Chapter 5: Flight

It was before the first light of dawn that it happened.

At first it started as a gradual build-up, before culminating in an explosion of feelings in Tanjiro's heart; it was something that seethed and writhed in his chest, and finally crushed his breast. He woke with a choke—a sob—before it corrupted into a Breath that stilled his mind.

Something fell away from his forehead—his temple—with the sweat that slicked his skin. He stared into the darkness in a daze, unable to distinguish between what his mind saw and what his eye perceived. Memories phased into reality, and out, and the faint outline of the room would only retreat to the back of his consciousness in favor for images of the battles he fought, only coming to the forefront of his mind when thoughts of his recent past died down.

Sounds drummed his ears, phantom noises he could not make out—yet something told him that if he tried, he could hears things he had drowned out when they happened; things he did not want to hear—screams of comrades he knew, and of allies he did not know. Souls he could not save—that he effectively damned, with lost limbs, shed blood, gaping mouths, and rent skin—and beneath his own, crawled the lingering evil of the last demon he had fought.

The malice that burnt within Muzan's blood coursed through his body, and it took everything he had within himself everyday to resist collapsing on the spot. The Breath of Fire helped stave off the damage being done to his body by the demonic venom, but that was all it did—and the more he practiced it, the more he realized what a monumental task it was to maintain it. The Breath of Fire was different from the other Breaths altogether—without moving, without dancing, without swinging his sword, the "Breath" of Fire, to him, was like a weight he had to carry, lest he drop it on his own feet.

He wondered if that was how his father had felt when, even with such a weak body, he had forced himself to dance in the snow for all the hours of the night leading to dawn…

Tanjiro imagined that if he were to fight using that Breath again, the toll that his body suffered during the battle against Muzan would come crashing down on him altogether.

The talisman that Yushiro had given him during the aftermath of the battle weighed on his arm, wrapped around it and damp; it clung to his wet skin like a brace, and left the grotesque lumps of flesh that scarred his gentle face visible for anyone awake to see. He must be hallucinating, as well, because otherwise, the creeping voices that festered in his eardrums daily would mean that the Progenitor was still alive…

His vision blurred, but with what he did not know. He doubted it was either sweat or tears, even though he felt feverish and wanted to cry for the first time in a long while. To any normal folk, everything that happened to him that led up from his family's sudden murders to him sitting on the floor of his old home in pain would be unlike anything that most other people would never have to experience. He felt strangely empty, despite returning to his house since forever, despite feeling the familiar wood under the soles of his feet. He thought that he could feel nostalgic once again, walking on it, but whatever hopes he had had for that were buried by the calluses under his feet.

It took him a few moments to realize that something was touching him. Even though the air around him homed in on crushing him under its oppressiveness, and though the numbness of his flesh grew stronger and threatened to erase his ability to feel, the touch of his little sister burned through the abyss he was falling in. Suddenly the house felt like his home once more. Suddenly the bed he laid on felt soft enough to sleep in, drenched as the sheets might have been. He sucked in a breath of air—the chill seeped into his organs and loosened them up.

He was no longer suffocating.

Without sparing her a glance, he closed his eyes, caressing her hair as she laid her small head in his lap, where he then sat in a cross-legged position, his back slightly hunched over. The girl was still asleep, judging from her breaths, yet despite that, she had instinctively reached her hand out to his, to keep him from shaking. Lightly, he squeezed down on her tiny fingers. Quietly, he reminisced when he held them when they first met…

How you've grown, Nezuko….

[]

The first sounds Serenity heard before she even woke were of wings fluttering. Following that came dream-generated boisterous laughter, which were succeeded by multiple stomps on the floor from another room. Being a thin wood floor, vibrations were carried across quite easily—perhaps more than she would care for, but alas, it was how it was.

She stirred, stretched, and rose, not making so much as a noise even as her blanket fell to the floor off her slight frame. Then standing, Serenity rose from her spot in the house, and, noting how Saburo's futon was empty and neatly folded beside hers, moved to rendezvous with the rest, whom appeared to her as making a small, welcome commotion near the entrance of the house.

It would seem that her short time living her new lifestyle with Saburo had made her more lax, being the last to awake out of all five in the house. She tucked away the shame she felt, as a hashashin in the past, and compartmentalized the shame she felt for how small her first shame was.

"My, what an unsightly view you are, Mongrel of Serenity! Should I send you to the baths first or straight back to your bed, where we can carry you out in, considering how serene your dreams must have been as indicated by the length of your sleep?"

…She was not ready for such rudeness so shortly after waking up….

The cold breeze of air that greeted her outside was refreshing on her skin, prickly from her slumber, although the relative thinness of her clothing protected her little from the colder aspect of it. The canopy over her head obscured her vision of the sky, but the clearing ahead of the house was lit well with sunshine, yet somehow subdued by a thick blanket of clouds above.

"Don't be too harsh on her, King Gilgamesh. I did not take you to have a jester's sensibilities, given how you had your own court to rule."

King Gilgamesh was standing near the edge of the engawa, dressed in a different kimono from the one he had worn the night before, but it was no less splendid, with its own brand of embroidery and strength of fabric. Master Saburo, on the other hand, was sitting against the outer wall of the house, resting his back while sitting in a cross-legged position, with a small smoke plate in front of him between his feet, dressed modestly in juxtaposition to the lavishly clothed king.

However, what truly caught the newly-awoken Serenity was neither of the two, nor was it the luxurious kimono that Gilgamesh wore—it was the bird perched on his arm, and the long scroll that he held in his other hand. Its length almost reached the wooden floorboard of the engawa where he let it unfurl as he read its contents, and the bird's own appearance was of striking peculiarity, and intimidation.

It was a large thing, heavily resembling a crow, yet not quite seeming like one. The talons that it used to grip the king's arm were large and rough, but appeared disciplined enough to take care not to tear at his sleeve. The feathers on its wings and tail were flared, as though it could fly over an ocean without rest, and its beak sharper and longer than that of any eagle she had seen.

It turned its head toward her, and their eyes met. Its eyes, as sharp as its beak, held hers in place, and she caught a glint from it that somehow mesmerized something within her.

"Ah, it looks like Kotaroemon Fujioka sees something in you. I wouldn't say that it likes you just yet, but it seems it has an interest in you, Mongrel. Consider yourself lucky…," King Gilgamesh remarked disinterestedly, trailing off into deep thought as he continued reading what Serenity would assume to be a report.

[]

A berserk hero on the loose from the Greek envoys… A rogue, show-off samurai without a NichirinBlade dispatching rampant demons and collecting ransoms from villages… Sightings of tiny creatures with unnatural bloodlust and malice unlike the demons we know… And the potential first encounter of a Storm in the province of Shimousa….

King Gilgamesh pressed his lids together in contemplation, taking a deep breath of the fresh, morning air. With Serenity, the Storm Slayer Corps then had only two Storm Slayers wielding Blades of Calamity, and considering the new one's background, it was highly unlikely for her to have any experience wielding a large sword. She was an assassin from the Middle East, not a knight, nor a swordfighter of any kind.

The Corps had suffered extreme losses in the battle against Kibutsuji Muzan, even prior to encountering him directly and personally. The Pillars were heavily injured, some disfigured quite permanently, others retired, where the newer ones and the more seasoned, competent ones were mostly demoralized or were already entering a period of complacency. And then, the Global Storm Phenomenon cropped up, afflicting the entire world with a promise of absolute doom.

It was a call for Globalization, something that he himself was initially opposed to. He was the proud ruler of Uruk, more than content with his own subjects, but then…after all those years, adventures, conquests and challenges, he grew bored. There was nothing more to do in his own land. The systems of military personnel, agriculture, art, architecture, philosophy, music, and many more facets of human civilization within the areas of Mesopotamia that were under his jurisdiction had largely been regulated to the point where they had become automated efficiently. As a king, there had been little else for him to do.

And thus he was content with leaving it for the time being.

Then, they faced the legends of another country. In the Far East, there was a wielder of the sword unlike any other; someone who slew 100 samurai consecutively in the span of a single day without so much as a rest… They called her the holder of the Empyrean Eye that was said to claim a future that it appraised as its own before manifesting it as a reality. In the possession of someone with a sword, it was only intuitive to conclude that such a person would be able to defeat a hundred elite individuals with ease, alone.

And to think that she would manifest herself in the present as a Storm was something the king did not want to believe was true. With the entirety of the Storm Slayer Corps, he doubted that even he could lead them to victory…except…

"Tanjiro Kamado. There you are." The person in question emerged from the house as the king concluded his thoughts, and their next course of action. He looked fresh, as though he had a wondrous sleep the night prior. He prepared a smile for the small party of three outside; four, including the crow, but it wavered ever so slightly when his eyes landed on the creature.

"Why does…," before he could finish his question, the king responded.

"It appears as though the Globalized Storm Phenomenon, which affects the entire globe, has a particular effect on avians, be they migratory or not. In the case of the Kasugai Crows that you Demon Slayers have used, they've—and only loosely—evolved. I have been receiving reports across the seas from the Dutch East Indies via their own native messenger birds as well, who have themselves adapted to the new 'climate'." The generous explanation was not over, however; "As with most things related to the GSP, we do not know the reason why nor the methodology of its phenomenal progressions as of yet. Worry not, however. I am sure that Matsuemon Tennōji is resting just fine back at headquarters," he finished with a small smile.

"I have an announcement to make: We will be making our trek back to headquarters by noon. Mongrel of Serenity, you will begin training with one of the finest blade masters in all of Japan when we get there," he cocked his head to the side as he gave her a delighted, self-satisfied grin, "I hope you look forward to it.

"Now, please, make yourself presentable. You're being an eyesore to the rest of us here."

[]

In just a few moments, the previously crowded engawa suddenly became a desolate place to be. King Gilgamesh made to do his preparations after sending the Kasugai Crow back with his own message, Serenity had gone to bathe herself for the day, and Tanjiro had retreated to his room. From under the short, wooden canopy, Saburo looked up at the sky, over the leafy canopies of the trees surrounding the house, and saw a colossal wall of thick clouds in the distance, in the far welkin. It looked like an atmospheric avalanche waiting to consume the sea of houses in the villages outside his vision, but it was slow; unmoving from where he sat.

He had put his kiseru away; it would not do to smoke so much that early in the morning. To be honest, however, he was feeling slightly anxious. They were parting, were they not? The small family that they had formed the previous night, fleeting an illusion as it might have been, was going to scatter. With learning of Serenity's duty as a Storm Slayer, he faced being alone once again. Tanjiro's warm smile was no consolation. King Gilgamesh's companionship was ephemeral. Nezuko's playfulness felt distant.

He wanted to stay with Hassan. Not then, not after all they were together for….

Someone stepped outside to meet him; he felt the door opening behind him, and the weight of the foot placed against the floor that followed. "Tanjiro…," he greeted, without so much as looking back. His eyes remained glued to the distant clouds.

"Uncle Saburo, good morning," the boy greeted back in usual fashion. Saburo imagined he was wearing a warm smile on his face. "It is a wonderful day, today, isn't it? The sun hasn't felt this bright and warm in a long time."

"Indeed. Even under this canopy of yours, I can feel the extensions of its warmth…."

It had been forever since he last saw Tanjiro, before he suddenly reappeared in his life two nights ago. If Saburo confessed to himself, he would tell him that it all still felt like a dream he could not quite believe. It was not that it was too good to be true, to him, but rather, it felt…hard to believe. He had not felt as enriched in his life in so many years, deprived of daily human interaction, that it had become quite alien to him to even touch someone else. And then two people he had known since they were born suddenly returned to his life. At that point, he felt as though it was a temporary thing; before he knew it, they would likely be gone from his life again, and with Hassan, the light of his recent days, leaving his skies to return to the drab gray that he had long gotten sick of seeing, but powerless to change.

"Uncle Saburo, I'm glad to know that you were okay ever since I left." His thoughts paused as those words left Tanjiro's mouth. "When I returned home to this village, I was worried that everything might have changed. That…home would be too different for me to find an anchor in. Walking through the village, you know, felt a little overwhelming. Little Kojirō has grown so tall now, it's hard to believe he used to be about my waist when I left!

"And then, can you believe that Miss Sasaki can now walk again? The joy on her face when I saw her in the crowd is unlike anything I'd seen her express back in the day. Speaking of joy, I was so happy when I learned that Old Man Miyamoto has published his second book! I can't wait to read it to Nezuko when I get to buy a copy!"

Listening to the boy stilled his heart. If his chest contained raging waves of turmoil that he did not realize were crashing against his breast, then the bright boy's voice was like a bright sun that illuminated the ocean's gray waves, and calmed them. Tanjiro… He was completely unlike him. Ever since he first opened his eyes and met eyes with him, Saburo knew from the budding smile on his face that the child would grow to bring warmth to everyone he met. It had struck him with a deep envy when his parents asked for him to hold the boy in his arms during their first meeting with each other, and it was all he could do to keep the tears from falling right there and then.

"After all these years," a small smile crept into his old face, unknown to him. "I can easily imagine that you are still so close to your little sister, Tanjiro. I'm glad to know that. I would find it difficult, after all, for such a kind boy like you to get into an argument with her."

"Hahaha!" His laugh rang in his ears in a pleasant manner. It was light, but carried with it a weight that did not bore down on one, but rather imbued them with a lifted spirit. "Honestly, sometimes it feels like I'm still babying her. But, if I have to carry my little sister like a child for the rest of my life, if it meant staying by her side, I would do it beyond my grave."

"That is a typical thing for you to say," Saburo replied, smiling and shaking his head, but not in disapproval. Tanjiro only laughed a bit in response. "It must have been hard for you, fighting demons like that, learning how to fight so young." His voice took on a more somber tone as he continued—he swayed his arms outward a bit to keep them from numbing—"But Tanjiro, I'm glad you made it alive, with your sister as well. If your family was still here, I can only imagine how proud they would be of you. I know I am."

There was a short, pensive silence, before his voice returned. He could hear, despite how subdued it was, the sincerity in his words, "…Yeah… Thank you, Uncle Saburo.

"I…have something to tell you."

"What is it?" Saburo turned his head around to face the boy.

Tanjiro looked glum when he first turned around, but gathered a certain courage within himself as their eyes met. He reached for his forehead, and from nowhere—pulled off a talisman, and his face suddenly became distorted with a vile, grotesque scar covering his entire right eye. Saburo was taken aback—and ashamedly, quite visibly. "Tanjiro, what happened?" he squeezed out, nearly speechless.

"At first, when I learned it can't heal, I was afraid. I was quite scared I wouldn't be accepted back into the village I once knew." He touched three fingers to it, and Saburo noticed the slight tremble in his hand before it steadied and rose to his face. "And I was sad, too, when I learn that I won't be able to see through my other eye for as long as I can see. But, when I remember that my comrades have lost far more than me, I realize that I am quite fortunate, still.

"Then I remember all the time in my life that I have been happy. The time in my adventures with my friends, when I fought demons to protect people who we saved—those days, selfish-sounding as this may be, were days I will come to cherish. Uncle Saburo, I want to thank you."

"For what?"

"If you feel left out, Uncle Saburo, remember that if it weren't for you, I would have died that night when my family was attacked. Nezuko would've been slain by a Demon Slayer who found her. Muzan would still be roaming Nippon, and many more people would have died." Tanjiro then did something that he was not expecting, even through the manners that the boy possessed—he bowed down, laying his head against the floor, facing the old man. "Thank you for saving my and Nezuko's life. Your hospitality—it saved us both."

Saburo thought, maybe for a whole minute, and the whole time the boy did not rise from his position. Perhaps the entire minute was spent in shock rather than in thought for him, but somehow, he found the strength to accept the young boy's gratitude. "Thank you, too, Tanjiro. My heart finds peace knowing you believe in that."

"But it is true!" Tanjiro rose, after receiving a response from him. "I know how violent demons can be, and how ruthless they are. If I had gone back home that night, then I wouldn't be here today. I would have suffered a lot of pain before dying, and I would have had to see my family killed in front of me. I don't want to imagine that, so please accept my gratitude!"

Saburo sighed concedingly, but not insensitively. "…Alright. You are welcome, Tanjiro," he said, and smiled, this time knowing that he had done so. "You are welcome. To my house, as is Nezuko. Any time you want to visit. And I can cook for you again, like that night."

[]

"Are you coming, or not, Mister Saburo?" King Gilgamesh demanded. Surprisingly enough, he was the first one ready to depart. It must have been because Saburo had assumed that he would have a lot of belongings to pack together, but looking back, he never did see him with excessive luxury items on him. The man was dressed in a modern-looking coat; non-traditional as it was, it appeared practical enough for a long trek in the shallow snow and frigid air.

Saburo never considered that as an option on its own. He had believed that by noon, they were going to leave behind the Kamado Estate to move toward the Storm Slayer Corps' headquarters. Wherever that might be, he assumed it was not to be disclosed to him as he was in no way an authority involved with them, but…

"Speechless, huh?" the king noted as he raised his eyebrows at him. " I can't say I expected someone of your age to be so eloquent all the time. But I have told my officers there to prepare a quarters for you to stay in for the time being, or longer if you want, until the Kakushi could get your home fixed. It's only natural for us to cover the expenses of collateral, but your staying quarters will be accounted for as payment for looking after one of the Storm Slayers for us." The amused light returned to his eyes as he watched the gears turn behind Saburo's eyes.

"If you were planning to stay behind in this place, or in an inn in town, or even in your own, dilapidated abode, you don't have to take my word for how demons have been known to attack someone living alone. It happens all the time—you can even ask our resident Demon Slayer if you like." His mirth manifested as a smirk, then, "It wouldn't surprise me if a demon on the run stumbled upon you for its last meal before it's caught up to my the Demon Slayers."

"I suppose that I do not have much choice in the matter, do I? Well, even if it were so, I wouldn't have had it any other way," he partially lied, rising to his feet and popping a few joints along the way.

A stray whip of wind lashed into his clothes, fluttering his sleeves in the breeze over his thin frame. The Demon Slayer Corps… Never in his life did he imagine he would be able to see it with his own eyes.