Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The rain had been falling for hours, a relentless, cold curtain that blurred the edges of the forest. Ichi’s brown yayoi garments clung to her like a second skin, heavy and dripping. The fabric beneath her knees was sodden with mud, smeared from where she had stumbled earlier. She moved barefoot through the undergrowth, her soles meeting thorns and jagged sticks without so much as a flinch. The dull sting in her feet was nothing compared to the searing pain at the side of her neck.

When her trembling fingers brushed the wound, they came away slick—not with oil, though it looked almost the same in the dim light—but with blood, dark and red, washed in rivulets by the cold rain. It would have been easier to bear if not for the weakness spreading through her body, as though someone had hollowed her out, leaving only a fragile shell to keep walking.

Her sister, Nii, was beside her, their hands clasped tightly despite the chill. Neither spoke. There was no strength to waste on words.

Every step was a battle. The ground pulled at her feet, the rain made her clothes heavier with each passing moment, and her knees trembled under the effort to keep moving. Then the forest struck its blow.

Her toes caught on a tangle of slick roots pushing up from the earth. In the next instant, she was falling—sliding down a narrow, treacherous slope. Mud smeared her hands and face, rocks bruised her ribs, thorns tore at her skin. The world became a blur of wet earth and sharp pain until she landed hard against the base of the incline, her breath knocked out of her.

Somewhere above, Nii cried her name. Ichi heard her sister’s hurried footsteps pounding down the slope, the splash of water and squelch of mud underfoot. Nii didn’t fall.

For a moment, Ichi lay there, the rain tapping against her face. She wanted to scream, but the sound would not come. Everything hurt. Her chest burned as though the air itself were made of needles.

She forced herself to move, dragging her frail body toward a nearby tree. Its bark was rough beneath her fingers, but she welcomed the solid anchor. Slowly, shakily, she pulled herself upright. Her legs felt like brittle twigs, threatening to snap under the weight of her own body.

The thought came to her again, the one that had been driving her forward for days: she had to get to the other side of the mountain.

Beyond its ridge lived a family her own had cherished for as long as she could remember—a family with two sons who had been as close to her and Nii

She hadn’t seen them in months, not since… everything. But they would help. They had to. They would know what to do.

Nii was there, only a step behind. She looked worse—her face pale, her lips nearly blue, her body trembling violently under the wet fabric of her clothes. But when their eyes met, Ichi reached for her again. Their hands found each other, fingers interlacing in a silent vow to keep moving.

The rain was colder now. The wind cut through the trees in long, mournful sighs. Ichi could almost feel the mountain looming ahead, its presence like a shadow in her bones. Every breath stabbed at her lungs, but she pressed on.

They were getting closer. They had to be.

The rain blurred the edges of the world, turning the forest into a shifting haze of gray and green. Ichi’s breath came in ragged bursts, each one stabbing like a needle in her lungs. Her soaked clothes clung to her skin, heavy with mud, her bare feet raw from stones and thorns.

And then—movement.

Through the veil of rain, she spotted two shapes moving down the road beyond the trees. A man and a small boy. She knew the boy’s clothes instantly, even through the blur of distance and exhaustion.

Her heart lurched.

“Mui!” she tried to call, but the sound that left her lips was a cracked, pitiful rasp—more the cry of a dying animal than a scream.

Her knees buckled. She collapsed onto the jagged rocks hidden beneath a bed of rotting leaves. Pain flashed through her legs and arms where the sharp edges pierced her thin skin. The kitchen knife she clutched slipped from her trembling fingers, clanging dully against stone. The metallic sound cut through the rain like a bell tolling in a graveyard—sudden, jarring.

The taller figure ahead paused. He turned with a slow, deliberate grace, dark hair almost black as a raven’s wing spilling over his shoulders. His eyes searched the shadowed forest until they found her.

His expression hardly changed, though what he saw was no ordinary girl. Mud-caked and hollow-eyed, Ichi looked like something half-dead, a creature clawed out of a grave. In one hand she gripped the severed hand of a child, its fingers limp, droplets of blood mingling with the rain. She thought she held her sister—that she had saved her.

The boy beside him stopped too. Muichiro’s gaze had been distant, his mind somewhere far from the drenched road they walked. But when he followed the man’s line of sight, the emptiness in his face shattered.

His eyes went wide.

It was Ichi. His best friend. Mud streaked her face, her frame trembling violently, a crimson hole torn into her neck just beneath her vocal cords. In her other hand, she still held the blade, slick with water and blood. And in her grasp… Nii’s hand, cold and pale. The twin who had once been promised to Muichiro’s older brother.

“...Ichi,” he whispered, his voice barely carrying over the rain. Goosebumps rose along his arms.

That day became the fracture point of her life.

Chapter Text

Kagaya Ubuyashiki took her in after that, folding her into his care as though she were his own child. He had seen something in her—something unbroken despite the horror. Under his guidance, Ichi began her demon slayer training while still young. She trained alongside Muichiro, their bond forged in hardship and sharpened in battle.

They were not alone. Many others came to fight for the same cause, though each year the number of survivors dwindled. Demons claimed too many lives before their blades could grow strong enough.

The wisteria forest was like a dream painted in violet. Long curtains of blossoms swayed gently in the breeze, brushing against one another with a soft, whispering sound. The air was sweet, almost warm despite the lingering chill of the rain, carrying the faint fragrance of flowers in bloom. In that place, the world felt softer, as though the cruelty outside its borders could never reach within.

Kagaya Ubuyashiki moved steadily along the winding path, his white haori trailing behind him, his arms cradling a thin, limp girl against his chest. Ichi’s head rested against his shoulder, her dark hair damp and tangled. The faint rise and fall of her chest was the only sign of life in her fragile body. Her clothes were still caked with dried mud and blood, and though the rain had washed away some of the crimson, it had not erased the memory of where it had come from.

Beside them walked a boy—barely ten—with dark teal eyes that flicked often toward the girl. Muichiro’s small hands were clenched tightly at his sides. His face was calm, but not empty. Not this time.

“Is… she going to be okay?” His voice was quieter than the rustle of the blossoms, almost swallowed by the forest.

“She will live,” Kagaya replied gently, his tone warm despite the exhaustion in it. “But her voice… may never return.”

Muichiro looked at her again. He remembered her scream—if it could be called that—when she had tried to call his name. Remembered the way her lips had moved, the panic in her eyes when no sound came out. He pressed his lips together, not sure if he wanted to ask the next question.

When the wind shifted, a ray of soft sunlight pierced through the petals above, falling across Ichi’s pale face. Her eyelashes trembled, and for a heartbeat, she stirred. Slowly, her eyes opened, the violet canopy above reflected in their dark irises.

She didn’t know where she was at first. The last thing she remembered was the cold mud, Nii’s hand in hers, and the rain that would not stop. But then she felt the warmth—someone’s steady heartbeat beneath her cheek, arms holding her securely. She shifted her gaze weakly and saw Kagaya’s calm smile looking down at her.

“You’re safe now, Ichi,” he said softly. His voice was low, deliberate, like he was speaking to a child who had been through far too much.

Her lips parted as though to speak, but the movement brought a sharp pain to her throat. Instinctively, her hand twitched toward her neck. Her fingers brushed the bandaged wound there, and her eyes darkened.

Her eyes softened. She couldn’t answer, not with words, but she tightened her fingers in the folds of Kagaya’s haori—just enough for Muichiro to see.

The breeze picked up again, carrying petals across the path in a drifting, violet rain. Kagaya began walking once more, his voice calm as the forest around them.

“We’re almost home,” he said. “Rest, both of you. Soon, your training will begin.”

The wisteria swayed above them, the air fragrant and full of light. For the first time since that day in the rain, Ichi let her eyes close—not in fear, but in something close to peace.

Chapter Text

When Ichi opened her eyes, she found herself lying on tatami, wrapped in a sleeping bag that smelled faintly of cedar. Light from the paper-paneled window filtered softly into the room. Her neck, arms, and much of her body were swathed in clean bandages, the faint ache beneath them telling her exactly how close she had come to never waking again.

They must have brought her here.

Her mind stirred with a sudden urgency. Where is Mui?!

She tried to call his name aloud, but what left her throat was only a thin gasp—a sigh, nothing more. The sound frightened her. She pushed herself up slowly, her arms trembling under the effort.

The sliding door crashed open.

Muichiro barreled into the room, his eyes already glistening with tears. His momentum nearly carried him to the floor, but he caught himself just enough to throw himself at her. He wrapped his arms tightly around her shoulders, holding her as if afraid she might vanish again.

“Ichi!” His voice was hoarse, almost desperate.

“Mui…” she whispered, or tried to. The single syllable scraped against the raw wound in her throat, igniting a sharp, unbearable pain. She coughed violently, her breath catching. Muichiro’s grip tightened as he tried to steady her, murmuring reassurances that blurred together in the ringing in her ears.

Tears slipped down her cheeks—not from the pain alone, but from the sudden, suffocating thought that this might be her end.

And then the coughing stopped. The room seemed too still. Her eyes sought his, desperate for some kind of comfort. But all she saw was the truth reflected back at her.

She would never speak again.

A few days later, she returned to her home. It was not a journey she wanted to take, but Kagaya Ubuyashiki himself insisted on accompanying her. They were not alone—several low-ranked demon slayers and a few Hashira walked in silent formation behind them.

Muichiro stayed close, his small hand clasped around hers the way he always did when something frightened her.

They told her no one had survived.

Her steps felt heavier the closer they came to the house. Every sound—the creak of wood beneath their feet, the wind threading through the trees—made her heart pound. Her legs trembled, the memory of that night gnawing at the edges of her mind.

The front door was still open. A dark, dried trail of blood led straight inside.

Her gaze caught on the first shape—what remained of Nii. Her sister’s body had been reduced to pieces, one hand missing. The same hand Ichi had carried with her that night.

In the far corner lay the woman who had given birth to them both. Their mother’s form was twisted, her skin pale beneath the countless stab wounds that riddled her body. The fatal strike had been her eyes—pierced by the kitchen knife that still haunted Ichi’s dreams.

Her mother had always hated her eyes. She said they reminded her too much of him.

Kagaya’s calm voice broke through the silence. He stood just behind her, his eyes closed, the faintest smile on his lips. “You endured,” he said softly, as though it was a truth he had always known. There was pride in his tone—not the kind that praised cruelty, but the kind that recognized survival.

A boy a little older than Ichi, with stark white hair, stood farther back. His expression was tight with restrained anger when he heard Kagaya’s quiet chuckle.

The group buried the dead in silence. Ichi knelt by her sister’s grave longer than the others, pressing her hands together in prayer.

On the way back, they took the same path she had traveled days before, seeking help. That was when she noticed it—light glinting up from the ground. She squatted, squinting against the sudden brightness where the sun caught on metal.

Her fingers dug into the earth despite the ache in her half-healed hands. The cold bite of steel met her skin.

It was the knife. The one her mother had used to kill Nii. The one Ichi had used in turn to end her mother’s life. The blade was crusted with old blood, dirt clinging to its hilt.

She brought it with her.

Later, Kagaya ordered a custom weapon made from that very blade—a spear, as she had requested. She had her reasons. A spear kept enemies at a distance. It offered better defense, more time to think, to strategize. Few demons expected to face a demon slayer with such a weapon.

Sanemi, the Wind Hashira, had teased her endlessly for it. He mocked her choice of weapon, called it overcautious. But she ignored him. Distance had failed her once. It would not again.

Chapter Text

Kagaya Ubuyashiki had insisted—despite her protests—that Ichi carry a katana to her Final Selection. The slender blade hung at her side now, unfamiliar and heavy, its polished edge reflecting the faint moonlight that seeped through the clouds.

The days of training under the Hashira had been brutal. Kagaya had entrusted Ichi to Gyomei Himejima and Giyu Tomioka, believing that the balance between Gyomei’s unshakable discipline and Giyu’s precise technique might bring out her potential.

Gyomei’s methods were merciless, though never cruel. The towering man had her run across narrow wooden beams while carrying weights strapped to her wrists and ankles, the prayer beads in his hands clinking rhythmically as he followed. She had to do it blindfolded, relying on the vibrations in the wood and the sound of the wind to keep her balance.
“You must feel the world, not just see it,” his deep voice rumbled like distant thunder. “Your eyes can lie. Your ears can falter. But your senses together… will save you.”

When she fell—and she fell often—he simply told her to get up and try again. The bruises on her knees never fully healed during those weeks, but she grew faster, steadier.

Giyu’s lessons were quieter but no less demanding. He focused on footwork, teaching her to move without wasting a single motion. They trained by the riverbank, where the flow of water served as both obstacle and teacher. He showed her how to step in sync with the current, letting it carry her just enough to dodge without resistance.
He rarely praised her, but once, when she managed to slip past his blade without touching the water, he said, “Not bad,” and she caught the faintest ghost of a smile on his lips.

Since she could not speak, they adapted their communication. Giyu taught her subtle hand signals, while Gyomei insisted she use her body language to project intent. She learned to answer with a nod, a shift in stance, or the narrowing of her eyes.

Some days they trained together, Gyomei testing her endurance while Giyu darted in and out to test her reflexes. She collapsed more than once, lungs burning, limbs shaking, but every time she pushed herself back up, the silent approval in their eyes told her she was no longer the same fragile child they had met.

Two Hashira stood before the gathered candidates, their presence commanding even without words of intimidation. Gyomei Himejima, the Stone Hashira, loomed like a mountain, his prayer beads clicking softly in his massive hands. Beside him, Giyu Tomioka, the Water Hashira, stood still as a frozen river, his unreadable gaze sweeping over the assembled group.

Both men had aided in her training. Both knew her strength. Yet neither could name her breathing style—not even Ichi herself could. And with her voice stolen forever, communication in the field would be another battle entirely.

The group numbered about twenty in total, all dressed in the uniforms of demon slayer candidates. One by one, they stepped into the yawning dark of the forest. Ichi went alone. That was the rule. Survive seven nights. Kill demons or be killed.

The air inside the forest was heavy with damp earth and the metallic scent of blood. Her footsteps made no sound on the moss-covered ground. She kept her breathing steady, her senses sharp.

The first demon found her before she found it.

“This one will be easy prey,” a rasping voice sneered from behind.

Another appeared in front of her, grinning with jagged teeth. “You’ve gotta be kidding me. A demon slayer without a katana in her hand? What a joke!” His laugh was wet and guttural.

Her stance shifted, her feet settling into the earth. She breathed in, slow and deliberate, reading the angle of his approach. The front demon lunged first, claws flashing, but she met him with a single, precise swing—steel slicing clean through his neck. His head hit the ground before his body crumpled.

Pain tore through her left arm as claws raked across it from behind. She staggered, her knees bending.

“Pathetic,” the demon taunted, looming over her. “One hit and you’re already on the ground. You’ll never make it.”

The words struck like a blade, pulling her somewhere far darker than the forest.

Her mother’s voice came back, venom dripping from every syllable.

“You’re good for nothing!” A slap sent her sprawling, the taste of copper in her mouth. “It would have been better if you’d never been born!”

Kicks to her stomach stole her breath. “It’s his fault! I fell for his beauty, and he abandoned me!” Her screams were ragged, furious, as her foot struck over and over until blood splattered the floor.

“Shut up!”

The words tore from Ichi’s throat—not in memory, but here, now. Her body flared with something she couldn’t name.

Chapter Text

A deep, thrumming aura rippled from her skin—like the air itself recoiled from her. The pressure built so quickly it made the leaves tremble, and the smell of iron flooded the clearing.

Pain stabbed through the hollow at her throat, sharp and relentless, as if the wound that had silenced her all these years was being torn open from the inside. Heat followed—molten, suffocating—spreading up into her jaw and down into her chest until every nerve felt like it was on fire.

Her breath came ragged. She staggered, clutching at her neck, nails scraping against skin slick with sweat. Then it began.

From the torn flesh, something pushed outward—hard, unyielding, and smooth as polished obsidian. A single black horn emerged, glistening under the moonlight, curling backward in an elegant but unnatural arc. The growth did not stop. It split in two, each piece arching along the line of her skull, mirroring each other before meeting again in a razor-sharp point at the center of her forehead.

The air around her changed. The rain that had been falling seemed to hang heavier, slower, as if time itself bent in the presence of this transformation.

The hollow in her throat sealed over, smooth and unbroken. The deep ache vanished, replaced by a strange, intoxicating fullness—as if every breath was laced with raw strength.

A voice—quiet, cold, and not entirely her own—slid into her mind like the edge of a blade. Breathe. Speak. Strike.

Her lips parted. Sound—real sound—escaped for the first time in years, low and steady.
“Blood Breathing… First Form…”

Five crimson orbs spun into existence around her head, each one pulsing in rhythm with her heartbeat. They sharpened into darts, then streaked toward the demon before her. 

“Blood darts.” The headless body hit the ground before the echoes of her words had even faded.

The horn shimmered faintly, then dissolved into nothing, leaving only the sealed wound and the silence that had been her prison. Her voice was gone again. But the lingering hum in her veins told her this power was not.

Ichi stumbled from the shadowed forest, the cold night air thick with the metallic tang of blood. Each step left a dark trail behind her, a grim testament to the battle she had just survived. Her legs trembled under the weight of exhaustion, yet her grip on her weapon never wavered.

The clearing at the forest’s edge was eerily still. The moon hung low, casting pale light over her battered form. She had cut down many demons—more than she had imagined she could face in one night—and yet she still stood.

Gyomei and Giyu waited at the boundary, their keen eyes tracking every movement. Neither spoke, but the faint lift of Gyomei’s brows and the fractional narrowing of Giyu’s gaze betrayed their surprise. Few left the Final Selection alive, and fewer still in the condition she had—bloodied, yes, but victorious.

When the time came to choose her ore for the forging of her Nichirin blade, Ichi’s hand hovered over the selection. The stones lay before her in rough, jagged shapes, each one waiting for the touch that would decide its future. She reached for one, fingers brushing its cool, uneven surface.

The instant her skin made contact, a faint shiver of energy rippled through her arm. It was the same pulse she’d felt in the forest, when the horn had grown and her voice had returned. As if drawn by an invisible thread, that strange, fierce power flowed into the stone, embedding itself deep within. She withdrew her hand slowly, the echo of that energy still tingling in her fingertips.

The return to the main estate was quiet. The path wound through the soft glow of lanterns and the whisper of wind in the trees, but Ichi hardly noticed. Her body ached with every movement, and her thoughts kept circling back to the horn, the voice in her head, and the power that had felt both alien and wholly her own.

When she finally stepped through the gates, Muichiro was there. The moment he saw her, his face lit up with rare warmth, and he crossed the courtyard in a few swift steps. Without hesitation, he wrapped his arms around her, holding on as if to reassure himself she was real and alive.

Without a second thought, he closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around her. “You made it!” he breathed, leaning back just far enough to search her face. “Tell me everything—every detail!”

She could only offer him a small, tired smile. The words stuck in her throat where they always had since the night she lost her voice.

Later, seated in the quiet of Kagaya Ubuyashiki’s study, she managed to relay her account through careful gestures and written words. Muichiro remained at her side, filling in what she could not describe, watching her with quiet pride.

When she had finished, Kagaya sat back, his pale eyes closing for a moment in thought. The faintest smile touched his lips—not the serene one he often wore, but something sharper.

“This will be our secret,” he said softly. His gaze moved from her to Muichiro, and back again. “Neither of you will speak of this power to anyone else.”

Muichiro nodded, his hand brushing briefly against hers under the table—a silent promise. Ichi returned the gesture, though her heart beat faster. She didn’t yet understand what had awoken inside her in that forest. But now, she understood this much: it wasn’t just her burden. It was theirs.