The fire crackled softly, its warm glow flickering against the darkened forest.

You sat at the edge of the campsite, knees pulled to your chest, your sword resting beside you. The weight of the past still pressed against your ribs, but the panic had faded, leaving behind a dull ache—like an old wound reopened.

The others had settled nearby, but you could tell they were keeping an eye on you. Even Inosuke, who had been aggressively sharpening his blades, kept glancing over like he was expecting you to crumble again.

Zenitsu, for once, wasn't being obnoxious. He fidgeted, occasionally looking like he wanted to say something, but kept hesitating.

Tanjiro sat beside you, quiet, waiting.

The unspoken understanding between you was comforting. He wasn't forcing you to talk.

But somehow, you wanted to.

You took a shaky breath. "It happened when I was young," you murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

The crackling fire was the only sound for a moment. Then Tanjiro nodded, encouraging but patient.

"They came in the night," you continued, your fingers tightening around your sleeves. "The demons. Their music—it wasn't just sound. It controlled everything. The air, the walls... my family."

Zenitsu stiffened.

"They made them dance," you choked out. "Like puppets. They were still alive, but they couldn't stop. Couldn't move on their own. It was... it was like they weren't even human anymore."

Your vision blurred, your nails digging into your palms. "And then, when the music stopped..."

Silence.

The memory of that moment was burned into your soul.

No screams. No resistance.

Just bodies, crumpled like discarded instruments, their final song unfinished.

A sharp inhale came from Zenitsu. Even Inosuke had frozen, his usual energy subdued.

Tanjiro lowered his head, grief flickering behind his eyes. He had lost his family too—he understood.

But understanding didn't make it hurt less.

Your voice wavered. "I... I ran. I was too scared to fight. Too weak to help them. I just—"

"You were a kid, Y/N," Zenitsu interrupted, his voice uncharacteristically firm. "You couldn't have done anything."

"Yeah," Inosuke grunted, though his tone wasn't as harsh as usual. "Even I didn't fight demons when I was a runt. You can't blame yourself for being weak back then."

Your breath hitched. "But I do."

It had haunted you for years.

The helplessness. The guilt. The way their music still lingered in your mind, like a song you could never forget.

Tanjiro's voice was gentle but steady. "That pain... it's part of you. But it doesn't have to define you."

You swallowed hard, gripping your sword. "Then why does it still hurt so much?"

Tanjiro placed a hand over his chest. "Because you loved them."

Your throat tightened.

Zenitsu sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Look, I know what it's like to feel powerless. To run away when you want to fight." His usual fear was absent, replaced by quiet sincerity. "But you didn't stop. You trained. You got stronger. And now... you are fighting."

Inosuke huffed. "Yeah! You're strong as hell! You use those music moves, and they actually work! If those demons showed up now, you'd rip 'em apart!"

You let out a weak laugh. "That's... probably the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

Inosuke blinked, looking mildly offended. "I say lots of nice things!"

Zenitsu rolled his eyes. "Yeah, like 'I'm gonna skin you alive' or 'fight me, coward.' Super heartwarming."

Inosuke growled. "Shut up before I make you dance like those demons!"

You exhaled, the weight in your chest feeling just a little lighter.

Tanjiro gave you a small smile. "You don't have to forget. And you don't have to carry it alone."

You looked around at them—these idiots, these friends who had become your family in a way you never expected.

Maybe... maybe you weren't fighting for revenge anymore.

Maybe you were fighting to protect what you had now.

You closed your eyes, listening—not to the echoes of the past, but to the steady, real sounds around you. The crackling fire. The rustling leaves. The quiet, reassuring presence of the people beside you.

The past would always be there.

But it wouldn't own you anymore.