Chapter 1: Akira
> "You should just die!"
"It's all your fault the demon escaped!"
"You're a disgrace. The cause of everything. You don't deserve to exist!"
"How could filth like you even be part of the Demon Slayer Corps?"
In the pitch-black void, faceless figures surrounded a lone boy at the center. Their fingers pointed, their words like blades, cutting deep into his soul.
"No… No! Please, stop…!"
With a strangled cry, Akira jolted awake, drenched in cold sweat.
His breaths came in ragged gasps as he scanned the room with wild eyes. Only when he recognized the familiar surroundings did his trembling ease, and the chill of reality—clammy, oppressive—settled on his skin.
Just a dream…
"Brother!"
A soft voice pulled him back to the present. Small hands wrapped around his calloused palms.
"Brother, did you have the nightmare again?" Akito asked, worry flickering in his innocent gaze.
"…Yeah," Akira replied quietly after a long pause.
Without a word, Akito climbed into his arms and hugged him tightly. "Don't be afraid. I'm here."
Akira looked down at the boy's tender face and felt the tightness in his chest ease, little by little.
Golden sunlight poured through the window, painting the room in warmth. A new day had begun.
"I have a mission," Akira said as he stood. "Stay inside and don't run off."
"I will. You have to come back safe, okay?"
Akira ruffled his brother's hair with a faint smirk. "Since when did you start worrying about me? You know how strong I am."
He quickly washed up and reached for the sword resting on its rack.
"Wait!"
Akito hurried over on tiptoe and carefully clipped a pair of earrings to Akira's ears.
"All set!"
Stepping back with a beaming smile, he added, "I'm making rice balls today! Don't forget to invite Master Yoriichi to dinner!"
"Got it."
With a hand brushing the earring, Akira pushed open the door and stepped out.
Outside, members of the Demon Slayer Corps bustled through the compound, clad in their distinct uniforms. Akira paused as flashes of the dream clawed back into his mind—those accusing voices, those cold eyes. For a brief moment, they all looked the same.
He shook the thought away. This nightmare had haunted him for years.
Because Akira didn't belong to this world.
Seven years ago, he had awoken in this strange, war-torn land—an ancient era of swords and demons. He had no family, no past here… only Akito.
And it didn't take long to learn that this world was not a peaceful one.
Demons—monstrous creatures with human forms—roamed the night, feasting on flesh and blood.
One fateful evening, a demon had broken into their home. He'd fought to protect Akito, but the creature possessed an unnatural power—what he'd later learn was Blood Demon Art. Outmatched and seconds from death, Akira was saved by a wandering swordsman.
That swordsman was Yoriichi Tsugikuni—the strongest in the Demon Slayer Corps, and the progenitor of all Breathing Styles.
Moved by the encounter—and determined never to feel powerless again—Akira begged Yoriichi to train him. He wanted to protect Akito and all others like him.
And so, he joined the Corps. Under Yoriichi's guidance, he flourished.
From the moment he held a blade, his potential was undeniable. He could see—not just his opponent's movements, but the very flow of blood in their veins, the rhythm of their breath, the shifting of their muscles.
Akira could replicate sword techniques after seeing them only once. His unnatural talent propelled him forward like wildfire.
In mere months, he rose to become a Pillar—one of the elite, the most powerful swordsmen in the Corps.
Though many had doubted him at first, his strength silenced all skepticism. His demon kill count exceeded even veterans who had served for years.
After earning the title of Pillar, Akira brought Akito to the Corps headquarters— the only place he truly trusted to keep his brother safe.
As he walked through the compound now, Corps members lowered their heads in respect. Akira returned only a brief nod, his expression calm, unreadable.
They revered him.
But none dared approach.
Far ahead, a familiar silhouette stood still in the morning light—tall, serene, and unshaken.
Akira approached. "Master."
The man turned. His calm eyes held a depth of silence that even death could not disturb.
Yoriichi Tsugikuni.
"Let's go," Yoriichi said simply, turning.
"Master," Akira called again.
Yoriichi paused.
"Let's split up this time," Akira said, smiling faintly. "Whenever I'm with you, I barely get to draw my blade. I'm a Pillar now. I can't keep hiding in your shadow."
"…Very well."
"I'll take our original patrol area. You're heading somewhere else?"
"Yes."
As Akira turned to go, Yoriichi moved like lightning—drawing his blade and slashing toward him.
Clang!
Akira caught the blow with the hilt of his sword. "Master?"
Yoriichi sheathed his Sun Sword without a word. Only a nod.
Akira smiled wryly. "You're worried about me, aren't you?"
No answer—just silence, and Yoriichi's back as he walked away.
"Akito made rice balls today!" Akira called out. "Come eat with us, Master!"
Yoriichi raised a hand slightly in reply, never looking back.
Akira chuckled. "People say I'm aloof… but Master, you're the real mystery."
And with that, he turned and walked away—into the light of the day, into battle, into fate.