Pick Your Language
"Young Kamado! Excellent timing!" Kyojuro boomed, sheathing his sword with a sharp clack . "The trees are resilient, but your spirit must be even more so! Tell me, have you mastered the basics of your breathing today?"
He stopped, his chest rising and falling in a steady, powerful rhythm. A wide, unshakeable grin sat on his face. To Kyojuro, every breath was a gift, and every gift was to be used in service of the weak.
As they sat together, the orange light of the true sunrise began to bleed through the branches, matching the vibrant haori draped over Kyojuro's shoulders. For a moment, the world felt safe. The demons were still out there, lurking in the shadows of the coming night, but as long as the Flame Hashira stood tall, the darkness stood no chance.
In the quiet woods near the Butterfly Mansion, the Flame Hashira practiced. Every swing of his crimson blade was a roar given physical form. He didn't just strike; he commanded the air to burn. "Flame Breathing, Second Form: Rising Scorching Sun!" he shouted, his voice echoing with a clarity that could rouse the dead. An arc of fire spiraled upward, searing the morning mist into nothingness.
And in that moment, Tanjiro didn't just see a master swordsman. He saw a man who had become the very light he swore to protect.
The sun had not yet touched the horizon, but Kyojuro Rengoku was already a bonfire of motion.
Kyojuro turned to see Tanjiro Kamado standing at the edge of the clearing, looking both awestruck and slightly worried.