Age: 12
The air was different that morning—cleaner, colder. As if the mountain itself was holding its breath.
I stood at the edge of the trail, pack slung over one shoulder, wrapped in Father's old haori. Mother adjusted the straps carefully, brushing imaginary dust off my sleeves like she did when I was little.
"You're growing too fast," she muttered, not looking at me.
"I'll be back before nightfall," I assured her.
"You said that last time," she teased, trying to smile, though her eyes betrayed her worry.
Tanjiro clutched my hand tightly. "Can I come with you next time?"
"When you're older," I promised.
He pouted, but nodded. Behind him, Nezuko waved both arms, while the younger ones just stared—curious, excited, and a little sad.
This was my first solo trip to the town past the lower valley.
The world beyond our trees.
---
The trail downward wound like a river of stone and mud. I had walked it with Father years ago, and more recently with Mother or Tanjiro—but today was different. I carried our charcoal cart behind me, a rope across my chest as it creaked gently behind each step.
My breath came in rhythm: inhale three steps, exhale two. A basic breathing pattern to conserve stamina. I didn't need it, but I used it anyway. Every breath was a lesson.
The scenery slowly shifted. Pines gave way to birch. Birdsong turned to the distant creaking of old wooden wheels. And the smell—earth, smoke, and… people.
I had arrived.
---
The town wasn't big, but it bustled with life.
Vendors called out their wares. Children chased chickens through alleyways. A smith hammered at a blade, sparks flying like fireflies in the gloom. It was louder, rougher than the mountain, but it had its own charm.
People recognized the Kamado name.
"Charcoal boy, eh? You look like your father."
I bowed politely and traded quickly. Rice, dried sardines, spare cloth, a bit of miso paste. I bartered well, just as Mother taught me, and even managed to save a few sen.
But I wasn't here just to trade.
---
Behind the main market was a clearing. An old training yard, once used by the village's night watchmen. It had fallen out of use now, but I knew it well. I had found it by accident years ago, and since then, whenever I visited the town, I used it to train.
I tied the cart nearby, removed my haori, and began.
First, stretches.
Then, forms.
The Dance of the Fire God flowed from memory. It felt lighter now, more fluid—no longer a foreign art I was borrowing, but a language I was beginning to speak fluently.
Every movement burned away the tension of the crowded streets.
Then I switched to blade forms.
My bokken blurred in arcs as I repeated the first five Sun Breathing patterns, focusing on precision, not speed. I had learned to measure not how fast I could strike, but how well I could control the moment of impact, the cut, the breath.
And I wasn't alone.
Behind a nearby wall, a child peeked through a crack. A couple of merchants paused with curiosity. I ignored them.
This wasn't performance.
This was preparation.
---
That evening, I returned home just before the sun dipped behind the western ridge. My legs ached, my shoulders were sore, but my heart felt clear.
Mother scolded me lightly for taking too long, but I could see her relief. Tanjiro pestered me with questions.
"What was the town like? Did you fight anyone? Did you see swords?"
I answered what I could, left out what I shouldn't, and gave him a small rice cracker I'd saved from my pack. He beamed.
We sat on the porch together, watching the younger ones play in the fading light.
Nezuko had tied a ribbon around Shigeru's head, calling him "Captain of the Fire Force," whatever that meant. Takeo was climbing a tree with no clear plan to get down. Hanako tried catching snowflakes on her tongue.
The simplicity of it broke something in me.
How long would this peace last?
How many more nights like this would we have?
---
That night, after everyone had fallen asleep, I crept out to the clearing near the shrine. I practised until my arms gave out.
The moon watched me fall to my knees.
I whispered one thing to the wind:
"Just a little more time…"