The sun cracked over the peaks of the Eastern mountains, casting long golden beams over the sprawling grounds of the Demon Slayer Corps.
Birds sang, grass shifted in the morning breeze, and the hum of life began anew.
Kakushi bustled between buildings with scrolls and crates in hand. Workers swept the courtyards, polished blades, and adjusted roof tiles still cracked from the Slayer's last visit.
On the main grounds, the Corps members began their day.
Training.
Rows of Demon Slayers moved in unison—sword drills, breathing forms, and meditation stances.
Sweat dripped. Shouts rang. Footfalls echoed against gravel and earth.
In another field, the Hashira sparred.
Sanemi's blade clashed with Giyu's in a blur of aggression and water-soaked calm.
Rengoku, always boisterous even in practice, barked out encouragement as he crossed blades with Mitsuri.
Obanai watched quietly from under the shade, arms crossed.
The rhythm of this world… of life… was flowing again.
Then the sound of metal boots on stone.
DOOM.
DOOM.
DOOM.
The Slayer stepped out from his dorm.
This time… not every head turned.
A few eyes flicked. Some shoulders tensed. But no screams. No panic.
They were… getting used to him.
Or pretending to.
He stopped at the edge of the sparring field. Massive frame towering over every structure nearby, the wind gently lifting the hem of his wolf-hide cloak.
He watched.
The Hashira moved—fast, fluid, powerful. Their Nichirin Blades danced. The air sizzled with Breathing Techniques.
But in his eyes…
It was child's play.
He remembered… his fists covered in the blood of hell-born titans.
He remembered breaking gods.The Khan Maykr, a divine intelligence ruling an entire realm… crumbled beneath his boots. Her armies shattered. Her realm silenced.
And these warriors here… they trained hard.
But they were human.
And it showed.
He said nothing.
Did nothing.
Just watched.
Across the Field
Giyu paused mid-swing, sensing it.
Sanemi scowled. "Don't stop now, Tomioka."
"I wasn't," Giyu muttered, eyes sliding toward the silent tower of muscle watching them.
"He watching again?" Sanemi turned, narrowed his eyes. "Tch. Makes me feel like I'm being judged."
"You are," Iguro said, arms folded, appearing from nowhere.
Mitsuri waved with a nervous smile. "He's… maybe trying to learn?"
"Learn what?" Sanemi spat. "He doesn't need us. He doesn't even blink."
"He watched you fight an Upper Moon and didn't flinch," Rengoku said with a laugh. "Sanemi, that's impressive!"
Sanemi's glare returned. "He humiliated me."
"He spared you," Giyu corrected, his tone flat. "That's different."
Atop a Balcony
Kagaya sat as Amane gently applied balm to his hands.
"He watches them," he said quietly. "But not for curiosity. Not envy. Not respect."
Amane tilted her head. "Then why?"
"Because he sees something he's long forgotten," Kagaya whispered. "Mortals. Trying. Fighting… Together."
The Slayer turned.
Without a word, he walked to the edge of the field and knelt—not to rest, but to clean his blade.
The Shield Saw hissed softly as he oiled it. The smell of steel and fuel mixing with the mountain air.
He didn't train.
He didn't need to.
But his presence alone changed the tone of the grounds.
There was now a standard beyond Hashira.
A reminder that something ancient and wrathful now walked among them.