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Chapter Text

1912...

Tight-laced sandals slapped against the uneven paving stones of a deserted village. The air, unusually cold for a summer night, burned as it flowed through the lungs of a young girl dressed in black. Clashing metal rang out and fragrant flowers masked the scent of blood in the air, driving her down each winding alley.

Only minutes from now the sun would rise and the fight would end. Her mouth pressed into a tight line as she swept into an opening at the village’s furthest edge. The corpses of once lively houses surrounded them on every side.

She skidded to a stop, Nichirin sword swinging violently in hand. A strong gust of bone-chilling wind swept the short violet strands out of her eyes allowing her a clear view of the explosive fight.

A demon, not the usual monstrous sort but one with pale hair and unusual eyes, spun toward her sister with a Japanese War Fan in hand. The air was so cold she thought her lungs might burst as she lunged forward in her sister’s defense.

In a snap second’s analysis, Shinobu Kocho could tell that her sister’s strength was wavering, though her opponent was not unscathed. Blood spattered them both, in such a manner that Shinobu could not tell to whom it belonged. Kanae Kocho, her strength flagging after four hours of combat, made to block his blow.

Never before had her speed failed her, but her eyes met the demon’s and she knew that she would not be fast enough. A smile, charismatic in a way she would not attribute to demons but malicious all the same, spread across his face.

Upper Two.

“Kanae!” She cried, fear apparent in her voice, as her blade met the hard end of his fan.

She made to strike his eye, but met empty air. The mad dash there tired her small body. The sun had not yet risen, but she felt warmth as she sought the Upper Moon. Her heart thrashed in her chest, anger and fear mingling so that she could not tell them apart.

Her sister never told her which of the twelve she planned to hunt down, but she could never have imagined it to be one of the upper six.

“Good try, little demon slayer!” She found him on the roof of a nearby home, Kanae’s own blade pressed to her chest, “but, you should really give up, unless you wish for your recklessness to send your sister to an early grave.”

Her blood ran cold as she slowly lowered her blade at his behest. He seemed tired—yes—but the expression on his face was an imitation of pure exhilaration.

“Release her,” she demanded evenly, “I will fight you instead.”

The sun would rise soon. She hoped her sister would forgive her for failing to protect her when he sent her to an early grave. Rage burned in her veins and she wondered how much poison it would take to send him into the ground beside her.

“I could,” he remarked as the blade drew blood just above her heart, Kanae had gone still in his arms, but Shinobu could tell she was still conscious. “But then I couldn’t cherish your anger. The fight would be over far too soon if it happened tonight.”

He pouted, but it seemed more a mockery than a true reflection of his emotions, his eyes rose to the brightening horizon briefly. Shinobu took the opportunity to lunge forward, only to falter as he pushed the blade deep into Kanae’s chest. She cried out in pain, blood spurting from the wound narrowly avoiding her heart.

“You hide your true emotions behind that pretty mask, at someone else’s request no doubt.”

Shinobu did not answer, preparing to strike once the opening arrived. The demon wrenched the blade from Kanae’s chest and a stream of crimson decorated her pale haori. He seemed thoughtful, though that only served to infuriate Shinobu further, the carefully blank expression falling from her face.

“How I wanted to absorb this one,” his laugh was as cold as the air, “however, it seems that a better plan has fallen right into my lap. Oh, how lovely it will be, little butterfly, when we are eternally bound.”

He pressed the blade against the hand he held over Kanae’s mouth. She struggled in his grasp, the Nichrin blade hidden in her shoe plunging into his knee, once, than twice, but the demon did not flinch.

“Promise you’ll stay angry, just for me?”

His request was mocking, with no real emotion behind it, though something unsettling sparkled behind his eyes. Her opening had arrived.

Insect Breathing: Dance of the Dragonfly—

He plunged the katana through his hand, forcing a steady stream of blood down her sister’s throat. Kanae dropped from the roof like a deadweight, landing in a heap on the ground.

The sky lightened to a hazy blue, the sun stretching for its morning ascent. A thin veil of clouds kept the sunlight at bay, only for a while longer now.
He disappeared with a parting wink and the air warmed to an unusual degree.

Shinobu dropped to her knees at her sister’s side, pulling her close.

“Sister—” tears welled in her eyes as Kanae’s hand rose to meet hers.

Her hand twitched, shaking slightly before tumbling back to the ground.

“Shinobu?” Something like fear, not an emotion native to her, crossed Kanae’s face and for the first time Shinobu felt true terror.

“You can’t die, you can’t.” Her words sounded more like a command than a prayer. She flinched at the sound of her voice, nothing like the soft inflection Kanae spoke with and the sweet tone she often imitated.

“I’m not,” Kanae doubled over in pain, her shoulders trembling beneath her haori. Her voice was hoarse; Shinobu watched in shock and horror as the wound in her shoulder knit itself shut. “I’m not dying.”

A shadow fell over them, accompanied by the soothing scent of freshly cut flowers. Kanae fell still in her arms, eyes fluttering shut, but her slight frame felt heavier than usual.

“I would recommend that you move your sister indoors,” the sweet voice of an older woman informed her, “unless you wish to use that Nichirin sword to cut her new lifespan short.”

Shinobu’s tear-filled eyes fell on the figure of a beautiful woman with dark-hair and a floral kimono. She clutched her unconscious sister closer to her chest as flowers filled the air around them, the scent making her feel dizzy. Blood dribbled down the woman’s arm.

She knew that she should reach for her sword, but instead she asked, “who are you?”

“The enemy of your enemy,” the woman smiled kindly, “which, I suppose, makes me your friend.”

“Could you repeat that?” Shinobu was glad to hear her voice come out evenly, “I’m not sure I heard you right.”

“That was quite the fight with Upper Moon Two,” The woman knelt down and brushed a loving hand over Kanae’s brow. “I am here to help you both.”

She extended her hand to Shinobu, offering her assistance in moving Kanae inside. The sun set a time limit, pushing her not to think too hard about it.
Shinobu frowned down at her sister, but she knew what Kanae would want her to do, and so she took the strange woman’s hand.

“Who might you be?”

“You may call me Tamayo, Miss Kocho.”

Chapter Text

Rumors spread through the demon slayer corps like wildfire in the three months following the death of the Flower Hashira. Some claimed to have seen a girl with her face in the woods behind the Butterfly Mansion, haunting its new master as though the grief were not enough for a fifteen-year old girl. Others told stories at dinner of a monster trapped deep within the manor, citing the flash of glowing wings and footsteps outside the infirmary in the dead of night.

More grounded rumors revolved around the open Hashira seat, a situation left unresolved in light of the Hashira’s passing. Speculation stated that a former Hashira might fall out of retirement to fill the missing seat, citing the former Thunder Hashira and Lady Kocho’s Flower Breathing instructor as likely suspects. A great proportion of the corps, however, believed that the empty hashira seat was being saved for someone who had yet to prove their worth.

Of course, they had no proof.

Supposedly, a Hashira meeting would be held that evening to address the vacant seat. Of course, to the recent Final Selection graduates gathered near the compound entrance, this news mattered little in the grand scheme of things.

The sun had just begun to sink in the sky, casting the crows soaring overhead in golden light. Suddenly, with such force one might suspect a demon was behind it, the doors to the compound burst open. All eyes turned to the figure, short with a butterfly clip pinned to her disheveled hair, who raised a bloodied haori into the air like a war-trophy. A girl, no more than fifteen, stood before them.

Purple eyes, usually vacant but tonight filled with a strange light, glared into the crowded demonslayers. She gasped for air as though she had run to the manor at top speed for days on end, which she likely had, her small chest rising and falling with her breath.

“Miss Kocho?” One of the gathered demon slayers hazarded.

A crow shot through the open gates, a phrase so unusual sounding from it that several dropped to their knees in shock.

“Shinobu Kocho killed Lower Moon Three, Shinobu Kocho killed Lower Moon Three,” it squawked.

Whispers stirred amongst the gathered men. Even though she claimed relation to the late Flower Hashira, it was impossible to imagine such a delicate young woman beheading one of the Twelve Kizuki. She stood there, frozen, holding out the blood-stained cloak.

Her late sister’s Haori nearly swallowed her where she stood, the pale fabric flawless but for the near-invisible stitches where Kanae Kocho was allegedly dealt her death blow. The mistress of Butterfly Manor radiated violent energy, far different from the sweet affection with which she treated her patients. Several retreated, pulling their companions to their feet.

Shouts could be heard ringing through the entire demon slayer compound as Shinobu dropped the cloak.

A Lower Moon without a scratch, Lower Moon Three no less.

A white haired figure emerged from the crowd, several underlings pulling back from his unpleasant disposition. An exchange with the Wind Hashira was never pleasant, but he had been in a particularly terrible mood these last few months. His eyes were often red, though nobody dared to say anything.
Something flickered across his face at the sight of Shinobu’s sagging form, and the men around him flinched away fretfully.

He strode toward her with surprising intensity, scabbard swinging violently from the belt at his hip. Whispers called for someone to intervene, he had finally chosen to direct his anger at Kanae’s grieving sister. Nobody stepped forward.

His hand clasped her shoulder with surprising care.

“Congratulations,” his voice was gruff, “Insect Hashira.”

She looked up at him, drowning in his shadow and her sister’s Haori, and something like a smile graced her face. Plucking the bloodied cloak from the dusty ground, she thrust it into his arms.

“It was nothing.”

Shinobu’s gaze followed the crows shadowing someone’s assent toward the compound’s front courtyard. Sanemi Shinazagawa stared down at the disgusting old cloak.

“What is this?”

She spun, her oversized jacket evoking butterfly wings as it fluttered in the wind, “A gift for the master, it’s the cloak of the demon I killed. Though I do wish it belonged to another demon entirely.”

He passed it back to her, displeasure apparent on his scarred face.

“Why would you give it to me?”

“Why not?” She laughed lightly, “You used to hold onto my dear sister’s haori for her.”

He glanced at the assembled demon slayers, the crowd growing by the minute, and cleared his throat. “You waited a long time, the Hashira meeting was supposed to start in fifteen minutes.”

“Had they already selected someone?” Her soft voice was cold.

“Not yet,” he hedged, “but, everyone had their opinions.”

“Excellent,” She stared at the sky, a whirlwind of black feathers and flickering stars overhead, “if only I found the right demon in time for the meeting, but this one will have to do.”

The outline of a girl was visible through the Butterfly Mansion’s furthest window. This window, looking out at the compound’s entrance, was illuminated by the warm light of a candle. From her place before the window, she watched Kagaya Ubuyashiki congratulate her sister on her accomplishment.

“Do you want to be down there?” She asked the black-haired girl perched beside her on the windowsill, “You know that you are allowed to congratulate her too, right?”

Kanao Tsuyuri, her purple eyes heavy with sleepiness, stared at her blankly. Kanae groaned, shuffling so the heavy weight at her back was braced against the cold glass. In lieu of a response, the young girl pulled a coin from her pocket flipping it through the air.

Heads.

“Yes.” Her voice was quiet, and fragile, “I will go.”

“I wasn’t commanding you.” Kanae called, but her little sister had already faded from view. She rubbed her shoulder, hoping to relieve some of the soreness gathered in wake of her new development.

In the distance, Shinobu knelt before the master as he announced her as the newest Hashira. The sight of the white-haired man at his side caused her heart to flutter, though she knew that recent developments made the reaction foolish.

Kanae sighed and rested her arms against the windowsill, the newfound strength and speed contained in them still unnatural to her. Demon slayers already toed the line of inhuman strength, Kanae’s own abilities rivaling those of the most competent man in life, but this new form amplified them to impossible heights.

Long pale pink panels of flexible wings pooled around her like a second skirt, the reason she must force the longing from her heart. Even with the enhanced strength, the new pair of wings in the style of the Indian Crow, were heavy. Them, and the darkness that had overtaken her sclera, kept her and Sanemi seas apart.

Truly, it was kinder for him to believe her dead and for her affection to rot away in secret. She still regretted the way she ignored his admiration in life, choosing to preserve her friendship with the young Hashira in lieu of facing what their connection might have meant.

It mattered not, now, as he would surely kill her at the sight of her new wings, beheading her before she could explain. After all, who would ever believe a demon was capable of speaking rationally?

A fool.

Shinobu accepted her rank with grace, the assembled hashira welcoming her into their ranks with a joy that filled Kanae with longing and regret. Kanao clutched Shinobu’s arm shyly, but her usually-absent smile was happy. Never, in the last three months, had Kanae wanted to join the world below more.

A crow landed on her windowsill, nuzzling her softly with his soft head. Kanae stroked his feathers before pushing to her feet. Even from so far away, she felt Kagaya’s eyes fixated on her silhouette.

“That time already?”

The crow squawked in response.

“I suppose it can’t be helped,” she glanced back at the crowd amassing below, “tell my sister congratulations for me.”

The crow tilted his head before flapping away. Kanae set out toward the woods with a heavy sigh.

Chapter Text

1913...

It was not unusual for Kagaya Ubuyashiki to ship his most loyal hashira out on missions all by their lonesome; even in life Kanae enjoyed solo missions on occasion. However, he preferred to send them in pairs. It was rare, though not forbidden, for a Hashira to refuse to partner on an assignment, but it was never recommended. Kagaya only assigned his children what they could handle, that was, until Kanae’s encounter with Upper Moon Two six months ago.

This morning Shinobu and the new Hashira, a young boy by the name of Muichiro, set out on a mission to Kyoto. Kanae never met him prior to her alleged death, but he seemed like a nice enough boy, if a little bit cold and distant. Kanae hoped that her sister would end the night with a new friend. They both seemed to mask their true emotions similarly, though Muichiro allegedly attributed his distant attitude to a bout of amnesia rather than the need to mask his true feelings.

Having adjusted so swiftly to her role, fifteen-year old Shinobu was Kagaya’s go-to pupil for partner missions with Hashira unused to spending time in the company of others. More than once in the last three months, he had remarked at how helpful she had become, a far-cry from the abrasive girl from half a year ago. Shinobu hunted demons with such efficiency and fervor, while keeping a smile on her sweet face, that there was little risk in sending her with even the most reclusive or abrasive new recruit.

Muichiro, a hashira of only one month, and a recruit of three months, would either be a challenge or a delight for the Insect Hashira. She wished she could join them on their mission and relish in the warm Kyoto air.

Tonight, however, saw Kanae Kocho kneeling outside the master’s manner in anticipation of a new mission. Her wings, now something she had learned to adjust to, spread about her like the skirt of a glorious pink ballgown. Her modified uniform left space for them to stretch to their full potential.

A cold wind swept through the courtyard.

“Do you know why I called you here tonight?”

“I do not.” Kanae answered truthfully.

Were any of the corps’s younger members to witness this, they would find vindication in the knowledge that the rumor of the tenth Hashira was true.

The master’s eyes, newly blinded by his illness, stared through her. It felt as though he looked right into her fragile soul. If demons still had souls, that is.

“I would ask a favor of you, one that goes beyond your role as a spy and your search for Muzan Kibitsuji. Please know that you are not required to agree, but I find that it would be in your interest if you did.”

Kanae did not dare to think of his name as she processed the master’s statement. Though, the memory of a kind-eyed woman promising her the act would not kill her remained in her mind, she dared not attempt it anyway.

“It is my pleasure to serve you, Master Kagaya. What would you ask of me?”

“My request regards Wind Hashira, Sanemi Shinazagawa.”

Her wings twitched at the mention of his name; an unexplained anxiety pooled in her gut. A cool breeze whipped through the secluded courtyard, ruffling her hair affectionately.

“As you might have heard, Shinazagawa has refused all partner assignments since your alleged death. This normally would not be an issue, as the Hashira position requires the ability to handle a Kizuki and any number of lower demons without assistance, but his intense pursuit of demons has become troublesome recently.”

“How so?”

Guilt. That was the feeling rushing through her blood, paired with another potent emotion she could not quite identify.

“Shinazagawa has reportedly begun using his unusual tactics to lure out large numbers of demons in places with rumored Kizuki sightings. Just this morning, I was informed that he nearly passed out from blood loss after facing an unmanageable crowd of lower demons.”

“That is the first I’ve heard of this,” Kanae thought back to the report Kanao left on her desk regarding all the patients who had recently visited for treatment.

“He has been refusing treatment at the Butterfly Manor,” The master’s eyes were kind, “it is likely too painful for him to step onto the grounds.”

There was a simple solution for this problem, Kanae thought, but the problem was that it would not end nearly as well as it would begin. Not that the master would ever allow that approach; her current role was vital to the corps.

Her head bowed lower as he continued, “In light of this news, I would ask that you monitor his solo missions for the time being, just until he is open to working with others once more. If you choose to, then I would ask that you do not step in, unless absolutely necessary, and remain undetected as long as possible.”

Recalling her last mission with Shinazagawa, which sent them both undercover in the Shikoku region in search of a former Kizuki, Kanae felt a pang of guilt. That mission was likely his last with a partner, a blight on a good memory no doubt.

“I would be happy to.”

The master nodded, the picture of calm as he headed back into the manor.

"I know that you will continue to make me proud, my child.”

Chapter Text

Shinobu Kocho, though beginning to earn corps-wide renown for her impeccable work as a doctor and hashira, did not know what to do with the child staring absently out of the train’s small window. His slender hands folded over one another as his turquoise eyes saw through the world beyond the train car.

His dark hair draped over his small shoulders and his delicate facial features pinched in confusion—at what, she was not sure—reminding her that they would rely on those two vague points of resemblance for their mission..

Muichiro Tokito’s status as a hashira was new, and fairly untested as he had only spent two months in the Demon Slayer Corps prior to his promotion. He had become a Hashira five months after Kanae’s false death, today marking the end of his first month, but had not gone on many partner missions as of yet.

True genius, the rumors suggested, was responsible for his talent with the sword. Not that Shinobu herself could judge one’s ability with a sword too harshly, considering how difficult beheading demons had been for her in training.

Were she even slightly weakened, through poison or fatigue, the possibility of beheading demons would evaporate completely. Therefore, she trusted her sword and the unique poisons her scabbard administered to it, to kill demons in lieu of beheading them.

“We should review our orders before we arrive,” She snapped her fingers in hopes of gathering Tokito’s wandering attention.

Prodigy or not, this mission did not seem especially suited to someone so spacey.

“Okay,” his voice was rife with boredom, fatigued even.

“Once we arrive in Kyoto, we will pose as siblings seeking a room in the Sakura Day Inn to stay in while traveling North to Tokyo.”

“I am your little brother, then?”

Shinobu consciously softened her voice, resisting the urge to lecture him, “what other role could you possibly play?”

“You're pretty short,” he flicked his hand between them, as if comparing their heights, “are you sure you shouldn’t be playing my younger sister?”

“Lets continue,” Shinobu’s hands fisted at her sides, but he stayed quiet, “While we stay at the hotel we will investigate the rumor that a demon has made the hotel his domain, preliminary intelligence suggests that this demon may be a lower moon, so we should stay on guard.”

“I guess,” his response was lukewarm, “can we get food afterwards?”

“I can ask about restaurants and tea houses in the area when we check in,” Shinobu conceded.

He seemed to accept that answer, his glazed-looking eyes becoming less distant. Shinobu stared out the window worriedly as they pulled into the station.

“Don’t do anything impulsive before we discover the full scope of the situation.” Shinobu reminded him of the master’s orders.

“I know.” A hint of annoyance colored his monotonous voice, “Do you think I am a child?”

Yes.

Shinobu said nothing as they disembarked from the train. Her hair, temporarily dyed at the ends to match Tokito’s turquoise coloring, fluttered in the wind. A brown suitcase swung at her side, an exact match for Tokito’s. The sun beat down on them, surprisingly hot for a fall day, causing sweat to dribble down their faces by the time they arrived at the hotel.

Sakura Day Inn was nothing more than a winding complex of simplistic buildings with long rows of inward facing Shoji doors. They trekked up the small hill the hotel perched on to the lobby, which was neatly arranged if somewhat simple in execution. One side opened to the courtyard at the heart of the massive complex, and the opposite wall was taken up by plush seats and a small fishtank.

Muichiro wandered toward the fish, but her hand latched around his wrist, yanking him back to her side. It was more of a half-pull, as his muscles stiffened and she nearly stumbled forward. The young boy was surprisingly strong, despite his small frame, and Shinobu begrudgingly supposed that his assessment of their physical similarities was not too far off base.

He stumbled along behind her as they approached the front desk where a young man dressed in a red haori waited. The receptionist smiled at her, but glanced at Muichiro as if considering addressing him instead. Shinobu felt her blood boil at the look, but she matched his smile with a charming one of her own.

She was happy that they had taken the liberty of concealing their swords in the large basket strapped to Tokito’s back as the man assessed them with narrowed eyes.

“Hello Sir, my little brother and I were hoping we could rent a room to stay in for the evening.”

“Only one evening?” The man seemed skeptical and he spoke in Tokito’s direction, despite the fact he was a child. “You’re not planning to stay in Kyoto any longer than that?”

“We would only stay longer if weather delays the trains,” She kept her tone light and amicable, the way Kanae always spoke, “we are on our way to Tokyo to spend the winter with our uncle; the poor man is so old that he can hardly make himself rice, so our father sent us to help him out.”

The explanation seemed to satisfy the man, his attention refocused on her once he realized that Tokito would not answer his questions.

“That’s very kind of you,” He seemed moved, and had relaxed at the mention of their fictional uncle, as she had predicted.

Many people’s beliefs were incredibly backwards, especially outside of the Demon Slayer Corps. The man might have fainted if he knew that she, a fifteen year-old girl, held an advanced position over hundreds of older male recruits. Luckily, Kagaya Ubuyashiki believed in results over seniority and welcomed women to the corps.
Muichiro’s glazed gaze wandered back to the fishtank, entirely disinterested in their conversation. Her restraining hand clenched tighter around his wrist, he did not even flinch.

“We do happen to have an opening for tonight, Room 34, on the right side.” The man checked the guestbook he pulled from inside the desk, “can I get your names?”

She hoped Muichiro was listening, since they had not selected false names during the train ride. She knew that she had forgotten something. Their true names might scare the demon off, if they were recognized, and something too far from the truth would be difficult to recall.

Remembering a rather arduous story Tengen Uzui, the Sound Hashira, made the misfortune decision to grace her ears with, Shinobu selected their first names on a whim. For their surname, she selected the surname of her steadfast new medical assistant, since Aoi graduated in Tokito’s Final Selection group.

“Tengen and Makio Kanazaki, sir.” She said as she scribbled the names into the guestbook and paid him accordingly with the allowance Kagaya had given them for the mission.

The man, satisfied with their presence and their coin, waved them toward their rooms and went back to a book he had been reading earlier. Shinobu ushered Muichiro down the hallway before he could wander onto the wrong side of the compound, or into the butterfly-filled courtyard. It reminded her a bit of her own Manor, causing the tension in her shoulders to ease slightly.

Once they were out of the receptionist’s earshot Muichiro turned to her with serious eyes, more aware than she had ever seen him, “Why did you pick his name? I don’t want to be Uzui, he is too flashy.”

He said flashy as if it were an insult, and then added in an equally serious tone, “and annoying.”

“It was the first thing I thought of,” Shinobu inhaled slowly, “it’s not like you were helping much.”

“You were the one who forgot to pick the names.”

This child had a talent for getting on people’s nerves, if she was even struggling. Shinobu now understood why the master was so hesitant to put Tokito on missions, but she calmed at the thought that this pairing had been Amane’s suggestion. She had worried that Tokito was too isolated, and even encouraged Shinobu to attempt to bond with him as a fellow new Hashira, but she was not too sure that even her infinite patience could survive a prolonged mission at this rate.

“You’re right,” she whispered, “but you’ll definitely remember Tengen’s, considering how much it bothered you, so it’ll work anyway.”

“I guess,” his eyes glazed over again as he fiddled with the strap of the pack on his back.

Shinobu, now dubbed Makio Kanazaki, led him to their small hotel room and collapsed on her Tatami mat. At least he did not berate her for forgetting to ask the receptionist about dinner, but she still had time to figure out a place before the real mission began.

Chapter Text

The tree overlooking the small village of Sanemi Shinazagawa’s assignment wavered in the wind, and Kanae worried she might spill to the ground before he finished his hunt. This village in particular was rife with demon activity, Kanae doubted that a single house on that hill was filled with living souls.

Clearly, Sanemi felt the same as he blazed through the village with little regard for the secrecy of the corps. He whirled through his Wind Breathing forms, leaving heaps of disintegrating demons in his wake. Still, the mindless crowd rushing to him at the prospect of a premium meal, slowed his progress concerningly. She knew he was looking for an upper-rank, but her elevated senses told her he would leave disappointed.

Or not.

She sensed him, before she saw him. A thread, not unlike those of fate tied her to the hulking form that pressed close on the thick tree branch. His breath stirred the hair at her neck, sending her wings anxiously aflutter.

He sniffed, and she realized—with much discomfort—that he was noting Sanemi’s unique blood. Kanae refused to admit how affecting the scent was, and how largely it impacted the far distance from which she watched him.

“Well, isn’t that a delightfully delicious young demon slayer,” Upper Moon Two, Douma, remarked, “Might he be one of your former Hashira friends, too?”

Kanae froze, proximity to him evoked certain feelings that she would rather not analyze, but chose to answer his question with a smile. Dangerous, her eyes darted between the whirlwind burning through the town and the white-haired demon beside her, this entire situation was incredibly dangerous. The air around them felt cold.

“Should I take this to mean you are passing on this particular snack?” Douma prodded her, adding after a moment’s thought, “perhaps I should give it a go, then, it has been a while since I became acquainted with a Hashira.”

“I did not realize your type changed so dramatically since we last met,” she kept her tone friendly, the same one she used when they first met. Back when she was hopeful that this particular demon would share her sympathies; there were still other demons, but she now knew that Douma was certainly not the one.

“It has not,” His fan glinted in the moonlight as it flipped open, “I was only curious about your feelings for the little Hashira.”

“I harbor no feelings of that sort,” Kanae’s shoulders tensed as Sanemi seemed to glance in their direction, but the manic slaughter resumed in a heartbeat, “he just reminds me of a life long passed.”

“You know that you’re still alive,” he prodded her wing with the tip of his fan, and she felt an unusual thread of annoyance settle in her gut. Kanae wondered if this was how that upper moon he loved to bother felt on the daily. Disappointment colored his voice, “I could still absorb you, if you would like. We could be together for an eternity.”

“I can think of nothing that would bring me more displeasure,” she waved at him placatingly with both hands as she made her refusal, “I quite like living, which is why I will not be facing the Wind Hashira tonight.”

His eyes, still so strange in their rainbow coloring, narrowed at the sea of demons left in Sanemi’s wake. Sanemi’s manic laugh could be heard, even from so far away, and would likely send others fleeing in fear. Kanae found it endearing, though she knew she should not.

They were silent for a moment; a rare scenario when in the presence of Douma. Her sister, dead-set on her unspoken revenge on the demon, would likely collapse if she heard of their meetings. It was not Kanae’s intention to conceal information from either of her sisters, however she feared that telling Shinobu of Douma’s whereabouts would only lead to a poor outcome.

Something in her distant purple eyes spoke of a plan, the sort of plan that Kanae hoped would never come to fruition.

“How is your darling little sister doing?” there was something genuinely warm in his voice, a trait that Kanae did not attribute to Douma, “does she ever mention our game?”

“Your game?” Kanae leaned forward on the branch, wings flaring for balance, “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“You would think that someone bound to me for eternity would speak of me to the object tying us,” he pouted, “I expect her retribution to set my heart aflutter, I want to feel her love and pain.”

The horde of demons surrounding Sanemi had begun to thin, and the green-hued tornado that shadowed him slowed to a stop.

“I’m afraid that my sister has never mentioned anything of the sort,” Kanae said happily, balancing on the branch as she planned her exit, “but I suppose I’ve never asked.”

“See that you do,” Douma kicked his feet like a child, though the effect was ruined by his unreasonable height, “You’re my demon after all, all of Muzan’s bow to his every whim, I don’t see why you ignore all my requests.”

He worded it as a question.

A dangerous, dangerous question.

Sanemi exited the village through its Northern Gate, the opposite direction of their perch. Kanae felt a rush of relief that the encounter between him and Douma would never come to fruition. He glanced back, only once, his face troubled.

“You would not want that,” She tried for humor, “you already have enough followers of the mindless sort,” but seeing his lack of reaction she added, “I will try to broach the topic with Shinobu, but I make no promises.”

“Shinobu Kocho.” He seemed to savor her name.

Kanae stuffed down the protective urges his interest dredged up.

“You never told me where Miss Shinobu was this evening.”

“I did not plan to.” Kanae said over her shoulder, disappearing into the night sky with a graceful leap and the accompanying flap of butterfly wings.

Chapter Text

Five long hours spent dragging Muichiro Tokito around the dusty Kyoto streets, brought Shinobu to a realization. The eleven year old reminded her, by quite a large margin, of her own little sister Kanao. It was not his spacey demeanor, or the way he slowly sipped his tea, that brought her to this realization, but the way he remained close like a shadow at her side.

She expected him to wander, just as he aimed to in the hotel lobby, but Muichiro remained quite close to her in the overcrowded city. In fact, he glanced about occasionally as if he had never seen such a place before, his glazed eyes reminiscent of her young tsuguko’s.

By the time they had arrived back at the hotel, Shinobu resolved to introduce the pair. Perhaps they could bond while visiting the gardens at headquarters together, she gathered that he would quite like butterflies there. Kanao needed to broaden her horizons anyway, as she never strayed far from her or Kanae, when she was home.

“You don’t need to hold on tightly,” he remarked as they retraced their steps back to their room, “I won’t get lost if you let go, and my crow can always show me the way back if I do.”

“Right,” Shinobu relaxed her grip on his arm as she directed them back to their room, the receptionist nodded to them in acknowledgement as they passed, “I would like to avoid that altogether since we only purchased one night at this hotel.”

Their door slid shut, as they settled into the small room. Muichiro removed their swords and gear from the traveling pack. Her belt and scabbard appeared a little out of place with the butterfly speckled kimono worn beneath her sister’s oversized haori.

Muichiro did not look much more natural out of uniform, with the borrowed arrow-patterned haori Tengen provided and the belt now tightly wrapped around his waist.

Shinobu pinned her hair back with the butterfly clip resting at the bottom of the pack. A single glance at Muichiro told her that he intended to leave his hair down for the duration of this mission, bringing a slight frown to her face.

“Come over here for a moment,” she spoke sweetly and he hesitantly sat beside her on the floor, “we are facing a potential Upper Moon so we must be prepared, I am going to tie your hair up so that it won’t be a distraction in the battle.”

Muichiro did not complain, but he did wriggle about as if he had something to say. His mouth set in a hard line as she finished tying his long hair up in a neat ponytail.

“I don’t see how my hair would be more distracting in a fight than that kimono.”

She glanced down at the pale fabric and sighed, “You're not wrong, this sort of outfit can be inhibiting, but it is much better for undercover missions than our uniforms.”

Her breathing style relied on attack speed more than it did flexibility, so the more limited movement range was less damaging than it would be to some.
The night sky had long since swallowed the sun, all that was left to do was wait.

“I guess,” his response was noncommittal, as if his attention were already drifting. “But my hair is part of my—”

A faint skittering noise, claws scraping on the wooded hallway floor, sounded half past-midnight. Shinobu’s shoulders tensed and Muichiro’s free hand fell to his sword’s handle. Nodding toward the inward-facing door, she signaled for them to make their move as the sound drew closer.

Moving on light feet, Muichiro burst through the door, his light blue sword flashing in the dark. Demon blood splashed the wall as he drove the blade through a lesser demon’s neck. The monster, more bird than person, collapsed with a dull thud. A reactive sound accompanied its collapse and Shinobu plucked the dissolving head from the air before it could thump against the floorboards.

The two exchanged a glance, and Shinobu marveled at how quickly his demeanor shifted, as they traversed the winding hallway. A muffled scream sounded from across the hall, and she pushed the door open a crack with great care not to startle the occupants if she was wrong.

Flesh, the spongy-red sort associated with demons, had overtaken the far wall. Thick tendrils, not unlike ugly vines, yanked a struggling older woman toward the unusual wall. Muichiro tensed beside her, and she wondered if he had ever seen anything like this.

She motioned for him to wait in the doorway with one hand as she prepared to leap over the threshold. He retreated half a step as her blade sunk into the wall behind the guest, black cracks radiating from the place where flesh met steel.

The tendrils receded and the strange wall peeled away, leaving the guest shaking on the floor.

“Are you alright?” Shinobu inquired, her voice kept at a whisper, though the demon certainly knew that there was a demon slayer here now.

Muichiro’s blade flashed in the hallway and another lesser demon crumpled. He turned to her, demon head in hand, after lowering the body to the floor. The woman’s gaze flicked between Shinobu’s crouching form and the decapitated demon, as if she did not know what to think.

“I’m not hurt,” she settled on, glancing down at herself, “at least I don’t think I am.”

“Good,” Shinobu smiled kindly, “please remain here for the meantime, the hallways are not safe, and be sure to shout for us if you encounter another demon. Are you alone?”

"No,” the woman whimpered, “my husband was supposed to be back from the baths by now.”

“We can look for him.” With a swift glance in Muichiro’s direction, she pulled a small blade from her pocket, it was Nichirin and coated with poison, she had planned to replace the one in her shoe with it earlier. Instead she handed it to the woman, “this will kill a minor demon if you press it in deep enough, but please be careful.”

“Wait! I must know the names of the people who saved me.”

The pair exchanged a glance, “Makio and Tengen Kanazaki, at your service.” she smiled, “though, if you do tell the story, please include the bit about Tengen doing nothing.”

The woman clung to her haori a moment longer before accepting the knife. Humor filled Muichiro’s eyes at the unexpected declaration, a welcomed change. Shinobu bid her to be quiet and joined Muichiro in the hall.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to hand out Nichirin blades.” he said, though his voice was monotone, almost entirely unfeeling.

“Who’s to say?” Shinobu grinned as she set off down the hall, the young boy a flash of blue at her side.

With her dyed hair and their similarly agile movements, she would not be surprised if someone truly bought the idea that they were siblings. His movement style, likely due to his small frame, was far more similar to her own than either of her sisters'. Mist Breathing relied on swift unpredictable movements, not unlike her Dance of the Centipede form’s basis. Though, the breathing styles held very distinct roots.

She flew down the corridor to the left, not bothering to check her speed as Muichiro dashed behind her. He was nearly fast enough. She caught the next scream before he did, darting into the room to her right with her blade raised.

The wall crumpled back to paper, dropping the bloodied body of a young man in its wake.

“That’s quite unfortunate.” Shinobu said as she prodded his prone form with her sandal.

“You can’t save them all.” Muichiro’s response was cold, though she did not miss the way his eyes skipped over the corpse.

“Right you are,” she smiled, “which is why we are headed straight to the source.”

He followed her into a room down the hall and they were greeted with a similar sight, much to her displeasure. The path snaked right again, just as she suspected.

“And where would that be?”

“The body can only survive so long as one vital organ endures. So, we are headed to the hotel’s heart, of course.” She said as she landed gracefully within the bounds of the open-air courtyard.

"Aren't we supposed to take the demon's head instead?" Muichiro echoed.

"Beheading is not the only way to kill a demon" Shinobu responded as he dropped beside her.

There, in the shadow of a wilted tree stood a demon, his eyes like that of a spider’s, with arms planted into the ground before him. They were more amorphous clumps of flesh than true arms, and glowed with unnatural light on occasion.

His eyes flicked upwards, and Lower six, reflected in them.

Not for long.

They dove into combat simultaneously, blades flashing under the light of the moon. She expected the demon to dodge, preparing to use her Dance of the Bee Sting form to inject poison into the demon’s heart. Mist filled the air as Muichiro prepared a similar attack, but the floor erupted moments before their attacks could land, hurtling them back toward the lobby.

Shinobu flipped in the air, landing gracefully a few feet away. She adjusted the grip on her katana, reassessing the situation. Muichiro groaned from his spot on the floor beside her, while he was well-trained with a sword, three months as a demon slayer did not make one a master at dodging such attacks.

Hauling him up by the elbow, Shinobu managed to pull them away from the tendrils that shot from the wall beside them. Muichiro regained his balance swiftly, mist re-emerging in the crisp night air.

“Distraction?” He asked.

“Distraction.” She agreed.

Dance of the Centipede: Hundred-legged Zigzag.

Fifth form: Sea of Clouds and Haze.

Unable to adapt to their unpredictable zig-zagging motions and the illusion of centipedes flying from the mist, the demon attempted to flee. The floor erupted again, but the tendrils burst apart in wake of Muichiro’s sword. His arms burst apart, allowing him to stumble back, earning him Shinobu’s sword straight through his heart.

Two more injections, quick jabs that took advantage of the demon’s panic, had him convulsing on the floor. Wisteria burned in his veins, a painful death to be sure.
Muichiro glanced between her sword, still lodged in the demon’s left eye, and his own. He showed some surprise at her breathing style, never having seen it in effect before. Of course, nobody who had not worked with her had seen it in person before.

“Do I behead it now?”

“You can,” Shinobu said, slowly pulling her blade from the demon’s eye, “that much poison will kill it momentarily, but beheading him would certainly put it out of its misery.”

He hesitated once more, but inevitably decided to let the demon’s head roll. Sheathing her sword, Shinobu ruffled the kid’s hair, deciding that he was a rather decent mission partner after all.

“Let’s collect that blade and return to our rooms, before the receptionist notices that we’re missing. A shame about the gardens though.”

He nodded agreeably, following in her shadow until they were tucked carefully into their beds. Shinobu promised that they would leave before daybreak, especially as the carnage from the fight would be discovered soon after. It only occurred to her once she found the woman, smiling with her husband, who claimed to have fled during the fight, that she had nearly forgotten that promise entirely in her anger and frustration.

She vowed not to allow such emotions to cloud her mind again, she would need her wits about her for the impending fight. One did not kill an Upper Moon without exceptional skill and a clear mind, and perhaps, without a masterful plan in hand.

Chapter Text

1914...

Lately, a ghost haunted Sanemi Shinazagawa’s every step. Her long unbound hair, her neatly-pressed uniform, and her sleepy pink eyes, were all as they were in life. She lurked at the edge of each demon hunting excursion, half-transparent wings, cast her in an angelic light, like a yokai or goddess of old.

Whenever he grasped for her, yearning to step closer she evaporated into the night.

It was endlessly frustrating. Sanemi had begun to believe he was going insane.

Kanae Kocho was dead. Kanae Kocho could not follow him anywhere anymore. He knew exactly where Kanae Kocho was, buried deep in the ground outside the Butterfly Mansion.

Heart throbbing uncomfortably, Sanemi pulled open his top desk drawer and drew out a delicate clip. The green and pink accessory felt cool against his chest as he held it close.

How pathetic it would be if someone walked in at that moment. He imagined how Iguro would mock him endlessly, how the sight would destroy his reputation within the Corps. But…

He ran a hand over the edge of the clip. Kanao, her younger sister, held its other half. It had been so long since her kind-hearted smile was directed his way, and her sweet voice sounded in his ears. Something throbbed in his chest; the fantasy that he was dying overcame him at the absurd sensation.

Something like a grin found its way onto his face.

Remembering the day the clip was gifted to him, extinguishing the fragile warmth in his heart.

---
“Here.” Shinobu Kocho’s eyes were bloodshot, though her tone was forceful as she thrust the butterfly clip into his arms, “I am going to give this to you so long as you don’t disappoint her.”

“She’s dead, how would she know if I did.” His words were harsh as he thrust the clip back into Kocho’s hands, “you’re her sister, if you give it to me then you won’t have anything to remember her by.”

Steely determination filled her as her hands flared outward in annoyance. The sleeves of a familiar haori, one he had not originally noticed her wearing, fluttered in the wind. Upon further inspection, it swallowed her small frame in its enormity, though it was likely that she would grow into it. She had only just turned fifteen after all.

“I have her haori,” She snapped, the shadow of the old Kocho overtaking the new persona she had adopted following her sister’s death, “and I have her entire manor. If you don’t take it then you will have nothing at all.”

She was not wrong. Something in him did want to accept the clip, but another part hated the way seeing it felt.

“Why should I take it?” His reply was nearly a shout, “wouldn’t it be better to give it to someone who loved her more, like Mr.Himejima?”

“You're only refusing because you blame yourself for what happened,” her voice was so sweet, like Kanae’s, that he flinched. It raised a pitch as she continued, anger apparent, “I know how you felt about her. She knew how you felt about her. So just take it!”

Sanemi opened his mouth to refuse as the clip, a flash of green and pink, flew at him with blinding speed. He caught it on instinct, stopping it with a scarred hand just before it hit his forehead.

“I don’t know what she saw in you,” Kocho huffed as she stormed away, but paused at the edge of the mansion’s porch, she glanced back with cold eyes, “that clip should serve as a reminder, you are a living Hashira, so use your rank to do something that would make my sister proud.”

“But–” his hand lashed out.

“Whether you believe it or not, know that she is watching.”

The door slammed shut behind her, and he was left alone in the butterfly garden, staring down at the delicate clip as if it were a loaded gun.
---

Making Kanae Kocho proud was a harder task than it appeared, but he had approached it the only way he knew how. In the two years since Kanae’s death, he had killed every demon he came across with unwavering resolve. Each time his eyes met that of a demon, he hoped that the words Upper Two would be reflected in them.

He always ended his missions disappointed, though he tried to relish in the destruction of those demons.

At least Kanae was not one of them. At least Kanae’s blood did not soak his hands.

Sanemi set the clip back into his desk drawer, it clinked against the small metal circle buried beside it, it slid shut easily. The moon hung in the sky, beckoning him to set out for the evening. He was traversing the woods outside the compound, legs driving him down an unfamiliar path, before he even realized what he was doing.

The shadow appeared moments later, nothing more than a flash of pink and black amongst the leafy canopy. Perhaps he was insane, but it was nice to imagine company on his nightly run.

If he concentrated he could almost smell her jasmine perfume in the crisp air.

Insane, that is what he was, but he decided that was alright in the context of the Corps.

Chapter Text

Tea, that was not actually tea, spilled into Kanae’s cup. Her sister afforded her the courtesy not to flinch as the thick liquid spilled from the kettle. Two years in this state, and she still struggled with Kanae’s new lifestyle.

On the opposite side of the table, Kanao poured true tea into Shinobu’s cup with a steady hand. Her training had already begun to shape her into an athletic young woman. Kanao still had a ways to go before she reached Kanae’s level, but her skill with the sword was becoming difficult to ignore.

Unfortunately, Shinobu had very little time to train her tsuguko. Kanae would have thought that she would have more time after losing her other three in such swift succession. Of course, Kanao could not yet be called an official tsuguko, as she had not passed the Final Selection exam.

Joining the three of them at the table was Shinobu’s medical assistant, and Kanae’s de facto caretaker during the day, Aoi Kanazaki. Ever the dutiful caretaker, Aoi returned the kettle to the kitchen, bringing the group a plate of biscuits, gifts from the master said to be popular abroad, before settling in beside Shinobu.

These tea parties had become a staple of Kanae’s schedule, providing needed stimulation while trapped indoors for the majority of the day. The western wing of the Butterfly Mansion, which Shinobu warded off shortly after her transformation, consisted of a bedroom, dining space, and a training room. Shinobu had forbidden her from stepping into the hallways lining the wing, on the off chance that she might endure an errant ray of sunlight, effectively trapping her between the three rooms. Kanao often joined her in the training room, watching as Kanae familiarized herself with her newfound abilities.

“Do you find the drink to your liking?” Aoi asked, and Kanae appreciated her bluntness as she elaborated, “this sample came from a handful of slayers who were being tested for traces of demon blood, after a run-in with a lower moon.”

“Did you find any?” Kanae chose to ask, finding it crass to comment on the flavor of their blood, though this specific batch was especially sweet. She wondered if the young men had stopped for dessert before visiting the manor.

“No,” Aoi said, “but the test itself was probably pointless, if the master’s newest theory is true.”

Aoi’s dark blue eyes narrowed at Shinobu, and Kanae inclined her head. Prior to her transformation, the demon slayer corps believed that the only way one could turn into a demon was through contact with…the demon king…himself.

Kanae refused to even think of his name, though her doctor assured her that it would not kill her, on the off-chance that she was wrong. Even after rearrangement on a cellular level, she felt vaguely uneasy about the idea that a name could kill her.

Shinobu pressed her hands against her tea cup, warming them against the cold that had begun to seep into the manor. The seasons were changing after all, and cold winds had begun to buffet Kanae’s wings each time she flew. Nearly a year of service as a Hashira had transformed her into a graceful young lady, her hair had lengthened with age and her cold glares grew into warm smiles. Kanae adored that she now chose to share them with the world, instead of keeping them for only the happiest of moments.

“Until Upper Two managed to force a transformation upon you a year and a half ago, all known transformations were the direct result of contact with Muzan Kibutsuji’s blood,” Shinobu recited the information as if she were reading a book, “Your transformation gave birth to the theory that those closest to Muzan Kibutsuji would be able to produce the same result if they shared their blood. At the time, we believed that this would include the entirety of the twelve Kizuki.”

Kanae nodded, this information was widely known throughout the Butterfly Mansion’s medical division. All assistants, three in total, including Kanazaki, were sworn to secrecy by Shinobu and the master himself upon accepting their positions. This theory was developed with the assistance of Kanae’s doctor, Lady Tamayo, who she would be meeting with later that evening. However, Lady Tamayo refused to collaborate with the master or any slayer aside from those in the Butterfly Manor, out of concern for her safety. As of the present, this was the only secret they kept from Kagaya Ubuyashiki.

“In wake of recent surveys, this theory appears to be untrue,” Shinobu paused to sip her tea, “minute traces of demon blood have been discovered in several corps member’s bloodstreams following especially devastating fights. One of which includes an instance of the blood of a lower moon coming into contact with several cuts that one Sanemi Shinazagawa endured. In all instances, the slayers did not show evidence of cellular rearrangement.”

“These individuals only faced lower moons, or exceptionally strong demons?” Kanae inquired.

“Correct,” Aoi, instead responded, “and even in the instance of the Wind Hashira’s extended contact with large amounts of demon blood, he was unaffected. Therefore, we have revised our pre-existing theory.”

Kanae frowned, recalling Sanemi’s fight with a lower moon a few weeks prior, it was the closest she had come in the last half-year to stepping into a fight on his behalf. Sanemi would have come into direct contact with far less demon blood if he had not been using his own blood to drive the demon mad with hunger.

She herself had struggled not to dash to his side, forcing herself to watch from a farther distance than normal. She could not imagine the restraint it would take to resist the enticing aroma from his blood from point-blank range. That fate would have to be avoided; ultimately she had chosen not to intervene out of fear that so much of it would make it too difficult for her to remain in control while intervening.

“I assume you now believe that only Upper Moons are capable of human transformation,” Kanae said, and Aoi nodded emphatically.

She often wondered, when Aoi Kanazaki came to deliver her blood and other supplies, why a promising Mizunoto, final-selection graduate, chose to serve as Shinobu’s medical assistant. Of course, that was not to say that she thought a fourteen year old girl belonged on the same battlefield men twice her age died on.

“That is our current theory, though we have no means or intentions to test it.” Shinobu added.
“I would consider it a relief,” Kanae smiled kindly, “to know that my blood will not force an unfortunate transformation on someone in the manner of a contagious disease.”

Aoi passed the biscuits around the table, and Kanao nibbled at the treat slowly with the shadow of happiness on her face. Her expression, as usual, felt entirely too empty to be considered truthful, but Kanae hoped she enjoyed the treats none the less. Kanae stared into the murky depths of her drink ruefully, wishing that she could take part in the treats.

All forms of human food had caused her stomach upset since her transformation. Lady Tamayo often lectured her, during her bi-monthly appointments, not to consume food if it was too difficult for her. Although, Kanae had caught the woman forcing herself to tolerate tea on several occasions.

“How goes your training, Kanao?” Kanae changed the topic before they could catch on to her sour expression.

“It is going well,” Kanao said quietly, “Master said that my sixth form has improved.”

“That I did,” Shinobu nodded, “but it’s been quite difficult to squeeze in her training between missions. I’m afraid that the master has put me on assignment with the new Hashira quite often in the last few months.”

“It must be because of how well you did with that Mist Hashira,” Kanae mused, “Muichiro Tokito, was it?”

“I would not say that mission ended particularly well, in the long-term.” Shinobu laughed, “the damages caused the hotel to close, just days after the authorities came to investigate the suspicious deaths that we couldn’t stop.”

“You minimized the damage, and taught the new Hashira how to work with a partner. I would argue that your mission was very successful.” Kanae commented.

Aoi nodded in agreement, “If Tokito actually listened to you, then you must have done something right. He asked me what the instructions were at Final Selection, after he completely zoned out. I still don’t know how he became a Hashira so quickly, when he acts like that.”

Kanae had forgotten that Aoi Kanazaki was in the Mist Hashira’s selection group. Perhaps that fact spoke to the deeper reason that Kanazaki abandoned her Nichirin Sword for a pair of scrubs at her first opening. Having such a successful peer would deliver a blow to anyone’s confidence. Kanao nodded attentively as Aoi spoke and

she noted the way that she fidgeted with the coin in her pocket.

“Speaking of new Hashira, how was your latest mission? The one with that Serpent Boy? I heard his breathing style is rather odd.” Kanae asked, recalling something Aoi told her the other day.

Shinobu's brow furrowed, and Kanae knew it had not gone well.

Following her transformation, the master instituted a new rule for the Hashira. In order not to make strong enemies out of strong allies, new Hashira that had not previously served as Tsuguko would undergo two months of a sort of job training. For the first, they would be assigned to missions with various Hashira, encouraging them to learn how to manage complex situations and command other slayers effectively. For the second, they could choose whether to continue their rotation or to shadow a singular hashira on the job.

Iguro Obanai, said Serpent Hashira, would be the second newbie that this rule applied to. Shinobu received an exemption due to her tsuguko status, and Muichiro spent the latter half of his job training with Shinobu, after finding her the most agreeable.

“He certainly won't be seen at the Manor any time soon,” Shinobu said mildly, “Iguro dislikes women, so I assume that he will be spending the rest of his training with his friend Shinazugawa or his foster-father.”

Shinjuro Rengoku would not be a poor selection for a mentor, though Kanae wondered if there was any real overlap between Flame Breathing and Serpent Breathing.
“Perhaps he'll choose to stay on rotation instead.”

Shinobu's nose crinkled, “I would prefer not.”

“Was your mission really that bad?” Aoi chimed in, head tilted inquisitively. Her dark hair glinted in the dim light. “He seemed rather competent when I met him, it was just after Final Selection and he was training with the Flame Hashira. He seemed rather talented.”

“He is,” she hedged, “but he almost refused to speak with me entirely, which made communication in battle rather difficult.”

“Thats strange,” Aoi swirled her teacup thoughtfully until a small waterspout formed inside.

“Indeed.”

Chapter Text

Kanae waited until their chat wore down to broach the question she had been dreading for months now. It seemed unwise to wait longer, considering how Douma’s playful pestering had grown into demands for an answer.

She had met him thrice since he asked her that question, and each time Kanae was paralyzed by fear at the idea of him meeting the Wind Hashira. It seemed likely that Douma located her during those missions in particular, out of some sort of sick delight, though she could never quite read his true emotions.

Alone in the tea room, after Kanae had been called out to assist Aoi in preparing doses for their patients moments prior. Kanae set her teacup gently upon the clean white table cloth.

“I have something to ask you about,” Kanae hazarded, “but you must not overact.”

“Why ever would I, dear sister? You can ask me anything.” Shinobu seemed agreeable enough, blowing steam off a new cup of green tea. She shuffled so that they sat across from one another.

Kanae hesitated, intuition told her that this question would not have a pretty answer.

“I spoke to a particular gentleman the other day,” she said carefully, “and he wished for me to ask you about a game played between the two of you.”

“Was it Tomioka?” Shinobu seemed to misunderstand, “I’m surprised he would call me teasing him at the latest Hashira meeting a game, but his reactions were quite cute.”

“Not him,” Kanae waved her hands dismissively, and the clouded look fell from her sister’s eyes.

Interesting.

“This gentleman and I met while I was observing Sanemi Shinazagawa.”

“Ah,” her eyes widened, pale purple rimmed in white, “you don’t mean to say that this gentleman you speak of was, him.”

“Perhaps, I do.” Kanae’s wings twitched behind her at the mention of him. They rustled against the floor, but did not knock into anything behind her, which was an improvement from her first few months with them.

Anger fell across her small face, so startling in its intensity that Kanae flinched away.

“Why would he bother you now, after nearly a year and a half? Does the master know about this?”

“He does,” Kanae nodded, though she chose not to mention that he had been shadowing her for nearly six months. Since before the new year, in fact, and not long after Shinobu earned her rank as a Hashira. “He has tasked me with gathering information from him, until further notice.”

“I see,” Shinobu’s demeanor shifted to something more thoughtful, as if her relation to Douma was something that could be solved through cool-headed analysis, “I suppose this game he speaks of is a metaphor for my revenge against him.”

“That is what I believe.”

“He should know that there is no world in which I am able to behead someone of his rank.” Shinobu rested her head in her hands, “which means that he is expecting another, more clever form of retaliation when we next meet.”

“I hope that that day never comes to pass.” Kanae said wisely.

Shinobu muttered something noncommittally under her breath as she made to clear their tea set from the table. Kanae noted the rage that boiled beneath her blank eyes as Shinobu stared into her red-stained cup, and worried what that look would mean if she and Douma ever reunited.

Kanae’s line of thought was interrupted by the slap of footsteps outside the door to her chambers. She turned to see Aoi burst through the side door, a silhouette before the brighter hallway lights.

“What is the matter?” Shinobu asked, setting the tray lightly in Kanae’s small kitchen as though there was no reason for concern.

“Lord Tokito is here,” she panted.

“I don’t see why that is any reason for concern,” Shinobu tilted her head, confusion clear on her face, “he made his intentions to enjoy an evening stroll with Kanao clear earlier, he is a welcomed guest at the manor.”

Indeed, recently, Kanae had taken to watching her youngest sister's late morning strolls in the butterfly garden through the shaded window in the corner of her training room. The porch in front of it provided enough shelter from the sun for her to see the outside world without fear of getting hurt. Having felt positively about their training, Shinobu introduced Tokito to Kanao, and they had become companionable if not friendly.

They often met for silent strolls in the butterfly garden. It reminded Kanae of the walks she took Kanao on as a little girl, their companionship seemed familial in nature, even as it failed to reach below the surface of their individual struggles. Tokito could delight in the jewel-toned insects' presence, while Kanao practiced speaking with someone outside of the Manor.

Sometimes, the pair would forego their strolls in favor of sparring indoors. Kanae was careful to avoid the training rooms, as Tokito was not informed of her situation, but her excellent hearing told her that Kanao held up well in these matches. She wondered, occasionally, if Kanao had learned more from the young boy than Shinobu herself. Her tsuguko and pseudo-tsuguko practicing for what was to come, one might call the scene endearing if it were not also exceptionally grim.

“No,” Aoi panted, and Kanae noticed the Nichirin sword clutched in her shaking hands.

Aoi Kanazaki had not held a sword since she committed to working as a medical assistant. The sword, dark blue in her hands, seemed to belong to her though she could not fathom why the medical assistant held it on her.

The patter of footsteps flowed down the hallway outside of her dining room.

“He's here.” Aoi slammed the door shut behind her, just as Kanae caught a flash of turquoise hair in the hall. The white flash of Kanao’s cape shadowed the sight.
Shinobu thrust her into the training room to the left of the dining room with surprising strength, though Kanae’s surprise made her far easier to move. The door slammed shut behind her.

“What brings you here, Muichiro?” Shinobu’s voice was unusually cold, especially as she usually spoke warmly to the young boy.

“I was looking for Tsuyuri, but…”

“But what?” the sound of clothing swishing accompanied a door opening.

Kanae glanced at the place where her sword rested against the wall, she definitely did not want to face another hashira, especially during the day when she had no place to escape to. She dared not move for fear that this Hashira had excellent hearing.

“I told you that Kanao was in the infirmary, on the other side of the compound!” Aoi scolded the hashira, a brave move at best and a foolish one at worst.

“Did you?” Muichiro’s voice was near, Kanae did not dare move.

Some Hashira and other high ranking demon slayers had enhanced senses that made it difficult for her to escape notice. Shinobu banned patients from this section of the compound for that very reason. The last time Tengen Uzui, the Sound Hashira who possessed enhanced hearing, visited the infirmary, Kanae chose to stay at Lady

Tamayo’s until he fully recovered. There were rumors, too, of slayers that could sense or smell demons, which made her all the more wary, even with her wings covered and distance held between them.

“Well, I did,” Aoi’s voice did not waver, and Kanae wondered if the young girl harbored some animosity or jealousy toward the Mist Hashira, “And then you made me chase you to the complete other side of the manor, wasting everyone’s time.”

Kanae could imagine the young hashira sizing Aoi up, Shinobu’s footsteps sounded in the young hashira’s direction. “I’m not too sure why you needed to visit my quarters, but why don’t we head to the infirmary instead. I’m sure Kanao is waiting for you.”

Seemingly ignoring Shinobu’s efforts to steer him toward the door, as evidenced by the scuff of sandals on floorboards, Muichiro directed his next inquiry in Aoi’s direction.

“Aren’t you that girl from Final Selection? The one that quit as soon as she received her sword?”

“And what if I am?” Aoi spoke crossly, “There was no need for me to be a demon slayer, I would rather serve the corps as a medical assistant, anyway.”

“Pathetic,” he whispered, an unexpected rage underlying his words, “you would give up before you even try?”

“Excuse me?”

“Nevermind him, there are patients in need of your assistance Aoi,” Shinobu seemed inclined to broker peace, as the door to the hallway slid open, “I would ask that you both please be off.”

Tokito seemed to dig his feet in a moment longer, and Kanae could imagine him sizing the room up. Her enhanced hearing caught the slight scrape of Aoi’s sword against her sheath, as if she tensed in preparation to draw the weapon.

Demon slayers were forbidden from malicious in-fighting, but Kanae wondered if that rule applied to Aoi Kanazaki as she no longer served as one.

“This is the Mansion’s West Hall,” It was not a question that came from the twelve year old’s mouth, “I guess that means the rumor wasn’t true, then, someone must have mistaken Kanazaki for a monster. I can see why.”

The scrape of metal against Aoi’s scabbard was muffled by the slam of the sliding door.

“Off you go!” Shinobu’s cheerful voice sounded, and Kanae was sure that she was ushering the young hashira down the hall.

“How dare he.” Aoi muttered, the sword sliding back into place.

The sliding door to the training room opened a moment later, Aoi Kanazaki’s figure a shadow against the brightly lit backdrop. Kanae pulled herself to her feet slowly, shaking the dust from the floor out of her wings.

She frowned at the broom in the corner of the room, dreading the cleaning job to come.

“It might be best if you avoid the Mansion for a while, just in case Tokito decides to investigate further in the next few days.” Aoi sounded remorseful.

“Don’t worry,” Kanae captured the girl’s small hands between hers, “I planned to visit my doctor anyway, she will be excited to hear that I plan to extend my visit this time around.”

Aoi did not seem too certain, and Kanae could tell that she had questions about the unnamed doctor, but she did not ask. She only nodded, black pigtails bobbing, “I will inform Miss Kocho.”

“Aren’t I Miss Kocho?” Kanae joked as she ruffled her hair.

Aoi seemed conflicted.

“Don’t be so formal,” Kanae ordered, “you became family when you became my sister’s assistant.”

“Right,” Her eyes were a little teary as she stumbled from the room.

Kanae could not help the bittersweet smile on her face, another orphan found herself in a brutal environment. She hoped that the story of Aoi Kanazaki would have a happier ending than her own.

Chapter Text

Flower Breathing, Fifth Form: Peonies of Futility.

Flowers burst to life around them, peonies blooming in midair as her sword moved in a flurry of explosive attacks. The demon, the ghost of an elderly man with brutal pincers protruding from his back, exploded into dust.

“You can rest now.” Kanae cradled his head before it hit the floor.

If the demon heard her consolations he did not react. Instead his beady red eyes narrowed at her.

“How?”

“It is not unusual to fall to a stronger demon.”

“You aren’t…” His head crumbled and she scattered the last of his ashes in the wind.

Kanae sheathed her sword, careful not to brush against the pink blade. In her current state, nicks from her own blade took hours to heal. Perhaps it was strange, a demon of two years that was unable to instantly regenerate non-fatal injuries.

Living by Lady Tamayo’s advice, the little bits of blood that sustained Kanae were not conducive to excessive growth as a demon. Staring down at the place where the pincer demon stood, Kanae resolved to inquire after an ethical solution to this dilemma when she met with Lady Tamayo.

“Perhaps your Blood Demon Art would manifest if you actually ate your prey.” A voice, riddled with false concern, sounded from behind her.

Faking surprise, Kanae whirled, peach blossoms exploding around her blade.

Sixth Form: Whirling Peach.

The sweet air chilled. Her eyes clashed with the rainbow hued irises of the demon whose neck the sword found.

“Do you really think you should do that?” he clicked his tongue as his fan tapped rhythmically against her blade.

A thin stream of blood dribbled down his neck, dissolving into freezing mist before it could stain his shirt. Kanae held her ground, though she allowed the surprise to fall from her face in lieu of a kind smile.

“I thought another demon had come to eat me,” she laughed, “but it seems I am only in for an evening of empty taunts from an empty man.”

“I—”

Purple poison-flushed veins spread from the shallow cut, causing him to bat away the katana more forcefully. It seemed that either her words or the poison garnered a genuine reaction from the demon as a wry smile exploded across Douma’s otherwise ethereally cold face.

“Is this a gift from her?” the skin on her arms prickled with goosebumps as the poison faded from his veins and excitement gathered, “My heart is simply aflutter! Remind me, when can I meet the little butterfly again?”

Kanae forced her face to retain its tired smile, as if his words did not invoke the desire to thrust her sword through his neck. She was stronger now, as a demon, even if she ranked at the very bottom of the demonic food chain.

The strength of a demon combined with the athleticism and skills built in her life as a hashira—

“Nevermind that for today,” He fanned himself dramatically as he produced four envelopes from the pocket of his dark pants, “I am here to invite you to a party.”

“...A party?”

“No need to sound worried,” Douma laughed as he passed her the invitations, a seal emblazoned with a series of miniature winding hallways held it shut. “It’s actually more of an art exhibition of sorts, hosted by the delightful Upper Five and the Master himself.”

Kanae’s eyes flicked upwards as she broke the seal on the letter addressed to her. Inside was a standard invitation written in a red that she hoped was not blood.

“You’re inviting me to a demon art exhibition? Does Upper Moon Five not have better things to do…like murdering people?”

Douma fanned himself as he thought, Kanae’s skin prickled with cold. Frigid air swept through the wing-slits in her thin lavender kimono. She regretted opening his neck already, as she endured his silence.

“Upper Five is special. Some would even call him a true visionary,” an amused smile alighted his face, “You will see his genius on that day, but for now you have another task to attend to.”

“Do I?” Kanae allowed some of her annoyance to slip into her voice. It was incredibly impolite of her to make Lady Tamayo wait, and she was afraid that Douma’s ‘task’ would further derail her travels.

“You see these invites,” he tapped them gently with his fan, and Kanae was struck by how properly he spoke, for once, not playful or mocking, “I’m afraid that I can not deliver these invitations as I have been banned from setting foot on Mt. Natagumo, due to a prior incident. Nevertheless, Upper Five asked that I personally deliver these invitations to his guest’s chosen dates.”

“Demons are capable of courtship?” Kanae found the idea of demons arranging flowers and setting out delicate tea sets, like she had been taught in secondary school before her parents’ deaths, to be unbelievably comedic.

“Would you like to find out?” his fan snapped open beside her face, and she had to resist her better instincts to avoid dodging.
He laughed as she flinched at the freezing touch metal.

“Your idea of romance is absorbing a person,” She pushed the fan aside gently, awfully aware of how swiftly he could slice her to ribbons with the harmless seeming device. “I will have to respectfully pass.”

“I hoped a butterfly girl would be willing to help set my heart aflutter, that you would help me feel again, but alas.” He did not seem disappointed, rather amused by her rejection.

“Should I assume that I am attending as your date?”

“Some things are better left a surprise,” his large hand ruffled her unbound hair, and Kanae felt like a child once more.

She caught his sleeve as he turned to leave, moving with unnatural speed to accomplish this feat. His retaliation could be brutal and swift, and yet Douma seemed a different sort of demon. He relied more on logic than emotion, foregoing impulse for clever manipulations.

“Yes?” He spoke calmly, kindly even, though she knew it was a trap.

“How did you find me tonight? You weren’t able to track my crow, nor were there any Castle Sentries nearby.”

Kanae had only become aware of the Castle Sentries while observing Sanemi Shinazagawa’s missions. The small demons, nothing more than walking eyeballs, mapped the presence of more significant demons near to Infinity Castle Entrances. At least, that is what Douma told her when he caught her crushing the sole Sentry she found following Sanemi, months prior.

She remained unsure what the Infinity Castle actually was, though the name itself was fairly self-explanatory. Kanae’s going theory was that it was Douma’s domain, as the few Sentries she found appeared when he did. Tentatively agreeing with her, Kagaya had agreed that she should investigate the Infinity Castle discretely.

“I have eyes everywhere,” he waved the question away, “but, I would recommend heading your way. The invitation must be delivered before sun up and the demons of Mt. Natagumo are not known for their kindness to outsiders.”

Cold air blasted against her as he disappeared into the night, and with it came the relief of escaping another encounter with Upper Moon Two. So long as she delivered the invitations, three envelopes identical to her own, before sunrise, nobody would ever have to know of their strange exchange.

Did demons have mailboxes?

Chapter Text

Mt. Natagumo ran cold in late autumn, causing visitors to leave in want of a coat. Kanae Kocho felt much the same as she trudged up the mountain, even her enhanced speed wavering in response to the incline.

The long trek, miles out of the way of her original path, had her feet throbbing and her lungs burning. Luckily, the mountain was only an hour away from the forest Douma cornered her in, leaving plenty of time for the latter half of her journey to the city.

Higher on the mountain, past the rocky ridges and small stream near the bottom, the concentration of errant threads built into thick webs. These webs collected between the stoic trees guarding a rickety old house, hopeful that she reached the correct destination Kanae sought something resembling a mailbox.

Someone powerful enough to ward Douma away from the mountain, was a person that she did not wish to meet alone.

Decaying weeds tickled her wings and brushed against her scabbard as Kanae approached the house, eyeing the boarded-up windows and rotting porch cautiously. The building seemed like nothing more than the shell of a family home, left to crumble once its owners abandoned it.

“Who goes there?” A small voice, fragile as a thread caught in the wind, sounded from the house’s threshold.

The girl who spoke, pale as moonlight with bone-white hair, clutched the doorframe as if it might support her.

“A messenger,” Kanae decided, hoping to get a better look at the girl before providing further information, “I have invitations to a particular event addressed to this household.”

“A mistake,” the girl stepped forward, seeming to assess her with her bright red eyes, “it must be a mistake, nobody would send an event invite here. He’ll be mad if he finds out about an intruder.”

“I’m no intruder,” Kanae’s eyes narrowed as the girl’s more demonic features slid into view, her appearance invoked that of a white spider, “I bring these invites at the behest of Upper Two, since he is unable to deliver them in person.”

The girl’s hand stretched forth, “I’m so sorry,” she did not sound very sorry, “but he will be upset to hear of that man’s name, and even more so to receive these invitations.”

“That’s quite unfortunate,” Kanae sighed, “Are you sure we can’t be friends, you don't seem to want to fight.”

The girl hesitated, clearly uncertain whether to use her blood demon art.

“Perhaps, would you be interested in joining our family?”

Family?

“I must apologize if I gave the wrong impression, I have two darling little sisters already and a wonderful assistant, so I have no need to join your family.”

“How unfortunate,” the spider demon’s voice was cold as her hands lashed out.

Webs stretched from the ground, reaching their sticky arms out to embrace her in a cocoon. Kanae grumbled to herself as she leapt clear of the trap, allowing it to fold in on itself. Her wings beat steadily, confident but awkward in their rhythm, even after nearly twelve months by her side.

Kanae dropped to the ground in a flash, Nichirin sword shredding the next cocoon before it had a chance to form in a pale pink blur.

Flinching, the girl tried once again to draw the sticky webs around Kanae, this time directing them toward her wings. A clever move, but not one she was unprepared for, she cleared the ground before the capture was complete, landing on the roof of the small porch.

She peeked over, to find the girl’s horrified expression staring back.

“What are you?”

“A demon,” Kanae said sweetly, “one with a Nichirin Sword, capable of beheading you permanently, if you do not relax.”

Footsteps sounded on the creaky wood floor as the girl dashed back into the house.

“What a pain.” Kanae said to the moon, her most consistent mission partner. “I don't want to fight anyone, I even thought we could be friends before she attacked.”

The moon stared back in silence, though, to the moon’s credit, it was incapable of speech. She wondered what her former mission partner would say in response, though it probably lay along the lines of Pay attention to the mission or a human can never befriend a demon.

She certainly hoped he did not believe the latter, though it did not matter now, as she followed the girl into the house.

“I have invitations,” she brandished them as she stared into some type of demonic dinner party situation, "addressed to: Lower Moon Six Rui, Mrs. Rui, and Miss Rui.”

She was tense, ready for an attack as she dropped the letters onto the dinner table. The array of demons gathered there blinked up at her, they seemed altogether stunned by the sudden intrusion, but hesitant to attack as they took in the wings hanging from her back like limp noodles. It was still uncomfortable to hold them in the correct posture for extended periods, so she let them sag whenever not in use.

She looked at the massive demon at the head of the table, more tarantula than man, but the young boy beside him addressed her instead.

“Who are you to terrify my sister and interrupt family dinner?” His voice was riddled with anger and disdain, he was the exact opposite sort of demon than Douma.

If Kanae played her cards incorrectly, then the little boy whose eyes spelled out Lower Six, would coax her into a fight. Kagaya would not forgive her if she alienated their sole source of information on….that man…through the elimination of his guests this evening.

She would leave this situation to the demon slayers of the future, if at all possible.

“Greetings,” she inclined her head respectfully to the man at the end of the table first, then the beautiful woman across from him, after noting how Lower Six glanced at him before he spoke, “I apologize for interrupting your evening, as I too need to be getting back to my family. But, my…father…insisted that I deliver these invitations to your family as an expression of his favor.”

It pained her to call Douma that, though he could be considered so in only the barest sense of the word since he provided her with her demonhood, though he was in truth more akin to the neighborhood creep that haunted her waking hours. Lower Six, however, seemed to accept the wording well.

He looked to the largest demon, the ‘father’ at this peculiar dinner party, before he spoke, gaining an approving nod that further confirmed her suspicions of what was occurring in this home. An exceedingly young demon with unparalleled powers, a sea of demons reflecting his unique traits, a crumbling home dressed nicely on the inside. The demon from before, Rui’s ‘sister’ she supposed, edged away from Kanae with an uncomfortable expression on her face.

“We appreciate the invitation from a kind neighbor, though it would be more polite if you knocked next time,” Rui glanced at his sister with disdain, “you seem to have scared my sister with your entrance.”

“My apologies, once again,” the smile of a clueless girl played across Kanae’s face and she envisioned her own family as she furthered the falsities, “I was in a rush, due to my own family obligations, my little sisters expect me home soon, as I’m sure you understand.”

Rui seemed to take the idea that she was preoccupied with ‘family obligations’ well, as she made sure to address the household’s false head instead of the upper moon. Kanae felt certain that the moment she addressed the true head of household, his hesitant acceptance of her would turn to something more violent.

“My father will send his response to your father soon, should we choose to attend this event.” Rui said, and the father demon made an affirmative noise as he pulled the invitations to him.

Kanae slowly backed to the door, she had nearly bowed out and made her escape when Rui hit her with a final question.

“Who was your father, the one that drafted these invitations, again?”

His voice dripped with venom, and Kanae worried that she would have to take on a house full of lower moon level demons on her own. She smiled kindly over her shoulder, preparing herself for flight.

“My father, or perhaps the monster that cursed me would be more accurate, is none other than Upper Two.” She made the mistake of looking Rui in the eye.

Kanae did not have time to see Rui’s reaction as she took to the air, catching a chilly updraft that sent her spiraling hundreds of feet out of his range.

One glance back saw a veritable thicket of trees collapse in the wake of a pale figure that quivered with rage. She bumbled away on clumsy wings, in the direction of Lady Tamayo’s home, with the knowledge that Rui would have shredded them if she left the house even a moment later.

Lower Moon Six glared at the butterfly that shadowed the moon, wondering when Douma would cease his irritations, if that was even possible.

Chapter Text

Lady Tamayo enjoyed the privacy of her well-cloaked manor in the city of Asukusa. This was all well-and-good, except for when Kanae was stuck poking at thin air in hopes of locating her doctor’s house.

“Let me in, Lady Tamayo, I’m here for my appointment.” Kanae shouted in growing frustration, as the sky had just begun to change colors.

If she could not find the entrance in the next few minutes she would have to find shelter and try again in the morning. She prodded at the air once more, a frown on her delicate face.

“How dare you shout at My Lady, you heathen,” a familiar voice scolded, though his body was still cloaked by the spell on the manor.

“Yushiro!” Kanae grasped at the air, intending to pull the green-haired boy into a hug. Her arm connected with his neck and she pulled him forward.

He struggled, much like the cat his master cared for, as she pulled him into a crushing embrace.

“Let go of me!” he demanded, thrashing about enough that she let go.

“I think you’ve grown taller since I saw you last.” Kanae drew her hand from her forehead to his, finding him to be roughly two inches shorter.

“I am thirty three and a demon. I am not growing any taller.” Yushiro grumbled, but a hint of remorse colored his voice.

“Anything is possible,” Kanae shrugged as she thrust her palms through the barrier, “Is Lady Tamayo ready for my appointment?”

“She is,” he hedged, “but If she was not then you would wait however long My Lady wants you to.”

His glare focused on the sword hanging from her belt, “leave that by the door.”

“I know the procedure well enough by now,” Kanae responded as she slipped through the barrier, clinging to Yushiro’s arm much to his discomfort.

The manor's neat gardens materialized before her eyes.

“Why are you early?” Yushiro’s question was blunt, no care for pleasantries or for her apparent in him.

“There was an incident at the Butterfly Manor earlier this morning,” Kanae replied carefully as she slipped through the door, she left her sandals in a neat row beside the door.

Yushiro followed her closely, though she was unsure what he thought she would do that required such air-tight prevention. They arrived in Lady Tamayo’s patient care rooms swiftly, the path engraved in her mind from the bi-monthly visits.

Not to mention the two and a half months she spent recovering and adjusting to her new life here less than two years ago. Kanae knew Lady Tamayo’s manor like the back of her hand.

“You smell strange.” Yushiro commented in passing.

"Beetle Demon and Spider Demon Dinner Party.” Kanae said as she slipped through the door, delighting in the sight of Lady Tamayo’s slight form sipping tea, “You must teach me how you do that!”

Yushiro was left to sputter in confusion at the examination room’s threshold, not quite sure whether to lecture her for the informality or to inquire after the named incidents.

Grasping Lady Tamayo’s hands between hers, Kanae beamed at her with the exuberance of a girl half her age. The lady seemed to relax.

“How have you been, Miss Kocho?”

“Quite well, indeed,” her wings slapped shut behind her in excitement, thrusting a gust of stale air in Yushiro’s direction. He stomped over to them angrily.

“However, Master Kagaya still has me on that observation and protection mission, so I've been sorely lacking any excitement recently.”

“That’s probably for the best,” Lady Tamayo’s gentle eyes swept over her, analyzing her physical condition from a distance as Kanae settled into the seat beside her,

“We still don’t fully understand how you were able to liberate yourself from Muzan’s control so swiftly, and your composition is entirely different than many of the demons I care for in the first place, and your reduced workload makes it far easier to collect samples when necessary.”

“Perhaps,” Kanae sighed into her hands, “I only wish that I didn’t have to watch him be hurt over and over again.”

“You can still take solace in the fact that you remain in a position to allow him to return home safely.”

“I suppose,” she couldn’t help the vision of his blood-spattered frame that haunted her nightmares, but knowing she could help was better than not knowing at all, “though I might be reassigned soon.”

“Is that so?” Lady Tamayo sipped her tea slowly, and jealousy stabbed through Kanae’s heart. What would she not give to sample her favorite treats once more without immense pain?

“Recently, Sanemi is supposed to take on the new Hashira for training starting next week, and I believe he might be the one to finally break his solo-mission streak. It seems that the pair are quite friendly already, or as friendly as boys can be.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice,” Lady Tamayo’s smile was warm, she seemed to enjoy Kanae’s senseless updates with each visit, though Yushiro felt very differently.

Kanae accepted a cup of blood that Yushiro handed her, despite the deep glare that he burned into her skull.

She had come to understand that the assistant acted similarly to any person that strove for familiarly with the doctor. Tamayo watched her carefully as Kanae sipped at the cup, her pale purple eyes searching for something in her face.

“Is something the matter?”

“No, no,” Lady Tamayo assured her, “I’m only surprised at how completely you succeeded in cellular rearrangement, without months of proper check-ins and maintenance, you exhibit no signs of bloodlust.”

“Ah,” Kanae said, setting the tea gently on the table, “could that not be attributed to the fact that I possessed enough advanced medical knowledge to follow your instructions for liberation from…that man…to completion.”

“I would believe that, if you felt confident enough to say his name.”

“I would prefer not to risk it,” Kanae said sheepishly.

“As would I,” Lady Tamayo set her teacup aside, "Shall we begin the examination now?”

Chapter Text

1912...

Sanemi Shinazagawa was on a mission with Gyomei Himejima the day that Kanae Kocho died. When Kanae Kocho informed him of her mission, investigation of an Upper Moon sighting in a far off village a few days prior, he had no reason to suspect she would not return.

Kanae Kocho was strong, she had defeated him more than once in training prior to becoming a hashira, which was one of the reasons he felt drawn to her. The master of the butterfly manor would not crumple in combat, she was not a withered flower waiting to break apart in the wind.

She smiled at him before she left, cradling his hand in hers, and promising she would tell him something once she returned. He hesitated, stupidly, to reply that he might have something to tell her in kind.

Shinobu Kocho, her little sister and rather impressive tsuguko, had tapped her foot impatiently. According to her frustrated remarks, they did not have time for Kanae to waste on him.

Sanemi would have been mad, if the kid did not remind him a little of himself.

Kanae only laughed at his expression, squeezing his hand tighter before finally letting go. It felt too much like a real goodbye, he had found it peculiar that she sought him out before she left, since she had never done so in the past. He chose not to think too hard about it.

The Flower Hashira bid her youngest sister, a small girl who seemed incapable of processing what goodbye meant, and promised her that she would return with a crushing hug. Fleetingly, as she made to leave the compound, she told Sanemi to care for their sister should anything happen to them both.

Kanae said it in such a light tone, as if she were telling him one of the silly stories she often dreamt up rather than commanding him to care for Kanao Tsuyuri. He agreed, though he could not imagine something happening to Kanae, and even less something happening with Shinobu at her side.

He had no doubt Shinobu would earn a Hashira seat in her own right by the time she was their age.

It was a quick goodbye. His most recent, and largest regret.

That next day he and Gyomei Himejima accompanied a group of new demon slayers, fresh from final selection, to the place where they claimed to have spotted one of the twelve Kizuki days earlier. An unusual weight settled over his heart, even dimming the pleasure of rending the demon, a former Kizuki’s, head from his body.

The gold ring, shaped into a rose with a diamond at its center, seemed to burn a hole through his pocket right into his heart.

Stupid. He came to the conclusion that he was stupid.

He deserved to be called every harsh name he called Genya for deciding to do this. He tried to meet Gyomei’s eyes, an impossible feat considering he was blind.

“You radiate such emotion young Shinazagawa,” Gyomei noticed him anyway, “what would you like to ask me?”

They exited the warehouse the demon had taken shelter in, to find the other demon slayers resting outside. Sanemi motioned for them to head home, informing them that the former Kizuki was eliminated.

The monster was not even a current Kizuki. They should have been able to take care of it on their own.

Disgraceful.

“Speak, young Shinazagawa,” Gyomei said as they started on their way back to headquarters, the sun had begun to rise. “I sense you looking at me still.”

The reason he volunteered to join the Stone Hashira on this mission had arrived. He chewed on the question, struggling to select a good way to broach the topic.

“You raised Miss Kocho and her younger sister, they consider you a father figure.” It was not so much a question, as it was a statement, but Gyomei Himejima smiled sadly all the same.

“That is correct.”

He toyed with the ring in his pocket.

The sun rose and with it Kanae Kocho drew her final breath, somewhere far from there.

“How would you feel about an engagement between Kanae Kocho and me?”

“That decision would be up to her,” Gyomei’s response was thoughtful, “but if she decided to accept, then I would have no reason to disapprove.”

“You would not?”

“No,” Gyomei said, “I assume that you spent time getting to know Miss Kocho properly.”

“Of course.”

Kanae and her sister, high ranking members of the demon slayer corps and coming from a higher-social status prior, would require formal declarations and courtship prior to a proposal. Sanemi did not know all the procedures, but he could learn.

“Do you mean to inform me that you are courting Miss Kocho.”

Sanemi was saved from responding by the murder of crows blacking out the sky over the compound. His own crow zipped down to them, glossy black wings reflecting the rising sun. It was nearly eight in the morning by this point.

“Dead!” It called and his heart dropped to his stomach, “Kocho Kanae died fighting Upper Moon Two!”

His blood ran cold, hands dropping to his side.

“I have somewhere I need to be.”

“What—” Gyomei said to the air beside him.

Fifteen miles north, he would not make it in time to face the demon, not unless it was headed in his direction. The sun scraped higher, even with his excellent lung capacity his chest hurt. Red filled his vision, and his right sandal lay abandoned some miles back. He followed his crow at a speed he didn’t even know he could reach.

The village spun into view, the scent of blood drawing him into a shallow alley. No trace of her remained, only puddles of demon blood and a thick smear of red at the edge of a clearing. Shinobu and her sister’s remains were long gone, likely headed back to the manor down a different path.

Upper Moon Two did not leave this encounter unscathed, but that knowledge did not comfort him as he struggled for air. His quivering hand rested on a blood smear that decorated the pale-walled house beside him.

He would kill that demon, even if it killed him.

A lesson was learned that afternoon: he was better off alone.

Chapter Text

“You can take pride in your clean bill of health, Miss Kocho,” Lady Tamayo said as she returned her stethoscope and needles to the chests lining the examination room, “A few days of recalibration should have you feeling lighter and more controlled.”

“Excellent,” Kanae’s wings flared behind her, the semi-transparent membrane casting the room in plush pink. “What about my other dilemma?”

“The manifestation of your Blood Demon Art is not unusual,” Lady Tamayo seemed resigned, “demons with a lower concentration of Muzan’s blood take longer to manifest the arts, especially when they are not in the business of consuming human flesh. Yushiro was much the same.”

Douma’s blood, as Kanae and Tamayo had discovered, contained a high concentration of power. However, second-hand inheritance of that blood, seemed to result in dampened abilities when compared to those born of contact with that man.

“Kagaya will be disappointed that my condition could not be of help,” Kanae mused.

Lady Tamayo set about preparing a tatami mat for her. Much to Yushiro’s ire, Lady Tamayo gladly accepted her request to spend the week with her. She argued that it was safer, anyway, to perform cellular recalibration within her home as opposed to the Butterfly Mansion. After all, it took a massive amount of power to change one’s cells enough to retain full control of her mind. Kanae would be immobilized for days while she manipulated her cells, under Lady Tamayo’s instruction.

It was easier, though she would never admit this to Upper Two, to perform maintenance on her cells in the absence of direct contact with the demon lord himself. Douma served as a sort of protecting group, a stable intermediate that intervened with the deeper connection he held to the majority of demons. Kanae wondered if the demon lord even knew she existed.

“We can look into raising your diet from one cup a week,” Lady Tamayo spoke softly, as if she were a child in want of comfort, “the best way to speed your Blood Art’s manifestation along, without increasing your blood consumption to an unreasonable degree, would be through Marechi Blood, though that is near impossible to source.”

“Marechi Blood?”

A familiarity with the phrase tugged at her mind’s ragged edges, begging to answer her inquiry. Crazed eyes of missions long past and the intoxicating scent of modern missions sprang to mind.

Tools carefully arranged in the cabinet, Lady Tamayo poured herself a cup of steaming green tea before she made to answer. Her disposition spoke of uncertainty, as if she regretted her prior statement in wake of Kanae’s interest.

“I have seldom encountered such individuals, but there are a few that can drive a demon mad with a single drop of their blood.” Tamayo’s thin eyebrows drew closer,

“It is said that the reason is due to the unique nutritional properties of Marechi Blood.”

“This madness,” Kanae said carefully, putting a label to a scene she had seen nearly a hundred times now, “would it induce demons to throw themselves to their deaths in want of a droplet?”

“It seems you’ve encountered something of the sort,” Lady Tamayo did not betray her feelings on the manner as she brought a delicate wisteria-painted cup to her lips, “It is incredibly easy for demons to succumb to their base urges in the presence of someone with Marechi Blood, especially when starved or uncontrollable in the first place.”

Pale arms painted in red came to mind, alongside the twinge of pain that accompanied the nails biting into her skin each time she came too close. Theoretically, Kanae and Marechi Blood shared an intimate bond teetering on the descent into sheer madness.

“I understand that this particular blood type has a potent effect on demons, but there must be a deeper reason as to why. I know you mentioned its nutritional properties.”

“There is chatter amongst my patients,” Lady Tamayo spoke into her cup, her lavender eyes dull as if recalling a particularly unpleasant event of the past, “that consuming one human in possession of Marechi Blood would result in growth equivalent to what as many as one hundred human lives would induce.”

“Truly?” The widening of Kanae’s pale eyes betrayed her surprise.

She, who consumed nigh a single human but an amount of blood equivalent to roughly six, could not fathom the power resulting from so many people or, in exchange, a single life. Perhaps, she now understood the urge so many possessed to throw themselves at a certain boy’s feet in search of unfathomable power. One hundred humans might equate to the might of a single lower moon, perhaps even Lower Five, by her vaguest estimation.

“It matters not,” Lady Tamayo shrugged, “individuals with Marechi Blood tend to react especially poorly to demons, it would be impossible to convince one to act as a donor, so I would advise that you perish the thought.”

“Of course,” Kanae’s smile was honey-sweet as she refilled Lady Tamayo’s cup, the lessons from finishing school flooding back as she acted, “I can not say I know anyone who would gladly act as such anyway, but if I were to meet one how would I identify him?”

Lady Tamayo’s eyebrow raised slightly, a question brewing in her mind, but Kanae could sense her put the thought out of its misery. The older woman folded her small hands, fragile as butterflies wavering in the wind, in her lap.

Him. Kanae cursed her lack of subtlety, but Tamayo did not take note of that portion of her statement.

“I would presume that you would identify such a person innately,” Lady Tamayo mused, “Marechi Blood, from a short distance, would cause the intense cravings that those who love their sake too deeply feel. For a moment it might feel as though you, and that person, are all that exists in the world.”

“And for how long would this feeling remain?”

“Perhaps,” Lady Tamayo finished her tea, the ceramic cup finding its place on the tea tray to be returned to the sink later, “it would last until the bleeding stopped, or until you became accustomed. I have never known a demon to hesitate in the presence of Marechi Blood, it has never benefitted those I have known to show restraint.”

Kanae’s mind whirled as her eyes traced the wood grain of the Chabudai dining table, this one seemed to be bamboo. The flutter of motion, as Yushiro threw her bedding to the ground in a messy heap and Lady Tamayo cleared the table, passed her by entirely until Kanae found herself wrapped in a soft yukata standing by the door to her room. Air chilled her back through the triangular cut hastily slashed through the loungewear’s fabric to accommodate her unwieldy wings.

Far preferring the less societally acceptable open-backed design to the irritating slits in her normal uniform, Kanae did not complain about the adaptation to the provided clothes. Yushiro fumbled with the key in the door

“Do you perhaps think—”

“I don't care,” Yushiro’s coldness blew over her like a winter gust, “You bother Lady Tamayo with your incessant questions, and now you choose to irritate me.”

“You are always so kind,” Kanae ruffled his hair, much to his disdain, as he led her into her room, “Do you not fear your cold demeanor will drive even Lady Tamayo away?”

“I would never be cold to Lady Tamayo,” He did not seem to understand her meaning, that such behavior could be seen as incompatible with a medical assistant.

“Stop staring at me like that,” he crossed his arms, glaring from the doorway, “What did you want to ask?”

“Since you asked,” Kanae captured his hands and Yushiro squirmed, his begrudging interest lit a fire in her blood. Her wings snapped out, thumping loudly against the wooden door. “How difficult would it be to convince someone, whose hatred for demons penetrates the very depths of his soul, to give me his blood?”

“Does that need to be a question?” Yushiro wrested his hands free and wiped them on his shirt, something like disgust on his pinched face, “If this person hates demons as much as you claim, then there is no way an indelicate brute of a girl like you would be able to convince him to be your donor.”

“Would you like to bet on it?” Kanae vocalized her first thought.

“Not particularly,” Yushiro turned on his heel, “I will see you in two days time, once your recalibration is complete, and I hope you will be on your way by then.”

“Wait!” Kanae grabbed his arm, he halted, unable to move.

Despite her inferiority as a demon, her physical strength far surpassed most lower demons even before she turned, making her a particularly strong fledgeling demon in terms of physicality. Paired with Flower Breathing, one could argue that Kanae did not need a Blood Demon Art to outclass many of her colleagues.

“If you win I will sing your praises to Lady Tamayo for the rest of eternity,” it was a whim, more than anything else, but Kanae decided that she wanted an incentive to cross the impossible line one day, should she be offered the chance.

“That…is not unappealing.” Yushiro considered it as he glared at her arresting hand, Kanae released him quickly, “Who, exactly, is the subject of this wager?”

“So you agree?”

“Tell me who first.”

“Sanemi Shinazagawa.” Kanae answered quickly, “The Wind Hashira.”

“A Hashira?” Yushiro echoed, a rare smile alighting his imp-like face, “I’ll bite, what would you get in return?”

“Soon, in a matter of months, there will be something that I will require your invisibility to confirm. It won’t matter should I fail to convince the Wind Hashira, but I believe I will require the services of your Blood Demon Art if I can.”

Yushiro mulled it over, his pointed features pinching unflatteringly, as he decided who the bet favored. Apparently coming to a decision, he shook her hand briskly.

“Six months, if you can not convince the hashira most renowned for his hatred of demonkind to act as your sole donor, and are able to manifest a blood demon art, then you will sing my praises to Lady Tamayo. And—”

“And?” Kanae frowned, “I thought that we agreed on the conditions already.”

“You offered this bet,” Yushiro pointed out, “I should be allowed to add a condition if I am to agree.”

“That seems fair,” She said sweetly, though it was begrudging in actuality. He already set the time limit without her consent.

“Should you fail to manifest a Blood Demon Art before the sun rises on the dawn of the year 1915, then you shall owe me a single favor of my choosing.”

“Nothing too strange, and nothing conflicting with my morals as a Hashira. I will not kill anyone.”

“Do you think I’m a monster?” He looked aghast.

She took in the green tinge of his skin and his slitted eyes, like those of a cat. “Honestly? I’ve considered the possibility.”

He stuck his hand out once more, ignoring the provocation for once, “Deal?”

“Deal.”

Kanae closed the door on his retreating form, collapsing into the mattress with renewed purpose and direction. If only a possible task lay ahead.

Chapter Text

The Mist Hashira, one Muichiro Tokito, arrived at the Butterfly Mansion precisely one hour after sunrise. Jewel-toned butterflies gathered in his hair like clips, as he sat motionless on a flat rock. By Shinobu’s orders, doctor’s orders, Kanao Tsuyuri spent another morning in the company of the young boy.

Shinobu remarked, just before Lord Tokito arrived, that their friendship had shaken loose the vaguest outlines of memories for the young boy. Kanao owed it to her sister to assist, and she had done so dutifully enough for the last few months. Her sister told her that Lord Tokito held a certain fondness for her, in the manner a child of his age should when seeking a playmate, though Kanao did not know if she was capable of such an emotional bond.

Actually, she did not think or feel much at all.

The bright insects stirred as she shifted her foot away from the edge of the water, determining that the murky koi pond would soak her white boot if she did not.

“I visited the manor the other day, I think,” Lord Tokito’s voice was low, probably so as not to startle the insects, “and ended up in your sister’s quarters by accident. She resides in the Southern Wing, right?”

Muichiro Tokito liked to talk to her, Kanao assumed, as he often plucked conversation threads from thin air in hopes of enticing responses. Coin flipping in the air, Kanao entrusted her response to the universe’s whims.

Heads.

“The infirmary is in the Southern Wing, Master’s room is to the north.”

He blinked at her, a vibrant Japanese Oakblue butterfly alighting from his dark hair, Kanao blinked back.

Eyebrows scrunched, Muichiro spun to face the manor’s Westernmost Wing. A cloud of delicate insects fled from his fluttering sleeves.

“Who lives in the West Wing?”

Kanao did not have to flip her coin to know her response. Orders, especially those involving Kanae’s protection, were of the utmost priority. Smiling vacantly at the West Wing, Kanao moved beside Tokito.

“The West Wing is only extra rooms and training spaces. We do not use it, since we have enough space.”

Turquoise hair fluttered in the wind, and blank eyes found her own. Tokito was nearly the same height as Shinobu, precisely two inches shorter than her. According to Shinobu’s assessment, both she and Lord Tokito would grow taller in the next year. Small fingers found her sleeve, rooting her in place with strength that others would consider startling.

“I think a demon is living in your house.”

She should have panicked, but she felt nothing, the lack of emotion as unsurprising as his revelation should have been surprising. Absently staring into his pale face, Kanao flipped the coin in her pocket, feeling the heads side come up first.

“Why?”

He blinked, “I don’t know if I remember.”

“I see,” Kanao gave him no clear reaction, there was nothing to hide if she was incapable of one, though, “would you like to walk through the garden near the infirmary?”

“Okay,” Lord Tokito’s response was passive, if slightly enthused by the idea.

Glancing back, once, twice, Tokito followed her through the winding path to the southern gardens. Neatly trimmed hedges and perfect stone-work lined the path, opening to a wide space containing a variety of flowers and laundry lines beside the fence.

What would Shinobu have said to him?

“What are you doing here?” A young voice, rife with outrage, caught her ear.

Aoi Kanazaki, in possession of several laundry baskets, glared from behind a crisp white sheet. Her hairclips, blue to Kanao’s green, sparkled slightly in the new sunlight. Kanao recognized distaste in her voice, she glanced between the Medical Assistant and the Mist Hashira slowly.

“Kanao invited me, before my appointment.”
Technically, Shinobu invited him in her name, but Kanao did not move to correct him.

“Your appointment?” Aoi hesitated, bending to place a folded sheet in one laundry basket.

“With my doctor, you know, your boss.” Muichiro came into focus as he spoke, his empty eyes seemed clearer, though that was pure conjecture. “The one you gave up slaying demons for.”

“I know who you’re referring to,” Aoi threw a towel atop the sheet, Kanao sensed anger in her disposition, “what does my job title have to do with you, anyway?”

“It doesn’t.” He mused, “but it's funny…”

“What is?” Aoi stomped over, her head just barely clearing Muichiro’s. Kanao flipped her coin discretely in her pocket, deciding against separating them.

“I would be your boss if you weren’t pathetic, swordsmanship isn’t that hard, either, if you actually try.”

“Excuse me?” Aoi sputtered, her face a slight crimson shade, “What do you mean by that?”

Muichiro’s attention had already wandered back to Kanao, “are you attending Final Selection this year? It’s only a few months away.”

Kanao pulled her coin out in response, landing on heads with a half smile.

“I will start training soon. My sister taught me plenty already.”

“Your sister,” Muichiro seemed thoughtful, “I heard that you had more than one, before I became a hashira.”

Kanao smiled softly, extending her hand to a passing butterfly.

“What do you need to know about Miss Kocho?”

“I forgot you were still here,” Muichiro responded to Aoi, monotonously, “Mr. Himejima mentioned that there was a Flower Pillar before the Insect Pillar once, I think.”

“You think?”

“I think.”

Kanao glanced between them, the air electric. Something in Aoi’s gaze spoke of new emotion, the sort Kanao imagined she was once capable of, and of something surprising: competitiveness. Aoi glared at the Mist Hashira, her hands clenched in the fabric of her skirts.

“Yes.” Aoi responded stiffly, “there was a Flower Pillar, Miss Kanae Kocho, but she died in a fight against an Upper Rank demon, nearly two years ago.”

Kanao might have flinched, but she instead stood entirely still as Muichiro sought her reaction.

“Okay.” He decided to say, “That is sad.”

“Yes, it is,” Aoi spoke in annoyance, “but I would ask that you leave now if that is all, you're interrupting my work and wasting Kanao’s time.”

“I am,” it sounded like both a surprising and distant revelation, he glanced at her, turquoise eyes blank as her own, “Do you want to train with me, until my appointment?”

Kanao’s coin sparkled in the rising sunlight.

“Okay.”

They spent the rest of the morning exchanging blows, so swiftly Kanao could hardly keep up, until Muichiro’s appointment with her master. When she saw him off, near mid day, her shaking tired mind was still able to note the glance he spared at the Western Wing. She would tell Shinobu about his theories later, during her infirmary shift.

Chapter Text

Changing a hashira into a demon requires copious amounts of the demon king’s blood. By Lady Tamayo's estimation, Douma provided Kanae half the necessary amount in their fated fight. The amount he forced into her system, would have behaved as a slow-acting poison, only pushing her halfway to the brink. Thus, Upper Two would have succeeded in killing her, if Lady Tamayo did not supply Kanae Kocho with a surplus of her own blood that day.

Shinobu had communicated as much when Kanae awoke from her month long slumber. The body of a breathing user fights to reject the blood with every fiber of its being, killing most slayers in the process. True luck, alone, allowed Kanae to survive the transformation and endure its accompanying changes.

Kanae Kocho owed her current life to Lady Tamayo, who soothed her transition and guided her through the cellular manipulations needed to reclaim her mind. This feat was facilitated by her advanced medical knowledge, but lengthy and painful nonetheless.

As she owed her demonhood to a combination of Upper Two and the lady's blood, Kanae's form required bi-monthly maintenance. While she turned her mind inwards, beating her cells into compliance with the unique techniques demonhood afforded her, Kanae's consciousness was trapped in a dream-like state.

Each dream began the same, surveying the events of that fateful day. Though she had no recollection, Kanae's mind took the liberty of reconstructing the torturous month she missed through Shinobu and Lady Tamayo's accounts.

It always began with the immense pain of impending death. The rising sun burnt into her skin as vile liquid burned her hoarse throat. Every part of her body ached, her back in particular trembling as the skin tore in wake of shifting anatomy.

Next came the dragging, Shinobu's small form yanking her into the corpse of an abandoned home. Blood staining the alley in which she fell, Kanae's unfeeling eyes met the sun for the final time. They fluttered shut, the agony of tearing flesh and membranes sprouting from her shoulderblades consuming her.

“It's no good,” the lady caressed her face, her presence was a warm summer day and her voice soft as fallen petals. “Your sister will die before the transformation is complete, Upper Two provided an inadequate amount of blood and there is no way to cleanse it from her body.”

Water, like that of the sea, dribbled onto her face, the vague impression of the words she had wished to say sprung to her mind unbidden. She wished for her sister to leave her, and the corps, to spend her life smiling happily in a welcoming home. She wished for her to take Kanao with her into a new life without the threat of death hanging over her.

These feelings, words left unsaid in the heat of the moment, were the worst echoes to haunt her as her cells recalibrated.

“Save her, save my sister,” Shinobu demanded harshly, shaking, “you're a demon, if you don't save her than I'll—”

“There is no need for threats,” iron rich aromas she would later recognize as Lady Tamayo's blood, cut through her agony, causing an uncomfortable rumble in her stomach, half-urges she could not defines, “I am more than capable of finishing what he began, if that is what your sister would wish.”

No, she wanted to say, save yourself and leave me to wilt.

Choking on blood, Kanae failed to speak. Her hands twitched toward her throat, falling back as a new set of tremors rocked her body.

Shinobu held her closer, an emotion she now recognized as unease and hesitation overtaking her, but inevitably nodded as Kanae blinked up at her in a daze.

“She will retain her mind, as you clearly have?”

“I will be certain of it.”

“Do it, she would want to live.”

Kanae's feelings on the matter were undoubtedly biased as she did indeed survive the ordeal, but she knew that something in her balked at the idea in the moment. It would be a mercy, to die of the poison than to be reborn from this agony, she had believed, as the membrane shredded the skin of her back and her uniform tore.

The final memory, of that day, was the gush of sweeter blood and the release of sleep.

Continuing forward, the next portion of the dream took a decidedly different route than the first. Rather than reminding her of the physical pain her transformation cost, it recalled her greatest heartbreak.

Three months after her alleged death, and two days after her release from House Tamayo, Kanae knelt before Kagaya Ubuyashiki in the dead of night. Shinobu, having explained the situation in great detail prior to the completion of Kanae's recovery, led her through the compounds with new confidence.

Kanae remembered noting how being a Hahsira had changed Shinobu, her sister seemed softer now, more agreeable, and something dangerous lurked behind the sweet smile she had promised to keep.

Kagaya, to her surprise, took her unique situation in stride, declaring his Tenth Hashira to be his newest spy. She would act under her own discretion in collecting information, and report to him through the crows for further instruction.

This part of the dream was not painful, in fact she considered it a pleasant memory up to present. The following content was greater cause for concern.

On the way from the meeting, glowing with approval and new direction. Kanae's eyes caught on a head of silver bowed over a stone grave near the Butterfly Mansion’s front entrance.

Etched on the headstone was the simple Kanji for her name, and the year of her death: 1912. Disguising herself in the thick foliage encroaching on the winding entry path, Kanae watched as the figure addressed the headstone.

He did not weep, he did not leave an offering of respect, and he did not share a moment of silence with her spirit.

Instead, he spoke to her as he always did when she bandaged his wounds. As he did when Kanae held his shredded arms in her own, bandaging the damaged skin carefully, more times than she wished to recall.

Holding his hand always soothed his temper, though he never seemed mad at her.

Though not a man given to long winded conversations, Sanemi Shinazagawa had spared her detailed accounts of his missions and related tales at each opportunity. Her heart fluttered as she remembered his manic grin, contrasting the blood pool on her office floor, from the last time they met.

Knowing her place, Kanae kept just close enough to make out what he said to her grave. He seemed to be in the midst of sharing the story of a mission long past. Three months had only made him more vibrant, a shining figure under the moon.

Doesn't the moon look beautiful tonight?

She ached to ask him something so simple, but also so much more. Instead, she eagerly gobbled down every morsel he gifted her false grave.

“Is there a reason you chose to leave? I thought we were the same, that we could fight so that Genya and Shinobu would not have to.”

He spoke to nothing and nothing spoke back. But, if prompted, Kanae would have to agree that her sister should leave the corps.

“Shinobu is fighting now. She told me she will become a hashira before the next meeting, did you know that?”

She did.

“I don't know how you can allow this. She isn’t weak, but she’ll die all the same, she is not you and even you died in the end.”

This was, perhaps, the calmest and most somber she had seen Sanemi Shinazagawa since they first met. None of the fire of that first Hashira meeting remained in this shell, but she was sure it would come back soon. It was not as if they had an understanding, or some grander emotional connection.

“It doesn’t matter,” Sanemi’s scarred hand rested on her name-plate almost reverently, “because I’ll look out for her now.”

“Why?” She whispered, low enough that it caught in the wind.

He did not react.

“This is all I can do.” Sanemi’s sadness tore a hole in her heart, she turned away, knowing that he would never display such tender emotions before another, “It is all I can do to look out for her, since I could not look out for the girl I loved.”

She froze, her blood running cold. That hole in her heart expanded, the crater at the peak of an erupting volcano. Her friend, the boy she cared for beyond anything else, admitted something earth shattering in an even tone as if it were a fact.

Kanae slipped closer, grateful for the light-footed nature of her new form, and bade her wings be still beneath the oversized haori her sister borrowed from the Sound Hashira's ‘flashy’ collection. This haori, clearly meant for a man, was purple with embroidery reminiscent of fireworks in pattern, it still swished against her wings when she walked.

Sanemi Shinazagawa did not seem prone to saying more, but she still clung to every second of his silence. He struggled to formulate his next thought.

“I’m making you another promise.” Something sparkled in his hand, moonlight catching on a bright rock, “I will return this to you, since it was meant to be yours in life and death, as soon as I eradicate demonkind for good..”

Her heart stopped. It was good, then, that such an event would not result in her death if it were to happen non-metaphorically. Kanae recalled a day at the market long past, and the story of a westerner claiming his wares to be a symbol of everlasting connection between a pair. Romantic as the notion was, she complained to her sister and Shinazagawa, that such a proposal would never be possible so long as she had people to protect.

Pain could be avoided when nobody unnecessary could come close enough to break with her passing. Staring at him now, Kanae wondered if such intimate interpersonal connections were unavoidable in a way. It certainly seemed that way, avoiding his feelings in life only intensified his reaction to her in death.

“There is no need,” She spoke into the darkness, impulsively, though Shinobu and Ubuyashiki would kill her if they found out, “you grieve for someone who died protecting those she loved, there is no reason to linger on her memory. Whether you claim to have loved her or not.”

He did not spin, he hardly reacted for a breath, and then—

“I’ve finally lost it,” He laughed, and then more brutally, “Whomever is tricking me better come out this instant.”

“This is no trick,” She replied.

He tensed and made to turn around.

“If you turn I will disappear, and you will never hear my voice again.”

“I’m hearing ghosts,” he muttered, and then to the moon, “what does my imagination have to tell me with her voice?”

It was better if he thought her a ghost, actually, they would both avoid punishment for any knowledge shared.

“You can not make that promise, the one that entails tracking and killing Upper Moon Two, I forbid it. Make another promise, I’ll grant your greatest wish.”

He did not reply, staring into her gravestone.

“You can’t do crap,” he laughed, “you’re nothing but a voice in my head.”

Kanae sighed as he patted the top of her gravestone lightly. Moonlight made him a ghost, a figure crafted of glittering silver.

“Congratulations, Kanae Kocho, I finally snapped. I hope you’re happy, wherever you are.”

Chapter Text

Pain exploded in Kanae’s head, splintering her dream before it could reach its finale, and forcing her to submerge from her infinite slumber. Nails, too sharp to be human, sunk into her shoulders, as someone shook her roughly awake.

Recalibration, by a quick assessment run before her eyelids lifted, was nearly seventy-five percent complete. Kanae’s legs twitched unsteadily and her back throbbed as she jolted awake, a greenish figure scrambling out of her way. A loud message, squawked from somewhere nearby, rattled in her ears as she blinked sleepily at him. From her bedroom deep within House Tamayo, Kanae could not decipher the details of the missive, but the crow’s tone indicated urgency.

“Yushiro? Is the shaking truly necessary?”

“Do you think I would do it if it weren't?" He wiped his hands on his kimono disgustedly.

Kanae rubbed her eyes as he threw a bundle of black cloth into her lap.

“That crow disturbed Lady Tamayo’s rest, you are to silence its crying as soon as possible.”

“How long has it been here?” Kanae asked, slipping her a lavender haori, borrowed from Lady Tamayo’s collection, over her exposed back and wings.

She could likely deal with the problem out of uniform if it were not so dire; she assumed that her crow had only just arrived and loudly announced the message.

“It woke Lady Tamayo and her other patients nearly fifteen minutes ago, just after sunset.”

“Sunset?” Kanae paused, wondering what day that would make it, but shook her head clear as she stood, fifteen minutes of message declarations was far too extreme for a small incident. “Nevermind that, I’ll depart immediately.”

“You can’t just leave, you still need to apologize to Lady Tamayo! Your recalibration isn’t complete yet, your healing—”

Kanae Kocho never heard the rest, as she zipped through the western style house’s wooden halls. The front entrance spat her out on the path into the city, Kanae walked right through the barrier, sword in hand, with great disregard for the personal belongings she left behind.

Dark feathers glinting in the moonlight, her crow, Suiko, alighted on her outstretched wrist. Kanae reached out to stroke her head as Suiko began her message.

“Kanae Kocho, Flower Pillar, you have been called to the Musashi Mitake Shrine to assist Wind Hashira Shinazagawa.”

“That’s hours away from here by foot,” Kanae commented, as she sprinted through the crowded city, Suiko fluttered beside her evenly, the crow seemed to shoot a pointed glare in her direction.

“Urgent Mission for Flower Pillar Kanae Kocho, Kagaya Ubuyashiki said, hurry to Mount Mitake and protect the Wind Hashira using all available means.”

“Ah, I see.” Kanae spoke breathlessly, something stabbed at her heart.

Why now? He would be joined by the Serpent Hashira soon, and surely they would become quick partners. What possible decision could have led him to face death on a mountain shrine alone? For that was the only reason Kagaya would see fit to send her such a message, and to give her such permission.

He would only trade her secret, and interrupt her vital doctor's appointment, for the life of one of his ‘children’, and Kanae Kocho did not want to think of what that might mean for Sanemi Shinazagawa. The edge of the city came up fast, dissolving into a thin path lined by dense trees and quiet darkness. Kanae’s wings stretched out behind her, still bogged down by sleep as she tied the sleeves of her Haori around her waist. Her sheathless sword, grabbed with unnecessary haste

“You will lead me when I take flight.” It was not a question, but a command as Kanae leapt into the air at a steep drop in the path.

Suiko’s affirming caw accompanied the rush of air as she took to the sky. Kanae’s wings felt weaker and more unsteady than usual, flapping violently to throw her through the cold air. Suiko flew ahead, guiding her at a speed unaccomplishable by foot.

High above the forest floor, Kanae caught sight of small homes. They were Islands isolated by a dark green sea. If one looked up they might find a figure with the massive wings of a butterfly soaring over their provincial home.

Nearly a half hour later, they landed in the midst of a demon horde. Kanae had seldom seen so many gathered in a single place, between them lay a collection of torn corpses at the foot of the shrine. Hearing the ring of a sword in the direction of the main shrine, Kanae surmised that none of the several corpses belonged to Sanemi Shinazagawa.

The demons hardly reacted to her presence, instead tearing into their victims with greater fervor. She would be offended, but that it only further confirmed that she remained weak in demonhood, and therefore difficult to detect by scent. She set about laying waste to the gathered horde, cringing at the smell of torn flesh, with her Nichirin sword.

Most burst apart without any need to utilize her breathing style, meaning that these demons were both new and not the exceptionally powerful aura that hung over them.

Suiko waited impatiently for her to eliminate the crowd. Standing on the newly silent landing, Kanae allowed herself a half second to breathe.

A familiar scent, sweeter than any other, drove her into the air, diving toward the shrine’s main body with new purpose. No manic laughter, nor bold declarations followed, casting a dark shadow over her thrashing heart.

Chapter Text

She arrived on a phantom air, falling like a petal from the branches of a cherry blossom tree. If Sanemi Shinazagawa were one for faith, he might have compared her to a goddess of old, but he was all too sure that it was only the ghost who had come to haunt him once more.

Sanemi, for his part, had made a grave mistake. Six hours of fighting, three indoors before sunset and three outside after, had worn on his endurance and yet the horde of demons had not slowed. Were he not already a hashira, he would have earned the right to become one in the first half of this battle.

He managed to isolate the source of the problem, a horned demon with the markings of a former Kizuki etched across his eye and something to prove. Surmising that a portion of the horde originated from this demon’s blood demon art, he targeted the main problem with his most violent attacks. In doing so, his tired mind forgot to protect his blind side. The claws of a smaller demon had torn into his side and the surge turned on him in a violent frenzy.

Usually, his blood’s effect would work to his benefit, but tonight it only served to attract larger and larger groups in the endless assault.

He had finally beheaded the former Kizuki when it happened, another demon’s claws tore across his back and he stumbled slightly. Expecting the demon to burst apart, he spun, finding—to his frustration—yet another former Upper Six staring back at him. The claws that tore through his back had been, in truth, a series of whips crafted entirely of boiling water.

The former Kizuki made to draw the whips across his upper body as he turned, for once Sanemi moved too slow, and the demon stopped. A sword, pink as cherry blossoms, burst through its chest, surging toward its neck. Flower Bouquets bloomed around them, casting the world a soft pink shade, though they were visual rather than physical.

“Flower Breathing: Fifth form, Peonies of Futility.”

A flurry of attacks, carving in clean arcs through the demon’s tough flesh, tore his physical form to pieces. Blood splashed Sameni’s jacket as the demon burst into dust.

It was then, as he took in the soft heart-shaped face of his savior, that Sanemi realized the world quieted. No more demons stood beside them at the shrine’s base, nor did they surge below in the rancid horde from before.

“You.” He panted.

His back burned with the pain of a dozen cuts, but the pain felt distant as he took in the pale pink wings framing her slender frame with unmasked shock. Luckily, blood did not dribble down his back as the scent of singed flesh made her nose crinkle. An unfamiliar haori dangled limply from her waist and a loose kimono drooped over one pale shoulder.

The girl, the ghost, backed away slowly. Though, for the first time in nearly two years of this haunting, Sanemi Shinazagawa considered a new theory.

“I wondered why it was always you, and never the old bat or one of the others that came down to harass me.”

She seemed inclined to run, as he leveled his sword at her. Though it shook, not from exertion now but from hesitation. A crow circled overhead, recognizable as Suiko, Kanae’s former crow by the green bow looped around her breakable neck.

“She never wore that outfit, not once, even on the day she died.” Sanemi claimed, so close she seemed to struggle to focus, her chest heaving with something like fatigue and an unusual sparkle in her eyes. Eyes that did not match the ones he once adored, slashed through with new green like the leaves of a perfect flower. “You use her techniques, and you wear her face, though. Who are you?”

“I think you will know who I am,” She spoke softly, her disposition that of a fragile flower blooming in the snow, “if you think hard enough about what you have and haven’t seen.”

“I attended her funeral!” He screamed, but his sword lowered a hair, “I saw her coffin before she was buried. A ghost couldn’t kill a demon with flower breathing, and her death couldn’t have been staged. So tell me who you are!”

“Kanae Kocho, Flower Hashira, Former Master of the Butterfly Mansion,” she sketched a bow, “and presently, your savior, at your service.”

Sanemi’s hands clenched the hilt of his sword. She couldn’t be real, he killed the demon on his own somehow and blamed it on her ghost, the wings, the strange eyes, her outfit, they were all figments of his imagination.

Unless…

Something else could be true, a testable theory sprung to his mind as he took in the object of his former desire’s rigid form.

Chapter Text

An intoxicating aroma filled the air, Kanae's fists clenched tightly at her side. They were so close, leagues closer than she had ever come in the last two years.

“What are you doing?”

“You require blood, right?” His voice was both angry and uncertain, “take mine, less people will get hurt this way.”

Dangerous, she recognized how dangerous this was. Sanemi was kind, yes, but above all else he dedicated himself to the eradication of demonkind. There was no reason to believe he would act contrary to his beliefs when he could not even decide if she were a ghost, a person, or a monster.

Blood dribbled down his arm from the cut he opened.

Hunger, moreso brought on from the use of Flower Breathing which drained on her stamina due to its inherent contradiction than her nature as a demon, pooled in her gut.

Kanae frowned, “you shouldn't hurt yourself like that.”

She couldn't look at the blood dribbling from his fingertips, even an Upper Moon would struggle. Marechi Blood was especially potent in Sanemi Shinazagawa’s veins. A single sip might be equivalent to a dozen pints of normal blood. The thought died forcefully as she forced herself to remain still.

“Just shut up and take it before I change my mind,” though his words were harsh he sounded more hurt than mad.

“How can I trust that you won't behead me when I get close.”

“I wouldn't do that,” Sanemi shook, seeming to come to some sort of realization about her new nature.

She had not expected him to accept her new form easily. Allowing him to believe her a ghost for so long, no matter the convenience, was a poor choice to begin with. Up close, he could not deny the differences nor the similarities she bore to the girl of two years prior.

The hurt in his voice was apparent now, but she responded carefully, “I know you Sanemi Shinazagawa, I know you’ve made harder decisions before.”

“Just take it.” His hand balled into a fist.

Kanae gauged the distance between them, and subsequently her choices. He meant to test if she was a demon, and though she did not intend to conceal the truth if he asked, he might very well kill her first.

Hunger overcoming common sense, Kanae approached slowly. Fatigued wings sagging at her side, her expression open. Hurt flashed in his eyes before they slammed shut. Under the light of the moon, his beauty was unparalleled.

Kanae’s hand slipped beneath his offered one, turning it slowly. He was a moon prince, a silver shadow against their dark backdrop. Never before, following her transformation, had she been so close.

His left hand, wrapped tightly around his sword, tensed in either anticipation or preparation, as Kanae’s came close.

Irresistible was the right word to characterize his draw, she thought she might die of hunger from so short a distance. Blood seemed to drip down his back too, a concoction of burns and cuts visible through the torn shoulder of his uniform.

Kanae bent her head, and he seemed stuck on a decision. Crimson stained her fingers; her senses narrowed until only the two of them stood at the lip of the shrine. He might have made to move, but she was already spinning away.

The impression of a chaste kiss burned into the back of his right hand as she disappeared into the night.

Not a single drop of blood joined Kanae Kocho’s system that evening, having achieved a far sweeter goal.

Sanemi stared at her retreating figure, sword arm tensed and cheeks flaming, as her kiss seemed to burn a hole in his hand.

Singular in his quest to eliminate all demons, for the first time in years, Sanemi Shinazagawa wavered.

What, exactly, was she?

Chapter Text

1912...

Sanemi Shinazagawa, a man who would rather bury adoration and affection with a scowl, owned up to his true feelings only once. He allowed himself to feel something other than the joy of battle and endless rage, when he knelt before the coffin of the only girl he liked. Loved, perhaps.

Incense was heavy in the air, and his eyes burned from the smoke that had begun to gather. His knees had begun to throb, courtesy of the hours he remained there instead of speaking with the other guests mourning the young Hashira.

His sisters greeted guests at the door, the younger one clinging to Shinobu's coattails like a shadow. They both seemed so strong, so unbroken in the face of loss, that it was as if Kanae's spirit possessed them.

His eyes met those in the portrait hung over Kanae's casket. Why did you love me? It seemed to ask.

“You are, were, everything I am not. Caring, compassionate, graceful, perfect." He whispered, voice blending into the somber murmurs of the surrounding crowd, “It
should have been me on that mission. It should be me lying there.”

He was not sure to whom he spoke next, whatever God from whatever religion would grant his wish, he supposed. Sanemi did not claim to be an especially pious person.

“Make a deal with me,” he whispered, “my life for Kanae's, even if I'm only worth a couple minutes. So long as someone keeps Genya away from the Corps, then it would be okay for me to take her place.”

“What are you muttering about,” a dour voice cut in, Sanemi glared at the blue-eyed intruder, “Miss Kocho told me you've been sitting over here for a while. You probably shouldn't be scaring the guests.”

A boy, nothing more than the black-haired fledgling hashira that lingered at the edges of every meeting, stared down at him. His voice was so empty, Sanemi's grief shifted to disdain. The master often shipped him off on special missions in the rural countryside, keeping him out for long enough periods of time that they rarely met outside of Hashira meetings. That was alright since, this boy always looked down on the rest of them, but today…

“Kocho?” He choked on her name, delusional hope infested his heart, but they were still at the funeral and his wish hadn't been granted.

“The purple-haired one,” he gestured toward the door, “I just met her today, I didn't know that the late Flower Hashira had a tsuguko.”

“It's hard to know things, when you ignore the rest of us all the time.”

Blood boiling in his veins, Sanemi grasped the collar of Tomioka's black Kimono. Tomioka hardly reacted, and Sanemi crumpled instantly, dropping back to his knees.

“It's not worth it, never mind.”

The damage was already done, Shinobu Kocho stormed over, her face a pleasant mask in spite of the rage and grief surely lying beneath it. For a girl just barely fifteen, she was surprisingly terrifying. Sanemi wondered, in the recesses of his mind, if she would be joining them for the hashira meeting in two months.

“You dishonor my sister with your actions. Sanemi, if you cause a disturbance again I will ask you to leave. Mr. Tomioka, see to it that you avoid the Wind Hashira while you pay your respects.”

Shinobu bowed her head respectfully to her sister's portrait before she left, not remaining to hear their muttered excuses.

“I just don't think you should be muttering like that.” Tomioka repeated.

“Whatever.” Sanemi stood, deciding that it was time to speak with the other mourners if he truly couldn't force the universe into switching their places.

Satisfied, apparently, Tomioka stepped away. Sanemi rested his palm on the coffin’s smooth wooded top, envisioning the girl swathed in white lying beneath. Not for a wedding, but for a funeral.

“You should have had more time,” he bowed his head as he whispered, white hair falling over his face, “but I'll kill that demon for you, nevertheless, if I can't exchange my time for yours, then I'll run his clock into the ground. I promise, Kanae, he won't ruin anyone else's life ever again, as soon as I find him.”

And that, unfortunately, is when the idea that formed his nightly excursions came into his mind. For, there was one gift he possessed that Kanae, or even Gyomei, did not.

Marechi Blood, the surefire way to drive a demon mad.

Chapter Text

Rumor had it that the Water Hashira would soon return from a long mission in Southern Japan. At least, that is what Kanao Tsuyuri deadpanned when asked for the latest gossip at afternoon tea. Giyu Tomioka, it seemed, would be recovering from some internal injuries from a particular blood demon art in the Butterfly Mansion’s infirmary. The Kakushi, it seemed, were particularly upset at the prospect of dragging the elusive pillar back to headquarters.

Moreover, it seemed that an interesting story regarding the Water Hashira had begun to spread through the compound like wildfire. A story of a young girl afflicted with demon-hood and Giyu’s decision to spare her life. The corps, as a whole, had dismissed the ridiculous claim, but Kanao noted that the master seemed inclined to disagree. Kanao, however, had not seen or spoken with the Water Hashira, leaving her unable to comment on the story’s validity based solely on his character.

Kanae Kocho, for her part, had not seen the faintest trace of the Water Hashira since her ‘funeral,’ in which she observed him leaving the building at Sanemi Shinazagawa’s side. A handful of missions at his side would allow her to consider him a friend, but realistically, Kanae found that she knew very little about the black-haired boy.

She, Giyu, and Sanemi were all the same age, of course, and Giyu Tomioka seemed the stoic serious type. However, beyond that, she could not quite recall much that she had learned of him in their time as pillars together. Perhaps, he had wanted to befriend Sanemi, despite his poor perception of the young man.

Sanemi Shinazagawa…

After returning to Lady Tamayo’s house, Kanae fell into her bed with a heavy heart. The swish of his sword against empty air, where her neck might have been if demonhood had not bestowed unnatural speed upon her, haunted her waking world. He might have thought her a ghost, but the spirit of that moment would haunt her for the rest of eternity.

That sound, and her desire to pull him close burned into her. From the first moment they met, though Kanae Kocho suppressed the feeling swiftly, a certain protectiveness had flooded her system. Sanemi Shinazagawa was a stray cat lashing out at the world for lack of affection, and she was the pitying stranger hoping to care for him however he would allow.

There was very little, presumably, that he would allow of her in this new form.

Four days later, Kanae Kocho, joined her youngest sister for tea with a side of gossip in her sequestered quarters. Kanao, for her part, was a good sport. She might not have conveyed strong emotions with the secrets she recited, but she faithfully recalled what Muichiro Tokito and the Kakushi shared with her during Kanae’s time away.

While she pondered the case of Sanemi Shinazagawa and processed the new story about Giyu Tomioka. Kanao's coin flipped through the air. Having reached a decision, their eyes met and Kanae was surprised at the flicker of resolve she saw there. The ghost of an emotion hidden beneath a sea of apathy.

“Final selection,” she said softly, “I'm going.”

“Unfortunately, it is too late to begin preparing for this year's selection, ” Kanae replied.

“Next year, then.”

Kanae, though not fond of the idea, could not bring herself to challenge Kanao's resolve. So rare it was, for her to make such a bold decision unprompted.

“You will need a good trainer then,” Kanae mused, “Shinobu has been struggling to maintain your training while juggling her responsibilities.”

“I don't mind.” Kanao smiled.

Of course you don't, Kanae thought, as she reached an epiphany. In the last five days, as Iguro Obanai joined Sanemi on his new missions and due to her day-time restrictions, she was more or less out of a ‘day’ job.

She pressed Kanao's delicate hands between hers, reaching clear over the table to do so. Her wings flapped excitedly, sending ripples through their tea cups.

“I know!” she spoke quickly, with new found energy, “I will train you for final selection. Who better to teach you flower breathing, than the Flower Hashira herself?”

Kanao nodded agreeably and Kanae began making arrangements in her head. If Kanao must face Final Selection, then she would leave it without so much as a scratch.

“We could even begin today, if you would like.”

Kanao’s nod was shallow, but firm. Kanae appreciated her commitment, though she never did stray from her decisions once fate decided.

A year and a half would be plenty of time to prepare Kanao, who had been raised within the ranks of demon slayers for the better part of her lifetime.

“I am curious, however, how did this decision come to be?”

“Mr. Tokito mentioned it when we met Miss Aoi Kanazaki the other day.” Her voice was fragile, like a flower wavering in the wind, but clear.

“Aoi…” Kanae ruminated on the name, “Perhaps you should invite her to our training sessions as well, there is something I would like to see from Miss Kanazaki.”

“Okay.” Kanao nodded, and the gesture could almost be perceived as eager, if such an emotion could possibly be attributed to the small girl.

Kanae ruffled her hair affectionately, the bones of a new quest arranging themselves in her mind.

Chapter Text

“Flower Breathing Second Form: Honorable Shadow Plumb”

“Water Breathing First Form: Water Surface Slash”

One harsh slash of vibrant blue exploded against a tornado of petals in the wake of two young girls. A navy shadow slid backward with the momentum of her sword, unable to defend herself from the flurry of incoming attacks. She deflected each blow with clumsy arms, though one could argue she still showed greater skill than most experienced demon slayers.

Kanao Tsuyuri may not have been Kanae’s blood sister, but her fighting style presented much the same as Kanae’s in her younger years. A shower of phantom petals scattered around them as Aoi Kanazaki switched to the offensive.

“Third Form: Flowing Dance” Aoi announced, as Kanae had instructed, as her blade wound through the air in a swift weaving motion, Kanao struggled to deflect the flurry of oncoming blows.

Though her finesse left much to be desired, the dancer-like grace in Aoi’s footwork made up for her dragging arms and uneven breath.

“Fifth Form: Peonies of Futility,” Kanao echoed Aoi’s dance with her own flurry of weaving attacks.

Flowers burst in the air around them, bursting into phantom petal showers as they met the rushing tide tracing Aoi’s wooden sword.

The fight, rather quickly, devolved into something more like a slap contest as the two girls repeated the breathing forms. Bruises peppered their arms and legs, but the swords kept swinging.

“That’s enough,” Kanae stepped forward, switching into teacher-mode, “Kanao, you mustn’t allow your opponent to overwhelm you, Flower Breathing has defensive forms, so that you don’t have to rely on the fifth.”

Aoi’s sword crashed in the dirt, followed by a thump as she joined it. Under the light of the moon, Aoi truly would seem a shadow with her dark hair and uniform, if not for Kanae’s excellent night vision.

“Does Kanao really need a sparring partner this badly? Would she not learn more from someone who actually excelled in Final Selection, instead of someone like me?”

“Do not speak that way,” Kanao shook her finger at Aoi sternly, “You are incredibly talented, despite how clumsy your swings are, you simply need more practice.”

“I don’t see why,” Aoi sighed, “I’m essentially retired, as far as demon slaying goes.”

“It is always good to focus on self-improvement,” Kanae said, “these exercises will help open your mind, and keep you safe should you ever encounter a demon on the outside.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Aoi spoke uncertainly, but then a competitive spirit seemed to possess her as her sword leveled in Kanao’s direction, “at the very least I should work to prove that child wrong.”

“Child?”

Kanae Kocho’s inquiry was left unanswered as Aoi drew Kanao back into combat, with a long sigh, she only reminded them to focus on defense and precision respectively.

The world exploded into springing showers and falling flowers once more; Kanae focused her attention back on her students. She had never had a true tsuguko before; Shinobu practiced another breathing style entirely, and her new identity greatly limited her options. The prospect of teaching, in lieu of her regular babysitting duties, was rather enticing as it allowed her to spend time with her two youngest sisters.

Whether or not Aoi might consider herself a Kocho, Kanae certainly did.

As she analyzed their swinging swords and exchanged blows, noting Aoi’s limited range within water breathing itself, a shadow fell over the moon. Like a falling petal, Shinobu leapt from the arm of a nearby tree to land beside Kanae in the courtyard.

“You convinced Aoi Kanazaki to pick up a sword? I’m rather impressed.” Shinobu settled beside her, Kanae’s former haori falling around her like an oversized cape.

Even as her sister grew taller in the past few years, she never managed to reach Kanae’s height or strength level. She stood, perhaps a bit taller than she might have expected to grow, at nearly five feet tall.

“She is surprisingly susceptible to Lord Tokito’s provocations, I hardly did anything aside from asking.”

“Still,” Shinobu’s lavender eyes narrowed at the flowing tide of their battle, it was not entirely clean but impressive for such young girls nonetheless, “it seems she has improved from what I’ve seen.”

“Has she?” Kanae blinked in surprise, “I really did not expect much in the span of a few hours, especially as I have so little Water Breathing experience.”

“I would not doubt,” Shinobu’s response was swift, “that she has practiced some of these skills in secret, considering how little her abilities have deteriorated.”

“I hadn’t considered that,” Kanae watched as Aoi leveraged her weight to throw an especially harsh strike at Kanao’s left arm, her next attack sending her leaping into the air with surprising grace.

“You could teach her Flower Breathing, if you are afraid you can not improve her Water Breathing.”

“Perhaps,” Kanae nodded, “But I am not sure that it would suit her, Flower Breathing requires brute strength in some forms, as opposed to the grace that Water Breathing allows her to maintain.”

“She is quite elegant,” Shinobu remarked, “If she were even smaller, perhaps, Insect Breathing would suit her best, though few would consider my Breathing Style when they have the strength to behead a demon themself.”

“I suppose that is true, but that is what makes you unique.”

Shinobu smiled, though it seemed more melancholy than normal. Kanae continued before she could ruminate on that fact, “I meant to ask, what brings you to the training grounds?”

“Ah,” Shinobu seemed to suddenly recall her purpose, “I came to retrieve my medical assistant, I need her assistance with my latest patient. A Hahsira foolish enough to inhale significant amounts of demon blood on his mission.”

“A—” Kanae’s heart thrashed in her chest, she sought Suiko’s swooping form in the sky. Surely, Kagaya would have ordered her to assist, assuming he was in danger.

“Giyu Tomioka, I believe his name was. The Water Hashira. I’ve only met him at meetings until now, so I’m not sure what to expect. The Master wishes for him to walk again, before next week’s Hashira Meeting, so I will do my best.”

Kanae, with some guilt, heaved a sigh of relief as she called for Aoi. Watching Aoi and Shinobu’s retreating forms, she remembered the rumor Kanao told her earlier that morning, surprised to find that the Water Pillar indeed was returning from his mission in need of treatment.

“I believe,” She told Kanao, who came to stand beside her in companionate silence, “interesting times will soon be upon us.”

Kanao tilted her head inquisitively, but Kanae already had Aoi’s abandoned training sword in hand.

“We have one and a half years to practice, and I will make a demon slayer of you yet.” She grinned as their blades clashed, seeing Kanao’s brow set with rare determination.

Chapter Text

Rain fell heavy in the dead of night, dead like the eyes, or perhaps not-eyes, of the creature staring back at her. Kanae’s wings snapped shut in fear, a butterfly shaking in a spider’s web as Douma nudged her closer to the monstrous genie sprouting from a decorative vase.

“Hello?” She hedged, not sure where to look when he responded.

“Are you a patron of the arts, by chance, lady demon?” His voice, like a crazed instructor or showman, rose and fell unevenly as he spoke, leaving her entirely unsettled.

Kanae tried for her best, most polite smile, recalling Douma’s laughing assertion that Upper Five would tear her to pieces should she insult his artwork. At the present moment, they awaited the rest of the showcase’s guests in the midst of a cold forest. Her kimono, pink with embroidered fireworks much like the borrowed Haori she often favored, was selected with the demon’s artistic tastes in mind. She did not intend to offend him with simple, unintriguing patterns, as Douma had implied the consequences of such a choice incessantly.

She was unsure whether he hoped to make his associate happy, or that she would ignore his sage advice and end up fighting Upper Five in combat. He seemed inclined enough to amusement via violent displays for that to be possible, at the least.

“I am indeed,” She spoke softly, “I spent much of my finishing school career learning to appreciate an array of different works, right after my lessons in flower arrangement and calligraphy.”

“A lady, in truth, it seems,” His hand stroked his chin, though it was one of the ones appended to his face rather than his actual arm, she suppressed a shudder, pitying the poor man who had been turned into this, “then you’ll surely adore today’s exhibition, a display of true love and beating hearts that any artist would die for.”

“That sounds lovely,” Kanae nodded along, a keen sense of relief following that entirely normal description of the exhibits. “I look forward to it.”

“Upper Two, dear, how did you find such a lovely date? Those who can appreciate true art are few and far between these day’s, among the world’s uncultured swine.”

“You’re mistaken,” he spoke too gleefully, “My date has yet to arrive, though Kanade is quite the lovely girl, I chose an entirely different date for this child. Oh, he’ll be so thrilled!”

Kanae glared at Douma, he still refused to tell her the identity of the demon he chose to pin her to, though he had advised her to leave the Nichirin blade at home as her date responded poorly to swordsmen. As such, her anxieties about the date were beginning to surmount her cheery facade.

“Oh my!” Upper Five seemed thrilled, “An arranged date, why you treat me to a new form of love with this set up, you understand my truest artistic vision Upper Two.”

“It seems I do,” he smiled, patting the monster’s head patronizingly though it seemed entirely unreactive, “we truly understand one another Gyokko.”

Kanae filed the demon’s true name, making a show of brushing the rain-snow slowly falling around them from her haori. Douma had established a sort of protective shield with his blood demon art, seeing to their dissatisfaction with the rain, triggering memories of their fight that frozen summer eve.

“I am so sorry I am late,” A soft voice accompanied the sight of a woman’s bowed head, she had the appearance of a spider, and Lower Six, Rui, in tow. The demon child clung to her hand, though he seemed too old for the role he portrayed as she seemed too young for a mother in her forced mannerisms. A young girl, whom Kanae recognized as the Spider Sister that she fought before delivering her indication, trailed behind the pair.

“Miss Natagumo, you look lovely tonight!” Douma bubbled, seeming to think she would respond well to his words.

“Ah…” She looked to Rui who nodded slowly, “I appreciate the compliment.”

It sounded more like a question than a statement.

Douma looped his pale arm through the Spider Woman’s, and she flinched, though it was hardly perceptible. He smiled, perhaps a little too warmly, at the woman and she blinked back at him in abject horror.

“Lower Six, your Lower Fourth counterpart awaits you in the Infinity Castle,” Gyokko explained, “Isn’t young love adorable, Kanade?”

He ‘looked’ right at her and Kanae quickly answered, “Certainly.”

“I believe that makes for the last of our latecomers, shall we be off?” Douma smiled, that emotionally void smile he loved to display, the one you only saw if you looked past his beautiful eyes.

“Indeed!” Gyokko laughed, it reminded her fleetingly of a cawing bird or perhaps a choking one. The demon clapped his stubby hands in delight, “Biwa Lady, we’re ready now.”

“Who is he speaking to?” Kanae whispered to the Spider Woman, who opened and closed her mouth quickly, as if unsure whether she was allowed to respond.

Kanae pitied her, as the woman glanced sharply between Rui and Douma, uncertain as to whether she was allowed to speak.

“I believe he speaks to the unranked demon that controls the castle,” the spider girl, who had been silent until this very moment spoke to her softly, she seemed calmer than she was in their initial meeting.

“I see–” the sight of a castle sentry, a crawling spider-like figure in possession of a bright pink eye, cut off her response. The sentry paused before the group, taking stock of them, before bobbing its singular eye in a gesture like a bow.

The twang of a Biwa, a sound Kanae had not heard since her time in finishing school prior to her parent’s death, permeated the forest’s blanket of silence.

The floor shifted into a paper door, and then they were falling. Her thin wings flapped violently, spreading open in shock, as the floor evaporated and wind caught against her.

Houses, crafted of intricate wood, brilliant in golden light, grew from every wall and ceiling as Kanae fell through the floor of the endless castle. Beside her the Spider Woman swallowed a scream, webs flaring from her fingertips in hopes of stopping her descent. Douma laughed cooly, though if he did find any amusement in it it was distantly. The pot containing Upper Five plummeted past as Kanae’s wings caught in the air and she fell like a feather past floors of demonic onlookers.

Infinity Castle…

That is what Gyokko called this place, and it truly befit the name, with intricate buildings spreading as far as the eye could see. A platform slid into view below, with the majority of the guests tumbling inelegantly to a halt on the wooden sheet as Kanae stepped out of the air.

Her back throbbed, but her wings folded easily against her body in anticipation of potential danger. Though they would heal, Kanae had found that damage to her wings specifically healed rather slowly without a surplus of blood intake.

Thinking of blood, ruby red and aromatic, brought her back to the other day. She shook her head to clear it, acknowledging the danger in losing focus in such a space. Before her, as the other guests made to stand, was an arch of beating hearts.

Real. Human. Hearts.

Kanae nearly vomited.