Prologue:
In the early afternoon, one could feel the sun's warm rays on their skin as they peeked through the cool, dense foliage of the deep forest. It was the only time of day this place received this much light.
In a clearing normally dark as dusk, the sunlight gave the appearance of dawn, the leaves and grass glimmering like bright emeralds, and tree trunks as thick as cliffs like dull silver. At its center, there laid a stone, its appearance out of place with its surroundings, underneath the oldest tree in the area. It was a grave, with the kanji of a name carved painstakingly carefully into it, along with the words "Fallen Leaves Grow Back Stronger."
A lone figure sat vigil here, dark hair and green haori swaying and whispering in the breeze like the blades of grass she knelt on, all but a part of the quiet landscape. In her lap she held a weapon, a nagamaki sheathed within a scabbard as green as the forest around her, its length perfectly balanced where it rested.
The soft sounds of fast approaching footsteps and shallow breaths suddenly disturbed the quiet.
"Higo," the breathless voice called her name. "Higo!"
The girl at the grave turned to the one who called, and smiled when she laid eyes on her adopted sister, distinguishable as always by the large bandage over her left eye. The other girl was dressed in a simple, feminine yukata; a stark contrast to the masculine outfit Higo wore. "Hey, Kaede."
Kaede, though still out of breath, rushed over closer. "Higo, you can't go! You mustn't go, you'll die out there!"
"I'm surprised you weren't too scared to come out here alone, really." Higo smiled wider, eyes sparkling.
Kaede slashed an arm through the air in a rare fit of passion. "Higo, aren't you listening? If you go, if you follow in her footsteps, you'll be killed! We'll lose you forever, you'll be gone, forever!" Her breathless pants quickly devolved into dry heaving sobs, and Kaede fell to the grass, heedless of the stains she would no doubt procure. She raised a hand to her covered eye, fingers trembling. "Isn't once enough? Why can't you stay? You can protect the village here! But if you go, we won't even be able to bury your body in our family site! Oh, Higo, please, please don't go!"
The breeze picked up a little, and Higo's grin softened into something both serene and melancholy. She looked back to the grave, her master's grave. "It'd be a little awkward," she murmured, "seeing as I've already said my goodbyes to everyone but the family."
"I've talked to Father!" Kaede gasped. "I begged him, and he said he'd claim you as our own if you stayed! You'll have our name, you're practically one of us already!"
"Using your womanly wiles to turn things in your favor? I've taught you well, sis."
Kaede could only hiccup at this point, and softly sobbed once more, "Please, don't go."
"You know what I carved on her grave, Kaede? I carved the words she would always tell me: 'fallen leaves grow back stronger.' She's fallen now, and someone's got to take her place."
"Why you? Why does it have to be you?"
"Well, she trained me, for one. I've got to carry on her style." Higo caressed the lacquered wood of the nagamaki sheath. "But that isn't really the reason." Her fist tightened around the weapon, holding it closer. "She believed in me, more than anyone else ever did. And I can't sit here, safe and sound, and live my life in peace when there's one less person to keep it. I can't, Kaede."
Kaede was stunned into silence when Higo turned to face her, tears of her own running down her cheeks even as she smiled. "It really, really hurts that I have to leave, but that doesn't mean I won't come back."
"But you'll die. There are demons everywhere, Higo. You can't kill them all."
"Oh, just try and stop me." Higo stood then, and so did Kaede, and for a moment they simply looked upon one another. Higo saw a slip of a girl, only fourteen, beauty shining through even the deformity on her face, more comely than every other girl in their age bracket about to blossom like no one had ever witnessed. Someone kind and gentle, and delicate, and smarter than she could ever be.
Kaede looked at Higo and saw strength. She saw peace. Part of her fretted that she was being selfish in wanting to keep the girl who was her sister in all but blood to herself, but more of her feared she would be taken from the world too soon.
And yet…
Higo always knew what to do. She always knew what to say, and nothing seemed to ever truly catch her off guard. From the moment they met Higo just seemed to know the world.
And deep down, Kaede knew she would be just fine.
"You promise me," she said firmly, straightening her posture and keeping her head held high, just like a proper lady among ladies, and clasped her hands together to steady herself. "Promise me you'll return, like you said you would."
Higo grinned and hefted the large weapon over her shoulder, placing a hand on her hip. "Only if you promise to stick it to your father and inform him you won't be marrying that idiot boy Hideki. Though when I do return, it'll be with a family name of my own."
Kaede smiled, having found peace in Higo's smile once more, and with it a new faith. "I promise. Let's go home, and we'll prepare a going away feast for you."
As the two departed, arm in arm, Kaede cast one last glance at the grave of the Master of Leaves, and what Higo had written there:
Asuna Yanagi
Demon Slayer
Breath of Leaves Master
Fallen Leaves Grow Back Stronger
-x-x-x-x-x-
In the stillness of the hours before dawn, an eerie, transient quiet hung over a small temple like a shroud. Though most other people would not rise for several hours yet, within this solemn, lived-in building two people were wide awake. In a wide room, bare of any decoration or furnishings, two men garbed in robes marking them as practitioners of Shinto Buddhism sat lotus style, facing one another.
The younger of the two, a tall boy with black hair which lightened to a deep blue at his shoulders, gripped a string of beads where it dangled from his neck. A maelstrom of emotion roiled in his core as he stared at the man across from him. Michiya Fujioka was by no means a young man, but behind his bushy white beard and wrinkled face was a blazing fire of energy, of life.
"Jomei. Your breathing is unsteady." The words were calm and clear, devoid of reprimand or rancor, but Jomei stiffened all the same.
"Forgive me, father," Jomei said, bowing his head. "I must admit, now that the time has come, I find myself...anxious."
Michiya opened his eyes, deep amber irises resting on Jomei's form. After a moment of consideration, he motioned for his son to rise. "I see. Walk with me, my son."
Without hesitation, Jomei was on his feet and accompanying Michiya. As they walked, the elder spoke, his voice soft and considering, but harboring nothing but conviction. "What is it that gives you cause to doubt yourself, Jomei? You have trained tirelessly, gone above and beyond anything I could ask of you, let alone the Cultivators you have studied under. You are no master, this is true, but in the same breath, you are indeed strong." Michiya halted in place, Jomei very nearly plowing into him before halting himself.
"Why, then," the old monk reiterated, "does self-doubt fill the air around you like a swarm of flies?"
Jomei closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and lied. "All you say is true, father, and yet...there is a difference between practicing with a blade and taking the life of a monstrous demon with it. I cannot help but worry that what I have learned is not enough."
Michiya stared at Jomei for a long moment, then turned and continued walking, Jomei trailing behind him. If his father had noticed his dishonesty, he did not speak of it. For a long while, they merely walked, passing through the small garden rife with pebbles and bonsai trees, and eventually winding up before the temple's living quarters as dawn began to break.
As the two made to enter, Michiya turned to regard his son, then said, "I have faith in you. I know that you can do whatever you put your mind to, Jomei."
A lump rose in his throat at this, and he wasn't sure if it was made of gratitude or guilt. Jomei choked out his thanks and darted into the building, making his way to his room so his father couldn't see the grimace on his face.
Like the dojo, Jomei's room was minimalist, with a single dresser for clothing, a single futon for sleeping, and single, overlong Nichirin sword for practice...and soon slaying, he supposed. The only other object in the room (and the single concession to individuality) was a meticulously cared for wisteria bonsai, its ethereal purple flowers almost seeming to glow despite the faintness of the slowly rising sun.
He gave the plant a long, sad look, before sighing and shaking his head. With one hand he snatched up his odachi, and with the other he hefted a brown satchel. He'd packed minimalistically, leaving plenty of room in the bag for rations.
'It isn't as though I have a great deal to bring with me in the first place,' Jomei thought, shaking his head wryly before giving his room one last, long look. He wasn't quite sure what he expected to see, there in that near-empty room, but it was nowhere to be found. With another shake of his head, he turned and left.
As Jomei reentered the living area, he was met by his father once more. No words left Michiya's lips, but none needed to. The elderly man placed both hands on his son's shoulders and merely smiled.
And just like that, the gratitude and the guilt both came rushing back with a vengeance. Jomei could barely speak, so overcome with emotion was he, but he managed to choke out one single sentence.
"Thank you for taking me in, father."
Michiya smiled, and spoke a single word. It wasn't a command or an order, however firm it may have been. No, it was nothing less than an absolute statement of what would happen, odds be damned.
"Survive."
Jomei swallowed thickly and nodded, not trusting his voice.
No further words passed between them as Jomei left; none needed to. Everything they could have said to one another had already been communicated, in one fashion or the other.
As Jomei set foot on the long dirt path towards Final Selection, many thoughts and emotions swirled within him, but one stood above all, flowing through his veins and wrapping itself around his heart.
That emotion was rage. An all-encompassing, all-consuming wrath that frightened Jomei more than the idea of fighting demons did.
This rage had been with him for as long as he could remember, and it was only through the discipline instilled into him by Michiya Fujioka that he had any measure of control over it.
But now...now he would be going to fight, to kill. His discipline had served him well so far, but…
'What if I'm not strong enough to keep my temper? If my rage runs out of control in the midst of battle, not only could I die, but so could other people!'
Yes, Jomei certainly felt anxiety towards becoming a Demon Slayer, not because he worried that his sword arm was too weak, but because he worried that his will was too weak.
But in spite of it all, he would try nonetheless. He had to, because of what was coming.
And so, Jomei Fujioka walked away from the temple in which he'd been raised, never once casting his gaze back. For he knew, if he looked back even once, he would be lost.