A manor of wood and stone lay in the grassy hills of southern Japan, with a single Sakura tree charred from past lightning storms. To the back of it, there was an orchard of peach trees, and the front yard was a pebble courtyard with flowers and wooden training equipment. The wisteria pouch hung over the front entrance and swung with the wind as two figures squabbled by the entrance.

"I'm telling you, Kaigaku, I saw him smiling and snickering at himself earlier." A boy with short yellow hair and yellow eyes spoke underneath the light of the morning sun. His stature was timid as he sat trembling on the balcony. A wooden sword was hanging limp in his hands, "I'm telling you, he's planning something! I know he is!"

"For the love of everything, would you just shut up trash!" A boy with short black hair, turquoise eyes, and a pair of magatama necklaces hung around his neck. His scowl was deep as he took his wooden sword and smacked his fellow student atop the head with it, "If you don't want to train, just say so, but don't get me dragged into your nonsense!"

"Ow! I'm not lying, jerk!" Zenitsu, the younger disciple, frowned as he tried and failed to dodge another wack to the top of his head. His eyes watering as he rubbed his head and muttered, "Not that you could tell the difference."

"Eh! What was that?" Kaigaku, the older disciple, growled before he grabbed Zenitsu's hair and shook it around, "Wanna say that again so my 'shitty ears' can hear it."

"I never said you have shitty ears! Now let me go!"

"Repeat it, coward!"

"No! Let go!" Zenitsu struggled as he tried to pry his hair from Kaigaku's grip. His face twisted in a pained grimace before he heard steps coming from inside the wooden manor. Zenitsu froze as he heard the footsteps approaching, and a second before the door opened, Kaigaku let him go, and the two watched their master walk out with cups.

"Boys! What're you horsing around for!? Come on!"

Cups full of Sake so strong they could smell it.

"We're having a party!"

The two were very, very concerned.

"What're you waiting for? Get over here." Jigoro, their master, beckoned them over as the two shared a worried glance. They weren't the experts on Sake; both had drunk it before, but neither was willing to risk letting their master know about it. Except here he was, basically telling them it was time to drink.

"Did you hit your head, old man?"

Kaigaku thought Jigoro's age was finally catching up to him, and he snapped.

"Are you feeling sick, gramps?"

Zenitsu thought Jigoro might have had a few too many drinks the night before and still hadn't walked it off.

"Jeez, I'm fine, you worry warts. Now, come on, drinks are getting cold, and I'm not wasting any. Today's a special day!"

Neither expected Jigoro's cheerful yet unusual response. They couldn't figure out what was wrong, though, so they walked over, Kaigaku readily and Zenitsu hesitantly, before sitting across from their master. The two exchanged glances before they turned back and saw Jigoro pouring each a cup. Jigoro's expression was giddy.

"Drink up boys! There is no training for today! Just drinks!"

His actions matched, and the two students had a full cup in his hands before they could blink. Kaigaku's eyebrow raised suspiciously before he downed the Sake. Setting the empty cup down while he heard Zenitsu struggle to do the same, he asked, "What's wrong with you, old man? This isn't like you. Are you dying?"

"Of course not. It's just a special day."

"How?" Zenitsu asked as he tried to take another sip after failing to down the cup the first time. Barely getting it past his lips before he spit it out in utter shock at his master's response, "My friend died."

Kaigaku and Zenitsu didn't agree on many things; they didn't, but they could both agree that in all the twisted ways Jigoro had surprised them, this one took the cake. Zenitsu spit out his drink while Kagaku nearly choked on his second one. The two gagged on Sake as they tried to catch their breath, watching with wide eyes as Jigoro laughed, "Haha! You two never told me you were lightweights!"

"You never told us you had friends!" Kaigaku and Zenitsu retorted simultaneously before getting smacked in the head faster than they could blink. The two were wincing and rubbing their heads as they looked back and saw Jigoro snickering before becoming more somber. "Yeah, well..."

Sometimes, it was easy for the two to forget that their master was old—older than almost anyone. It had never been more apparent than when they saw the lines on his aged face grow wearier with each passing word: "Not many lived to retirement, you see."

The silence was rough but fleeting as Jigoro poured himself another drink, and the two watched their master gain a new smile.

"One of them did, though. The only friend I had left. His name was Sakonji Urokadaki. Have you ever heard of him?"

"I haven't," Zenitsu admitted, much to Kaigaku's chagrin. Of course, you haven't. Loser. He's the old water pillar. He's a legend." Kaigaku admitted, tilting his head towards their master. He's your friend? I thought he vanished from the corps."

"That's an exaggeration. He retired. He's a very private individual." Jigoro shrugged. "Or he was before he kicked the bucket. Lucky bastard." Jigoro chuckled as he downed his third, maybe fourth, cup and watched this student look at him incredulously. To them, it must've seemed like he was insane.

"You two are probably wondering why I'm celebrating the death of my friend?"

"No shit, old man." / "Maybe a little gramps."

"Well, the answer to that's simple!" Jigoro smiled as he poured his students another cup and grinned with the giddiness of a child, "You see, although Sakonji retired from the corps, he never stopped serving it. He had a student, Topioka, or something similar. Never got him to stop bragging about the brat."

Jigoro's smile turned softer as he took the gourd of Sake and set it peacefully on the ground, "I have seen hundreds of my comrades die in the worst of ways. Some died cold, lost, and bitter. Others were passionate, angry, and defiant. A few didn't even notice it until it was too late. Not a single death was peaceful."

Jigoro raised his cup of Sake to his lips, drinking it before he murmured, "Every death was alone."

At that moment, the sun had finished creating over the horizon, and with the dawn to their backs, they saw Jigoro's weary expression melt in the light of the morning rays. They watched Jigoro drink, and they glanced at each other before nodding. For Jigoro's sake, they would put aside their differences. They downed their drinks and listened to their master's words, dipped in honey and wistful honesty.

"Sakonji died peacefully. In the arms of his student."

Jigoro's friend had died—his oldest friend. Today, Jigoro received a crow with the news that he was now the last of his generation. Today, he learned about the death of Sakonji Urokodaki.

"What better death could you ask for?"

What a wonderful day it was.

The sun was high in the sky at the Rengoku family estate, specifically at high noon, and a beautiful breeze accompanied the sunny skies. The sparse wisteria trees surrounding the estate bristled with a violet hue, and the fleeting sound of wood cracking against a training post echoed through the yard.

A young man with long, fiery blond hair trained, his wooden sword tinged with flames that flickered with every breath. His haori was a white cloak with flame details on its ends. His eyes had orange and red circles that resembled the burning sun. They narrowed on the task as he flickered in and out of a vision—a mirage in the afternoon's heat and the sun shining overhead. The sun was relentless as always. It was perfect for training!

Kyojuro Rengoku, the flame Hashira, bounded on the balls of his feet as he carved through another training session. He prepared for another before he heard Sojirou, his younger brother, call for him in a confused yet worried demeanor, "Brother," Sojirou said in a near-silent voice.

"What is it, Sojirou?" Rengoku asked in the loud cadence he always spoke in. His attention was taken as he stopped his training and looked over. His brother was frail in stature and very young, barely up to his chest due to the fragility inherited from his mother, but that wasn't what worried Rengoku. It was the way his brother looked, hesitant to speak.

"Father asked for something new... it's weird."

It was as good an indication as any topic.

"What is it, Sojirou? What did he ask for?" Rengoku asked as he walked over and quickly scanned Sojirou for injuries. He didn't see any bruises or any signs of hidden wounds. He hadn't heard any yelling either, but that begged the question as to his brother's hesitance. Rengoku was beginning to worry.

"Come on, Sojirou, you can tell me."

It was better if he didn't show it.

"I'm the flame hashira, after all! How can I claim the title if I don't fix whatever's troubling you!" Rengoku beamed as he watched Sojirou's worry melt. Then, he told Rengoku of their father, Shinjurou's request.

"Father asked for water?"

Rengoku didn't believe it.

"Are you sure?" Rengoku asked as he watched Sojirou nod shyly. A small ruffling of movement followed the action before Sojirou brought out a small water gourd and handed it to Rengoku, "Can you take it to him? I don't... I don't know how to act around him. He's different. He hasn't touched the gourd I got him this morning."

"He hasn't?" Rengoku blinked in surprise, his eyes wide and his voice soft before his smile grew wider and his voice became a booming one of joy. "Wonderful! That's wonderful news! Don't worry," Rengoku ruffled Sojirou's blond hair. I'll see to it that he drinks this water! Thank you, Sojirou."

"No, it's nothing... don't worry about it," Sojirou murmured shyly, his face dusted red, as Rengoku walked towards the estate and entered it. His steps were hurried and eager as he made his way towards his father's room before knocking on the wall next to the sliding door, "Father. It's me, Kyojuro."

"You got what I asked?"

"Yes."

"Bring it then. I'm thirsty." Rengoku's father grumbled from behind the tatami door that Rengoku promptly opened. He slid into the room and closed the door behind him, sparing his father a glance as he took inventory—irritable mood. Check. His back turned to Rengoku as he lay casually on the tatami mats and stared out at the courtyard. Check.

"What're you waiting for? Hand it over."

Harsh yelling. Not check. An empty or at least half-empty gourd of alcohol. Not check. It wasn't even tied around his father's wrist like usual; it was off to the side like a decoration. Rengoku knew then that his father was sober for once.

"Yes, father!"

The news made Rengoku ecstatic. His enthusiasm was apparent as he handed his father the water gourd and sat respectfully. He watched his father drink the water as he would other beverages before his curiosity became too much to contain.

"Father! May I ask why you wanted water? It is a surprise!"

"You don't say." Shinjuro murmured as Rengoku waited patiently, watching in astonishment as his father shrugged nearly amicably and added, "It was for me too, but I promised that old asshole I wouldn't drink at his funeral. The irony."

Shinjuro took another swig, and Rengoku digested the information swiftly. Funeral meant death, yet unlike mother's death, this one didn't send his father into a downward spiral. It was more of a sad yet nostalgic sight. The words that escaped his father's lips were nearly playful, "He even nags me in death. Fucking old bastard. So glad he's gone."

Rengoku wasn't sure if his father hated or liked the person who died, but he leaned toward the latter. He would even assume it was a friend or mentor. At the very least, an old comrade. Regardless, the sudden change in his father's mood was welcome, and the near-playful atmosphere loosened Rengoku's lips before he could think twice about it.

"May I ask who died, father?"

"You may not."

"I apologize profusely, father! I did not mean to offend you or overstep my bounds!" Rengoku kowtowed, his head touching the floor as he heard his father scoff, "So damn loud," before his father finished half the water jug and set it down. Rengoku slowly raised his head, opening his mouth before Shinjuro said, "Is that Tomioka brat still alive?"

It wasn't a question Rengoku was expecting—not in the slightest—but after a moment, his dutiful nature took over, and he nodded, "He is, father."

"Huh," Shinjuro murmured as he took a last swig of his water gourd before tossing it. His eyes lowered to the horizon as he chuckled humorlessly, "How unfortunate." Shinjuro's chuckle turned into a breathless laugh as he looked at the sky and heard his son stiffen from behind. Rengoku was lost.

"Father?"

Shinjuro didn't bother correcting his son. He just continued laughing until he was out of breath. He laughed until his tears ran dry and could contain himself with a slight sigh, "Kyojuro..."

Shinjuro remembered that day, the first pillar meeting with the young boy who had taken the retired Sakonji Urokodaki's place. They had only served together for a couple of months at most; his wife died soon after, but to say he was disappointed when Urokodaki was replaced with an expressionless doll was an understatement.

"Give up on being a hashira."

To say he hadn't hated those eyes that looked at the world through a stained glass film was a lie. He had despised them with the burning passion he used to carry everywhere. They unnerved him, but he could chalk it up to the brat being daft or deaf and move on. He had written the kid off as brainless.

"You'll either end up like my dead comrades..."

That was when he was younger, and his wife was still alive. Back then, he hadn't seen the futility of his life and mistaken those glossy blue eyes for emotionless. Since then, Shinjiro has been introduced to reality and realized he is the dumb one. He is the fool.

"Or like me."

Shinjuro had been looking through the stained glass, and the boy, only a year older than Kyojuro, saw the world clearly. In the few months they served together, the brat never smiled. Never once showed any emotion. The futility of the world had drowned the boy a long time ago. Shinjuro just hadn't noticed why until he was in the same sinking boat.

"Either way."

It was all pointless.

"Your life will have been better spent elsewhere." Shinjuro finished as he looked at his spilled bottle and wished to fill it with sake. It would help with the headache from his son's answer because he knew what his son's answer would be. Shinjuro's would have been the same at one point in time.

"I'm afraid I can not do that, Father!"

Shinjuro would have sat there with his burning eyes and loud hair and boldly claimed to the world that he wouldn't quit. He would have fought tooth and nail against his stickler of a father to become a hashira, and at the end of it all, he would have done it with a smile because that's what the corps excelled at. They sold dreams of vengeance and victory that would never come to pass.

"I have committed myself to being the Flame Hashira!"

The price was death. It was always death, whether it be you or someone close to you.

"If that path results in my passing..."

They took everything from everyone at some point.

"Then so be it."

It was only a matter of time before they took his son as well.

"I am hoping that is a path mother would have been proud of," Rengoku said softly as he bowed his head to his father's back, fully aware that his father long stopped listening. Not once in the conversation did Rengoku ever see anything besides his father's back, but he expected it. Rengoku didn't choose to stay longer after his declaration was met with silence.

"I will go and check on Sojirou, father."

This had already been the best conversation they'd had in years. Rengoku wouldn't want to push it.

"Thank you for the conversation," Rengoku said as he raised his head and rose. He turned away from his father's back and walked towards the door. The sunlight highlighted the back of his flame-tinted haori as he slid open the door to the estate and stalled. His words were uncharacteristically quiet as he murmured one last thing before he went inside to check on his little brother.

"I am glad you didn't drink today."

Rengoku didn't need to look back to know that his father didn't hear that either.

I'm the snowy mountains of Japan, there was a coal selling family that lived halfway up the hill. They lived in a decently built wooden lodge with room for playing children and a roof strong enough to keep out the pounding snow. It was a harsh day, although the fading sunlight hid it well. It guided the boy who trekked away from the cabin, only a little away, towards a nearby tree.

He was named Tanjiro. He had red hair, a patchy scar on his forehead, red eyes that glistened with somber kindness, and a green and black checkered haori belonging to his late father, Tanjuro. Tanjuro had died of an illness precisely a few years prior. It was time for the family to pay respects, but the weather was too cold, and his siblings could get sick. So could his mother. So he went alone.

"Hello, Otou-san," Tanjiro said as he stood before a patch of snow with a large wooden ceremonial sword of bells and branches marking the ground beneath it. He clasped his hands together, closed his eyes and lowered his head, "Sorry the others couldn't make it, I didn't want them to get sick, but they said hello."

The snow whistled and howled, and Tanjiro's voice was almost lost in the wind. "Takeo misses you. He says he wants to hear more stories. Hanako misses your hugs. Shigeru and Rokuta miss your smile."

It was getting dark. The night was creeping up.

"Nezuko and Okaa-San miss your laugh."

Tanjiro had to return, so he clapped his hands again and left a cup of fresh tea behind. It was his father's favorite. Jasmine dipped in honey had a soft and tender taste. The blearing snow above quickly covered the surface, and Tanjiro knew it wouldn't be long before it froze. Yet he left it there, content with leaving nature to claim it just like the tears dripping down his face and landing in the fresh powder. He gave a soft yet sad smile as he returned to his home, where the firelight trickled in from the window, and his family was playing games to pass the time.

"I miss you, too, Otou-San."

He wanted to rest well before going down the mountain tomorrow.