#post-main v.

“he’s an interesting one, tan…ji…ro,” says his name slowly, trying his best to analyse how the sounds made him react and feel — there was once a time where he would have torn the kid limb-from-limb, no thanks to muzan’s interference. however, upon learning the truth between tanjiro and yoriichi — what was initially pure unadulterated violence, quickly turned into something much more complex.

and it was unfortunate, for the followers to see him like this. however, as limited as dōma's movement was becoming — he hardly felt sad about his situation. that being said, as dependence on kokushibō grew, he couldn't help but worry about her,

                            and  he’d  felt  helpless  –––  utterly,  utterly helpless.  without  his  ability  to  utilise  complex  flame  breathing  techniques, against  muzan,  he  was  able  to  do  so little  ––––  nothing  that  could  protect her,  nothing  that  could  have  saved  her.

he’d  been  glued  to  her  side  for  what  felt  like  an  eternity –  please,  he  would  always say,  please  wake  up,  mitsuri.

it  felt  like  an  echo  of  a  past  long  gone;  death  was  nostalgic  for  him,  as  it  was  painful.  even  when  she  finally  came  to  –––  he  couldn’t help  it.  he  couldn’t  help  bellowing  out  cries  that  none  would  ever  forget –––  and  as  time  passed, he’d  still  remain by  her  –––  losing  sleep, making  sure  she’d  wake  back  up.

please,  he  would  always say,  please  wake  up  again, mitsuri.

and  as  she  does  –––  ANOTHER NIGHT  OF  LITTLE  SLEEP  –––  he  looked tired.  he  looked  so  tired. but  he was  relieved,  as  he  saw  her  wake  once  again.

“–––good  morning.”

"i don't regret anything," and it was hard for him to say that, it was hard for him to accept the deaths he'd caused and failed to prevent. but it was true — everything was tied together for a reason, and everything had come to be for this reality to exist.

"i don't want you to regret anything, either," he then confesses, "your path is yours, painful, but yours."

"…kokushibō," she looked so different — she looked so defeated. and yet, with dōma in tow, it was impossible to argue it was her. even when she was covered in teeth and horns —

— it was still her.

it was a long road ahead, guided only by akaza's blurred memory. would they find the place they're looking for? only time would tell. the two of them had traveled for days — and outside of a small village, akaza sits in the woodlands with the other, accompanied only by the moon and trees.

"thank you for coming with me," akaza says to his fiance, "it's — it's not the easiest thing for me to do. for the majority of this traveling, i thought of running back to the temple and hushing any wishes i had to see my old home."

"i want to go somewhere," akaza says solemnly, "but since being turned into a demon, i've lost track of where that place is. i've traveled to many different places — drifting ever-further from my old home."