The ink bled slightly as I folded the parchment in half, careful not to smudge the last line. My fingers were stiff from the morning cold, but my handwriting had stayed steady.
I sealed the letter and tucked it into the small wooden box I carried, one I planned to leave with a courier in the next village. It was addressed to both Master Senju and Yuki, though the words were few.
"I am well. The mission ahead is important, so I may not write again for a while. Take care of yourselves. I promise I will return.
- Ryo"
Strapping my green Nichirin blade to my back, I stepped back onto the dirt path that led between thick groves of pine trees. The trail was narrow, overgrown in places, with the sun barely breaking through the tall canopy. This part of the region had a different kind of silence—the kind that pressed into the skin.
I had changed.
The weak demons that once threatened me were now barely more than target practice. I had faced several on the road in the past week. One had tried to pounce on a sleeping merchant wagon. I dispatched it in two strikes. Another crawled out of a well in a remote village. That one didn't even get a chance to stand fully before I beheaded it.
My training, my discipline, and my own breathing technique had all sharpened into something real. The green blade, a gift from Junjiro, felt almost natural in my grip now.
But even so, none of those demons truly tested me.
Until today.
The mist arrived first.
It crept in between the trees, cold and pale, coiling around the roots and stones of the forest floor. I felt it before I saw it. A shift in the air. The kind of tension that tightens the spine.
Then I heard it.
Steel clashing.
The snap of branches.
The guttural snarl of something inhuman.
I moved fast. Sprinting through the forest, leaping over twisted roots, I followed the sounds. The trees thinned slightly, revealing a small clearing shrouded in white mist.
There, a boy with black hair streaked in pale blue fought a towering demon with jagged horns and three sickle-like arms.
The demon's body was riddled with cuts, but it was still moving fast, regenerating almost instantly. Its grin was wide and cruel. Symbols shimmered faintly on its eyes. I couldn't read them, but I sensed the weight of danger.
The boy fighting it looked no older than me. Slender. Silent. Eyes like still water. His sword moved with strange, flowing precision his entire body slipping between attacks like vapor.
The demon lunged with all three arms at once.
The boy didn't flinch.
In a blur of mist and steel, he moved forward, not back. His blade curved around the first arm, ducked beneath the second, and slid clean through the neck before the third could reach him.
The demon's body staggered.
Its head hit the ground.
And just like that, it was over.
I blinked. "What in the...?"
The boy sheathed his blade in one motion and turned to leave.
I stepped into the clearing, clapping.
"Bravo. Seriously. That was... something else."
He paused and looked at me, expression unreadable.
I grinned. "Hey, mind if I ask a few things? Like what the hell that breathing technique was? And who you are? And what kind of demon was that? And how you made it look so easy? And—"
"No."
"No? No what?"
"No talking."
I raised an eyebrow. "You do know you just decapitated a monster that looked like it crawled out of the deepest pit of hell, right?"
Silence.
"Are you mute?"
More silence.
"Okay, look. I'm not trying to start a conversation about the weather. Just... who are you?"
He finally responded.
"Muichiro Tokito."
"...That's a name. Okay. We're making progress. I'm Ryo Tsukihara. I'm not in the Demon Slayer Corps. Yet."
He gave me a glance, as if vaguely annoyed. "Then don't get in the way."
I shrugged. "Didn't plan to. I saw the way you moved though. That breathing... it looked a lot like something I've been practicing. Sort of. Yours was cleaner. But it had the same... flow."
He narrowed his eyes. "You created your own breathing?"
"Yeah. Three forms so far."
"That's reckless."
I smirked. "Says the guy who talks like a ghost."
He turned away, walking off into the mist.
"Wait," I called. "Do you know where I can get another Nichirin blade if this one breaks?"
He didn't stop.
"What breathing style is that? Mist? Is that what you call it? I think mine's closer to shadow than mist. Should I call it Shadow Breathing? Actually, I already did. Damn, I think we might be related or something."
Nothing.
He disappeared between the trees.
I stared after him, scratching my head.
"Man. That guy's colder than a mountain stream. But he's good. Real good."
I walked slowly out of the clearing, deep in thought.
That technique. That misty style. It wasn't the same as mine, but it had the same foundation. The same pulse. The same rhythm.
I remembered the dream. The warrior whose eyes I had seen through. The way he moved. The way his blade whispered through the dark.
There were connections here. But no answers yet.
I looked up at the cloudy sky and let out a breath.
"Guess I'll figure it out the hard way. As usual."
A pause.
"Still... he was kinda cool."
I smiled to myself, then continued down the misty path.
My journey wasn't over.
It was only just beginning.
To Be Continued…