Disclaimer:

I do not own nor claim all the rights to 鬼滅の刃 | Kimetsu no Yaiba | Demon Slayer; all rights are reserved to its respective creator, Koyoharu Gotōge. This is purely a work of fiction; names, characters, businesses, events, localities, and occurrences are all extrapolated from the author's writings and imagination or utilized in a fictitious manner. As such, any direct or indirect references to actual entities, dead or alive, or events do not, in any shape or form, resemble the opinions of the author.

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"..." = Dialogue

'...' = Internal monologues

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Blood.

Tears.

Death.

Among the hays of tall grass, the hitherto field of greenery was now smeared with a brush of red plaster.

Among this once-picturesque meadow, there now laid a heap of rotting flesh and the ignominious spoils of war that besmirched the name of all that was good in this sordid world.

Clouds of gray sequestered the rays of sunlight away from this land, as the gods held a requiem for the innocent lives lost in this frivolous affair.

Instead of pastures of agriculture, there were the remains of dismembered limbs and organs.

Instead of the melodic chirp of the songbirds, there were only the cries of tragedy and loss.

Indeed, all that was, and all that would have been, were now permanently gone.

Utsuro stared blankly at the scene before him: a tableau of the ravages of human sin, aided and abetted by a primordial spirit from the world that transcends this.

Hundreds of years of relentless fighting had taught him to ignore the ramifications of his evil deeds. In fact, he deemed it necessary in order to accomplish his goals—why worry about the fates of mortals in the affairs of the immortals?

Yet, once he had begun to question his very purpose, the maelstrom of war no longer felt like a force of natural occurrence; instead, with each successive battle he partook in, with each death precipitated by the slash of his katana, Utsuro began to feel more and more empty.

It was as if each maim was steadily sucking the spirit out of his soul—assuming he had one in the first place.

So great was this sentiment, in fact, that he had unconsciously assumed the name 'Utsuro' for himself, accepting the mockery of that old lady all those years ago.

Because, in essence, he truly was empty.

He watched as a mother wept in front of the lifeless body of what was her son.

He saw two children aimlessly searching for their father in the heap of corpses.

As Utsuro dragged the bodies into the expanding pile of rotting flesh, he couldn't help but examine each of their individual expressions. Everything from fear, anger, or even a gentle acceptance had manifested along the visages of these deceased men.

He felt a deep-rooted aversion to the spectacle of war, especially the images of young men dying and their loved ones crying their hearts out with inconsolable grief.

But he shouldn't feel this way. He doesn't deserve to feel sympathy for the fallen.

He himself is responsible for the deaths of so many. So why pity the dead now?

Why pity the dead even as he refuses to stop the killing?

Why does he continue to raise the blade?

Why was he still fighting?

While he was no longer mindlessly killing people, he was virtually doing the same thing now except it's legal—war sanctions the extrajudicial acts of madness in the name of security or conquest.

Then, why was he fighting as a mercenary for these feuding lords?

Was he still trying to kill 1,000 humans a day in these lands, as ordained by his Creator? Or had he already given up on that, but he simply couldn't escape from this vicious cycle of violence and bloodshed?

He didn't know.

Because he truly had no purpose.

As he stared at the carnage that had unraveled before him, as he dwelled on his role in this slaughter, an inexplicable feeling of despair gradually disclosed himself.

Will he stare at the same scene for the rest of eternity? Is this what his very existence amounts to?

This and nothing else?

If so, then he was hollow inside.

He was Utsuro, a being without meaning—without any sense of why he exists in the first place.

And his greatest fear was now the increasingly likely prospect of his soul never finding solace.

He will forever be lost behind the shadow of his preordained destiny—he cannot escape the Curse of Izanami.

Forever stuck in this hollow existence.

Without clarity.

Without light.

Without meaning.

Forever hollow.

..

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..

Utsuro was limping down a winding dirt road.

The surrounding forestry and shrubs occlude much of the illuminating—though weakening—rays of the setting sun, thereby leaving nothing but a dim and murky environment.

The cool winds of the autumn season steadily caressed the calloused skin of the primordial being, bringing a semblance of gentle serenity to his troubled mind and body.

Following him was a trail of his own blood, which was leaking from the wounds and perforations he had incurred.

Another battle.

Another skirmish.

More blood spilled.

Utsuro managed to liquidate the enemy, but he himself was terribly wounded.

Being an immortal spirit, he did indeed harbor regenerative capabilities. However, his command over these functions meant that he alone could control the rate by which such mechanisms operated.

In other words, he had total agency over his own physical condition.

But he did not wish to recuperate this time.

He felt it was pointless to do so.

He had spent the better part of a millennia wounding, killing, and robbing lives in search of an answer—an answer to the underlying question of his own existence.

He needed justification for his presence on this plane of existence, yet he could find none.

Shedding blood is all he knows. Death is all he can comprehend.

The language of the Grim Reaper is one he is well-versed in, but the language of life itself is one he is unable to fully grasp.

For someone who was granted an inexhaustible supply of life through his immortality, he certainly doesn't understand the utility and value in those individual iterations of mortality—the scarce means by which each living being is subjected to.

He had been limping towards an answer for so long.

So long, in fact, that he had forgotten the face and voice of that old lady all those years ago; the lady who shrewdly pointed out the fundamental contradiction in his existence was but a distant memory in the monotony of this meaningless reality.

But he still is where he had started: his soul was still hollow.

He often mused about certain peculiarities.

Why did his creator imbue upon him the intrinsic desire for purpose if she took away his right to that very same thing?

Why does his soul crave a justification for this existence, if his spirit was already preordained to abide by the whims of a greater power?

Why instill the fundamental yearning for agency, if he had none in the first place?

Why was he made like this?

To what end is this contradictory arrangement supposed to fulfill?

What is the point of it?

Utsuro, even in all his countless years of dwelling within this realm, had no answers to any of those questions.

He has always been lost.

So what's the point of extending his visit here, in this realm? He has no reason to remain here any longer, so why not just end it all?

Perhaps it is better to pass away and let fate decide his destiny; he ought to halt the regenerative processes and die in these woodlands.

The pernicious grip of despair seeped into the inner sanctum of his hollow soul, depriving his spirit of any inclination for a recourse.

Like a small flame fading out into thin air, Utsuro was slowly succumbing to the thoughts and notions of death.

If he cannot find purpose, then it is best for him to die.

He resented his very existence, so why even bother living in the first place?

With his wounds bleeding profusely, he sought no recourse to this predicament.

He ought to fade away himself, as his continued presence has no meaningful purpose or justification.

'So this is what death feels like...' he noted with hints of fascination and melancholy.

So close to death, the immortal being—for once in his centuries of living—felt what it was like to be mortal.

But, alas, while his physical incarnation may disintegrate, his soul will pass into the next realm of deities.

If there is nothing for him here, he would rather return to the gates of Yomi—and to his creator.

Maybe he'll find answers there.

Maybe not.

Regardless, he feels hollow.

He wants to end it all.

An immortal being such as him has no business in the lands of the mortal anyway.

He must leave.

He must fade away like the hollow being he is.

Fade away with nothing to show for.

Fade away...

Fade away...

..

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..

The two Hashiras entered the chamber.

The chamber was quite large and expansive, covering a surface area equivalent to approximately half the length of a Sengoku-era castle. Furthermore, the chamber itself was shaped like a disk, environed by concentric walls of bricks, and the bulk of the contiguity was a synergistic combination of concrete and metal.

The area was situated at the heart of this extensive sewage system, representing the focal point by which all the conduits, waterways, and pipelines converged before releasing the waste and materials into the sea.

Indeed, directly opposite the entrance, there was a long tunnel furnished with a channel that indicated an exit of sorts; the canal of waste was traveling along a path that would presumably eventually lead to Tokyo Bay itself.

Barely any visible light shined into the vicinity, although a glimmer of natural lighting appeared to have exploited a small cavity within the ceiling—emitting some radiance for the benefit of the human eye.

As the Water and Insect Hashira, still clutching onto each other, limped their way into the area, they were met with a figure standing idly several meters away.

With the figure's back facing them, it appeared to be staring at something.

With the chamber so engulfed in a caliginous chasm, it was difficult for either Giyuu or Shinobu to make out the exact features of this figure.

But they knew one thing: this was who they were looking for.

This was their enemy.

The demon who wielded control over this underground realm.

The figure whose powers held no bounds.

The enemy who wielded the Eyes of Prognostication.

The Father Demon.

This was...

"Utsuro," Giyuu called out, the resonance of his voice echoing in this open stretch of concrete—making their presence known, assuming that the enemy had not already noticed.

Utsuro, however, did not react in any way to the Water Hashira's proclamation.

Instead, the primordial demon continued gazing at whatever he was scrutinizing.

Upon their eyes adjusting to the darkness, the Hashiras found that Utsuro's hand was raised with his palm facing up; he was staring at something resting on his hand.

Standing at around two meters (6.5 feet) in height, the Father Demon was accoutered in a simple black kimono along with a sheathed katana resting along his waist. His long, straight, and grayish hair extended to his upper back, with two isolated bangs reaching from the temples to below the ears.

"So, you have come to kill me, have you?" Utsuro finally spoke, his low and guttural speech evincing a tired and heavy cadence—almost as if he was fatigued.

Neither of Hashiras replied, as they carefully assumed battle stances—despite the world of pain and exhaustion they were undergoing—and kept a hand on the hilts of their Nichirin Blade.

They did not know what to expect, but they were sure that this foe would be their greatest one yet.

"I'm sorry to disappoint, but I cannot allow you to destroy what I have been trying to accomplish for the better part of 1000 years," Utsuro announced somberly.

"And we won't allow you to kill millions just for the sake of your own selfish designs," Shinobu answered with grit, fully unsheathing her Nichirin Blade in the process.

"Is that so..." Utsuro replied ominously.

"I spoke to your son, Junnosuke," Giyuu stepped in, similarly unsheathing this katana.

"He said that everything you have done—and everything you plan to do—is all for the sake of reviving your deceased wife. Utsuro, what you're about to do, killing all those lives, will it really bring her back?" The Water Hashira posed a question.

"What do you know about anything?" Utsuro said scathingly. "My son was a fool, because his allegiance lies with his moral compass rather than his own family. That is why he died at your pathetic hands, Water Hashira."

"You would callously besmirch your son with no hesitation? You really are a monster," Shinobu angrily replied, provoked by Utsuro's belittling remarks towards her partner.

Utsuro cackled with contempt, "Ah, the Insect Hashira. You were able to outsmart Kanashimi—"

"Her name is Etsuko, your own daughter!" Shinobu indignantly rejected his phrasing.

"Regardless," Utsuro growled at the interruption, "my children have proved to be worthless. As always, I have to be the one to save the family."

"Save the family? Your entire family is gone!" Giyuu exclaimed. "Your children have been freed from your shackles, but now you want your own wife to be subjected as well—!"

"ENOUGH!" Utsuro spurned, his voice booming.

"You will not speak of my wife in that manner. You are not worthy to even mention her," he added with derision.

"You aren't going to save her, Utsuro," Shinobu opined. "Instead, you'll make her into a monster like you did with your own children. She'll be corrupted by your demonic powers."

"I don't care," the demon simply responded.

"So you will go against the will of your wife as well? Do you really believe she wants to be reborn as a demon, having to feed off the blood of the innocent, all the while knowing that her husband and children have killed thousands of lives over the years?!" Shinobu furiously pointed out, veins beginning to protrude from the peripheries of her temples.

"Yes."

"Then you don't love her!" The Insect Hashira asserts sharply.

Infuriated, Utsuro finally turned around and revealed his dour countenance to the Hashiras.

Both Giyuu and Shinobu's eyes dilated with shock as they bore witness to the terrifying image that stood before them.

Utsuro did not have any eyes. In place of eyeballs, his optical cavities were simply empty and hollow—shrouded in darkness like an endless void of nothingness.

But that wasn't the end of it.

From those empty cavities, streams of blood were flowing down from each of the sockets: he appeared to be shedding blood in place of tears.

His face exhibited a cold expression, which neither displayed happiness nor hid the underlying sadness.

In his right hand, he was holding some kind of a red ribbon—the same one he had been previously staring at so intently.

Utsuro's visage furrowed in rage, "Do not speak of my wife. I love her more than anything in this world..."

His downcast eyes shifted back to the red ribbon, "... Which is why I must do this."

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..

He slowly opened his eyes.

It was terribly bright, so much so that he was nearly blinded for a second.

He felt a warm sensation all around, both externally and internally.

Was he finally dead?

Had he ascended into the next realm?

"Oh, you're awake!" A soft, feminine voice expressed excitement and relief.

He rotated his line of sight to the source of this sound, only to find a young woman sitting abreast.

She was clothed in an elaborate dress that consisted of many parts: a "mo", or a tiered skirt tied at the waist; a uwaginu, which is a double-breasted (left-over-right) blouse with flowing sleeves; and a sleeveless brocade haishi (vest) with contrasting brocade collar and waist.

Furthermore, a red-colored hair bow was neatly wrapped around the rear end of her coiffure.

Utsuro, however, observed another facet of her physical appearance: her countenance.

There was no color in her eyes, but her warm smile exuded a brightness and tenderness that served to outshine her faults—her angelic countenance was all that was needed.

Even the centuries-old demon couldn't help but admire her unique expression.

"Am I dead?" Utsuro asks.

"Dead?" The woman tilted her head in confusion. "The exact opposite, actually."

"What?"

"I reckon you slipped and fell down an incline, 'cause I happened to be enjoying myself until I heard you come tumbling down out of nowhere," she explains sardonically.

"Wait, where am I?" Utsuro looks up.

He was met with the physical personification of tranquility.

This circular enclosure was bounded by a wall of bamboo trees, with a small spring of fresh, translucent water positioned directly at the center of the area. The lush green grass also served to complement the serene beauty of this relatively concealed gem of a place.

In other words, the ambiance of the sanctuary was calming to the spirit, relieving the weariness that had hitherto bitten deep into Utsuro's bones.

"My secret hideout," the woman grinned.

"Your... what?" He was utterly baffled.

"This place is my secret hideout. You know, a place where you seclude yourself and indulge in the pleasantries of mother nature," she quipped lightly.

"... What?" Utsuro was as confused as ever.

"Are you deaf or something?" She questions.

The spawn of Yomi was unable to react to the inquiries of this mortal, leaving him to just gawk at the woman without forethought.

"Did you hit your head?" She queries again.

Utsuro thence exhales in exasperation, "This is ridiculous."

"OH, wait! I know!" The woman arrived at a revelation.

Slightly piqued by her comment, Utsuro closely monitored her next moves.

"You have to use the lavatory! Geez, you don't have to be embarrassed about taking care of business!" she laughed.

Utsuro wanted to facepalm, but he had neither the strength nor motivation to do so. Instead, he just looked down, hoping he could make himself fall asleep again.

"Hahaha..." Gradually, her laughter was dying down.

"..."

"..."

"WAIT!"

Utsuro looked back up.

"Don't tell me you ate rotten fish?!"

"N-No!" Utsuro finally vociferates with... embarrassment? Embarrassment for having to defend himself from such an outlandish charge.

"I didn't eat anything and I don't have to use the washroom," he muttered with irritation.

"Oh... Sorry, I just wanted to lighten the mood."

With a heavy sigh, Utsuro began to deeply contemplate this unbelievable situation.

This was all so jarring. Wasn't he trying to kill himself just mere hours ago? How the hell does he go from pondering the meaning of life to having to explain that he doesn't need to relieve himself?

At this point, any semblance of sense left Utsuro's mind; he calmly accepted the world's seeming indifference to his internal dilemma.

"It is strange though..." the woman spoke, breaking his trance.

Utsuro looked at her again.

"I initially felt, heard, and even caught the scent of blood flowing from you. But, now, it appears as if you're good as new. Which is perfect... 'cause I'm the worst first-aid responder," she shrugs.

Utsuro panicked upon hearing her, prompting him to scour his body in search of any lacerations, perforations, or signs of injury.

None.

His regenerative processes kicked in reflexively during his slumber.

"So that's how it is..." he mumbled to himself.

"No seriously, in the time it would've taken me to navigate my way out of this maze of bamboo, you would've been dead for a minimum of one week," the woman jested, finding amusement in her grim sense of humor.

"So be glad that I wasn't responsible for your life," she added with levity.

"Why aren't you questioning it..." Utsuro said with great lassitude.

"Questioning what?"

"The fact that all my wounds were healed instantaneously," Utsuro clarified.

"I could... but I technically didn't see it, so I have plausible deniability," she gave a cheeky grin.

"I see..." Utsuro didn't know what to make of this girl or her bizarre comments.

"I don't."

"Huh?"

"As in, I don't see."

"..."

"Get it? 'Cause I'm blind."

"..."

"That was a joke."

"I see."

"Pfft, good timing," she snickered.

"Right..."

"Anyways, I'll be going off now," she stood up.

"Oh, feel free to stick around if you want. This is a soothing place, after all. I'll bring onigiris tomorrow, so stay tuned!" she added with general enthusiasm.

"Why are you so relaxed?" Utsuro inquired. "It should be obvious that I am a potential threat. Perhaps I could kill you any second now."

"But will you?" she rejoined.

"..."

She subsequently smirked, "I don't need to feel threatened around someone who has no intentions of harming me."

"... How could you tell? That I wasn't going to hurt you? Or are you just simple-minded and naive in thinking that nobody would hurt someone as defenseless as you?" Utsuro pressed, attempting to mock her in the process.

"I wouldn't consider myself naive. I'm no stranger to danger or deceit..." Her lighthearted tone of voice had now descended into a more sour, melancholic expression.

Utsuro raised an eyebrow at this strange alteration in her demeanor.

She nonetheless continued, "The color of your soul."

Utsuro felt his insides collapse to the ground, "... What did you say?"

"The color of your soul... there's no taint of sinister or corrupt influences... but it's just so gray... I felt sad for you," she frowned.

The woman promptly turned around and carefully ambulated her way into the thick shrub of bamboo, navigating her way out of the forest.

The Demon of Yomi, meanwhile, could only gape at her as she walked away.

For the first time, he felt an aching sensation in his chest—the likes of which he had assumed would be reserved only for mortal beings residing on this Earth.

How can such simple words have unimaginably great impacts?

He didn't feel the need to do anything at the moment.

He felt so utterly dejected and depressed.

As he sighed once more, he lulled himself back into another slumber—mentally exhausted from the events of that day.

He'll rest here for a little while longer, he said to himself.

Maybe eat the girl's onigiris as well.

Just one more nap...

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..

"Wow, I thought you would be too irritated to stick around!" A voice beckoned him awake.

Utsuro bestirred himself, suffering an acute sense of grogginess.

He looked up, "Oh... it's you."

"Hey! At least be courteous to someone who's giving you precious nourishment!" she complained.

"Nourishment?" Utsuro replied with perplexity.

His inquiry was soon answered, though, as he caught sight of what the woman was grasping in her right hand: a bento box.

"I see," Utsuro acknowledged.

"I don't."

"..."

"It's a jo—"

"A joke, yes, I get it," Utsuro groaned in his after-nap lethargy.

"Nice, so you do understand humor," she smiled warmly.

Her amiable countenance was sufficient in allaying Utsuro's annoyance, inducing him to sigh in admission.

"Anyways," she carefully perched herself adjacent to the Demon of Yomi, "I brought some onigiris, as promised."

Utsuro stared at her quizzically.

Taking notice of his gaze, the woman spoke, "What is it?"

"You actually brought onigiris," Utsuro answered, completely baffled.

"Well, why wouldn't I?"

"Because I'm a suspicious-looking man—"

"I can't tell if you're suspicious-looking or not," the woman corrected.

"... Fair enough," Utsuro conceded. "But I am still a complete stranger to you."

"So?"

"So, you should be more cautious around people like me," Utsuro advised.

"Why though? You're pretty nice," she answered nonchalantly.

"I'm a—... What?"

"Well, you're nice enough to keep me company, especially since I tend to get bored here," the woman patted the ground before alighting the bento box onto the ground.

"Is this not your sanctuary? Why have company for an area designated for yourself?" Utsuro questioned the logic of her words.

"Mostly 'cause I don't get to meet anyone else back at my place," she replied dully, patting the bento box before muscle memory finally compelled her to slowly unfasten the box.

Picking up the onigiri, she offered the treat to her interlocutor: "Want some?"

Utsuro stared at the offering incredulously, not exactly knowing how to respond.

"Oh," the woman realized, "don't worry."

"Huh?"

"I didn't make it, if that's what you're wondering about. I asked the cook," she clarified.

"No, I wasn't worried about that," Utsuro sighed.

Nevertheless, he begrudgingly accepted the delectable.

"Well, you should. I'm terrible at cooking, for obvious reasons," the woman jokes.

With each successive bite from the onigiri, Utsuro found himself craving more until he consumed it all within seconds.

"Wow, that was fast! You must've been hungry," the woman observed.

"How could you tell?" Utsuro inquired.

"I didn't hear any more chewing."

"Oh right..."

"My eyesight might be a joke, but you shouldn't underestimate my other senses," the woman proffered a light-hearted warning.

"I see."

"I don't."

Utsuro merely hummed in acknowledgment.

"Want more?" the woman proposed.

"I don't want to intrude."

"Hey! I had enough made for the both of us, so don't feel shy. Accept this kind hospitality from yours truly," she rebuked while retaining her charitable disposition.

"If you insist," Utsuro picked up another onigiri from the box.

As the two indulged in the snack, they simultaneously—intentionally or not—embraced the hushed tranquility of this sequestered sanctuary: the faint trickles of water emanating from the spring, the smooth brush of the breeze touching their skins, and the palliative softness of the grass beneath.

For the first time, Utsuro felt strangely at peace.

It was quite the abnormal phenomenon, given how he had spent centuries on this Earth and yet never undergone an experience of this kind.

He felt like he could slumber here for an eternity.

"By the way," the woman broke this transient silence, "I never asked. What is your name?"

Utsuro's brow corrugated in a frown at the mention of that sensitive topic, "I was not born with one. But I was given the name 'Utsuro.'"

He had always disliked his name, but he came to accept it as reality.

After all, there was no better name for him. No better way to describe him.

"Ugh, what an ugly name," the girl conveyed her distaste.

Expecting this manner of response, Utsuro was not perturbed at all by her reaction, "It's the only name that captures the essence—"

"I'm giving you a better name," she interrupted mid-speech.

"—of who I... Wait what?" He was caught completely off-guard.

"Hmm... Let's see," she began excogitating.

"Stop that," he said.

"Saitō? No, that's boring. Toshizō? Nah, too rough," she was working through the options.

"What are you doing? That's my name; you can't change it," Utsuro protested.

"What are you talking about?" The woman asked in confusion. "Of course you can."

"Nonsense! A name signifies who you are, and what you represent. My name does exactly that; it is pointless to argue otherwise," Utsuro countered.

"A name is something you should be proud of."

"I have nothing to be proud of..." Utsuro said with a hint of melancholy.

"Which is why I deserve this title..." he whispered.

"Even if that's the case, I still don't think names ought to be given like punishments. A name is like a guide: it is something you strive to observe, something you spent all of your lifetime living for," the woman elucidated with great thought.

She continued, "Even if you have nothing to be proud of, even if you have made mistakes in the past, there's always tomorrow to work towards. Your name should reflect that; it represents the hope that you will aspire to live up to the title you've been granted."

As Utsuro's eyes widened, he felt something warm caressing his empty soul—like a tiny ball of flame being lit in the darkness.

For years, his name had been haunting him like the tocsin of death. He had always presumed that this was a title only he was worthy of; he was the only soul so empty and without purpose that this was the only suitable nomenclature.

But, now, someone was telling him that he doesn't have to be burdened by the heavy weight of his title.

It was bizarre.

Everything about this woman was bizarre.

Utsuro felt the vague grip of curiosity: he wanted to know who this woman was, and why she acted so odd.

"Ah! I know!" The woman arrived at some conclusion.

"Akio. That should be your name!" she beamed with pleasure.

"Akio..." Utsuro repeated softly.

"That way, you won't have to linger in the darkness; you can look towards days of sun, bright and proud!" she added cheerfully.

"Is that so..." he pondered the implications.

Then, an intriguing thought entered his normally dormant mind.

"What is your name?" he asks.

"I'm happy you asked," The woman grinned widely, as if she had seen this question coming from a mile away.

"Himari. My name is Himari."

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..

*Drip*

*Drip*

The distant reverberations of waterdrops occurred at a pulsating rhythm, accentuating the eerie and sinister atmosphere within these concrete corridors.

Utsuro exhaled deeply, finally averting his eyes from the ribbon.

"Let me ask something of you Hashrias," he glanced at the individuals in question.

Both Giyuu and Shinobu, severely wounded and fatigued beyond reasonable doubt, retained their battle stances.

They endeavored to discern an opening to exploit, but both knew that neither of them was physically capable of going on the offensive.

Thus, the best course of strategy would be reactive rather than proactive.

After all, if their goal is to buy time, then this is the best course of action; if they can stall Utsuro, then it can help delay the wholesale slaughter the Spawn of Yomi has planned, and it could allow for the timely arrival of reinforcements.

If they have to fight, they will fight. If they can delay a confrontation with the enemy, then even better—they are in no shape to engage him anyway.

Everything hinged on their ability to buy precious time, even at the cost of their own lives.

"You two people who have lost everything... Whose souls have hollowed out from the pain and grief... Surely you must understand the futility of it all." said Utsuro.

"What do you mean..." Shinobu focused her attention.

"Wherever there's life, there will always be death. That's how the cycle works. If all the happiness and utility you acquire from life is immediately lost—or, worse, converted to pain—in death, then what's the point?" Utsuro asked rhetorically.

He carried on, "In the realm of the living, one experiences pleasure, exhilaration, curiosity, and love. And yet, one is bound to undergo fear, grief, shame, guilt, and pain. From all my years of existence in this wretched realm, I have known both a soul that is fulfilled and a soul that is hollow."

"And yet, only the latter remains after centuries of living..."

"Your daughter, Etsuko-san, posed the same dilemma to me. She happened to find an answer. And I—a mortal being—as well," Shinobu retorted.

"You speak as if I know nothing of the tribulations of mortality," said Utsuro.

"You hardly seem like the kind to know," Shinobu replied mockingly.

"Junnosuke-san told me your body aged over time, at least when he was alive," Giyuu recalled.

"Then you already know: I have the capacity to renounce my own immortality. Indeed, there was a time when I lived as a mortal... though memories of that time are bittersweet and fading," the Father Demon answered.

"Then why? Why are you doing all this? Why are you trying to sully the same memories you cherish?" Shinobu questioned.

"Because their deaths were not supposed to happen. I was supposed to die first, pass away of old age knowing that my family is well and good. Instead, they were all massacred—all because I happened to associate myself with very poor characters in the past. I couldn't let that be the end," Utsuro explained.

"Your wife would have not wanted this," Shinobu muttered.

"Look who's talking," Utsuro narrowed his eyes. "The Insect Hashira, who explicitly disobeyed her late sister's final wishes and chose to pursue a self-destructive path of revenge. Kocho Shinobu, who wished to give up the life your dear parents sacrificed to protect. You, who twisted your beloved Tomioka Giyuu's words not as a prescient warning, but as a mechanism to further drive your hatred and lust for revenge."

Giyuu stepped in to defend his beloved, "That's not the case anymore. Even if it was, she shouldn't be shamed for her contributions in the war against demons."

He then turned to Giyuu, "And you, the Water Hashira, who learned nothing from the lessons and examples imparted from the people around you. Your willingness to give up so easily is directly antithetical to Sabito's warrior spirit. Your depression and pessimism is an affront to Makomo's optimism. And, worst of all, your inability to comprehend the sacrifices of your sister—you dismiss them as soon as you wallow in your own guilt."

An enraged Shinobu, unable to stand for any disparaging words against the Water Hashira, felt veins obtruding from her forehead, "You have no right to shame Giyuu for anything!"

"Shinobu, focus," Giyuu reminded her. "He's just provoking us."

"Sorry..." Shinobu whispered, comporting herself.

Utsuro watched their interactions closely, "Perhaps you are right—that I have no right to shame either of you. But not a single one of you is in any capacity to speculate about the thoughts of my dear Himari."

"Himari?" Giyuu picked up.

"My wife..." said Utsuro.

He frowned, "She couldn't see. She was blind. And yet, at the same time, she could see everything. She could see what life had gifted her, the happiness, the joy, and the love. It was astonishing.... I started to wonder if I was really the blind one the whole time..."

"Then isn't the memory of her all the joy you need? Isn't the life you lived enough? Why shed so much blood for nothing?" Shinobu pressed.

Utsuro's eyes shifted momentarily, something indicative of his intentions to deeply consider the question, "If I had the benefit of hindsight... then maybe I wouldn't have forsaken Akio. If I had known that my immortality only extends to myself and no one else, then perhaps I could've entered Yomi with my family."

He gritted his teeth, "But... It's too late to change that. Not even the Eyes of Prognostication could send me to before then, as these powers awoke only after Akio perished."

"Akio was your name, wasn't it?" Shinobu observed.

"The name Himari gave me. She gave me everything: a name, a purpose, a loving family, and hope. But that's all gone now."

"Which is why..." Utsuro's aura darkened. "I must initiate the ritual sacrifice. Only then, will everything return to normal. Only then will my soul no longer be hollow."

"Your soul is hollow only if you decide it to be such," Giyuu contends.

"Really? Do you really believe that?" Utsuro said with derision.

"Absolutely," Shinobu answered with firmness.

"HAH!" Utsuro chuckled contemptuously. "Don't make me laugh. You only say that because you have each other. Years of conversations, prophetic visions of the future due to my powers, and visions of each other's past are the means by which you two finally acknowledged the feelings you have for each other."

"But what if none of that happened? If my visions had not shown your fates, would you two have become lovers? Would you have filled that gaping hole in your souls? Your relationship only exists because of divine intervention on my behalf. You are stupid if you think you can command a soul to un-hollow by will. IT IS ALL BEYOND ONE'S CONTROL!!"

Neither Giyuu nor Shinobu could respond.

Because he was partially right: if neither of them had personally witnessed and foreseen the consequences of their actions in the future, it is likely that they would have never found salvation within each other and hope within their love.

If they had never gone on this mission, Shinobu would have died in her fight with Douma and Giyuu would've withered away in the mountains of Hokkaido.

Their relationship is quite a paradox in a sense: they had always harbored feelings for each other, but their love would have never materially manifested if not for extremely fortuitous external conditions predicated on a demonic primordial being with cognitive powers that transcends time.

"It's all beyond our control..." Utsuro murmured dolefully. "Especially mine... When Akio died, Utsuro was rebirthed for a reason. It is my destiny to remain empty, because the gods have ordained it so. I am cursed to remain like this for all of time."

"You can't change your own destiny..."

"Then why show us our futures? Why show the consequences of our actions? Or perhaps there is actually a part of you that truly wants to believe otherwise—that people are free to change their futures," the Water Hashira prods.

"Your destinies are already set, Hashira. My eyes see it all. But mine shall be to revive Himari at any and all costs," said Utsuro.

"What if the ritual doesn't work? What if Himari doesn't return? You can't undo what you have done," Shinobu continues grilling him.

"As I said, I will do it at any and all costs. If killing all of Yokohama won't work, then I will have to expand my horizons..." Utsuro spoke ominously.

Giyuu's countenance corrugated in anger, "You don't mean..."

"I will simply kill more. Until there is nothing left. That is my destiny."

"What kind of a husband are you?!" Shinobu yelled. "What's the point of killing everyone just for your wife?!"

Utsuro focused his gaze on the Hashiras, "I can't live without her. Surely you two, of all people, should understand that. Neither of you would be able to live without the other. I am the same."

The words of Utsuro resonated deeply with the Hashiras.

Not because of the pure, passionate love that they could empathize with, but because of the potential dangers of that love.

The flames of love, if fanned too strong, can grow out of control and morphed into a violent vortex of fire and ash.

Before them, they were witnessing a tale of the pitfalls of a tragic love.

A love that blossomed, but birthed an evil upon its untimely demise.

..

..

..

..

..

..

A few months in, a routine of sorts emerged.

Akio, wanting to extricate himself from the affairs of the outside world, chose to make Himari's little sanctuary his home.

There, he would mostly sleep like a retired elder in their waning years. But, it didn't really matter what he did, because he was immortal and therefore did not require sustenance; he had no need to do much of anything else aside from slumbering in the cozy confines of the spring.

So all he could really do was sleep.

Of course, every now and then, Himari would return with snacks or stories to tell.

In their long meetings, the blind but rambunctious woman would privy her secret friend on the gossip of the household, the word on the street, and news from the highest level of governance—including the Imperial House itself.

In return, he would speak of the outside world; the world she could not see. He would venture to provide elaborate visual descriptions, while also appealing to the other senses such as hearing and smell. In this, he elevated himself to a storyteller, evoking details that aroused the mind and its creativity.

Akio came to glean certain facets of Himari's background that he wasn't directly informed of. For instance, he postulated that Himari was likely of a noble status, given how she adorns exquisite and intricate apparel, has plenty of time to kill talking with a stranger, apparently has a cook that unknowingly makes enough snacks for the two of them, and is quite knowledgeable on matters pertaining to politics and the Imperial dynasty.

In addition, Akio has surmised that Himari's father is an overbearing and overprotective one, which isn't much of a surprise given the daughter's condition. This is evident by the very existence of this little sanctuary itself; why else would a girl want to escape the abode in favor of some seemingly random—albeit, picturesque—location?

On some days, Akio would be by his lonesome, either sleeping or pondering.

He did not dislike it, but it was more fascinating when Himari was around.

As the weeks went by, though, Akio found himself actively wanting to converse with Himari.

So much so, in fact, that he felt traces of excitement brewing within his heart upon hearing the distant, deliberate footsteps of a certain woman.

In addition, he was an interesting figure to look at; after all, she was beautiful beyond words—Akio saw himself feeling entranced by simply imagining her appearance.

And her smile. God, hers was gorgeous and pure. Akio felt he could stare at that smile for six lifetimes and still not tire himself of it.

It got to the point where he would be dreaming about her.

She was growing to become quite the influence in his life.

And he felt it.

Deep within his heart.

..

..

"Do you have parents, Akio-san?" Himari asked absently as she nibbled on a rice ball.

"Mfffhh" Akio answered with a mouth full, gobbling a rice ball in the process.

"Gosh Akio-san, I can hear you devouring that rice ball. You should be careful, you could choke!" Himari complained.

"Haha, sorry," Akio chuckled as he gulped down the rice.

"Oh hey, you laughed! I think this might be a first!" Himari said excitedly.

"Huh? What's so exciting about that," Akio replied.

"Because you're always brooding or acting all hard-boiled," said Himari.

She then leaned back against a tree and crossed her arms, emulating the gesticulations of Akio.

"My name is Akio-san and I'm always acting like a stoic samurai who only serves his retainer," she imitated in a heavy, rough voice that was much unlike her own.

"But I am no longer a samurai. I have no lord to serve."

"Incorrect! You are serving me right now," she quipped.

Akio smiled, "Yeah, perhaps..."

"And I wish you would serve me forever..." Himari mumbled.

"What was that?"

"Oh, nothing... Anyways, back to my question, do you have parents?" Himari deftly changed the subject.

"Well, I know OF my creator, but not much of anything else," Akio replied.

"Creator? Haha, that's a funny way of putting it," Himari assumed it was another one of Akio's archaic means of communication.

Akio decided it was best to not correct her, "What about you? You grumble about your father, but you never mention your mother."

"... Yeah, I don't..." Himari frowns.

Akio realized his mistake, "I'm... sorry..."

"Oh no, please don't be. I'm sorry for being despondent," Himari reciprocated.

"... Your mother, do you miss her?" Akio queried.

"Not a day goes by when I don't think about her... She was always by my side, always doting, always reminding me that I wasn't inferior just because of my condition. Always showering me with her love... She died when I was only twelve, over seven years ago..." Himari explicated pensively.

"I see..."

"But my father took it worse..." Himari hugged her knees into her chest. "He wasn't the same after her death. He became extremely protective of me, even forbidding me to go outside without an armed escort."

"Your father was probably worried about your well-being," said Akio.

"I feel so bad for him... because he lost confidence in himself, the confidence that he was capable enough to protect the ones he loved..." Himari said faintly.

She continued, "But he doesn't know that I want to explore the world. Even if I can't see, I want to go to new places, live my own life, you know?"

"But..." Himari frowned. "I guess being blind makes all that practically impossible..."

"You're a capable woman."

"Huh?" Himari perked up.

"Even if you can't see, you're still incredible. You have honed in on your other senses, especially hearing. Not to mention that uncanny ability to distinguish people's characters—or souls, if you call it that," Akio enumerated the many qualities of his interlocutor.

He looked at her, "I think you're capable of doing a lot of the things you wish, Himari-san. I'm sure your father will come to understand that, just like how your mother did."

Himari felt a wetness in her eyes, "Thank you, Akio-san. It really means a lot..."

"Don't mention it."

..

..

Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and months into years.

And yet, life seemed about the same as ever.

The conversations, the jokes, the waves of laughter, the stories, and the bonds that were forming under the auspices of the sanctuary.

Akio had never felt so much life breathed into his spirit, so much fulfillment enjoyed by the soul.

Perhaps this had been the answer to everything.

The answer he had been searching for.

Still, it saddened him that, someday, Himari would be gone.

Either married off, relocated to another region with her family, or taken by the hand of death. The possibilities were endless.

Akio wished these days could last forever.

But, alas, he was an immortal demon, and she was a mortal noble.

Someday, their time together would end.

Akio just didn't want it today.

Nor tomorrow.

Nor the day after.

And so on.

..

..

One day, Himari returned with a weight pulling down on her expression.

Akio took notice of this, of course. But they did not want to pry, as he imagined that such a discussion would make her uncomfortable.

Sitting adjacent to the point, they sat in complete silence.

Finally, Himari spoke, though the words she uttered brought consolation to neither.

"My father found a marriage partner for me..." she began. "The marriage ceremony is in a week..."

"I see..." Akio said with downcast eyes.

Hearing this, Himari felt a pang of disappointment, "That's it? That's all you have to say?"

"Then, uhm, congratulations."

"... You're an idiot, Akio," she pouted.

"What? What did I do wrong?" Akio said in confusion.

"You're just a big idiot! That's it!" Himari shouted.

"Why are you shouting? And why am I an idiot??" Akio simply did not register anything.

"Idiot!! Big idiot!! Mega idiot!! Dumbass!!" she continued the petulant outburst.

"Himari, I don't understand, why are you mad?"

"Because I want to run away with you!" Himari disclosed, much to Akio's shock.

"... You what?!"

"I want you to help me escape," said Himari.

"Himari, you know I can't do that."

"Why not?! You're my retainer, so you should follow my orders!" Himari conjured up a random justification—much less one they used to joke about.

"You can't just abandon your father!" Akio countered.

"If he won't listen to my objections to the marriage, then I don't care anymore. I want to go wherever you go," she asserted.

"Himari... I can't allow you to come with me..." Akio said with great pain.

"Why not? Is it because I'm a noble? Is that it? Well, I don't care! I'm coming with you anyway—whether you like it or not!"

"No, Himari..."

"Then what?"

"Himari, I'm not someone you want to run around with... Besides, you need to find someone to marry anyway," Akio rejected softly.

"No, I don't! I don't have to get married! And even if I do, I can just marry you!" Himari's face flushed as she proclaimed her intentions of betrothal.

"Himari..." Akio rubbed his temple with his finger. "You don't want to spend the rest of your life with someone like me."

"Why? We've known each other for years now," Himari replied.

"Because... I have committed too many sins... I don't think I will ever be forgiven..." he said mournfully, his voice softening into a whisper.

"Then I will," she suddenly speaks resolutely, "I will forgive you, even when no one else is willing to do so."

"Himari..." Akio tried to express his disapproval. "My soul is hollow."

"Where the hell did that come from?"

"What do you mean?"

"We're talking about marriage, not souls."

"I'm an empty being, Himari. You shouldn't be with someone who has sinned AND has no purpose," Akio clarifies.

"That's not true, I can tell."

Akio looked at her with bafflement, "How? Even you said it was gray."

"That was YEARS ago! And I don't have to see it, Akio. I just know that you're a unique person, someone who longs for a purpose just like any other human being."

"Human...?" Something about that word touched the very foundations of Akio's soul.

"Demon or not, Akio, you are as human as I am. You're as human as the farmer. You're as human as the soldiers you fought with or against.... You're as human as the people you've killed..." Himari soothed with a gentleness unbeknownst to Akio.

She had known all along.

She knew he wasn't human.

"Y-You knew...?" Akio trembled with anxiety.

"Well, yeah, the healing and you not eating for days kind of gave it away."

"Oh..."

"You seriously thought you were hiding it well?"

"W-Well, regardless, you shouldn't be with me," Akio tried to dissuade her.

"Again, why?"

"I just told you! I've committed untold sins! I deserve a lifetime of punishment!"

Himari grabbed a hold of his hand, tightly gripping it, "I will help you carry the burdens of your sins, even if the Gods do not approve. I will follow you into the afterlife, even if that may be hell. I will fill up that hole in your heart, make your soul solid and whole again."

"W-Why? Why would you forsake yourself for someone like me?"

"Because I love you, Akio. I always will. That's all the reason I need."

And suddenly, the soul fluttered like it had never before.

The warmth of the spirit touched every corner of his body.

"H-Himari..."

"I love you, Akio. So, please, let me be with you..." Himari whispered tenderly as she caressed his hand.

He had found it.

His purpose.

It was her.

It always has been.

She was the answer all along.

His purpose was to eat snacks with her. His purpose was to tell her stories. His purpose was to hear her vent her frustrations.

His purpose was to protect her.

His purpose was to love her.

"Himari..."

"Y-Yes...?"

"I love you too."

..

..

..

..

Days of old.

Memories of a bright, beautiful past.

Four children caused chaos around the house, yet the parents relished in this sight.

Every passing day was a blessing.

Both to Akio and Himari.

The children were a constant reminder of that blessing. Not even an immortal being could resist the temptation of doting on his youngest daughter, playing with his youngest son, being protective of his oldest daughter, and being proactive with the eldest son.

What an experience being a father is.

The decision to flee that one day was the best one he could have made.

And his decision to allow his body to age and slowly disintegrate with time is an even greater expression of love.

Because it will grant his passage to Yomi with the people he loves.

Because it will mean that he will die alongside his beloved.

He will never regret it for as long as he lives.

He will cherish these memories forever.

He will never let them go.

For as long as he lives.

..

..

..

..

Embers of flame singed their home.

The bodies of the children and mother are left to rot.

But the bodies of the eldest son and the father are lit aflame.

But, out of the fiery chasm emerges the manifestation of all the fear, grief, shame, guilt, and pain accumulated over centuries of existence.

Akio died that day.

Utsuro was reborn.

And, with him, came the ultimate pinnacle of dark sorcery: the Eyes of Prognostication. Time is but an illusion to him.

He can see the past, present, and future concurrently. An indefinite stream of blood flowed out of his empty eyes, as if he was constantly sobbing for the death of his spirit, his wife, his children, and his life—the blood of the victims etched onto his face.

This was a cruel gift from his Creator. The empty eye sockets were a homage to the blind wife, the grief of her loss, and the blood he shall shed for bringing her back.

It was as if the Goddess Izanami had called him again, reminding him of his duty—to massacre humans without reservation.

He truly cannot escape his Creator's designs; the curse that befell him will never leave.

He has faced the wraths of both the heavens and the underworld.

With only the material world being his refuge.

But, now, even that is no longer a viable option.

He was destined to be empty.

If he tried otherwise, then he would receive a punishment of the highest order.

But he can't accept that. He mustn't accept that.

Still, in his anger and pain, he proceeds with a wholesale slaughter of his enemies: he exacts his revenge without thought, inadvertently pleasing his Creator in the process.

..

..

Cold.

Unrelenting.

Merciless.

In the vastness of a great field, a stunning image of hay and tall grass enclosed this particular meadow. The late evening sunlight shone brilliantly as its majestic rays illuminated the locality with its galvanizing and illustrious blaze. The lush greenery and cultivated fields exuded an atmosphere of serenity and perpetual tranquility.

With such remarkable scenery, one would anticipate the physical characteristics and ambiance of this particular vicinity to be reflected upon the hearts and minds of any individual who happens to situate themselves here.

However, on this particular occasion, no such feelings could be discerned by either the eyes or ears.

Only the odor of rotting flesh, the scene of a myriad of corpses prostrated on the mud, and blood splattered along every blade of grass and every square meter of the floor could be perceived; they were the only identifiable facets of this dark reality.

Among the dead, only one man stood with vigor in the moor.

The Father stood indignantly with a solemn posture—with malice towards none, but no pompous attitude displayed towards all.

He stood, equipped with an unsheathed Katana on his right hand, bruises and lacerations protruding throughout his physique and a grim look on his face as he stared upon the endless piles of bodies that lay before him.

He stood in silence as a requiem for his loved ones, but also a curse directed towards the sinners and the delusional.

He stood in a position of strength and superiority, but he did not endorse such extravagant dispositions. He mourned, but he did not ask Kami-sama for forgiveness.

He simply stood because he was both the casualty and the aggressor, the receiver of deceptions and the deceiver of the innocent, both the victim and the murderer.

The life he had relished so much was gone.

The woman he had loved so deeply and intimately was gone.

Now, all that was left was just him.

Just him again. All alone again.

Forced to abide by the Curse of Izanami again.

Despair.

He felt his soul hollowed out, his very essence being drowned in the ruthless indifference of this world.

No.

He cannot accept this outcome; he cannot sit back and merely watch as everything he holds dear is sent to its ultimate demise.

He will rebel against this cruel world.

He will defy its laws ordained by the heavens, and he shall defy both Kami-sama and the spawns of Yomi.

By any means necessary, he will bring that life back.

He will make his family whole again.

..

..

..

..

..

..

Utsuro unsheathed his katana, putting the Hashiras on high alert.

"Apologies about my rambling, I will make this as short as possible for the both of you," said Utsuro.

"You can try," Shinobu said defiantly.

"Don't be stupid. You can't possibly win against me. Barring your injuries and already-diminutive fighting state, my eyes have already predicted your next moves. There's nothing you can do to win," Utsuro replied plainly.

"Even so," Giyuu raised his Nichirin Blade. "We have to try."

Shinobu raised hers as well, "Because everyone is counting on us."

Utsuro sighed at the futility of it all, "So be it."

Both Giyuu and Shinobu shared one last look together.

This would be it.

The final battle.

Possibly their last time together.

They both conveyed the same apologetic look, one that expressed their love, regrets, and aspirations.

But they did not regret this moment.

To the very end, they have each other.

To the end, they will stand together.

Together, as one.

..

..

..

..

Utsuro charged forward at imperceptible speeds.

The Hashiras were not quick enough to react.

SLASH

By the time the Water Hashira could give the incantation, Utsuro had already chopped off his arm.

He also cut the Insect Hashira in the ribs, making her bleed profusely.

All in one swing of the katana.

JAB

Utsuro landed another direct blow against Giyuu's chest, instantly slicing through his heart and lungs.

*COUGH*

Giyuu coughed blood, nearing his death.

SLASH

As for Shinobu, Utsuro landed a wide blow along her torso, opening up the wounds that were already present.

JAB

He then aimed directly for her heart.

Utsuro had finished the job within seconds. They were no match for him.

*THUD* *THUD*

Both bodies collapsed to the ground, already on their last breaths.

Utsuro stared at the about-to-be-corpses, feeling pity for their inaptitude and their inability to defy destiny.

"G...G...iyuu..." Shinobu choked on her own blood, a cascade of tears soaking and stinging her bloodied cheeks as she stared at the lifeless Water Hashira.

Unfortunately, Giyuu was already dead.

The injuries from his fights with Haji and Zaiaku-kan compounded with each other, to the point where the blood loss alone killed him.

And, surely enough, Kocho Shinobu met her own demise as well—the injuries from the Haji battle along with that one stab wound from Zaiaku-kan also exacerbated things.

As she drew her last breath, she could only stare at the now-dead Tomioka Giyuu.

It was over.

The Hashiras were dead.

Utsuro had won.

He can begin preparations for the ritual with impunity.

There was no one who could stop him.

"Haha..." he began to chuckle.

He was victorious.

"Hahaha!!"

He has waited centuries.

"Hahaha!!!!!!!!"

And now, the ritual will proceed without disruption.

"HAHAHAHHAHAHA!!!!!!"

He had done it.

"HAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

He had accomplished what he'd set out to do.

"HAHA...!"

So why...

"Haha..."

Why...

"Why am I crying...?"

For the first time, it was watery tears, not blood.

He was shedding tears.

"Ah, there's no one else left..." he realized.

His children were dead and his wife was dead.

He was all alone.

Just like in the beginning.

Alone. Without a purpose.

He had accomplished nothing in the end.

It was all fruitless.

Perhaps it was he himself who made his soul hollow and not destiny.

He turned to look at the Hashiras again.

Only then did something click.

Only then, did the journey begin.

The story, which presumably extended thousands of years into the past, had actually begun not too long ago.

The story began in a medical ward situated in an oddly-built mansion.

It began on the rooftop of that same mansion.

It began on the high mountains of Hokkaido.

It began in a mournful spring at the mansion's mini-shrine.

All of them, disparate tales.

But all connected.

And all of them involved two individuals.

One Water, One Butterfly.