed thickly, nodding. His words hit harder than he realized, stoking the fire of my vow.

Beside me, Tanjiro’s nose twitched. He looked at me sideways, brows furrowing faintly. Whatever he smelled in me—fear, determination, desperation—he didn’t speak it aloud.

Zenitsu, perhaps sensing the seriousness creeping in, cut in with a loud groan. “All of you are insane. Do you even realize how terrifying this is? Trains are cursed! It’s bad enough we’re hunting demons—now we’re trapped in a giant death machine, waiting to die!” He grabbed at my sleeve. “Sabrina, you’re the only one who gets it, right? Right?!”

I blinked at him, torn between pity and exasperation. “…Zenitsu, I think you’ll live longer if you actually eat instead of screaming.”

Rengoku roared with laughter, slapping the table so hard the bentos rattled. “Well said!”

Zenitsu squeaked and buried his face in his hands. “No one understands me…”

Inosuke leaned forward, stabbing his chopsticks toward Rengoku. “Hey, Flame Guy! You’re strong, right? Fight me!”

“HAH!” Rengoku’s eyes blazed with approval. “Good spirit! But food first, then battle!”

Inosuke blinked, as if unsure whether to be insulted or impressed. “...Fine. But then we fight.”

The entire table erupted into chaos again—Zenitsu whining, Inosuke boasting, Rengoku booming with laughter. Tanjiro smiled softly through it all, keeping pace with their noise like he’d been born for it.

I sat quietly, my chopsticks hovering over my food, watching them. Watching him.

This brightness, this warmth—they didn’t even realize how fragile it all was. How close it was to being lost forever.

I clenched my hands under the table, unseen.

When the laughter faded into comfortable chewing, Rengoku straightened, voice deepening. “We’ll be facing demons tonight. Stay alert, stay together, and fight with everything you have. Protect each other—comrades are the greatest strength you can have.”

His gaze swept over each of us in turn before landing on me. My breath caught at the fire in his eyes, the conviction that made him who he was.

“Yes, Rengoku,” I said softly, but with all the determination I could muster.

His smile broadened, and for the first time that night, I wondered if he sensed my vow—if he could see the promise burning in my eyes, even if I could never say it aloud.

The laughter and noise of dinner still lingered in the train car behind us. Tanjiro was cleaning up, Zenitsu muttering nervously about the cursed train, and Inosuke bragged that eating four bentos had made him stronger.

I was about to join Tanjiro when Rengoku’s voice cut through the chatter, lower than before.

“Sabrina.”

I turned, startled by the quiet authority in his tone. Not booming, not cheerful—this was different. Intent.

“Walk with me.”

My chest tightened, but I followed.

The corridor was dim, lanterns swaying with the motion of the train. Steam hissed faintly outside the windows. Rengoku stopped by one, the pale moonlight spilling across his hair and catching the flame-colored strands, making them glow like living fire.

I tried not to stare—but how could I not? He looked like he belonged to the light itself.

For a long moment, he said nothing. Just looked at me, really looked, until my heartbeat felt too loud in the silence.

Finally, his voice came, low and steady. “You should not be here.”

I swallowed, my throat dry. “Rengoku—”

He lifted a hand slightly, not harsh, but commanding enough to silence me. His eyes burned—not with anger, but with something heavier.

“The Master would not have approved your coming. You know this. He asked you to remain at the Butterfly Mansion for your own safety. You chose to ignore him.”

My stomach twisted. Shame prickled under my skin, but my resolve wouldn’t bend. “I couldn’t stay behind,” I whispered. “Not when I knew what was coming. Not when lives are on the line.”

His gaze sharpened. “Do you understand what it means to defy him? To step into a battlefield unbidden? Courage and recklessness are close cousins, Sabrina. Do not confuse them.”

The quiet reprimand hit harder than a shout could have. My fists clenched at my sides, but his voice—firm yet warm—pulled at me in a way I couldn’t explain. Even in disappointment, he radiated strength, conviction, and something dangerously magnetic.

“I’m not trying to undermine him,” I said quickly. “But if I stayed behind and something happened—if I lost someone knowing I could have fought—how could I live with that?”

His stern expression flickered, softening just slightly. “So that is your reason.” His tone lost some of its edge, though his eyes still pinned me in place. “You burn with resolve, I see it. But know this—your fire must not consume you. If you falter, you endanger not just yourself, but everyone who stands beside you.”

My heart hammered in my chest. His words weighed heavy, but the nearness of him, the heat he seemed to radiate, stole the air from my lungs. I managed to whisper, “I… understand.”

His mouth curved, not into his thunderous grin, but into something smaller. Gentler. “Good. Then prove it. Show me that your choice was not mere rebellion, but conviction worthy of the battlefield.”

His hand came down lightly on my shoulder, steady and deliberate. His thumb brushed against my collarbone—not intentional, perhaps, but enough to set sparks racing under my skin.

I dared to look up at him, caught in the depth of his golden-red eyes. So stern, so commanding—yet lit with an ember of warmth that made my chest ache.

“You have a dangerous fire in you, Sabrina,” he murmured. “Do not let it burn you away. Let it light your path.”

The train rocked gently, and for one charged instant our shoulders brushed. My breath caught, the moment stretching, almost unbearable in its intensity.

Then, as though nothing had passed between us, he straightened, his bright grin flaring to life once more. “Come! Before Zenitsu eats every last rice ball.”

I laughed—too soft, too breathless—as I followed him back toward the lantern glow of the carriage. But even as his voice boomed cheerfully ahead of me, my skin still burned where his hand had been, and my heart whispered the dangerous truth:

I couldn’t help but find him impossibly attractive.

 

Once we sat back down with the others, I purposely ignored Tanjiro’s quizzive glance. Instead I focus on Rengoku’s next statement.

“You all should become my Tsugoku. You all could greatly beneiful from my teachings to become stronger demon slayers!” declared Rengoku loudly

“Absolobly!” I said excitingly. I would love to learn understand Rengoku, plus maybe I could use flame breathing!

Tanjiro smiled at my eagerness, before turning to speak with Rengoku. I listen absent mindedly as Tanjiro spoke to Rengoku about the hinokami Kagura. I could recite the conversation in the mind from memory.

The conductor arrived soon, punching all our tickets. I stared at my ticket, wondering what I would dream about once I fall asleep

It wasn’t long before the first demon made itself known and Rengoku quickly took charge of the situation and step up to defeat the demon. I watched with the others in awe as he used his flame breathing to defeat not just one demon but the second demon as well.

Inosuke was still bristling from not being able to help witht he demon and instead was rescused by Rengoku instead. I sat down across from Rengoku and Tanjiro, next to Nezuko’s box, as I tried to hide my smile when I felt someone’s eyes on me. Looking up, I locked eyes with fiery ones as he returned my smile. “Your smile...is quite beautiful, Sabrina.”

My face warmed as I smiled in thanks, not trusting my voice.

I watched as my friends fell asleep, but sleep never claimed me. Maybe my tattoo protected me from blood demon arts? I shifted to lean against the window, its chill cooling my cheek as I pretended to sleep. In the glass, I saw the four children come and tie their ropes to each of my friends—and to Rengoku. Once they were asleep, they settled in beside them. I sat up straight and waited. Tanjiro and Inosuke are supposed to kill Lower Moon One. I’ll help with the passengers.

I’m not sure what my plan is when Akaza shows up. Do I step in and help, or try to heal Rengoku after the fact? I don’t know yet. Akaza isn’t supposed to harm women, so maybe he wouldn’t hurt me if I get in the middle. However, there is no way Rengoku will let me interfere. And if I wait until after the death blow to heal him, that will take everything I have based on how bad the wound will be. That scares me. I knocked my head lightly against the seat, trying to decide.

 

I nearly jumped out of my skin when Rengoku jumped from his seat grabbing the young girl by the throat and slamming her against the wall. Tanjiro had tears streaming down his cheeks as he started to thrash. Good, they were waking up.

**Time Skip*

I rushed through the wreckage of the train, weaving between disoriented passengers. Most were shaken, some bruised and bloodied, but alive. Relief steadied my breath—at least for now. As long as I can find Tanjiro. If I could heal his wound, maybe he could fight alongside Rengoku. Maybe we had a chance.

The air was already changing. Dawn wasn’t far. I never understood why Akaza attacked so close to sunrise.

Skidding around a twisted piece of metal, I finally found Tanjiro sprawled on his back, one hand pressed over a bloody wound, his breaths shallow and ragged. Above him, Rengoku knelt, guiding his hand with calm authority.

“Tanjiro!” I dropped beside him, my heart pounding.

He managed a faint, sheepish smile. “Been better, Sabrina. I’m glad you’re safe.”

A laugh bubbled up, shaky but real. “I’m doing better than you, friend.”

Rengoku’s gaze lifted to me briefly, a small smile warming his battle-hardened face. “You did well, Sabrina.”

The words tingled across my skin, but I forced myself to push the feeling down. This wasn’t the moment to falter.

Hovering my hand over Tanjiro’s wound, I summoned the light. My markings burned under my clothing as the glow spread into him, knitting flesh and slowing the bleeding. His body relaxed fractionally.

“Rengoku,” I said quickly, glancing up at him, “we’re not done. You’re in danger.” My chest tightened as I forced the words out. “Upper Moon Three is here—Akaza. He’ll be here any—”

The rest caught in my throat as shadows shifted. All three of us turned.

Akaza emerged from the fog, his presence cold, suffocating.

I helped Tanjiro sit upright as fear gnawed at my insides. Watching him on a screen had never prepared me for this—the suffocating aura, the predatory gleam in those yellow eyes.

He lunged without warning, fist cocked to crush Tanjiro. His gaze flicked toward me for the briefest second, and I froze.

“Second Form: Rising Scorching Sun!”

Rengoku’s blade blazed between us, intercepting the strike. Sparks exploded as Akaza leapt back, grinning like a beast thrilled by the hunt. He licked the wound on his arm, watching it knit back together.

“That’s a fine sword,” he purred.

Rengoku stood tall before us, immovable as a wall of fire.

My voice trembled despite my effort. “R…Rengoku…”

He didn’t look at me. “Why go after the wounded boy, when I stand here?”

Akaza chuckled. “He would have gotten in the way of our conversation. Besides…” His eyes slid to me, gleaming with interest. “…the boy isn’t injured anymore, is he? You’ve healed him. Remarkable. You’ll be coming with me before this night is through.”

A chill swept down my spine, but I forced my voice steady. “No. I will not.”

Rengoku shifted his stance, blade angled forward. His voice dropped, calm but cutting. “The girl is none of your concern. You wanted to speak with me. Then speak. But make it quick—I have more important things to do than waste time with the likes of you.”

Akaza’s brows lifted in amusement. “Confident. Good. But your humanity will kill you. You’re strong, Hashira—but you could be stronger. Become a demon. Live forever. Fight forever.”

Rengoku’s eyes blazed. “No thanks.”

Their words blurred as Tanjiro stirred beside me. I leaned close, my voice low. “We may need to help him.”

He looked at me, eyes bright with determination despite the fear beneath. “Have you seen this in your dreams?”

My hand tightened on my sword hilt. “Yes. A version of it. But we’re changing the ending. No matter what.”

The battle erupted before us—flames against blue light, sparks raining with every clash. The ground shook beneath their blows. Tanjiro and I could only watch in wonder. My god, they were amazing!

Tanjiro’s voice reached me over the chaos, urgent. “In your dream—Rengoku doesn’t make it. That’s why you’ve been so restless.”

My chest ached, but I nodded. “Yes. I’ve carried it because I thought it was mine alone to bear. But if I can distract Akaza long enough for the sun to rise… maybe I can heal Rengoku if it comes to it.”

Tanjiro’s jaw clenched, anger flashing in his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? You don’t have to shoulder this alone, Sabrina.”

My eyes blurred. I reached for his hand, our fingers twining. “You already carry enough, Tanjiro. I couldn’t give you this burden too.”

His grip tightened, his gaze burning with quiet resolve. Then we both turned back, the clash of flame and ice crashing in our ears.

Rengoku’s battle cry split the night. His body blurred with speed, his tiger of flame striking Akaza and hurling him back. For a moment, hope sparked—until Akaza countered, driving a fist into Rengoku’s face, blinding one eye.

“Rengoku!” I cried, the world narrowing to him as he staggered, blood dripping.

Still, he stood. Still, his fire burned.

“Stay where you are!” he barked, voice harsh as steel. “Do not interfere!”

We froze under the force of his command.

His eyes flicked back, resting on me longer than the others. His voice softened, barely. “You will live.”

Tears blurred my vision. My chest burned with both grief and fury.

Akaza’s tone was almost mournful. “You’re dying, Flame Hashira. Those wounds are fatal. Become a demon—live. It’s your last chance.”

Rengoku’s flames surged, defiance burning in every line of him. “I will never become a demon! I am human, and that is enough! No one will die here while I still stand!”

Then came it—his most powerful technique. His ninth form. Rengoku.

He was breathtaking, engulfed in roaring flame, as if he had become fire itself. My heart clenched at the sight. Beautiful. Unstoppable. Mortal.

And I knew what was about to come.

Not this time.

I tightened my grip on my sword, lungs burning as I whispered, “Forgive me, Rengoku.”

As their blades and fists collided once more, I lunged into the fray, blocking the angle I knew too well—Akaza’s killing blow aimed to pierce Rengoku’s chest.

Tanjiro’s scream ripped through the night behind me. “SABRINA!”

But I was already moving.

Chapter Text

I knew both Akaza and Rengoku saw me as I pushed between them, golden light from my tattoos blazing like a warning flare. My katana met Akaza’s fist—a weakened strike he pulled back the instant I stepped in. Even so, the force slammed me off my feet.

I crashed back into Rengoku, who caught me instinctively—one strong arm cinching my waist. Heat rolled off him like banked coals. He jumped back, keeping Akaza in his sights while he caged me against his chest.

The air whooshed from my lungs. I clung to his forearm, fingers digging into the hard line of muscle. He finally risked a glance down; his calloused palm found my cheek, thumb steadying my jaw. I could feel his breath—warm, even—fan my lips.

“Breathe, Sabrina. With me.”

I matched his rhythm, one hand to my sternum, the other around his wrist. His heartbeat thudded against my shoulder—measured, immovable—and my lungs obeyed.

“You stupid girl,” Akaza spat, a snarl twisting his features. His eyes swept over me, confusion flickering into realization. “This is the light he spoke of…”

Rengoku planted his sword in the earth. Tense and ready, he kept Akaza in his line of sight. I knew he wanted to shield me with his body, to stand between me and the Upper Moon, but he couldn’t afford to blink. Akaza crossed his arms over his chest, annoyed. Only then did Rengoku turn me to face him, his calloused hand cradling my cheek.

“Breathe, Sabrina. You’re all right. Breathe with me.”

“I’m… okay,” I whispered, my voice raspy.

His eyes, bright and burning, searched mine. The growl in his voice was low enough that I felt it where his arm still held me. “Why didn’t you listen? You could have been killed.”

Steadying myself, I glanced past his shoulder; dawn brushed the horizon in gray strokes. So close. I looked back, aware of the warmth of his hand still ghosting my skin.

“He… he wouldn’t have killed me,” I said quietly, though my chest ached. “Not intentionally. He doesn’t attack women. But you, Rengoku—you would have died. I couldn’t let you.”

His brow furrowed at my confession, as if he meant to ask—but Akaza’s mocking voice cut between us.

“This is touching and all, but shall we get back to it?” Akaza drawled, posture loose, expression bored. “Keep the girl out of my way, Kyojuro.”

Rengoku’s hand slid from my cheek. He rose smoothly, retrieving his sword, masking the injuries I knew he carried. His tone sharpened. “Go back to the others, Sabrina. Now.”

But I couldn’t. My hand fisted in the fabric of his uniform at his chest, ignoring the solid muscle and the pounding heart beneath. I stepped in front of him again, blade trembling at my side, and faced Akaza head-on.

“Do you know why you don’t attack women, Akaza?” My voice carried sharper than I expected. “Doesn’t it strike you as strange—how it goes against everything you claim to value? Why Muzan allows it?”

His eyes narrowed. His arms fell to his sides, muscles coiling. “What are you talking about? What do you think you know?”

“Plenty.” My grip tightened on my sword. Rengoku’s presence at my back steadied me, gave me courage. “Strange, isn’t it? Kokushibo and Douma remember their human lives. They remember a lot of things. You don’t. Doesn’t that bother you?”

Akaza said nothing. He stared, jaw tight, body rigid.

“Muzan kept it from you,” I continued, voice strong and certain. “You need to ask yourself why.”

Akaza’s eyes flared with fury, but his lips curled into a cruel grin. “And you know, do you? You know who I was?”

“I do.” I lifted my chin as the horizon lightened. “I won’t tell you everything. But I’ll give you a name. A name of someone very important to you.”

For the first time, his expression cracked.

“Her name was Koyuki,” I said softly. “And you loved her very much.”

The world seemed to stop. Even the wind stilled as the name hung between us.

Akaza froze, wide-eyed, his fists trembling at his sides. Fury flashed across his face, but beneath it something raw—unguarded—threatened to surface. He was fighting with himself, with blurred, half-remembered shards.

“You lie,” he hissed, though his voice wavered, brittle. “How could you possibly know that?”

Behind me, Rengoku shifted. His gaze never left Akaza, but I knew he’d heard every word. His hand tightened imperceptibly on his hilt. I felt the questions stirring in him.

“How I know isn’t important,” I pressed, keeping my voice steady. “Muzan stole from you. He lied to you. Deep down, you know it’s true.”

Akaza’s snarl ripped through the night, but his eyes no longer burned with pure rage. They smoldered with confusion—and pain. “Koyuki…” He locked eyes with me, drew a breath, ready to ask more.

I glanced over my shoulder, relief breaking through me. “Too late, Akaza. You’d better run.”

The first thin sting of sunlight pricked my cheek.

His head snapped toward the growing glow of dawn. The sun’s rays hadn’t reached us yet, but there was no way he’d risk staying. His face twisted in rage.

He roared and lunged—faster than I thought possible—hands reaching for me.

Before I could react or even scream, Rengoku’s arms locked around me again, dragging me into his chest. Flames ignited around us, his blade flashing in a wide arc. “Flame Breathing, Fourth Form: Blooming Flame Undulation!”

The strike landed with a sickening sound. Both of Akaza’s arms spun away into the dirt. He barely acknowledged it, only stared at me with a strange, intense focus. I could only stare, wide-eyed, pressing closer into Kyojuro’s wounded chest; his heat bled through blood-soaked fabric, a shelter against the cold edge of Akaza’s gaze. Akaza seemed to make a decision, nodding—almost a silent promise. We will see each other again, his look seemed to say.

The sun’s rays finally reached us.

With a snarl, Akaza retreated, body regenerating as he bounded into the forest’s shadows. Tanjiro and Inosuke gave chase—Tanjiro hurling his sword after the demon—while Inosuke stopped short, torn between fury and concern for Rengoku and me.

I stayed frozen in Rengoku’s embrace until his grip slackened. Slowly, he sank to his knees, pale and trembling.

“Rengoku!” I cried, lowering with him, my hands shaking as they pressed against his blood-soaked uniform.

But he only smiled—soft, proud. That same blazing smile from the train. Tears blurred my vision as Tanjiro stumbled closer, voice breaking.

Rengoku spoke his parting words—the speech I’d once watched through a screen, every syllable cutting me in half all over again. I wept as he spoke, even as I willed myself to move.

Heal him. Now.

I pressed my hands to his chest, summoning the light. Golden fire flared around me, pouring into him—mending shattered bone, sealing ruptured organs, stitching vein and muscle back together. Even without Akaza’s killing punch, so much damage had been done. How the hell had Rengoku still been fighting—still standing—still protecting me? He was extraordinary.

It drained me to the core. My head spun, lungs burned, body shook—but I poured everything into him. When the last thread of light faded, I collapsed forward, panting.

He should have opened his eyes. He should have smiled again.

But he lay still. Too still.

“No,” I whispered, shaking him. “No, no, no…”

His skin was cold. His pulse—gone.

I broke. Sobs tore from my chest as I sealed my mouth over his, forcing air into his lungs. Chest compressions—frantic, desperate. “Come back, please—come back, please!”

Tanjiro’s hand pressed my shoulder, his voice thick with tears. “Sabrina—”

I shook him off violently. “It’s not over! I can save him!” My fists hammered at Rengoku’s chest, begging, pleading, until my strength failed. “What’s the point of this ability if it doesn’t work when I really need it!” I collapsed against him, screaming his name into the dawn.

Then—

Something shifted.

My palm, splayed over his chest, caught the faintest flutter. A heartbeat. Weak. So weak.

I froze, hardly daring to breathe. I cradled his face. His lips parted on a soft groan; his lashes fluttered. “Kyojuro?”

Golden-red eyes found me. My tears pattered onto his face; he managed the ghost of a smile.

“Thank you,” he rasped. His palm—still warm, impossibly—lifted to my cheek. His thumb dragged once, slow and sure, before his hand fell and his lashes drifted shut.

Relief slammed into me so hard I nearly collapsed. I laughed—broken, breathless—as tears spilled freely.

“Sabrina—you did it!” Tanjiro’s voice cracked with joy as he pulled me into a fierce hug.

“Awesome!” Inosuke bellowed, fist pumping.

Zenitsu dropped to his knees, sobbing into his hands. “Thank goodness…”

Crows screamed overhead. Kakushi voices echoed through the dawn as they rushed toward us—shouts faltering when they saw the golden glow still fading from my skin, the Flame Hashira alive in my arms.

Awe. Fear. Disbelief.

Their gazes seared into me, but I only laid my head against Rengoku’s chest, clinging to the weak but steady beat beneath my ear.

And then darkness swept me under.

 

When I opened my eyes, the world swam. The ceiling was painted with soft shadows of swaying leaves; dawn pressed faint gold through the paper walls. My body felt wrung out, every vein humming like I’d poured my soul into the earth. But I did it. Rengoku is alive.

Tears stung. I had dragged him back from the brink—and yet, seeing him so pale and still afterward hollowed me out.

I shifted, and a low, steady breath caught my ear.

Tanjiro sat watch in the corner, crimson eyes soft but red-rimmed. “He’s alive,” he said gently, answering the fear in my chest. “Completely healed. But… he’s tired. Just like you. Sabrina… you were amazing.”

I let my head fall back against the pillow, relief and bone-deep fatigue crushing me. “Thanks,” I whispered. “I’m so glad he’s okay. How are you?”

Tanjiro smiled. “I am well.” He glanced to the window, at the darkening sky outside. I waited while he gathered the question I knew was coming. When he looked back, his face was open and his voice soft—mindful of the noise and foot traffic beyond the door. “Will you trust me, Sabrina? Be honest with me?”

I knew what he was implying, and though I was weary, it was only fair to tell him something. “Come back later,” I whispered. “I’ll tell you what I can. Please… bring Nezuko with you. I could use a cuddle.”

Tanjiro chuckled as he stood. He laid his warm, scarred hand over mine, gave it a tight squeeze, and said he was on his way to check on Rengoku. I opened my mouth to ask him to deliver a message—then changed my mind. “I’ll see you later.”

He opened the door and nearly bumped into a wall of Kakushi.

At the threshold, the attendants hovered—some hadn’t noticed the door had moved. Their voices carried low, uneasy.

“She shouldn’t have been there.”

“The Master didn’t give her leave. She went against his order.”

“And yet… she saved a Hashira.”

“But… how? What is that tattoo on her arm?”

Their masked faces turned toward me—some awed, some suspicious. Their stares prickled across my skin, the whispers cutting deeper than any wound.

Tanjiro barked that I needed rest and told them to be elsewhere. They scattered without argument. He gave me an apologetic smile before closing the door. A short time later, I had another visitor.

The door slid open. Shinobu entered, haori swaying, smile polite. Her gaze swept the room, lingering before settling on me. “You caused quite the commotion, Sabrina.” Light voice, steel underneath. “Healing injuries no doctor could touch. Returning someone from the edge of death. A miracle… truly.”

Heat flushed my face. I clutched the blanket tighter. “I only did what I had to. I saved your Flame Hashira.”

Her smile thinned. “I am thankful for what you did for Rengoku. I truly am. However, you defied the Master’s protection to do it. That will not go unnoticed.”

She watched me in silence, unreadable. Then she rose, smoothing her sleeves. “The Master has already been informed. There will be… consequences.” She smiled sweetly—too sweet. “For now, recover your strength. You’ll need it.”

When she slipped out, the silence pressed heavy.

But the Kakushi’s whispers echoed louder than my heartbeat:

She shouldn’t have been there. She defied the Master. A miracle. A threat.

And soon, the Hashira would decide which.

I fell asleep waiting for Tanjiro and Nezuko, and stirred when I felt I wasn’t alone. I opened my eyes.

Lantern light painted the walls in soft gold, shadows dancing on a night breeze. I blinked, waiting for my vision to clear, exhaustion still tethering my limbs.

Rengoku sat by the window where Tanjiro had been hours before, his broad frame outlined in moonlight, hair loose—burning like embers even in stillness. His sword rested nearby; his hands sat loosely on his knees. He didn’t look at me at first, but I felt him—the warmth, the steady thrum of presence filling the room like a fire refusing to go out.

“You should be resting,” I whispered, trying to steady my frantic heart.

His voice was quieter than I’d ever heard it. “So should you.”

I pushed upright on trembling arms, drawing the blanket tighter. “Rengoku—”

“You should not have come.”

The words landed like a blade. He turned fully then—moonlight threading his loose hair—jaw tight, eyes heated. I hadn’t expected the hurt under the steel.

I looked down, ashamed. “I know. But if I hadn’t—”

“The Master forbade it. The Mansion was to keep you safe.” His voice had that command from the train, reined in to something rougher. “You risked your life and the Corps’ trust. If Akaza had taken you—” His hands knotted on his knees. “It would have destroyed me.”

I was speechless. “I… don’t know what to say to that, Rengoku.”

“Kyojuro.”

I blinked. “What?”

“It’s what you called me when you pulled me back,” he said, gaze intent. “I like how it sounds… from you.”

Butterflies climbed my throat. “Okay.”

He nodded and looked back to the moon, then to me. “I will speak with the Master and the Hashira. I can’t protect you from punishment, but I’ll try to lessen it.”

“You don’t have to. I stand by my actions.”

We were interrupted as the door slid open—Tanjiro, with a small Nezuko who
immediately jumped into my lap. I hugged her tightly, patting her head. Tanjiro glanced between Kyojuro and me, a little nervous. “I’m sorry. We didn’t mean to intrude.”

“Come in, young Kamado,” Kyojuro said, smiling at Nezuko and me. “I’m sure you have questions, too.”

Tanjiro sat at the end of my bed. “Is it true, Sabrina? You weren’t supposed to leave the Butterfly Mansion?”

“Yes, but I had to. Kyojuro was in danger…” My throat ached as I turned to face Kyojuro. “I saved you. If I hadn’t been there, you would have died.”

“How did you know? Your dreams?” Tanjiro asked.

“Yes. I dreamt that Kyojuro would lose to Akaza. I thought if I could stop it, the Demon Slayer Corps wouldn’t lose their Flame Hashira. It could make all the difference against Muzan.”

“Did these dreams… tell you about Akaza? About when he was human?” Kyojuro’s voice was low and controlled.

I nodded. “It’s what I dreamt when Lower Moon One put us to sleep.” I mentally patted myself on the back. Way to think on your feet. Nezuko’s hands played with my hair as silence settled.

“Have you dreamt of anything else? Any more deaths?” Kyojuro asked.

“No. Not yet. I’ve only seen your possible death. I’ve known for a while.” As soon as I said it, I knew I’d revealed too much.

His eyes snapped to mine, blazing and unreadable. Frustration burned there—beneath it, something he wrestled as hard as I did. “How long have you known, Sabrina?”

I hesitated, mouth opening and closing. Finally, I shrugged. “Not long.”

Kyojuro’s voice hardened. “You mean long enough to tell someone. To tell the Master.”

I didn’t answer. I simply held Nezuko closer. He drew a slow breath.

“You healed me when no one else could,” he said, voice low. “For that, I owe you everything. You saved my life. But, Sabrina… you cannot keep defying fate. One day it will burn you to ash. The fact that you knew and could have told someone—me, the Master, anyone—and chose not to… You didn’t have to go. You wanted to go, and you kept it to yourself.”

My tattoos pulsed faintly under my skin, still raw from the light I’d poured into him. I clenched the blanket. “I… you’re right. I’m sorry. I don’t have a good reason. I just… couldn’t let you die. Not when I could stop it. Not this time. That was all that mattered.”

His shoulders eased; his gaze softened, though the fire never dimmed. “You burn with dangerous resolve. It makes you strong… but it frightens me.”

I froze. “Frightens you?”

His eyes held mine, the air tightening with unspoken truth. “Because you matter. And because you are not mine to lose.”

Heat flared beneath my skin—hotter than any glow. I wanted to tell him the same—that losing him terrified me more than any demon—but my voice failed.

Kyojuro stepped closer, stopping beside my bed. His hand brushed mine where it gripped the blanket. That simple touch seared through me.

“Then promise me this,” he murmured, leaning in until the cedar-and-ember of him filled my head. His fingers found mine where they gripped the blanket, thumb tracing the frantic pulse there. “Do not burn yourself to nothing for my sake—or anyone’s. Let me carry out my duty. Do not step between me and the path I chose, not with your life.”

I nodded, though my heart screamed I could never keep it. His thumb grazed the back of my hand, and for one suspended second the pull between us was unbearable—his warmth, my need, the quiet desperation in his eyes.

A throat cleared.

We jerked apart like guilty children. Tanjiro’s voice was neutral—carefully so. “Pardon me. Do you want time… alone?”

The room felt a degree cooler the moment Kyojuro pulled his hand back.

Kyojuro straightened at once, hand retreating. “No. I’ll leave you two to visit,” he said, voice back to firm, blazing certainty.

Tanjiro’s gaze flicked to me, lingering a fraction too long—probably noting my flushed face. He grinned and winked.

I dared a glance at Kyojuro, but he stared into the moonlight, profile carved in fire and shadow. His hand twitched once at his side, as if resisting the urge to reach for me again. “Goodnight.”

We wished him goodnight. He patted Nezuko’s head in my lap; she cooed, and he smiled. At the doorway, he turned back. “I meant what I said on the train. I’m happy to mentor you both. Even the young boar and the boy in yellow.”

Tanjiro and I nodded eagerly. He left.

I sank into the pillows. Nezuko curled into my chest, and I pulled the covers over her. She fell asleep in moments.

Tanjiro stayed the next hour. Strangely, he didn’t bring up my dreams again—or what was happening between me and Kyojuro, which was a relief, since I didn’t know either. He simply seemed content to sit with me. As I drifted, he gathered Nezuko from under my covers, whispered goodbye, and tugged the blankets to my shoulders.

 

The Hashira gathered in silence, kneeling on tatami in a wide semicircle. All but Gyomei and Muichiro, who were on a mission. Morning light slanted across the chamber, cool and unforgiving. The Master sat at the center, pale eyes watchful, gentle smile offering no shield against the weight in the air. We had just finished explaining the events on the Mugen Train. Rengoku and Tanjiro took the lead—thankfully. I, with Inosuke and Zenitsu, stayed quiet. Even Inosuke seemed calmed by the Master’s presence.

Kyojuro gave a detailed report—my conversation with Akaza, my healing—and answered Shinobu’s follow-up about whether he remembered anything after collapsing. (I felt she was testing whether it was my CPR or my markings that brought him back.) He said he remembered seeing his mother, then waking to me hovering over him. That seemed to satisfy Shinobu.

“My Hashira,” Ubuyashiki began softly, “we have clarity on that night’s events. Sabrina’s presence on the Mugen Train was… unexpected.”

Every gaze swung to me, stomach knotting.

Obanai spoke first, voice sharp as a blade. “Unexpected? She vanished from the Butterfly Mansion without permission—against your direct command, Master. And she didn’t merely observe. She interfered. She revealed knowledge of Upper Moon Three’s human life. That is not chance. It is dangerous. She must be reprimanded.” His serpent hissed softly around his neck.

Sanemi slammed fist to palm, lip curling. “She blurted out a demon’s human past mid-battle. Even with these ‘dreams’ she claims… what kind of person knows that? If she isn’t marked by Muzan, then she’s still keeping things from us!”

Heat crawled up my neck, but before I could speak, Kyojuro’s voice boomed through the chamber. “Enough. She stood against Akaza—an Upper Moon—to defend me. She healed me when I should have perished. Without her, many lives—including mine—would have been lost.”

“She shouldn’t have been there at all,” Sanemi shot back.

“Perhaps,” Kyojuro allowed, golden eyes steady. “But if not for her defiance, I would not be sitting before you now.”

Sanemi sat back on his heels, brow arched. “What’s going on between you two? You seem awfully… defensive of her.”

Kyojuro’s eyes narrowed. “She saved my life, Sanemi. I am indebted to her.”

Sanemi’s mouth tipped into a smirk. “You sure it’s not more than that, flame boy?”

Kyojuro’s body tensed—before Tengen stepped in. “Hey! We’re not here to judge a fellow Hashira’s personal life—especially when that Hashira saved two hundred passengers. Back off, Sanemi.”

Sanemi growled at Tengen. “Of course you’d defend him—”

The Master lifted a hand. Silence fell. His gaze found me—kind, but heavy with disappointment. “Well said, Tengen. Let us be respectful. Kyojuro did, in fact, ensure the safety of those passengers.”

“Please, Master, I wasn’t alone in protecting them,” Kyojuro said sincerely. “I had a brave and determined group of slayers—including Sabrina.”

The Master nodded, smiling faintly. “Yes, of course. Everyone did well. Which brings me to my next point.” He turned his blind eyes unerringly toward me. “Sabrina. I gave you leave to rest and adjust here on the condition that you would confide in me when you foresaw danger. Yet instead of coming to me, you acted alone. You disobeyed me.”

My voice trembled, but I forced it steady. “Master… I dreamt of Rengoku’s death. I saw it as clearly as I see this room. I couldn’t—” My throat tightened. “I couldn’t let it happen. I had to go.”

The silence was suffocating. Mitsuri’s eyes filled with tears, hands clutching her haori. “She saved him, Master! She only wanted to protect him.”

Shinobu’s smile was thin, her voice silk with an edge. “And yet she chose not to tell you, Master. She chose not to trust us, and rushed into a battle that could have killed her—or worse.”

Ubuyashiki’s pale eyes softened with sadness. “Yes. That is what wounds me most. Not that you defied me, but that you did not come to me first, Sabrina, as we agreed. Another concern: you revealed your knowledge to Upper Moon Three. They now know what you are capable of. What if he had taken you—if Kyojuro had been a heartbeat slower?”

I bowed low, cheeks burning. “I’m sorry, Master. I… wasn’t thinking. I just couldn’t bear the thought of losing him.”

The words slipped out before I could stop them. My pulse raced.

A flicker moved through the Hashira. Sanemi scoffed loudly; Obanai’s gaze sharpened. Mitsuri’s lip trembled. Tengen’s brows rose.

And Kyojuro—though his expression stayed stern—burned with something unspoken. A fire I couldn’t look at for long.

The Master sighed. “This cannot happen again, Sabrina. You are on their radar now. If Giyu had not alerted me to your absence, I might never have known.”

I blinked and found Giyu’s eyes. “You told him? How did you know?”

“Who cares?” Sanemi scoffed. “That’s not impo—”

Giyu’s voice cut in, calm and low. “I went to check on you last evening, but you were gone. No one had seen you for some time. That is when I alerted the Master.”

Obanai’s head snapped toward him, curious now. “And why, Tomioka, did you take it upon yourself to check her room? She is not your tsuguko.”

“I had questions,” Giyu said simply. “When I realized she was missing, I did what was right.”

A ripple passed through the chamber—curiosity, suspicion, something sharper.

Kyojuro’s jaw tightened. His fiery gaze locked briefly on Giyu. “And what gave you cause to be so attentive to her, Tomioka?” His tone was deceptively calm, steel beneath.

Giyu met his eyes evenly. “Because she is under our care and protection, and she was unaccounted for.”

The tension was palpable—fire against water, both unyielding.

The Master intervened, smoothing the air. “Enough. Giyu did his duty. But this proves the risk. If Sabrina can slip away unnoticed, if she wields knowledge she has not explained…” He let it hang, then settled it with quiet authority. “We cannot allow this again.”

He turned to me, gaze gentle but piercing. “You will remain at the Butterfly Mansion or an approved location until I decide otherwise. You will tell me of these dreams before you act on them. Do you understand?”

My chest constricted, but I bowed low. “Yes, Master.”

“Good.”

His faint smile returned, voice carrying iron. “Children, mark my words. She is not our enemy—not yet. Watch her. Learn from her. Protect her if need be. But do not mistake her compassion for harmlessness. The line between salvation and ruin is thin.”

The Hashira bowed as one, unease simmering like storm clouds. What did he mean by that? My thoughts spiraled. What about the Entertainment District? Should I get involved if Tengen survives?

As the council broke apart, eyes followed me—suspicion, curiosity, awe. But most of all, I felt Kyojuro’s gaze: steady, searing. Protective. Possessive. And a little too aware of the fire I couldn’t hide.

 

The Hashira rose one by one—Mitsuri brushed past with a quick squeeze of my hand, her worried smile faltering under Obanai’s stare. Shinobu bowed sweetly to the Master and glided away, eyes flicking to me with a knowing gleam that made my skin crawl.

I bowed to the Master, murmured thanks, and rose on trembling legs. Outside, cicadas buzzed in the bright morning. I exhaled—until I realized none of the Hashira had left.

They were deep in discussion. Tanjiro reached for my hand and tugged. “We should go.” Unfortunately we had to pass them to reach the Butterfly Mansion. As we walked by, I heard my name.

Rengoku stood at the center, Tengen at his side—tall, unyielding, arms folded. Kyojuro’s eyes didn’t blaze with joy; they burned with something sharper, contained.

“What is your deal, Rengoku?” Sanemi hissed.

“Please, let’s not fight. The Master will be displeased,” Mitsuri pleaded.

“No one is fighting, Mitsuri. Sanemi is overreacting,” Kyojuro said, cool and calm.

“This girl is clouding your judgment,” Sanemi shot back.

“Sabrina isn’t clouding anything, Sanemi. I see her potential, that’s all,” Kyojuro answered.

Sanemi smirked, licking his lips. “Potential, huh. Maybe I should request she stay at my estate. I can learn all about her… potential.”

Before I could blink, Kyojuro’s hand snapped out, wrapping around Sanemi’s throat. “Do not speak about her that way,” Kyojuro snarled, the sound rawer than I’d ever heard—heat flashing through me as surely as it flashed through him.

“What the fuck?” Sanemi choked, his own hand moving to grip Kyojuro’s.

“Stop. Both of you,” Obanai snapped, stepping closer.

Mitsuri’s hands flew to her face in shock, a soft whimper escaping.

Tengen set a hand on Kyojuro’s shoulder. “Easy, buddy. You know fighting between Corps members is forbidden.”

Kyojuro released him. They stared daggers at each other.

At that moment Kyojuro looked at me as Tanjiro tugged me along. We both halted.

A monotone voice sounded behind me. “Sabrina. A word?”

I turned. Giyu Tomioka stood there.

“Uh… sure,” I said, smiling at Tanjiro. He nodded to Giyu and headed off.

Silence stretched. I tried not to notice Kyojuro watching us from across the courtyard—the look on his face sent butterflies climbing my throat. I studied Giyu’s eyes instead: blue as a clear ocean. Why are they all so attractive? The quiet became unbearable.

“You wanted to… speak to me, Giyu?”

He blinked, as if waking. “How are you?” Quiet, clear.

“All things considered? I’m doing well,” I said softly. “This world—the world of demons—is terrifying, but I’m trying.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” He looked down, then up again. “Perhaps we can have tea soon. I’m curious about you—your ability. I’d like to know more. To get to know you.”

I stared, wide-eyed. Giyu wanted to get to know me? I wasn’t opposed. Would it be wrong? No—it’s just tea. “Okay. We can do that.”

He nodded, then glanced over his shoulder toward Kyojuro—probably feeling the heat of that stare.

“You and Rengoku—what is happening between you two?”

I shifted, uncomfortable. “I suppose we’re friends. He’s offered to mentor my friends and me. We’re close… we’ve been through a lot together.”

Giyu hummed low. “He cares for you. He is… possessive of you. How do you feel about that?”

I shuddered, surprised. “I wouldn’t say possessive. More like protective. That’s his nature.”

Giyu raised an eyebrow. “In all my years knowing him, I have never seen him like this. With anyone.”

I wrapped my arms around myself. “I… don’t know what to say to that, Giyu.”

Whether he sensed my discomfort or chose mercy, he stepped closer and lifted his hand to my cheek—his touch cool as riverwater. “When we first met—after Shinobu struck you—you had a moment of clarity and touched me… like this… and called me beautiful,” he said, voice a calm current. “Now I return the favor. You are beautiful, Sabrina.”

I gasped, heat rising. “Giyu…”

The cool where his thumb had been lingered, like shade after noon sun.

He stepped back, face serious. “I will call on you soon. Watch for my crow.” He turned and walked out the gates.

I touched my cheek where his hand had been, still warm. What is happening?

I glanced to Kyojuro. He hadn’t moved. Fire raged in his eyes; his hands were fists. Guilt and confusion coiled in my chest. I knew there was something between us—I’d be an idiot not to notice—and I liked it. I liked him. A lot. But Giyu’s quiet had a pull of its own: river to Kyojuro’s flame.

I shouldn’t be entertaining any of it. I don’t belong here. Maybe I want to go home. Maybe I don’t. Maybe this is the only place where the people I love on a screen can live. If more of them survive, if Muzan falls sooner… would it be so wrong to stay?

I’m so confused and overwhelmed. Everything feels out of control. I hardened my gaze at Kyojuro, putting my defenses back up. I need to stay focused on my goal. I don’t have time for romance, no matter how much my heart longs for it. I noticed he wasn’t the only one watching—Tengen stood beside him, a hand on his shoulder, whispering in his ear. Behind them, Sanemi’s angry eyes tracked me, lip curled in disgust.

I couldn’t stay there another second. I turned and made my way toward the Butterfly Mansion.

I wanted to be alone.

Chapter Text

I wasn’t in a hurry back to the Butterfly Mansion. My steps were light, thoughts drifting as I took in my surroundings. The anime made Japan look enchanting, but being here in person is breathtaking. A soft sigh slipped out. What the hell am I doing?

I sensed it at the last second—a rush of air behind me. I started to turn, hands lifting to guard, but I wasn’t fast enough. Arms locked around my waist and hauled me deeper beneath the wisteria that ringed the property. My back hit a trunk; the breath punched out of me. Cedar and smoke flooded my nose.

Kyojuro.

He caged me there—trembling—one hand iron at my hip, the other braced beside my head. His mouth found the hollow of my neck, breath hot, almost rough. The flowers swayed; their sweetness tangled with his heat.

We stayed like that, hidden, panting into each other’s air. Heat pooled low in my belly. Instinct took over; startled, my palms flattened to the hard plane of his abdomen. Muscle bunched and trembled under my hands with restraint.

A soft whimper escaped when his lips grazed my skin—barely a touch, the ghost of teeth that didn’t bite. A growl rose in his chest. He lifted his head, his mouth brushing my ear.

“I don’t want him touching you again.” Low. Ragged. Dangerous for the restraint threaded through it.

“Kyojuro.” My voice broke on his name.

He drew back just enough to take my chin, angling my face up. Fire burned in his eyes, banked and barely held. “I don’t want Tomioka to touch you again. I don’t want anyone to touch you. Do you understand?”

I fought through the fog. “Kyojuro… I can’t control—”

His palm hit the trunk beside my head. Bark splintered. I flinched; my pulse kicked harder. The heat in my belly coiled tighter, traitorous.

“No one is to touch you,” he growled—then forced a breath, voice dropping, iron wrapped in restraint. “Not even me. Not unless you want it. I… have never struggled with anything the way I do with you. I know I shouldn’t do this—touch you like this. But I can’t… stay away.”

His thumb skimmed my jaw, steadying. “Say stop, and I will stop.”

If I was honest, I didn’t want him to. I wanted him—had always wanted him. Damn the consequences. “Please… don’t stop.”

Something in him eased—and darkened. He leaned until his forehead touched mine. “Look at me.” I did. “If I keep you here, I won’t control myself. I won’t be able to stop.”

He started to pull away. I caught his uniform and tugged him back the inch he’d stolen. “Stay with me.”

Silence. His gaze searched mine, hot as a forge. The hand at my hip tightened once—possessive—and then loosened, careful. “Mine to protect,” he said, the words ground out like a vow. “Not to bruise. Not to break.”

“I’m not easily broken, Kyojuro,” I whispered, breathless.

A groan tore out of him, and my eyes dropped to his mouth. I wanted to kiss him, to taste him—so badly. I trailed my hands from his stomach up over his chest and cupped his cheek. He watched me, intently, as my fingers slid to the back of his neck to draw him down. His arms banded my waist, pressing me to the hard lines of him. I brushed my lips over his; he sucked in a breath—

“Has Sabrina come back yet? Where is she?” Zenitsu’s voice carried along the path, too close.

“I don’t know,” said Tanjiro. “She should have been back by now. Maybe we should walk toward headquarters and see?”

“Well let’s go! The sooner we find her the sooner we get back to training!” Inosuke shouted. Their voices grew nearer.

Kyojuro sighed, frustration roughening the sound, and buried his face in my shoulder. Great timing, guys, I whined in my head.

His knuckles left the bark; he flexed his fingers as though they ached. He pressed one last, deliberate breath against my throat without kissing it—punishment for both of us—then stepped aside, voice roughened but controlled. “Go. Your friends are looking for you.”

He turned away as I took a few unstable steps on trembling legs toward the voices. I had a feeling he didn’t intend to follow. I could imagine how it would look if we emerged together from the trees. I glanced back, questioning. He managed a tight smile. “I… need a moment to compose myself. I will see you again—soon.”

I nodded and left the cover of the wisteria. Now that the heat had ebbed, I felt a little shell-shocked. What the hell am I doing? How far would that have gone? I hadn’t been with anyone in so long. I hadn’t even wanted to. But Kyojuro… I would have given myself to him without hesitation. That was what truly scared me.

I felt his gaze on my back as I stepped onto the path. My friends rounded the bend.

“There you are!” Tanjiro called as they hurried over.

“What were you doing in the trees, Sabrina?” Zenitsu asked, baffled.

I blinked, then waved a hand, aiming for casual. “The wisteria is pretty. I wanted a closer look. Sorry—I didn’t mean to worry you.”

Three sets of eyebrows climbed—then shifted past me toward the tree line. I slipped between them and headed for the front gates. “Come on, guys. Someone mentioned training?”

Inosuke punched the air. “Hell yeah! I’ll race you!” He took off at a sprint. I laughed and chased him, Tanjiro and Zenitsu pounding after us.

A little later, after conditioning drills, I turned to Tanjiro. “What do you think about showing me the Hinokami Kagura?”

He blinked. “You want to learn the Hinokami Kagura?”

I shrugged, suddenly shy. “You don’t have to. I don’t want to disrespect your family’s history. I just… I don’t have a breathing style yet, and I’m starting to think I may never find one. You’ve already taught me so much. I was hoping you wouldn’t mind… showing me more.”

Tanjiro smiled. “Sabrina, I’d be honored. But I’m not confident enough to teach it properly yet. I’m still relearning steps—remembering things I forgot.” He stretched his arms over his shoulders. “Honestly, I’ve already shown you pieces of Hinokami Kagura and Water Breathing. Don’t worry—you’ll get a style. Your katana has changed color.”

Relief flared in my chest. Right—my katana did change colors. Maybe once I chose a path, it would settle again.

I fought a blush. “Maybe we should ask Rengoku to mentor us?”

Tanjiro’s face lit up. “I’d really like that. Should I send my crow and ask him?”

I grinned. “Yes—let’s do it.” I turned to a panting Zenitsu and a sweaty-but-serene Inosuke. “You two in?”

“I will allow Mr. Bug-Eyes to teach me,” Inosuke declared, hands on his hips, chest puffed.

“If you guys want to, then I’ll go too,” Zenitsu whined, flopping flat on his back. “I don’t want to be left behind. Sabrina, why do you want to? After that meeting with the Master and the Hashira, I don’t think they plan to let you out of their sight—let alone on missions.”

I scoffed. “There’s no reason not to get stronger. I don’t even have a breathing style yet--- learning from a Hashira will help. Besides, maybe the Master will change his mind and allow missions. I want to be ready and able to defend myself.”

Zenitsu lifted his hands in surrender. “Okay, I get it—but I doubt it. With your healing and your abilities… it’d be unsafe. Especially if Akaza told Muzan.”

I hummed, uneasy. Muzan already knows—unless Akaza can block him out. Zenitsu might be right; I might never be allowed to leave.

What about the Entertainment District? If Tengen isn’t forced into retirement—if he keeps his eye and his hand—his help in the final battle could save lives. Do I need to be there from the start? Or just arrive at the end and heal? I could tell them who the demons are, where to find them, their blood demon arts, how to kill them. But then… would anyone grow? Would skipping trials change who they become?

I rubbed my eyes, frustrated. I need a plan. I have to decide.

I wiped sweat from my brow and blew out a breath. Rolling a sore shoulder, I picked up my practice sword. “Let’s get back to it.”

I had just settled into my stance when a familiar warmth brushed my back, and a smile lit my face.

“Hard at work, I see!” Kyojuro’s voice was bright and light—nothing like the low growl that had whispered in my ear before.

My friends sprinted over to greet him, stars in their eyes. I tilted my head at the sight, a soft smile tugging at my lips. It was kind of adorable.

Kyojuro smiled at each of the boys before looking to me. The small smile he sent my way made my heart flutter.

“Do you have time to train us today, Rengoku?” Tanjiro asked, practically bouncing on his toes.

Kyojuro patted his shoulder, nodding. “I do. Tomorrow I’ll travel home to see my family for a few days, until I receive new orders.”

Inosuke and Tanjiro practically vibrated with excitement, and even Zenitsu looked interested.

Rengoku shrugged off his haori and hung it over a nearby post. Seeing him in just his uniform—knowing the strength beneath it—sent a spark through me.

Kyojuro clapped once. “Let’s get started!”

After he assigned drills to the boys, he crossed to me. “Sabrina, tell me—what’s your experience?”

I straightened, lifting my chin. “I have martial arts experience—hand-to-hand is my strength. I have some experience with swords; I’m… okay. My friends have shown me a lot, and I’m getting more comfortable.”

Kyojuro looked pleased. “Good. Martial arts is a solid foundation for swordplay, but against demons it’s not ideal—or recommended. Do you have a breathing style?”

I shook my head, my gaze dropping. He lifted my chin with his hand and smiled. “Fear not, little one. There is time. You’re new here and only just starting to understand our world. Do not fret. I have faith in you.”

He didn’t give me time to absorb that before he moved to the rack and chose a wooden sword—a bokken. He cut the air once, then flowed into a stance facing me. “Come. Show me what you can do.”

I grinned, raised my bokken, sank into my stance—and lunged.

My strike met wood with a sharp crack. Kyojuro caught it on the strong of his blade and turned, guiding the force past his hip so cleanly I stumbled a half step.

“Center,” he said, soft. “Breathe.”

I reset. Inhale. Step. Cut. He yielded a fraction, testing. His bokken brushed mine with the gentlest kiss of pressure—then snapped forward. I barely got my guard up. The impact rattled my arms.

“Good,” he murmured. “Again.”

I switched angles, feint high and slice low. He read it like a book, heel pivoting, shoulder relaxed, the tip of his blade finding mine in a neat bind. Heat rolled off him, cedar and something like banked embers.

“Be careful with your shoulders,” he said, eyes bright. “Your hips speak first, the rest will follow.”

I drove in, letting my martial instincts lead—low center, tight footwork. I stepped inside his reach, slid my hand along his blade to jam the guard, and kicked at his ankle to unroot him.

He laughed—pure delight—and let the motion flow, turning my momentum. I spun rather than fall, came back on a short arc aimed at his ribs.

His blade caught mine; his other hand ghosted my wrist. “Here,” he said, voice low enough to curl heat under my skin. He adjusted my angle by a breath. “Now you cut.”

I did. The wood sang. He nodded once, approval flashing like flame.

He pressed, just enough to test my guard. I held, breath steady—then overreached. In a blur he slid past my blade, tapped the hollow below my collarbone with the tip, then withdrew before the touch became a bruise.

“Point,” he said, gentling it with a smile.

“Again,” I answered, already lifting my guard.

We moved faster. The world narrowed to footfalls and breath and the warm rasp of wood on wood. He never struck full force; he could have ended me a dozen times, but he chose precision over power, instruction over dominance. Still, when our blades locked and his gaze pinned mine, the air between us ran hot.

“Look at me,” he said softly.

I did. My next hit landed—clean, controlled—because he’d shown me where to put the heat: not in my shoulders, not in my temper, but in the line of the blade.

He stepped back, lowering his bokken. “Good. Again—and we’ll start you on drills that suit your base.”

“Flame drills?” I asked, breathless, teasing.

His mouth tipped. “Drills that won’t break you.”

“I’m not easily broken,” I said coyly, and his eyes warmed like coals.

“We’ll test that—carefully,” he said, as he went to check on the boys.

From the sidelines, Zenitsu had both hands on his cheeks. “I thought she was going to die—” He froze as I shot him a glare. “Okay, she’s not dying. She’s terrifying.”

Inosuke bounced on the balls of his feet. “She moved your feet, Flame Eyes! Next time she moves your head! Teach me that!”

Tanjiro laughed, happily and proudly. “Nice job, Sabrina!”

Kyojuro’s mouth tipped in a small, approving line as he turned to correct Inosuke’s grip. When he passed behind me, a drift of cedar heat brushed my shoulder; a breath I didn’t realize I was holding slid out slow. Focus, you can do this, make him see you I tell myself—and lifted my bokken for the next drill.

It was hours later when we finally called it a day. My body ached, but I’d never felt so satisfied. Kyojuro was an amazing teacher—no joke. His training was intense; there were moments I wanted to throw myself on the ground and cry, but I didn’t. I stayed focused. I stayed strong. My friends were incredible and encouraged me the whole time. They weren’t strangers to this kind of training, so I’m sure I reminded them of their own first years.

Kyojuro was patient and never let me give up. He had a way of speaking to me that didn’t make me feel weak or lesser—only like a woman striving for greatness.

After Kyojuro called the training to an end, we had a large dinner. I had to force myself to eat—the last thing I wanted—but I managed. Afterward, I needed a soak. Aoi told me about the hot springs at the back of the property. I was giddy with relief and thanked her before hurrying off to gather my things.

I bathed first—scrubbed clean, combed through the tangle of crimson curls, pinned my hair up—then wrapped myself in a towel and took a moment to look at my reflection. My body was changing: muscle carving in, shoulders stronger, arms more defined. My waist had trimmed a little, but the curves remained—hips, thighs, breasts. It had taken years to truly appreciate my body; I wasn’t about to lose that now.

Adjusting the towel, I padded out to the springs, shed the cloth, and slipped in. Heat licked up my skin and a hiss escaped me, followed by a groan as I sank to my collarbones and let the water cradle me.

The sun was sliding down; I closed my eyes and listened to the quiet. I needed the stillness. I needed to think.

The Entertainment District. I wasn’t sure when it would happen—soon, probably. I had no idea how to handle it. I couldn’t go without permission; I didn’t want to find out what the Master would do if I pulled that stunt again. Maybe I wouldn’t need to go. Gyutaro uses poison—could my healing help? Nezuko’s flames could burn it away; then I could heal those injured. But Tengen’s hand and eye… I could heal his eye, maybe, but reattaching a hand? Doubtful.

I opened my eyes to the darkening sky. What if I tell Tengen and the Master? Tell them what I know—where to find Daki and Gyutaro, how to defeat them. Would revealing it stunt everyone’s growth? Change who they’re supposed to become?

I growled at myself and splashed water over my face. “I don’t know what to do.”

“You sound troubled, little one,” came a familiar voice from the other side of a divider that separated the pools.

I jerked, arms crossing over my chest on instinct even though he couldn’t see me. “Kyojuro! You scared me—I thought I was alone.”

A relaxed, low chuckle. “Apologies. I didn’t want to interrupt your thoughts. You seem to be struggling. It isn’t my training, is it?”

“No. Your training was amazing, Kyojuro. I appreciate you taking the time. I hope we can do it again soon.”

“Of course,” he said, easy. “What troubles you, then?”

I sighed. “I’m just… overwhelmed.”

“I’m here to listen,” he offered, voice warm.

I drifted closer to the divider, studying it in contemplation, then folded my arms on the stone lip, resting my cheek there. “Something is going to happen. I don’t know if I should say anything—or let it play out.”

The divider shifted slightly and Kyojuro’s face appeared, hair loose around his shoulders. He slicked it back with one sweep; I tried not to notice the way the muscles in his forearm flexed. He considered me. “If you’ve dreamt anything, you are to tell the Master. You know this.”

“I know, but…” I rubbed my eyes. “It’s hard to explain. I’ve seen one outcome. Many people hurt. Civilians die. The Corps members involved are badly injured… but no one dies. A Hashira is forced into retirement. It’s an epic battle and a lot of growth happens—growth that benefits everyone later. But if we avoid it, we keep a Hashira who might make a difference in the fight against Muzan.”

Kyojuro said nothing, mirroring my posture with his arms folded, chin on his forearms, listening. I tried to not loose myself in gaze and he look at him, his eyes bright. I felt my face heat as I recalled our encounter earlier. Our closeness, how warm he was and how he felt pressed against me, his lips against my skin. I shook my head to get rid of those thoughts and focus.

“If I reveal what I know, everything changes,” I whispered. “What if it’s for the worse?”

“Hmm.” He nodded slowly. “That is a heavy burden.” He reached across the gap, tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear, and traced the curve of my ear lightly. “These slayers in question—they are your friends, aren’t they?”

My eyes fluttered at his touch, and I nodded.

“There is always room for growth,” he said. “Surviving trauma doesn’t guarantee it. Work and dedication do. Perhaps encouraging extra training—time and discipline—will earn that growth without the same cost. Besides, I plan to help however I can.”

“So you think I should tell them? Reveal what I know?” I asked.

“I do,” he said simply. “Tell them what you’re comfortable sharing. Either way, it will benefit them.”

I hummed, thinking. He was right. I didn’t have to tell them everything—just enough. With Kyojuro’s help, maybe we could even start Hashira training early to benefit everyone. “Thank you for listening, Kyojuro. You’ve been so strong through all this. I admire that about you.”

He grinned. “You say that as if you know me.”

I winked. “I know a lot about you, Kyojuro. More than I care to admit.”

He tilted his head, eyes searching. He reached out and slid his fingers over mine, lacing them together, heat bleeding through our joined hands. “Tell me what you know.”

I looked down at our fingers, my voice soft as I enjoyed the feel of his fingers against mine. “You love your family. Your mother was your world, and you protect others in her memory. You have a younger brother—Senjuro. He loves you fiercely. Your father was the former Flame Hashira; you took his place. After your mother died, he… lost himself. He tried to numb himself with sake. He is not the man he once was.”

Kyojuro went very still; his grip tightened. I covered his hand with my free one and stroked my thumb over his skin until his fingers eased.

“I know you stay positive,” I went on softly. “You keep a brave face for Senjuro, no matter how harsh your father’s words are. No matter how much they hurt you. You’re an amazing person, Kyojuro.”

His gaze dipped to my mouth; color rose in his cheeks. “You have dreamt of me.”

“Yes.”

He nodded, eyes lifting to mine again. We held there, quiet, until he spoke. “I feel… strange, Sabrina. Not like myself.”

My brow pinched. “What do you mean?”

His voice was soft, but deep. “I was supposed to die that day. Being that close to death—it can change a person. It’s the only answer I have. Ever since then, all I can think about is you. I… long for you. I worry for you. That someone will steal you in the night and I’ll never see you again.”

Warmth spread through me at his words; a blush crept over my cheeks.

‘I’m not yours to lose,’ I wanted to say. But my fingers only tightened around his. My heart felt like it might jump out of my chest. I wanted him—wanted to be with him—but what would that mean? That I would stay here and never go home? My gut twisted at the thought. I don’t know what I want, but the idea of never seeing Kyojuro—or my friends—again breaks my heart.

Kyojuro smiled. “Come. It is late. We should go.”

I nodded as he slid the divider closed. I slipped out of the spring, reached for my towel, and wrapped it tight around me, tugging the hem where it hit mid-thigh.

“Ready?” Kyojuro asked from behind the divider.

“Yes,” I said, stepping out—then almost swallowed my tongue. Kyojuro was in only a towel. Of course he was. His body showed every hour of training; I tried (and failed) not to let my gaze drift over the ridges of his abs to the V leading down to where the towel sat low on his hips. Heat rolled through me. Kyojuro’s eyes trailed over me, too, before he caught himself and turned away.

“I’m sorry. That was inappropriate of me.”

I giggled. “I’m guilty of the same, Kyojuro. It’s okay.”

Kyojuro smirked at me, a light tone to his voice, “Oh really?”

He caught my wrist and drew me in, an arm sliding around my waist. When he pressed me to him, my hands flew to his chest to keep from stumbling into him. He bent, voice a rough purr at my ear.

“Do you like what you see, Sabrina?”

“K… Kyojuro,” I breathed, staring up at him.

His rough fingers held my chin, keeping my eyes on his. His gaze flicked over my face and settled on my mouth. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

I could think of nothing else but the truth. “Kiss me, Kyojuro.”

He leaned in—first a feather-light brush, then his mouth pressed to mine. Our lips fit; I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him closer. We broke for a breath, eyes locking, then crashed back together. I parted for him, my tongue tracing his lower lip; he groaned and opened to me. Heat surged as he met me stroke for stroke, tasting, taking. My fingers slid into his hair—softer than I expected—and he hissed softly when I tugged.

A heartbeat later his body jerked. He tore away and eased me behind him. I was still dizzy when a voice cut through the steam, rough with venom and disdain.

“So that’s why you’re so protective of her.”

I peered around Kyojuro’s shoulder. Sanemi stood at the edge of the stones wearing only a towel, arms crossed. Scars laddered his chest and stomach—some deep, some long-healed, all brutal. His expression was unreadable, caught somewhere between mockery and something darker.

“You’re out of line, Shinazugawa,” Kyojuro said, not taking his eyes off him.

The air tightened. The last thing I wanted was something the Master would have to settle. I checked that my towel was still secure after our kissing, then set my palm on Kyojuro’s tense forearm and stepped around him.

“Good evening, Shinazugawa. Please—take the spring. We were just leaving.”

Sanemi looked down at me, a wicked smirk curving his mouth. “Oh, don’t stop on my account. Keep going. I was enjoying the show. Thinking of joining in—since it looks like you’re planning to work your way through the Hashira.”

My jaw dropped; heat flashed up my neck—equal parts embarrassment and anger. “Watch your mouth. You will not speak to me that way.”

Kyojuro slid between us again, shoulders squared. “You will show her respect.”

Sanemi only shrugged, eyes staying on me. “Just pointing out the obvious. She’s getting cozy with Tomioka already, and now she’s got her lips all over you, Rengoku. Didn’t think you’d be opposed to sharing.”

Heat flared up my neck. Leave it to Shinazugawa to ruin the moment and make me feel like dirt.

“You’re an asshole, Shinazugawa,” I snapped, pushing past him toward the exit.

“What? Don’t I get a kiss goodnight too?” he called, laughter following me out.

I thought about waiting for Kyojuro, then decided against it. I grabbed the robe waiting by the door and headed straight back to the main estate and my room.

I didn’t emerge until morning, dressed in black hakama pants and a white shirt, loose fitting and stopping at top of my hips, hair pulled into a high ponytail, hair reaching to mid-back, sword belted at my hip. I needed Tanjiro—if I could borrow his crow, I’d request an audience with the Master. But the commotion ahead told me I might be too late.

“You may take Sabrina with you to assist on this mission,” the crow cawed. “Meet with the Stone and Insect Hashira. Heal and recovery only. Do not engage. Protect Sabrina and return to headquarters.”

As I turned the corner, Tanjiro, Zenitsu, and Inosuke looked my way. The crow that had given the order blinked its beady eyes at me, then took off.

Inosuke cackled, thrilled. “Looks like they’re letting you off your leash, Red!”

I grinned. “Finally! Let’s go—you can fill me in on the way.”

We followed Tanjiro’s crow and Zenitsu’s sparrow as they briefed us. The demon had already been destroyed, but many were injured—some too critical to move. Shinobu and Gyomei were on site and said the area was secure. That was the only reason the Master allowed me to leave the Butterfly Mansion—plus the fact I’d be with my friends and Nezuko.

I remembered in the anime series that Tanjiro had a few missions before the Entertainment District, so I’d still have time to speak with the Master after we returned.

We ran the last few hours. To my surprise, my endurance kept pace easily.

We reached a clearing where the Kakushi had set up a temporary medical station. About five Kakushi moved in efficient loops with baskets of bandages and supplies. Shinobu stood at the center, directing support. Slayers lay on stretchers or sat propped against crates; six on stretchers were in bad shape. A few others limped or helped, wrapped in their own bandages. Off to the side, the mountain of a man—Gyomei Himejima—faced the treeline, prayer beads moving, brow drawn.

We were in the thick of the woods, large trees reaching high, creating a lot of shade blocking the sun. The sun light peak through some spots but for the most part it was shaded.

I hurried to Shinobu, adjusting my sword while my friends veered toward Gyomei.

“Where do you need me?” I asked, taking in the wounded at a glance.

Relief softened Shinobu’s eyes. She led me to the six most critical. “These slayers are dying. We’ve stabilized them as best we can, but they won’t make the trip to the Butterfly Mansion. Focus on these six—we’ll handle the rest.”

I knelt at the first stretcher. Some chests rose in rasps; others heaved in sharp, pained gasps. All were bandaged and bloody.

I called the warm light. Tattoos on my arm flared first, then the glow spread across my skin. I pressed my hand to the first slayer, guiding light into torn flesh. He exhaled on a gasp of relief, eyes fluttering open. When I was satisfied, I moved to the next. Shinobu trailed, checking each patient after I finished, murmuring in that soft voice of hers.

One by one, the worst injuries knit closed.

After the last, I tried to stand. The world tipped. I pitched forward—and strong arms caught me.

“Sabrina, are you alright?” Tanjiro eased me to the ground, pulling me close. The six I’d healed were being helped upright now, looking around dazed before their gazes found me.

“Yeah,” I said, breathless. “Just tired. Give me a minute.”

Shinobu handed me a canteen of cool water. I drank deeply.

“You did well,” she said, smiling. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” I managed a tired grin. “It feels good to get out and make a difference.”

Gyomei’s shadow fell over me as he stepped in front of us. I craned my head back to meet his calm, serene face. “A marvelous gift,” he rumbled gently. “Thank you.”

“Caw! Emergency! Demons spotted in the village down below! Hashira, please hurry!”

The crow wheeled into the trees, already signaling ahead.

Gyomei and Shinobu traded a look, then turned to me.

“Be on guard,” Gyomei said, voice deep and certain. “We’ll be back soon.” To my friends: “Boys, you’re responsible for Sabrina. Stay together. Pack up and head back. Other Hashira are nearby; we’ll call them to meet you if they’re available.”

“Yes, sir,” we chorused. Gyomei and Shinobu broke into a run.

Within five minutes, the Kakushi had everything packed. Most of the lightly injured could walk; the six I’d healed stood on their own, hovering near us with hands on their hilts, still a little stunned.

Zenitsu offered to carry me, but I waved him off. Once my legs were moving, I felt fine.

Then a chill threaded the clearing. Conversation died. I wasn’t the only one to feel it—Tanjiro and Inosuke edged closer, and Zenitsu’s trembling form pressed into my back.

“Wh… what is that?” Tanjiro whispered, tightening his grip on his sword.

I didn’t know. But something was here.

He stepped from the trees: long dark-red hair tied high, six eyes studying me with cool curiosity. My insides iced over.

My voice was a broken whisper. “…Kokushibo.”

What is Kokushibo doing here?

“A demon!” Inosuke hissed, moving to charge. I grabbed him, yanking him back. Tanjiro went to move, too—I caught his hand, and I’m sure he felt the tremor in my grip.

“Don’t.” My voice shook.

I turned to the other slayers behind us, all staring between Kokushibo and me as they stood protectively in front of the Kakushi. Steel rasped; several drew their swords. They were ready to engage if needed.

They would be massacred.

I tried to keep my voice steady. (Judging by their faces, I wasn’t doing a great job.) “Send your crows. Alert the Hashira—as many as you can. Tell them we have an Upper Moon.”

They blinked, startled.

“Now!” I snapped. Feet scrambled; black wings burst up in a staggered wave. I faced forward again. Kokushibo watched only me, the others around me reduced to furniture, no importance to him. I eased a step to block Tanjiro from his view; if Kokushibo connected those hanafuda earrings to Yoriichi…

Tanjiro’s voice was hushed, confused. “Sabrina?”

“Don’t let him see your earrings,” I breathed. “Don’t draw attention to yourself.”

He wanted to ask more; he didn’t get the chance.

Inosuke growled, “Come on, Red. Let’s kill that filthy demon! Why are you hesitating?”

“Wait,” Tanjiro said, burgundy eyes searching my face. “Sabrina—you know something. Who is he?”

“He’s powerful. Dangerous. We can’t fight him,” I said, throat tight. “We won’t win. That’s Kokushibo. Upper Moon One.”

Tanjiro’s eyes widened. “Upper Moon One? Is that why this… dread is so heavy?” He inhaled, face tightening. “He smells like cold steel and old blood. Stronger than Akaza?”

“Yes. He’s the closest to Muzan in power. We are in trouble.” The words tumbled out; my thoughts thinned to a whisper. “This is too soon. We need more time. We’re not ready to fight him. And the ones who are supposed to fight him aren’t even here. What do we do?”

Tanjiro’s jaw set. “He smells the most like Muzan. Sabrina, have you seen him in your dreams?”

I didn’t answer—thinking, calculating. I looked around realizing that because of the trees the sun couldn’t break through. The sun will not be our ally.

Zenitsu whimpered. “We can’t protect everyone from him. If the Hashira don’t come soon—we’re dead.”

Inosuke bared his blades. “If he’s so powerful, why hasn’t he attacked? He’s just standing there—being creepy.”

I frowned. He was right. Why is he waiting?

I took a few steps forward, leaving my sword at my hip. It wouldn’t help. I needed to stall. “We’re surprised to see you, Kokushibo. To what do we owe this pleasure?”

He blinked—then vanished.

He reappeared a few feet in front of me. I flinched before I could stop it. My pulse thundered as I forced myself to hold ground.

“What do you want?” I asked, keeping my gaze on those six eyes.

His stare skimmed me, pausing on my tattoo. I didn’t see him move before his fingers closed around my wrist. Light sparked along the marking, reacting to his touch. I reached for my power, but after healing those slayers, I was spent. I lifted my free hand to keep my friends back.

He drew my arm closer, studying the fading glow. His grip was unyielding but not cruel. “You are the one he seeks,” he said at last, voice so deep it raised goosebumps. “I was… curious.” His other hand brushed through my hair; I held my breath. “Your hair… is the color of blood.”

He released me. I stepped back, cradling my wrist. Confusion burned through the fear. I wasn’t as familiar with Kokushibo as the others, but this didn’t feel like normal behavior. The way his six eyes roved over me—as if searching for a secret—made my skin crawl.

“I was told you know things,” he continued. “The fact that you know my name and who I am proves it. There are whispers of you being a prophet. Also, Akaza has acted strange since meeting you. He hides. I want to know why.”

A small warmth flickered in my gut. Maybe Akaza took my words to heart. Maybe he found a way to block Muzan. “How would I know?” I shrugged. “Our conversation was brief. Ask him yourself.”

A low sound in his throat at my answer. We measured each other in silence. His stillness was suffocating; my heartbeat pounded in my ears.

“Kokushibo, I don’t understand what’s happening. Why are we still alive?” I asked. “Why haven’t you taken me?” I would imagine that Muzan would be enraged if Kokushibo had me in his grasp but didn’t take me. Maybe Kokushibo is powerful enough to block Muzan. He is a powerful demon.

He considered, then answered—flat, unbothered. “You are not my mission to complete. That was assigned to the Lower Moons. I was merely curious.”

Tension bled from my shoulders. So, we were safe—on a technicality. “So, you won’t hurt us?” I tried not to sound hopeful.

His face darkened, eyes gleaming. “Don’t sound so hopeful, girl. I won’t hurt you… for now. But the others—I will kill. They are slayers. They are my sustenance—my enemy. I cannot allow them to live.”

He stepped to go around me. My friends tensed. Behind us, the Kakushi and slayers whispered prayers.

I moved into his path, hands out. “No. Please. They’re under my care. My responsibility. Don’t hurt them.”

His lip curled. “You waste your gift on the weak. By that reason alone—they die.”

“No—wait.” Anger sharpened my voice. “You once prided yourself on honor—on strength. Killing those who pose no challenge isn’t strength. It’s cowardice.”

He went still, then turned back. “You speak as if you know me. What do you know, girl?”

I held his gaze. I’d tell him something if it would buy us time. I sifted through everything I knew.

Amusement—faint and strange—touched his mouth as he watched my face. His stance loosened. “Brave,” he said. “And foolish. Very well. A bargain. Shock me with knowledge of myself, and I’ll let these weaklings live. I’ll let you all go.”

I glanced back. My friends’ faces were a knot of fear and trust. Beyond them, the slayers and Kakushi vibrated with panic. I listened for wings, footsteps—nothing but wind in leaves.

Cold sweat broke along my spine. “Can I trust the word of a demon? You’ll keep it?”

“On my honor,” he grumbled, annoyed I’d ask. (As if he had much honor left.) But what choice did I have?

“Deal,” I said. “And if you don’t like what I say, no retaliation.”

He nodded once. “Surprise me.” He opened his hands in invitation.

I took a breath. “Your human name was Michikatsu Tsugikuni. You left your wife and two sons to join the Corps with your twin brother, Yoriichi. You served during the Sengoku era. Your breathing style is Moon Breathing.”

He didn’t move. He only listened.

“You hated your brother,” I continued, gentler. “You were jealous of his talent—of Sun Breathing—of how it came so easily.”

His hand tightened on his hilt. I kept going.

“When you awakened your mark, you knew you’d die young. When Muzan found you, you accepted his offer and became a demon. You searched for Yoriichi for years. When you finally found him, he was an old man. You drew your blade, but he died before you could kill him. You slashed his body in anger. As he turned to dust, something fell from his robes.”

Kokushibo went rigid, six eyes wide.

“A wooden flute,” I said softly. “The one you made him as a child. He kept it all those years. Where is it now, Kokushibo?”

His hand twitched toward the inner fold of his robe.

“You carry it with you,” I added, as gently as I could. “How very human of you.”

He surged forward, fingers locking around my throat. My feet left the ground.

“How could you possibly know that?” he snarled, voice like ice. “Who are you? What are you?”

I clawed at his wrist. His nails were cool and sharp against my skin; his breath smelled like iron. “W… we… had a… deal.” Under his grip, my mark flared once, then guttered out like a candle.

A crow’s shriek cut overhead. “Hashira are here! Many Hashira to engage Upper Moon! Caw!”

Kokushibo bared his teeth at the sky, then looked down at me. For a heartbeat I thought he’d rip my throat out. A small, helpless sound escaped me as I scrabbled at his hand. He watched me struggle—then tossed me back into my friends. They caught me with a grunt, arms closing around me. Air rushed into my lungs in burning gulps.

With a final glance, he turned and walked—unhurried—into the trees.

The opposite treeline exploded as the Hashira broke through, scanning before rushing to us. Gyomei and Sanemi stopped first. Gyomei knelt, his heavy hand steady on my shoulder. “What happened?” he asked, voice gentle but grave.

Behind them, Shinobu was already checking the other slayers. Giyu Tomioka stared toward the path Kokushibo had taken, before looking toward me.

Sanemi’s gaze dropped to the bruises forming on my neck, then met mine. I couldn’t read his expression.

“Kokushibo,” I rasped, pointing. “Upper Moon One. That way. Hurry—before he calls others or disappears.”

Gyomei and Sanemi locked eyes. Sanemi turned to Shinobu and Giyu. “You stay here—”

“No.” I forced the word past the ache. “It’ll take all of you to bring him down. We’ll be fine. Go.”

One look passed among the four of them—and they were gone, streaking into the trees. The odds of catching him were slim. Part of me hoped they wouldn’t.

“Sabrina, are you okay? Can you heal yourself?” Tanjiro asked quietly.

I reached for the light. It flickered and died. I shook my head. “Not… now. I need time.”

He rubbed my back and called for water. Slayers crowded close—some thanking me, some patting my shoulder. My friends hovered, protective. When a Kakushi brought water, I drank, hissing as the cold hit my raw throat. She touched my shoulder, eyes worried. I nodded. She started to walk away, then turned back and bowed.

“Thank you. You saved our lives. If that demon attacked, we wouldn’t have made it.”

I blinked, then managed to put on a small smile and nod. Other Kakushi echoed her; the six slayers I’d healed came over to thank me as well. Heat crept up my cheeks.

An hour crawled by. Worry gnawed. I rested my head on Tanjiro’s shoulder; Inosuke’s warmth pressed at my back; Zenitsu leaned into my other side. Nezuko climbed into my lap, tucking small and quiet. I was glad Kokushibo hadn’t seen her.

Tanjiro held my hand, thumb absently stroking my skin.

“What are you thinking, Tanjiro?” I asked. He looked up, pain flickering in his eyes.

“When will you tell us what you know, Sabrina? It seems like you’re keeping things from us. Don’t you trust us?”

I swallowed, torn. “It’s not about trust, I promise. Kokushibo was a surprise—he shouldn’t have been here. I was unprepared.” I drew a breath, aware of Zenitsu and Inosuke listening. “I planned to sit with the Master after we returned. I have information to share. But I’m scared—scared that my being here will change everything… for the worse. I’m trying to be careful.”

Zenitsu’s voice trembled. “You’ve seen the outcome of the final battle, haven’t you? You know what happens.”

“I’ve seen a possible outcome,” I said softly. “It comes at a high cost. We lose a lot of people, but we win. I’m hoping to save as many as I can. The first person I needed to save was Kyojuro—but there are more. I’m afraid of changing the wrong thing.”

“So you know more than you’ve said.” Tanjiro’s hurt was plain. “Why haven’t you told us?”

I laced my fingers with his, then reached for Zenitsu’s hand, too. I leaned my full weight into Inosuke’s back. He grunted but stayed.

“There are milestones you reach because of the loss of important people and desperation—the need to survive. If I told you the outcomes of future fights, you might not reach your full potential in the end. It would be my fault. I couldn’t bear that.”

I squeezed their hands. “I don’t feel that way anymore. I plan to open up—to tell the Master what I can so he can prepare. But you still have to work hard. Train hard. You have the potential to be great—Hashira level.” Zenitsu shifted, uneasy. I pulled him closer and rested my head on his shoulder. “Even you, Zenitsu. Believe in yourself. And keep working on your new form.” I winked at him. “It will make a difference.”

He jerked, eyes wide as he looked at me, then smiled—small but real. A soft laugh slipped out of him.

Inosuke thumped his chest. “I’m all about getting stronger!”

Nezuko cooed, throwing tiny arms up in agreement. I giggled and tickled her. Tanjiro was oddly quiet; when I looked over, he was just watching me, emotions flickering like lantern light. He bumped my shoulder with a small smile.

The Hashira returned a short time later, uninjured. Sanemi’s snarl said enough: Kokushibo was gone.

Shinobu knelt beside me and checked my throat while Tanjiro explained. “She’s too drained to heal herself,” he said. “She needs rest.” Shinobu gave me something for the pain; the burn eased.

“Come,” Gyomei said, voice firm. “We have much to discuss with the Master. You four”—he pointed to us—“will accompany us.”

I dusted dirt from my clothes and started after them. Heat crawled along my neck; I looked up. Sanemi Shinazugawa stood off to the side, arms crossed over his scarred chest, eyes burning into me. His gaze dipped to my bruised throat, then met mine again. A shiver chased down my spine. He seemed to be searching for something.

A throat cleared near me. I turned to see Giyu appeared to be waiting for me. He was sending Sanemi a hard look, one I couldn’t read before he looked at me, his deep blue eyes shining bright.

I smiled at him as I walked to join him and followed the others, choosing to ignore whatever that had been with the Wind Hashira. I still hadn’t forgiven Sanemi for what he said at the hot springs—or how it made me feel.

I just needed to make it to headquarters.

Chapter Text

It was quiet—though not uncomfortable—as Giyu and I walked side by side. I wasn’t sure what to say. I wasn’t sure if his request for tea was more than it sounded like. With whatever is happening between Kyojuro and me, I didn’t want to lead Giyu on or cause tension. But I couldn’t deny I’ve always been attracted to him. He’s beautiful—and when I think about it, Muzan was only ever defeatable because Giyu spared a young boy and his demon sister.

I admire him for that. He stands by what he believes is right, no matter who opposes him. He’s honorable—much like Kyojuro.

Giyu’s gaze kept dipping to my throat, concern clouding his eyes. “Are you alright?”

I nodded. “Yes. Once I rest, it will heal. Don’t worry.”

He inclined his head, then glanced over his shoulder. “Shinazugawa is upset. He looks at you with disdain.”

A sigh slipped out. “Yeah. He doesn’t like me. He said… something I didn’t appreciate. I may have called him an asshole.”

The corner of Giyu’s mouth ticked up. “That would do it.” He looked ahead again. “Would you have dinner with me tonight?”

My pulse jumped; my stomach knotted. “As friends… or a date?”

The way he watched me was unnerving—like he knew exactly how I felt and was quietly pleased by it. His voice came low and even. “What would you like us to be, Sabrina?”

Heat climbed my face. I stumbled over a loose rock, and he caught me easily, hands firm on my arms. We stopped. Looked at each other.

It took me a moment to find words. I felt awful—because of Kyojuro—and because I still wanted to say yes to Giyu. I like them both. And I knew Kyojuro would be upset if he found out. But I still wanted to go.

Giyu’s fingers traced down the side of my face as he waited, patient. “Giyu,” I said finally, “I need to be honest. I like Kyojuro. I care for him. And I think he likes me, too. I want to have dinner with you, but...” I sighed heavily. “I needed you to know that before we continue any further.”

He studied my face. “Are you together? Officially?”

I frowned. “Well… no.” Kyojuro and I haven’t even talked about what we are exactly. Are we anything? There is an attraction, there is no doubt, but it that it? Is it just in the thrill of the moment? Or something more?

“Then I still have a chance,” he said, confident but not unkind. “It’s only dinner to get to know you. I won’t push for anything. I respect Rengoku—but it’s only fair I have a chance since I met you first.”

I narrowed my eyes. “No one has a claim on me, Giyu. I choose who I want, if I want anyone.”

A low sound hummed in his throat. He tucked a loose piece of hair behind my ear. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean it that way. I wish to know you. I have questions about you. I want to know you. Have dinner with me.”

I exhaled, tension easing. In all honestly, I was surprised and impressed. I am not use to receiving so much male attention. I can’t deny that I like it. God, what does that say about me? Also, I don’t recall Giyu being this assertive or insistent in the anime. It is very attractive. “Okay. Let’s have dinner.”

I turned to catch up to the others, but Giyu caught my wrist and drew me gently against his chest. “Giyu, wh—”

His hand tipped my chin; his thumb brushed my lower lip. I gasped softly, lips parting. His eyes were ocean-dark with intent. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed how you look at me, Sabrina. How your breath changes. I acknowledge that you’re drawn to Kyojuro… but you’re also drawn to me. I only want time with you. Like Rengoku.”

What do I say to that? My answer came out a breath. “Okay…”

He lingered a heartbeat longer, eyes fixed on my mouth, then let me go. He straightened and set a warm hand at my lower back, steering me toward headquarters.

 

By the time we reached headquarters, the others were waiting outside.

Tanjiro’s brows rose when he saw my company, but he said nothing. Zenitsu looked devastated; Inosuke didn’t care, more interested in which Hashira he could challenge next.

Sanemi stood with Obanai, clearly telling him what happened. The looks they cut my way made my skin prickle. Mitsuri hovered near, clearly catching pieces of their conversation; she offered me a small, nervous smile.

Shinobu stood by Gyomei—ridiculous, the size difference—speaking in low tones. Muichiro standing near them, eyes glazed over, lost in the sky.

I felt him before I saw him. That heat. I glanced over to find Kyojuro, arms folded across his chest beside Tengen, who was leaning against the engawa railing. Tengen was talking animatedly, but he broke off when he saw Giyu at my side. His gaze flicked between Kyojuro and me. Even he looked… wary.

Tension pulled tight over Kyojuro’s frame. His hands gripped his forearms. His eyes were bright, but there was no smile. His face was carved into something I hadn’t seen on him—not even with Akaza—and the sight of it did something low and traitorous in my belly. Heat crept up my neck as he kept staring—until our stare broke.

“Tch… took you long enough,” Sanemi drawled. “Did you get lost? Or decide to… get to know each other better?”

My face burned. I straightened. “Do you ever get tired of being a jerk, Sanemi?”

His smirk deepened. “Just stating the obvious. You two seemed pretty close earlier. I guess I was right. Rengoku doesn’t mind sharing what he considers to be his.” His eyes slid to Kyojuro, a smugness in his expression, then back to me.

My fists clenched and I took a step toward him. “You can go f—”

Giyu’s forearm came across my middle and stopped me. His fingers spread lightly against my stomach; my breath hitched. “Enough, Sanemi,” he said, voice smooth but steel-backed. “We have more important business—or did you forget we just encountered Upper Moon One?”

A ripple of surprise moved through the Hashira at Giyu’s bluntness.

Gyomei stepped forward, presence drawing the air tight. “Tomioka is right.” He turned to me. “Sabrina, with me. The Master would like to speak with you alone first.”

Giyu lowered his arm. I stepped forward, following Gyomei—and couldn’t stop myself from glancing back. Kyojuro watched me, something unreadable burning in his eyes. I shut my eyes a moment and forced out a breath. What am I doing?

 

Candles flickered in the main room. I knelt a short distance from the Master. I wasn’t surprised when Gyomei took the seat to his right.

“Hello, Sabrina,” the Master said, voice gentle. “Are you well? I understand there was… excitement on the mission I sent you on.”

“Yes, sir. Upper Moon One—Kokushibo.”

“I’m relieved he left you mostly unharmed—as well as the others. Can you tell me what happened?”

I breathed, trying to steady my pulse. His presence soothed, but I was still scared. I told him what happened—what was said. He listened, nodding thoughtfully.

“So,” he murmured, “you have dreamed of the Upper Moons? Is there anything you can tell me that would aid our fight?” His voice softened—almost pleading.

I looked from Gyomei back to the Master. Please let this be the right choice.

“Yes, sir,” I said, keeping my voice firm, “but I have to stress—events can change. I know… a lot. I know your plans. That you intend to use yourself as bait to lure Muzan.”

My hands folded in my lap as I watched his face. Surprise flickered and smoothed.

“I’ll share some of what’s coming,” I went on, “hoping the outcome changes. Please understand—besides Muzan’s downfall, my goal is to save as many Corps members as possible. In the final battle… many are lost.”

“Are we victorious?” the Master asked quietly.

“Yes—but barely. Only two of your Hashira survive. Most members are killed.”

A sigh left him; his shoulders sank. “I did not want that. My children deserve long lives. My heart feels heavy hearing this.”

Gyomei’s deep voice was steady. “It would be for a worthy cause, Master. We would gladly give our lives to defeat Muzan.”

The Master offered him a small, sad smile. “I know, Gyomei. But now that we have Sabrina, we can change that.”

“Yes, Master.”

Warmth tickled over my bruised neck—the faint stir of my power returning. A thought tugged at me. Later, I told myself.

“What else can you tell me, Sabrina?” the Master asked.

An hour later, I finally stopped. The room was quiet as they digested it.

“Thank you,” the Master said. “This will help us. If you have other dreams—or anything—you’ll tell me at once.”

“Of course.” I had given him a lot, but not all.

“Will you tell the Hashira or should I?” I asked. “If you’d rather I didn’t, I’ll obey.”

“I’ll tell them some,” he said. “But I think it’s best you share what you know about Tengen’s mission. I’d rather not lose my Sound Hashira if it can be helped. He worries for his wives—there’s been no word.”

“Of course.”

The Master tilted his head toward Gyomei. “If you would, please ask the others to come in. We have much to discuss.”

It didn’t take long for everyone to gather. The Master asked me to sit near him, facing the Hashira and my friends. Incense thinned in a gentle draft; the paper shoji clicked softly as a crow settled somewhere along the eaves. Tatami straw scented the room.

“Thank you for your patience, my children,” Master Ubuyashiki said. He paused, prayer beads soft against Gyomei’s palm—stone on stone, a calm rasp. “Sabrina and I had much to discuss. First, I will be implementing Hashira Training for all Corps members. If you are not on a mission, I expect you to host training sessions at your estate. I’ll leave the structure to each of you. These sessions will be essential to our victory over Muzan and will strengthen us as a whole.”

I scanned their faces. No one looked opposed—not even Sanemi or Obanai. Expressions were set, attentive. Kyojuro’s gaze hooked mine; his forearms flexed once, then went very still. I held, then looked away.

“Sabrina has shared information with me that I wish to share with you,” the Master continued, letting a breath settle the room.

“Tch… please, Master,” Sanemi said, thumb skating absently across an old scar as he glared at me. “You can’t put weight on this girl and her witchy tricks. We shouldn’t trust her blindly.”

“Haven’t I proven enough, Sanemi—or do you want more proof?” I said, my pulse ticking in my throat.

Before he could bite back, Shinobu’s voice cut in—pleasant, edged. “Do you know what demon killed my older sister?”

Silence gathered. Her smile didn’t move, but something in her eyes did.

“Apologies, Master,” she added softly. “If we are to trust her, I need proof. Even though I have seen her abilities firsthand it is still difficult to believe.”

The Master inclined his head to me. A beat of incense smoke spiraled and thinned.

“Gyomei Himejima saved you and your sister from a demon after your parents were killed,” I said. “Your older sister, Kanae, was the Flower Hashira before her death. Douma, Upper Moon Two, killed her. He fights with golden fans. His Blood Demon Art is cryokinesis—he creates ice and frost from his own blood and flesh. He has rainbow eyes and blond hair. You’ve been experimenting with poisons and injecting yourself; if you cannot defeat him outright, you plan to be absorbed and kill him from within.”

Mitsuri gasped and reached for Shinobu’s hand. Shinobu’s smile slipped—eyes widening, breath held. Guilt pricked for my bluntness, but the room needed truth.

“Anyone else doubt me?” I asked, palms flat to my hakama pants to steady the heat crawling up my neck.

Sanemi scoffed, but appeared amused. “You’re a cocky little thing, aren’t you?”

I tilted my head. “Feeling brave, Shinazugawa?”

He rolled his eyes. “Fine. What do you know?”

Let’s go for the shock factor, shall we? “You killed your mother,” I said gently.

Cold drained the air. The crow outside shifted; the shoji clicked again.

“Your father was a drunk, an abuser,” I went on, softer. “Your mother protected you and your six younger siblings. Your father was murdered by someone he owed money to, and you were happier without him. When your mother didn’t come home one night, you went looking for her, leaving Genya and your other siblings alone. That night, your mother was turned into a demon; she killed your siblings—everyone but Genya. You killed her with a hatchet to save him. Genya found you over her body and called you a murderer. He’s tried to apologize to you ever since.”

Sanemi moved—too fast to track—and suddenly he was in front of me, hand reaching out to me. I didn’t breathe.

Kyojuro and Giyu were already there, flanking me, shoulders angled forward, hands flexing at their sides. Heat like cedar-smoke pressed at my back—Kyojuro—and a cool steadiness like river water slid in at my left—Giyu. The room tightened, the rasp of Gyomei’s beads the only sound.

Sanemi’s lip curled, his voice cruel. “Well. Looks like she’s got you two well trained.”

Shame burned my cheeks, unearned and stubborn.

“Sanemi.” The Master’s voice was mild, iron under silk. “That is enough.”

Sanemi’s gaze dragged over Kyojuro and Giyu, then cut to me. He snorted and stalked back to his place.

“Sanemi?” I kept my voice low, hands open on my knees. He paused, one brow lifting when he turned.

“I know what you did up until you started your training for becoming a demon slayer. I know you used your blood as bait so you could kill demons. I can’t imagine what you’ve lived through, and it isn’t my place to tell you how to carry it. But… please stop pushing Genya away.” His breath hitched. He started to speak; I lifted a hand. “Please. I am only trying to help. Treasure him while you can. One day, he might not be there, and the regret will crush you.”

He turned his head away, his face and body like stone. I let my shoulders drop a fraction. I tried, Genya, hopefully that helps.

The Master let a beat pass. “Sabrina has seen a possible future for the Demon Slayer Corps. I ask that you refrain from pressing her for details. We will change the outcome for the better—that is my promise. If you wish to discuss your pasts with Sabrina, and she is willing to share, that is acceptable. I will share what must be shared at the right time, when it will not endanger our aims.”

He turned slightly. “Now—Tengen. Sabrina has shared information about your mission in the Entertainment District.”

Tengen tilted his head; jewels caught candlelight, casting little sparks across the floor.

“Your wives will be caught by the demon you’re hunting,” I said. “They’re alive—for now—but Hinatsuru will need help because she ingested poison.”

Tengen straightened, eyes widened.

“You’ll face Upper Rank Six: Daki—also called Warabihime—an oiran at Kyogoku House. She isn’t the true threat. Her brother, Gyutaro, is fused with her. He fights with poisoned sickles. To kill them, you must sever both heads at once.”

Everyone was still as they listened. Tengen readjusted himself as he listened, his eyes watching me closely. “What else can you tell me?”

I rubbed my hands together, slightly cold. Of all the demons, I feel I understand Daki and Gyutaro the most. Their story is so sad, and I recall feeling enraged on their behalf. Why would people do that to children? The only one that was willing to help them was fucking Douma. No one took pity on them, as Gyutaro cradled his little sister’s burnt body to him, still alive. All because she didn’t want a grown man to touch her. She was only a child, as was he. I know that doesn’t excuse their crimes now, but still.

“Be careful. They are not to be underestimated. Daki’s blood demon art allows her to create obi sashes from her flesh and can freely manipulate them at will. Gyutaro is more powerful than his sister, and he protects her fiercely because of it. Trying to separate them from each other would be best, but that would be up to you. They won’t realize that you know the information I give you. You could use that against them.”

“You’ve seen this battle? The outcome?” Tengen asked.

I glanced at the Master; he nodded.

“Yes, I have. You along with Tanjiro, Nezuko, Zenitsu, and Inosuke defeat them,” I said. “But the district is destroyed. Many civilians die. All of you are badly hurt. Tengen, you survive—but you lose a hand and an eye and retire.”

I swallowed, mouth dry. “I’m telling you this so you can prepare—so you can stay for the final battle against Muzan and the Upper Moons. We need every Hashira we can keep.”

Tengen blew out a breath and nodded once. “Got it. I’ll make the flashiest plan yet.”

The Master inclined his head, letting silence settle, steady as Gyomei’s beads. “Then we prepare.”

Kyojuro’s jaw unlocked by a hair, the ridge of tension he’d been carrying easing. His gaze flicked to the bruises at my throat—heat flared, then banked—before his hand left his hilt and flattened on his thigh, deliberate restraint.

Giyu was already watching. He stepped a quiet half-pace closer, river-cool and steady, eyes skimming my neck, then tipping once in a small, private nod.

Between them I felt it again—the contrast of cedar-warmth and water-calm—two currents bracketing me as the room shifted back to strategy.

 

My eyes locked on the Master as a thought took hold. I traced the purple scarring across his face—the pain that would soon begin. If he could stay longer… would it inspire his slayers now, the way his death would later? Would it ease the weight on his son’s shoulders if he remained?

“Master?” My voice came out soft. Conversation around us thinned. He turned his smile toward me. “Yes, Sabrina?”

I cleared my throat, nerves pricking. I looked down as I called the light. My tattoo flickered to life; relief eased through me. My power had returned.

“I understand your illness is believed to be a curse,” I said, meeting his gaze again. “I know what your fate will be—how painful it is.” The air thickened with shared grief; bodies shifted around me, a room full of people who loved him. “You are needed more than you realize. You mean so much to all of us, to this cause. I was wondering… if you would allow me to try to help.”

He stilled, and so did everyone else, eyes flicking between us.

“I can’t promise I can do it,” I added. “But I want to try.”

Gyomei’s voice rumbled, low and reverent, prayer beads tight in his fist, tears already sliding down his cheeks. “Master, will you allow her to try?”

Shinobu spoke next, her poise thinning at the edges. “Please, Master. I have seen it work for others. It could at least ease your pain. The herbs and medicines… they no longer help.”

The Master released a long breath. The Hashira waited.

“You do not deserve to suffer for what you never chose,” I said gently. “Please—let me try.”

He nodded. “Very well.”

I moved—only to be caught by a hand at my wrist. Sanemi’s face was stone; his grip tightened in warning. His palm was rough and hot, a faint iron tang clinging to him like lightning about to strike. Obanai stepped in behind, heterochromatic eyes sharp with distrust, Kaburamaru tightening around his shoulders. “Don’t you dare hurt him, girl.”

I met Obanai’s stare and nodded once, then looked back up at Sanemi. I set my hand over his and patted it twice. “I understand.” I did. The Master meant everything to them.

Sanemi let go. I knelt before the Master. The room held its breath. To my right, Muichiro, usually cloud-drift distant, was focused and still.

I took the Master’s hands—cold, faintly trembling—and tried to warm them between my palms. He was suffering more than he let on.

“If you want me to stop at any point, tell me,” I murmured.

He inclined his head.

I reached inward. Light climbed my skin, my tattoo blossoming, tendrils tracing like vines. Calm, steady. I pushed the light into him and closed my eyes, searching.

Pain lanced through me—his pain. I found it: a black pit roiling at his center, hostile and hungry. It whipped at me, lashes of dark heat. When I pressed closer, the cold of it climbed my arms like frostbite in reverse—burning, biting, wrong. Removal would break him. Shrink it.

I pushed. Soothed. Pressed the light into its edges, shaving it back breath by breath. It bucked and writhed, but the glow held. The pit receded, smaller, contained. The Master’s fingers crushed mine; he shook, panting.

Sweat slipped down my temple. My breath turned shallow. I pulled away and caught myself on my hands as the world went muffled, like I was underwater. A gentle touch at my shoulders, voices rising—crying, astonishment—then sound rushed back all at once.

I looked up into wide, luminous lavender eyes. The Master’s shoulder-length hair fell forward as he smiled—thankful and bright. Both his eyes looked at me. Seeing. The curse remained, but it had retreated, a stain pushed to the corner of his forehead starting under his hairline.

“Sabrina…” His voice strained with feeling.

“M… Master?” Mitsuri’s voice wobbled; I could hear her crying already. “Are you alright?”

I glanced back. Every Hashira had tears on their faces, held in different ways—Gyomei sobbing openly; Obanai stiff, Kaburamaru coiled tight; Shinobu’s smile gone, eyes glass-bright; Sanemi’s jaw clenched as he looked away first; Tengen’s mouth set, eyes shining; Muichiro blinking hard like he’d forgotten how to.

The Master rubbed my back as I sat up straighter. My hands shook when I lifted them from his, and a smear of afterimage—gold on black—floated at the edge of my vision before it cleared. He grinned at Mitsuri, warmth radiating. “I am well, Mitsuri. Better than I have felt in a long time. It is still there, but minimal. I feel… reborn.”

Silence fractured as the Hashira found their voices.

Gyomei bowed his head, tears pattering the tatami. “A blessing,” he said hoarsely, prayer beads clicking. “Sabrina, you have lightened the Master’s burden. I am… profoundly grateful.”

Mitsuri wiped her face with both sleeves and half-laughed, half-sobbed. “You’re amazing! I can feel it—his pain is lighter! Thank you, Sabrina!”

Obanai’s gaze cut to the Master’s healed eyes, then back to me. His voice was low, clipped. “I don’t trust what I don’t understand.” A beat. “But… for this, you have my thanks.”

Shinobu studied the Master, then my glowing markings, calculation softening into relief. “Your effect is systemic, not superficial… remarkable.” Her smile finally reached her eyes. “From the bottom of my heart—thank you.”

Sanemi looked away first, jaw tight. “Tch.” He exhaled hard, then met my gaze. “I don’t like mysteries.” Another beat, quieter: “But you did right by him. …Good job.”

Giyu inclined his head, simple and steady. “You helped him. That matters most. Thank you.”

Tengen planted a hand on his hip, grin bright as his jewels. “Now that was flamboyantly effective. You just added sparkle to our odds, sweetheart. Flashy work.”

Muichiro blinked, focus sharpened. “Time… extended.” He tilted his head at my tattoo. “Your light compresses the curse. I’d like to observe it again—later.” A tiny nod. “Thank you.”

Kyojuro’s voice filled the room, warm and ringing. “Well done, little one.” His eyes shone, fierce with pride. “You have my gratitude, Sabrina.”

I bowed, throat thick. One by one, they bowed back—not silent this time, but aloud, and together.

Tears filled my eyes, and I tried to blink them away. “I’m so glad I could help.”

The Master drew me to my feet and into an embrace. I clung back, tired and overflowing. “I can never repay you, Sabrina. Thank you.”

“I couldn’t take it away,” I whispered. “Only push it back. It will return.”

He brushed the tears from my eyelashes. “You have given me time—time with my loved ones, time to ensure Muzan’s defeat, and freedom from pain. That is everything.”

A soft voice came from the doorway. “Master Kagaya?”

Lady Amane stood there, hand over her mouth, tears sliding down her cheeks. I stepped aside. She flew into his open arms and he gathered her close, whispering into her hair. Her sobs wracked the quiet. I wiped my face and smiled helplessly at the tenderness of it.

Tanjiro’s warmth wrapped me in a quick hug. “You’re amazing,” he whispered, face wet. I laughed breathlessly and thumbed away his tears. Zenitsu scrubbed at his with his sleeve; Inosuke shifted, looking down at his feet, lost in the weight of the moment.

“Let us go into the garden later, Amane,” the Master said, voice thick with joy. “I wish to see it—with the gift this young lady gave me.” Lady Amane pulled me into a brief hug, whispered her thanks against my ear, then returned to his side.

“All this mushy stuff is making me uncomfortable,” Inosuke grumbled.

I chuckled under my breath. Same. Feelings have never been my strong suit; I’m used to shoving them down into the abyss and pretending I’ll unpack them later. I never do. And all these eyes on me… nerve-wracking. I couldn’t read every thought, but I hoped Sanemi, Obanai—even Shinobu—might ease up now.

“Come, my children,” the Master called as he sat, Lady Amane beside him. “Let us conclude our meeting and enjoy the day.”

Settling back down in our spots, however, now I was between Tanjiro and Zenitsu. As I was waiting for the Master to continue, it dawned on me that I didn’t feel drained like I usually do. Warmth bloomed in my chest as I glanced at my tattoo. The light shimmered faintly under my skin. I was getting stronger. Still tired, but not emptied.

“We have much to prepare,” the Master said, voice steadier, stronger. “The demons are quieter than usual—perhaps because Sabrina has stirred something among the Upper Moons. We’ll use the calm. We’ll arrange Hashira training sessions and organize our ranks. Tengen, stay behind. We’ll discuss a plan before you depart for the Entertainment District. I’ll assign a Hashira on standby.”

I huffed quietly. Hopefully not Obanai.

“Master?” Tanjiro asked from my side. “Will we go with Mr. Uzui? Should we follow what Sabrina has told us?”

“Yes,” the Master said. “Accompany the Sound Hashira. You will obey his orders.”

Tanjiro, Inosuke, and Zenitsu answered together. “Yes, sir.”

“Sabrina.”

“Sir?”

“You will be on standby in case your abilities are needed. You’ll assist the Hashira on standby—and always stay with a Hashira. No wandering. Muzan may be looking for you.”

“Yes, Master.” Relief loosened my ribs. At least I wouldn’t be confined to the Mansion.

“Shinobu, I wish to speak with you as well.”

“Of course, Master,” she said.

His smile lingered over us, his face and eyes bright. “I feel hopeful for our future, my children. I believe we will succeed.” With that, we adjourned.

We drifted into the corridor, talking low. I kept my eyes on my friends a little too intently, dodging two specific presences behind me—heat like a hearth, and cool as river stone. Was it cowardly? Yes, but I didn’t have a clue what to do or say to them. My feelings were too muddled. The other Hashira watched me openly as they made their way outside, everyone except Tengen and Shinobu, who remained inside.

“Let’s get food,” Tanjiro said as his stomach complained. Inosuke and Zenitsu’s stomachs answered in kind.

“Food sounds perfect,” I agreed—only to feel a warm hand take mine.

“Pardon me, boys.” Kyojuro’s voice burned softly at my back. “I’d like a moment with Sabrina. I’ll see to it she eats.”

The boys eyed us. Tanjiro caught my gaze for a beat and, without a word, gave a small nod. He didn’t intervene. Somehow, that made the choice heavier. Zenitsu and Inosuke waved and headed for the Butterfly Mansion.

I watched my friends go, not sure what to do with myself. Kyojuro had dropped my hand, so I decided to keep walking, waiting to make it outside for fresh air. I needed to cool my skin. I’d barely taken three steps when heat pressed at my back.

“Kyojuro,” I breathed without turning.

“Sabrina.” Cedar and smoke wrapped around my name. He stopped close enough that the air between us tightened. He stepped around me, stopping in front of me. “You’re pale. Your throat—does it still hurt?”

“I’m alright. When I helped the Master, it helped me too.” I touched the spot where the bruise had been. His jaw ticked; the fire in his eyes flared, then leveled.

Kyojuro stepped into me, cradling my cheek in one hand, the other settling at my hip. His thumb brushed my cheekbone while he searched my eyes.

“Are you angry with me?” I whispered.

He looked genuinely surprised. “Why would you think that?”

I tried to look down, but his fingers tipped my chin up, holding my gaze. I lost myself for a moment in that fiery gold before I found my voice. “I let Upper Moon One hurt me. And when I showed up with Giyu—the way you looked at me—I thought you were angry.”

Kyojuro sighed softly, thumb ghosting over my bottom lip. “I’m not angry with you. I’m in awe of you, little one. What you did for the Master was incredible, and I’ll never be able to thank you properly. I’m upset with myself—for not being there to protect you. You bought everyone time against that demon. If not for you, he would have killed you all. I’m proud of you.”

Warmth spread through me, pleased by his praise. His voice dropped lower. “As for Tomioka… I am jealous. I’ve never felt this before, and I’m struggling with it. I want you to myself—but I’m learning that may not be possible. Even seeing Shinazugawa touch you…” He closed his eyes, jaw tight, then opened them again. “I nearly lost myself.”

“Kyojuro…” my voice softened.

A cooler current moved from the far end of the corridor. “Kamado said you were here,” Giyu murmured as he approached, cautiously calm. His gaze tracked from my throat to Kyojuro’s hand on my face, then to my eyes. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” I said—too quickly. Kyojuro’s fingers tightened at my hip once, then eased, as if wrestling himself back into a state of calm.

Kyojuro’s attention slid to Giyu, steady but edged. “Tomioka.”

“Rengoku.” Giyu’s tone stayed even. “I promised to take Sabrina to dinner. I’m here to collect her.” His eyes flicked to me—a small, low thrum of a question. “There’s a quiet place in town I think you’d like. We should go before it gets too late.”

It was only late afternoon, but it made sense to leave before dark. I assume, since it was Giyu taking me, there would be no problem with my leaving the estate. God, I was so hungry. My hand curled at my side, before I rested it Kyojuro’s forearm. I wanted to go. I felt Kyojuro’s heated gaze on me as he placed his hand at the small of my back, anchoring and impossible to ignore.

Kyojuro squared his shoulders, broad enough to fill the passage. For a second, I thought he’d refuse outright. Instead, he drew a slow breath, fire banked to an ember. “A promise is a promise,” he said—careful, heavy. His gaze didn’t leave Giyu. “But you will bring her back safely. Intact and unharmed.” The last words landed like steel.

“I will,” Giyu said simply, his stand relaxed but his eyes were hard. I thought I saw his eyes flicker over my body, noticing how Kyojuro was touching me in a claiming manner.

Kyojuro turned to me then, and the possessiveness wasn’t in his stance so much as in the way his gaze held mine—like he could set the shape of my night just by looking. “You do not belong to me,” he said softly, honest enough to bruise. “But I… wish you did.” He pressed a gentle kiss to my cheek.

My pulse stuttered. The line between want and fairness twisted on my tongue. “Kyojuro… I don’t want to hurt you.” Panic fluttered in my chest. It’s only dinner; it’s not like I’m not marrying Giyu or anything. But what if Kyojuro decided I wasn’t worth the trouble? Wasn’t worth the possible competition, if that is even what this was.

I reached for him, one hand curling behind his neck, the other cupping his cheek, and brushed my mouth over his, pressing my lips over his. I felt Kyojuro give my ponytail a possessive tug at the base of it, I assume wishing it were down. Instead of ripping out the hair tie, he wound my long hair around his hand, the long, silken strands looping around his knuckles as he kissed me harder. Surprised by his sudden intensity, my lips parted in a gasp as he tightened his grip in my hair and deepened the kiss. A raw sound slipped from my throat. I have never been kissed like this.

When my eyes cracked open, he wasn’t looking at me but past me—at Giyu. The look there was a warning. We eased apart, breathless, my face burning in embarrassment and lust, as I looked up at him wide eyed. Kyojuro placed a soft kiss on my forehead as he tried to hide his smirk from my reaction. Well, damn, he totally did that on purpose.

His expression gentled; heat mellowed to warmth. “You won’t hurt me, Sabrina. I won’t let you,” he said, and I felt it like a touch. “Go. Enjoy your evening.” A beat. “And meet me at first light in the courtyard. We’ll train until the sun is high.”

Why do I get the feeling that he will be punishing me? “Okay,” I breathed, grinning despite myself.

Giyu’s hand hovered at my elbow, I didn’t realize he had gotten closer. “Shall we?” He didn’t touch—he asked. Kyojuro’s hand still rested at my hip and on my back. He reluctantly let me go, hesitating just long enough to pin Giyu with a look. When Giyu’s palm settled lightly at the small of my back, Kyojuro’s hand fell away. Something unspoken passed between them; both men gave the smallest nod.

I looked up at Kyojuro. He didn’t move. For a suspended moment, the three of us just breathed in the narrow hall—cedar heat, river cool, and my own unsteady middle.

Kyojuro bent, stopping close enough that his breath warmed my temple without touching. “At dawn,” he murmured. Not a threat. A promise.

“At dawn,” I echoed.

Giyu turned, pulling me away, and I fell in beside him, guided by his hand at my lower back. As we slipped into the late sun, I felt Kyojuro’s gaze on my spine like the last lick of flame before the kettle boils—controlled, barely. And beneath it, something that made my chest ache:

I left with water on my arm and fire at my back, and the burn of both felt inevitable.

 

The night felt rinsed clean after rain—cool air, damp stone, lanterns bobbing like fireflies along the lane. It must have rained while we were in our meeting. Giyu and I walked side by side, just close enough that the sleeve of his haori sometimes brushed my forearm. He didn’t fill silences the way most people did. He let them breathe. It was nice. However, I felt I needed to say something. I am surprised that with Kyojuro kissing me the way he did, Giyu would have called off the dinner, especially when I kissed him back. I totally would have.

I didn’t want it to be awkward, so I forced myself to speak. “Thank you for inviting me to dinner, Giyu. I’m excited to see the village. I haven’t had a chance to explore much since I’ve been here.”

Giyu nodded, glancing at me. “Maybe in the future, once things are safer, we can remedy that.”

I smiled, a little too excited. “That would be nice. Is the place far?”

“Two streets,” he said.

I nodded as I looked at him. Giyu’s face was stoic as usual, but his eyes were brighter than normal. Bluer. “Giyu?”

He turned to me, our eyes locking.

“I...I’m sorry for how Kyojuro was. How I was. It was rude and disrespectful. I...I told you that there was something between Kyojuro and I. I don’t know what exactly and we haven't talked about it...”

His voice was smooth and cool. “You don’t need to apologize, Sabrina. I am not upset. I can’t fault Rengoku for doing what he feels needs to be done when it comes to you.”

I wanted to scratch my head in confusion. I’m not sure I understand what is going on. Is he not interested in me? Am I reading too much into something that isn’t even there?

Feeling embarrassed by my assumption, my voice was quiet. “Oh okay.”

He glanced at me before looking ahead again. “Doesn’t mean I liked it. He was claiming you, when he had no right to do so. He was sending me a message. I plan on answering him back.”

I blinked at him, speechless, my belly filling with butterflies and heat.

We fell into a rhythm—step, lantern, water—until a stray cat darted from a doorway. I startled; his hand lifted, instinctively steadying my elbow without touching. A different steadiness than fire—cool, deliberate.

“Jumpier than usual,” he observed.

“I met Upper Moon One today,” I said dryly. “I’m allowed.”

His mouth tipped—almost a smile. “Fair.”

The teahouse was small, warm, full of clean wood and steam. Paper screens filtered the lantern light to honey. A server bowed us into a back alcove where a low window cracked to the night air and the canal’s hush. We removed our sandals and sat across a narrow table. Tea arrived—green, bright, astringent. Then rice, grilled fish lacquered with sweet soy, pickled plums, miso with ribbons of tofu.

“My favorite,” Giyu said, lifting his bowl. “I enjoy the simple, uncomplicated things.”

“You really are a water person,” I teased, relaxing despite myself. “River-straight.”

“Not straight,” he said, perfectly calm. “Rivers curve.”

I laughed into my cup. We ate a while in comfortable silence. He asked small, careful questions that somehow avoided feeling like an interrogation.

“How are the hot springs?”
“Exactly what bruised people need.”
“Your training?”
“Cruel. Perfect.”
“Rengoku is… thorough,” he said, choosing the word.

“You could say that.”

He poured more tea. Steam drifted between us. “When did you decide to tell the Master about the Entertainment District?”

“When Kyojuro reminded me growth doesn’t always require trauma,” I said quietly. “Also… I’m tired of pretending I don’t know.”

Giyu nodded. “You’re changing the current, then.”

“I’m trying to keep people from drowning.”

His gaze rested on my throat—where the bruising had been—then returned to my eyes. “You did that today. Saved people.”

Silence. Warm, not awkward. Chopsticks clicked. Outside, a cart rattled over stones. Inside, the restaurant was filled with the smell of tea, fish, and a faint citrus-clean scent.

He set his cup down. “Rengoku likes you.”

My heartbeat tripped. “That’s… not a subtle segue.”

“It isn’t a subtle subject.” No bite in his tone—just observation. “He looks at you the way people look at hearths when they’ve been outside in the cold too long.”

Heat climbed my neck. I busied myself with a pickled plum. “He can be...intense.”

“Yes,” Giyu agreed. “He’s also honest.” A pause. “He told you he wishes you belonged to him. He wants you.”

My fingers tightened around the teacup. The porcelain slipped; a bead of tea leapt the rim and scalded my knuckle. “You heard that?”

“I heard your answer.”

“I didn’t have one,” I said, embarrassed and a little defensive, rubbing the sting away with my thumb. “I have… feelings. And responsibilities. And fear. It’s messy.”

“Being human is messy.” He lifted his bowl. “Rengoku is learning that, too. Or relearning it, I suppose.”

The name hung heavy in the air. I set my chopsticks down. “You brought me to dinner to talk about another man?”

“I brought you to dinner to be with you,” he said simply. “Talking about the truth is part of that.”

I stared at the table for a beat. The grain ran in clean lines. “And your truth?”

He didn’t fidget. Didn’t look away. “I like you, Sabrina. I want you, too.”

The words landed like cool water on hot skin. I felt them. I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Giyu—”

“I’m not asking for anything you don’t want,” he continued, even, gentle. “I’m not asking you to choose tonight. I know you care for him. I’m… not opposed to sharing.”

The cup wobbled; my knee bumped the table. Tea rippled in the saucer. “Sharing,” I echoed, unsure I’d heard right.

His mouth almost-smiled again. “Possession isn’t a value I hold. If what you want is time, or if you want to learn what this is with both of us… I’m not opposed.” His gaze softened, the blue of it shifting, not cold at all. “I trust myself. I trust you. I even trust him—more than he thinks I do.”

My face went hot enough to rival Kyojuro’s aura. “You can’t just—say that—like you’re discussing soup.”

“I like soup,” he said. “And I like clarity.”

I pressed my palm to my cheek. It didn’t help. “You’re… calm about this.”

“I’m not calm,” he said, which startled a laugh out of me. He lifted one shoulder. “I am… patient. Desire doesn’t have to be a fire to be real.”

“You’re doing this on purpose,” I accused weakly.

“What?”

“Making me blush.”

He considered that. “I don’t mind the blush. It’s honest. And you’re beautiful.”

I dropped my gaze to the table. “Kyojuro would hate the word ‘share.’”

“He would hate the word,” Giyu allowed, “but he wouldn’t break the bond that keeps you safe. He’s possessive because he’s terrified. He almost died. He thinks wanting you makes him weak.” Giyu’s voice gentled further. “He’s wrong. Wanting you is proof he’s alive.”

I swallowed. The room tilted just a little, like a boat in a slow current. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“That’s allowed. I only wanted to make my feelings, my intent, known,” he said. “Decide nothing tonight.” He slid the last piece of fish onto my rice. “Eat. Walk back with me. Sleep. Meet him at dawn.”

I stared at the fish, then at him. “You’re awfully insightful, you know that?”

“No one asks for my input, so I stay silent,” he replied, deadpan. “I suspect they’d be as surprised as you are.”

I laughed again, softer. My chest ached in a good way. It was so easy to be around Giyu. “Thank you. For not making this harder.”

“I might make it harder later,” he said, the faintest thread of humor finally breaking the surface, “but not cruel.”

“Giyu.”

“Hm?”

“You can’t… say things like that.”

He tipped his head. “But you’re smiling.”

“Shut up and eat,” I said—and he obeyed, which somehow made the heat in my face worse.

We finished in companionable quiet. When the server cleared the plates, Giyu paid without comment. Outside, the lane had thinned to lanterns and distant laughter. He didn’t take my hand; he matched my pace, steps silent, presence steady. At the canal, he paused.

“Do you know about my past, Sabrina?” he asked carefully.

“Yes,” I answered, watching him closely.

“Do you think less of me, for what I did… or didn’t do?”

I turned him toward me and took his hand. I looked into his blue eyes and tried not to swoon. “Giyu, what happened to your sister was awful. I’m so sorry you lost her that way. But you were a child, and your sister knew you were worth protecting. Sabito—” my voice softened “—I know losing him nearly destroyed you, but he wouldn’t want you to live in constant mourning. He wouldn’t want you to push people away because you think it’s safer or would hurt less if you didn’t care.”

I squeezed his fingers, regret filling my tone. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save him. I would have if I could. But Sabito died doing what he chose—killing demons and protecting others. Not killing any demons during Final Selection doesn’t erase who you are. You’re the Water Hashira because you worked for it—without that experience. Don’t doubt yourself. Don’t close yourself off.”

Giyu stared at me, wide-eyed, before his lips lifted into a small smile. He raised my knuckles to his lips and pressed a soft kiss there, then drew me along, not dropping my hand.

We walked the rest of the way without words. At the gate, lanterns had just blinked on—anyone could step out and see us. Night pooled around his shoulders like water. The damp wood of the gate breathed a clean, mossy smell; my own pulse thudded in my ears like footsteps on a bridge.

I started to thank him, but he stepped half a pace closer—still giving me space—and searched my face. “May I?” he asked, quiet as the night.

My breath caught. “Yes.”

He leaned in slowly, giving me every chance to change my mind, and brushed his mouth against mine—light, warm, a promise written in water. There was no rush, no urgency; our lips moved like a dance.

Heat unfurled low in my belly—different from flame, but no less dangerous. He deepened the kiss when I parted for him, and a soft sound escaped me as he pulled me closer. He tasted clean and cool; my pulse quickened as he cupped the back of my head and deepened it again.

When he drew back, his thumb skimmed a breath from my cheek, not quite touching. He was slightly out of breath, and seeing him like that did something to me. He brushed his lips along my jaw, then returned to press a final, softer kiss to my mouth.

I swayed up at him, flushed and dazed. He smiled down at me, his chuckle low. “Time to sleep.”

“I’ll try,” I managed, cheeks burning.

He nodded. “I’ll walk you to the door.”

I caught his sleeve. He looked down at my hand, then at me. “I… like you, too. That’s the problem.”

“It’s a good problem to have,” he said, a breath of a smile returning. “Now you must rest before your training tomorrow.”

He guided me with a light touch o my lower back, urging me forward. At the Butterfly Mansion doors I turned; he still watched me. I brushed my fingertips over my lips, heat rushing back at the memory of him. Beyond the garden wall, something shifted—a crow settling on a beam?—and for a second a whisper of cedar smoke threaded the air, so faint I couldn’t tell if it was memory or presence.

Giyu held my gaze a moment longer, then turned and disappeared into the dark.

I stood there, lips tingling, pulse misbehaving, and thought: fire at dawn, river at night. If I was careful, maybe—just maybe—I could learn to swim in both.