Chapter 1
Tanjiro opened his eyes to endless corridors lying before him. The light where he was was dim, and the corridors were much darker, giving a sinister impression that had the hair on the back of his nape rise.
Tanjiro didn’t know where he was. But as he looked at his hands—his young hands—a sense of foreboding settled in. His words only echoed.
“Hello?” he called out.
“Anyone?” Tanjiro sighed and decided to just look at the paths that he seemed to have to choose.
His hand habitually searched for the sword at his side, to no avail. Tanjiro took a long drag from his lungs and stared determinedly ahead.
Maybe this was the land of the dead, and whatever lay ahead of him—in one of those paths—was where he could finally meet his family.
Burgundy eyes lit up at the thought. He looked at each path and decided on the one nearest to him. It wasn’t as sinister with lighter grey lights.
It looked more promising than the others.
Settling into a familiar stance—one taught by a dear friend, though it pained him to think of that friend’s last moments.
‘Thank you,”
“ Zenitsu ” he whispered.
With barely a flicker of light, he disappeared.
In a crowded room full of expecting mothers, a woman was handed a pale red bundle, covered only by a thin sheet of film. It wasn’t an ideal place for giving birth, but in the war-ravaged wasteland that was the Elemental Nations, this was a luxury.
Mebuki didn’t know exactly how to feel as she looked down at the child in her arms— her child .
At barely 16 years old, she had run away from the only home she knew, enticed by a promise of love and peace. It was a foolish decision, but wisdom wasn’t expected at her age. Mebuki had crossed the boundary with a rustic courage that was her pride.
She had met the young, handsome red-head at a market near her home. Like any sheltered civilian of her age, she fell for the sweet words he purposefully cooed to reach her ears. At fifteen, Mebuki fell deeply in love with a man whose hair rivalled the bloody sunset, and purple eyes that held the richness of silk.
Consequences were deafening in her ears, yet she cared little as countless nights passed, dreaming of a child with her eyes and his smile. Suddenly, she found herself in a one-horse carriage, clutching her small pregnant stomach, surrounded by hastily gathered garments from her family’s house.
“Where are we going?” she asked her beloved. His smiling purple eyes softened as he looked at her. She didn’t feel as beautiful as she used to.
“To Konoha,” he replied, and her hand trembled at the name.
In Konoha, they settled quickly. Another red-headed woman arrived at their small house—the one her lover had purchased.
Her name was Uzumaki Kushina.
Mebuki thought they really looked alike, with similar colouring from head to toe.
“How far along are you?” Kushina-san asked, her gaze glimmering with excitement.
“Ah… t-two months, I-I think.” The woman oohed and aahed, a childish sparkle in those purple eyes very similar to her beloved.
Mebuki nearly flinched in surprise when Kushina suddenly kneeled and gently patted her stomach. She thought that the young woman was just excited to have a new family, so Mebuki relaxed.
“What are you going to name them, 'ttebane?”
Mebuki smiled. “Sakura, if it’s a girl, after Kazuha-kun’s mother. And if it’s a boy… I was thinking… Tanjiro, like my grandfather.”
“Tanjiro and Sakura,” Kushina mulled, then grinned brightly as she cooed at Mebuki’s stomach. “They sound perfect, 'ttebane!”
“I’m glad you think so, Kushina-san,” Mebuki laughed slightly.
“It’s just Kushina, ya know!”
“Alright, alright.”
Mebuki shook her head slightly as her son opened his newborn eyes at her. She wondered then whether he would inherit her eyes or those of his father. A surprisingly thick tuft of burgundy tresses covered his small head, a shade off from Kazuha’s bright red.
“Where’s my nephew, 'ttebane!” The thin film covering Mebuki opened, revealing Kushina sporting a bandage on her right arm. Purple eyes scanned Mebuki and brightened at the bundle in her arms.
“There he is!” she exclaimed. The poor blonde, whom Mebuki had deduced long ago was her boyfriend, smiled apologetically at her.
“Tanjiro-kun! I bought something for you!”
Kushina dragged a pale orange paper bag and opened it when she was just beside Mebuki’s bed, revealing a red-orange turtle plush.
Mebuki laughed, mirth dancing in her eyes. “Thank you, Kushina. I’m sure Tanjiro would love this.”
The red-head blushed as red as her hair. “It’s a small thing, 'ttebane!” Mebuki winced slightly at the volume.
Minato gave a pained smile. “Kushina, you’d give the little one a fright.”
“O-oh,” Kushina blushed even more profusely and sheepishly apologized.
Mebuki made the best of the little home they had built. It was simple, with two rooms and a small bathroom. At night, when little Tanjiro got a little fussy, Mebuki would sing some local songs she remembered from her hometown.
The war outside the village’s walls became too loud to muffle from the safe inner walls of Konoha.
“Would it get better?” Mebuki asked her now-husband as she laid Tanjiro down in his crib. Kazuha gazed at them from his spot in the doorway, one step away from going out and fulfilling his mission.
She received a brief kiss on her forehead and an embrace (she wished it could last longer).
“It will,” he whispered in her ear.
Mebuki nodded, and he turned away, flickering out of her sight. Finally, finally, she allowed a lone tear to fall.
The things we do for love, she thought. Now, where had she heard that before?
Tanjiro cried from his crib, and Mebuki was shaken from her reverie.
The Second Shinobi War reached its finality.
Tanjiro turned three.
“Tanjiro-kun?” The toddler blinked his owlish green eyes at his mother. In his hand was a brightly coloured turtle plush.
“Can you help Mama put this on the table?” Mebuki asked, raising a small plastic flower decoration.
Her boy determinedly nodded, smiling dazzlingly— it took her breath away.
“Yes!”
He gently took the table decoration while still dragging his plush and carefully stalked his way to the low table.
Mebuki only smiled contentedly and patted her hands on her apron.
“Mama!” Tanjiro called, and Mebuki saw him waving at her with a victorious grin. In the center of the table was a neatly placed decoration.
Mebuki grinned just as brightly. “Well done, Tanjiro-kun!”
The door haphazardly opened, revealing Kazuha sporting a bandage over his right eye, a limp on his left leg, and five broken fingers.
But he looked up at the sight as Mebuki stared at him in shock.
“I’m home.”
“Papa!” Tanjiro ran to him, and Mebuki dropped the apron she had meant to hang on the wall.
“Tanjiro, be careful!” she said after him as their son slammed into Kazuha. The man gave a silent, pained groan, but he hid it well and raised his good arm to pat his son’s head.
“You’ve grown tall,” Tanjiro said excitedly.
“Tanjiro, you shouldn’t do that next time,” admonished Mebuki as she gently separated Tanjiro from Kazuha.
“Yes, Mama.”
It was then a blur of fussing and preparing meals.
As they prepared for bed, Mebuki was pulled into a cocoon of familiar scent.
“Welcome home,” she whispered, burrowing deeper.
“I’m home,” he replied, meaning the words more than ever before.
Tanjiro was four when Mebuki was told her son was a payment for their safety (and for any child she would have in the future).
“What do you mean he has to go to that Academy?” she demanded of Kazuha.
Because it was ridiculous, even hilarious. This was her son, and just yesterday, Tanjiro-kun had said he wanted to build houses. Mebuki had planned to contact her older sister, who had married the son of one of the architects of the Daimyo’s many palaces. Tanjiro-kun could then attend the Imperial Academy, and of course, her son would pass! She would be at ease about his future—
“It’s a rule for any immigrants who aren’t Konoha natives, a-and I-I…” Kazuha hid his face in his palms, which shook slightly.
“Does this apply to Kushina as well?” Her voice was a tiny thing, with pinpricks of fear hidden beneath its hoarseness.
It might be slightly better if he didn’t answer at all.
“Yes.”
Tanjiro was four when Mebuki held his hand as he took his first step to enter Konoha’s shinobi academy.
Mebuki bent slightly to kiss her son’s forehead and the birthmark on it.
“Be nice, okay? Share your snacks, and, ah, make many friends, alright?”
Mebuki forced her voice not to shake.
“Mama?” Green eyes looked up at her innocently. Mebuki gently laid a palm on his cheek.
How had everything come to this?
Mebuki didn’t know.
The bell rang, and she hugged her son for the last time. He was small, still so small.
She couldn’t waver. So when Tanjiro ran away and, for a moment, turned to see if she was still there, Mebuki smiled and waved.
Tanjiro was five when he first saw his mama scream at his papa.
He didn’t particularly understand why and wondered if it was because of him.
So Tanjiro worked a bit faster on his homework to sit beside his mother and listen to her as she taught him how to sew a shirt (because sewing wasn’t Tanjiro’s job before; it was for the eldest daughter of the family, it was for Nezu–).
He carefully folded all his clothes after they were washed and took care not to make a mess of his room. He would then help with the dishes, even if he couldn’t reach them yet. He tried to take on more work than his mother normally did, and on weekends, he would be the one to carry some of the things his mother had shopped for.
The boys in his class would play tag, while Tanjiro would plant new flower seeds in the backyard. When they asked Tanjiro what he did, he would answer, “I planted sunflowers with Mama.” The boys would grimace and react as if they were disgusted. Maybe they were, but Tanjiro wasn’t entirely sure.
“That’s a nice thing to do, Tanjiro-kun,” Hina, a shy girl with pale eyes, once told him. He grinned in response.
He saw her open her mouth, but their sensei was already shouting for everyone to return to their seats.
Tanjiro was five, and his papa taught him how to wield a sword.
And the blade was too intimate, as his small hand touched it as if it were from a whole other lifetime (He could almost taste the tang of salt and bitter steel, smell the hint of lavender, sakura, and wisteria mixing in the air).
Tanjiro was five when his papa told him that the blade was his birthright.
And how that sounded just right.
It took only a month, and Tanjiro was out of the Academy.
He was five.
Tanjiro was six, and instead of a blade, he was handed paper, ink, and a brush.
Namikaze Minato, in Tanjiro’s eyes, was the sun.
He radiated brightness, golden warmth, and purity. It seemed nothing in the world could taint his light.
Minato had been Tanjiro’s teacher ever since he received a metal piece with a leaf carved in its center.
He was also Kushina-obasan’s boyfriend, a term Tanjiro was unfamiliar with.
Apprenticeship. That’s what they called it. Minato-shishou already had Kakashi-san as a student, but Tanjiro is Minato’s apprentice, which sets him apart.
Not that Tanjiro fully understood what that distinction meant.
Recently, Kakashi had been assigned to a team with Rin-san and Obito-san, while Tanjiro was left to handle missions on his own. Kakashi would silently brood in his misery.
Tanjiro, however, thought differently. He believed having a teammate would be beneficial. He even considered asking Minato-shishou to switch him and Kakashi, because he genuinely wanted to work with them.
Kakashi, who was acting meaner than usual, remained unyielding.
“Kakashi-senpai! Mama told me to invite you for dinner!” Tanjiro pleaded.
The silver-haired boy quickened his pace, but Tanjiro easily matched it.
“I can’t,” Kakashi replied with his usual clipped tone.
“Senpaaai!” Tanjiro whined, and Kakashi stopped, looking down at the red-head.
“No. Now shoo, I have a business to attend to,” Kakashi said, turning his heel and mentally devising a thousand escape plans to evade his irritating kohai.
“But there would be Miso soup!” Tanjiro persisted.
Kakashi’s steps faltered slightly before he continued.
“With eggplants!” Kakashi groaned, sounding utterly miserable. Tanjiro almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
“Lead the way, brat.”
The smile Tanjiro flashed nearly blinded Kakashi.
Uchiha Obito was a known fool. He took pride in it sometimes.
But he wasn’t that dumb, and he could recognize power when he saw it.
Minato-sensei’s little apprentice had plenty of it. Kakashi grudgingly respected the kid, and Obito could smell it even if the idiot didn’t want anyone to know.
The kid—Tanjiro—carried a long-ass wooden katana for training, and if it were a real sword, Obito would have been dead a thousand times over.
It wasn’t a familiar fighting style. None of them could even connect with it. It was too flowy, like a dance, and too dangerous at both the best and worst times.
When he asked what it was called, Tanjiro replied, “Water breathing.”
It was a weird name, but it could kill, so Obito didn’t fuss too much about it.
The technique was so impressive that even Rin-chan stared in awe several times as the brat kicked Obito’s ass, wearing a haori and even socks! Who wears socks during training?
Minato-sensei didn’t seem to mind that his youngest student belonged more to the warring states period. However, their ancestors wore heavy armor into battle, so Obito needed to shut up.
And then, when Obito was lost in thought, the brat had already wormed his way into Rin-chan’s good graces. Obito overheard tales of him teaching Rin-chan his fighting style.
“Oi! Where are you taking Rin-chan?!” Obito panicked, shouting. The two blinked owlishly at him.
“We’re going to train, Uchiha-san. I’m sorry; I should’ve asked you to join us too,” the kid said genially. Rin nodded, furrowing her brows at Obito.
Obito grimaced and forced a grin. “No, it’s alright. Have fun, Rin-chan!”
He turned his back and ran away like a coward, planning to return to the compound and search for scrolls related to that water breathing style.
Tanjiro was still six when he had his first kill.
He didn’t mean it; he knows he didn’t. But faced with a choice between a teammate and a grown enemy, he knew what decision he would make.
Still, he hesitated, his sword clutched tightly as it dripped with moisture. He asked the man with no legs and both arms stuck in his sides, turning purple:
“What do you fight for?”
He was disappointed when the answer he received was an attack of senbons that he easily deflected and a holler of
“Die, you Konoha dogs!”
Humans, Tanjiro realized, were worse than demons in many forms at times. The demons in his dreams were easy to read—they wanted lust, greed, pleasure. But humans? Humans had madness in them, and Tanjiro feared it more than anything else.
He could smell the subtle scent of multiple shadows in their way.
And Tanjiro breathed .
The good thing about breathing styles was that they intended to kill swiftly. And slightly, it eased the pain in his chest, as if he were forgetting something important about himself.
Slowly, it felt like he was becoming lost, diverging from his path.
He was seven, and a katana wrapped in a bloodied hilt came home instead of his papa.
His mama broke down from where she was standing, shattering a vase she had been cleaning.
The funeral was a quiet affair with only ten people in attendance. Kushina-obasan’s eyes brimmed with tears as Minato clutched her from behind.
Tanjiro held his mother as she gazed at the world in a daze.
Uzumaki Kazuha
A loving father, friend, and husband.
Tanjiro sometimes wondered why he didn’t have his father’s surname. But when he ventured beyond the safety of the village walls, he discovered the answer.
“It’s safer.”
In his next month-long mission, Tanjiro left the river and chose fire.
Haruno Tanjiro was eight, and his mother gave birth to the last memory of his father.
Sakura
His sister was a small thing.
He had never seen anything more beautiful and precious.
Tanjiro was eight, and some memories resurfaced from a life meant to be forgotten.
Nezuko, Takeo, Hanako, Shigeru, and Rokuta.
All of his siblings had dark hair like the coals they sold for a living. Sakura had pink hair, the shade of newly opened blossoms—just like her namesake.
Untainted, pure… Something he would protect until his last breath.
“Welcome to the world, Sakura-chan,” he whispered.
This time, Tanjiro promised he would not fail.
“I’m your older brother, Tanjiro.”
Time passed quickly, and the newborn’s blue-gray eyes started to turn green.
Green—the exact shade of Mebuki’s and Tanjiro’s.
Sakura’s colouring was like a sword stabbed into the gut and twisted painfully. It resembled a similarly pink-haired Hashira, radiating kindness the world never deserved.
When he thought about it, if Kanroji-san were born in this world, men would line up from Konoha to the ends of the elemental nations.
After all, this was a world where power and strength were respected above all else. And Kanroji-san lacked nothing in that area. But not one of them would truly deserve her.
“Tanjiro-chan~ How is my favorite nephew?”
He shook his head, pulling himself out of his thoughts as Kushina smiled widely at him. She walked toward him, heavily pregnant, and it pained Tanjiro to look at her and do nothing.
Unfortunately, he had his own precious bundle in his arms to handle.
“I’m your only nephew, oba-san.”
Kushina cooed down at Sakura when she got near, hearts forming in her irises as she saw the pink tuft of hair peeking out.
“Sakura-chan, right?” Tanjiro only smiled as Sakura opened her sleepy green eyes at Kushina, who giddily grinned at the infant.
“You’ll have a playmate soon, ‘ttebane! You just have to wait a little longer, and we’ll have a playdate with Mikoto’s brat!”
Tanjiro sighed and shook his head at the older woman’s antics, still smiling warmly at his father’s cousin.
“Kushina-san,” a stern voice sounded from behind Kushina, and the redhead cringed.
“Just a moment, ‘ttebane.” Kushina took this opportunity to coo more at Sakura and pinched Tanjiro’s cheek.
“I better get going, you know. Come to your teacher tonight, Tanjiro-kun! He said he will teach you something, to immerse yourself or whatever…”
“Kushina-san.”
“Yes, yes!”
It was the last moment where he would see her alive.
The night came normally, as it usually does.
Tanjiro smelled it before it arrived.
In an instant, he scooped Sakura out of her crib and dragged his mother outside their house, just in time as a giant fox’s claw flattened the home that Tanjiro had known for the eight years of his life.
Everything happened suddenly; his senses were filled with anguish and death in every corner, making Tanjiro feel trapped.
He ran with his mother as if their lives depended on it—because they did—and reached an outpost near the outermost village walls, far away from the monster’s destruction.
“Stay here with Sakura,” he told his mother.
“What? No!” Mebuki clawed at him, urging him to stay and seek safety with them, but he had his duty.
“I’m sorry, Mama.” Tanjiro smiled at her before concentrating his breathing on his legs, disappearing and leaving Mebuki with nothing but dust in her hands as she tried to reach out for him.
“Come to your teacher tonight,”
Tanjiro tried following his teacher’s tracks but was left with only a dead end. Along the way, he helped rescue trapped civilians, but Minato was nowhere in sight.
Then Tanjiro looked up at the Hokage Mountains. It certainly had the best view and was where Minato’s seals were sometimes experimented with. His cabin was there…
The scent grew stronger as he neared the top of the Hokage Monument, but nothing prepared him for the sight.
“Tanjiro-kun, take care of Naruto, will you?”
Tanjiro didn’t know what it looked like when a sun die. He thought he did now.