The sun rose in a pale sky.Its golden light fell upon ash, stone, and blood.
For the first time in days, there was no screaming. No thunderous crashes. No howls of demons.Only wind — gentle and mourning — passing through the broken halls of the Demon Slayer Corps.
The battle was over, but the grief had just begun.
A Sea of White – The Funeral
A courtyard was cleared, banners erected.Rows of white cloth-wrapped bodies lined the ground — young and old, slayers and staff, Kakushi and civilians… even children.
A bell tolled. Once. Twice.Each time it rang, it was like a wound reopening.
The Hashiras stood lined together, each in their haori, silent and unmoving.
Kagaya Ubuyashiki, though weakened, stood in the front with his children at his side. His voice, though soft, echoed across the courtyard:
Kagaya:"They stood with blades against the darkness… And now, they rest in the light. Remember them. All of them."
Muichiro bowed deeply. Sanemi clenched his teeth to keep from shaking. Giyu, eyes shadowed by his bangs, did not move at all.
Beside them, Obanai held a lotus flower in his hand, while Mitsuri wept into her sleeve.
Gyomei, already crying, whispered prayers for each name read aloud.
Kakushi staff, survivors, and demon slayers worked to rebuild. Hammers clanged. Rubble was cleared. New wood was laid.
Tents were erected for the injured. Healers moved from patient to patient.
In one corner, Tanjiro lay with a bandage wrapped across his side.
Nezuko, now in her demon form again but calm, sat beside him protectively. Zenitsu was pacing anxiously, while Inosuke sat quietly — for once — sharpening his swords.
Tanjiro (groaning softly):"Did we… save them?"
Nezuko looked down at him and nodded slowly.
Zenitsu (tearfully):"You almost died, you idiot! What were you thinking?!"
Inosuke:"He was thinking like a slayer. That's what."
The courtyard had quieted after the funeral rites.
Sanemi Shinazugawa stood with his arms folded, his white haori tattered and soaked with blood stains. He looked toward the distant mountains, silent.
"I still smell blood," he muttered. "Fresh. In the trees maybe."
Tengen Uzui clicked his tongue, standing a few paces behind him.
"Haven't seen the Slayer since the battle ended," he said. "Guy disappears like a ghost."
Giyu Tomioka glanced in the same direction without speaking.
Mitsuri Kanroji's expression was unusually grim as she stepped forward.
"Do you think he's alright?" she asked.
Obanai Iguro stood beside her, ever silent, but this time he answered.
"He doesn't need to be alright," he said softly. "He just needs to keep doing what he does."
Rengoku, his haori draped over his shoulders, nodded.
"Still, a warrior like him deserves rest. Even steel breaks if overused."
"Steel can't rest," Sanemi muttered. "It rusts."
The tension hung a moment longer before Tengen broke it.
"You all act like you understand the guy," he said with a bitter smile. "Truth is, none of us really do. He's not like us. He fights... differently."
In another part of the compound, away from the mourning crowds and rebuilding efforts, the upper moons had gathered under what remained of the shaded eaves.
Doma swung his legs childishly off the edge of the platform, gazing lazily at the sky.
"Human grief is such an odd thing," he mused aloud. "They cry, they scream, and then they clean the blood and go right back to living. It's... charming, in a way."
Akaza sat a few feet away, arms folded, his expression stony.
"You never understood them," he said. "You still don't."
Doma tilted his head with a grin.
"Why would I want to? Understanding spoils the mystery."
"I'm not surprised that mystery's all you care about," Akaza muttered.
Doma let out a laugh, light and airy, but it faded when he glanced toward the ruined walls.
"Still… even I'll admit," he said, "this loss wasn't small. Those Hell creatures… they weren't like anything we've faced before."
Inside a shaded inner chamber, Muzan Kibutsuji sat alone with Kokushibu.
There was no expression on the Demon King's face—only thought, cold and meticulous.
Kokushibu stood at attention, his arms crossed.
"The rune on his armor," he said, voice low. "I saw it clearly this time. A mark of power… not from this world."
Muzan didn't speak at first.
Kokushibu continued, "It radiates something unnatural. A sense of dread unlike any demon I've faced. It wasn't killing intent. It was… inevitability."
Muzan finally spoke.
"I felt it too."
He looked down at his palm, recalling the moment when one of the marauders had dared to challenge him—dared to call him a pretender.
"It's not just power," Muzan said. "It's refusal. The refusal to die. To bend. To yield."
Kokushibu's many eyes narrowed.
"Is he a threat to us?"
"He is a threat to everything," Muzan replied. "Even to himself."
There was a long silence between them, as a single breeze passed through the cracked chamber wall.
Up near the main house, Sanemi stepped closer to Giyu.
"…You think he'll come back?" he asked.
Giyu didn't turn. He just answered plainly.
"He never left."