Demon Slayer: Iron Requiem

[aizenDuchiha0]

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The town of Shirogane clung to the base of a jagged mountain like a stubborn weed in a crack of stone. Life here was rugged, and so were the people. The mountain loomed tall and defiant, its face scarred with ancient landslides and steep ridges that made climbing or descending a daily gamble with death. Shirogane was hemmed in, poor, but resilient. The soil was meager, the winters cruel, and the summers dry. But it was home.

Each morning, as the sun flared golden behind the mountain's shoulder, the townsfolk stirred like creaking branches. On this particular morning, the town center buzzed with activity. Makeshift stalls cobbled from old planks and fishing nets were being set up by tired hands.

The people had little, and it showed. Fruits, half-wrinkled from time or storage, were stacked in hopeful pyramids. Vegetables that once promised bounty now seemed more like apology offerings to any passerby. A few desperate sellers even displayed pearlescent stones dredged up from the mountain's base, hoping a rich traveler or merchant woman might pass through and find them pretty enough to buy.

Then came the man everyone looked forward to each day—Yae Kamiki.

Yae Kamiki was not just a merchant. He was energy incarnate, an emblem of hope. Born and raised in Shirogane, he had braved the deadly mountain trails every day to trade with the only village that lay on the other side. With a smile that never seemed to fade, a voice loud and hearty, and a wagon stacked with fresh meat and exotic spices.

Yae was a beacon of life in a place otherwise weighed down by struggle. Children chased behind his cart, women peered from windows, and the elderly nodded as he passed. Today, as always, he rolled into town just past dawn, a bright red scarf fluttering from his collar, a whistle on his lips, and slabs of wild game tied to his cart.

But elsewhere in Shirogane, joy was scarce.

A worn-down house near the town's southern edge stood in weary silence. The wood had darkened from years of rain and rot, the roof patched with mismatched tiles. Cracks ran like veins across the outer walls, and the door creaked with the gentlest wind. Inside, it was barely lit. A tatami mat had seen better decades, and the hearth had gone cold days ago. The shelves were empty, save for a chipped bowl and a broken cup. A faded picture of three children was pinned above the entry—Routa, the oldest; Kazuki, the middle child; and Otomoe, the youngest.

Kazuki sat cross-legged on the floor, his arms around Otomoe, who leaned against him, her face streaked with dried tears.

"Big brother Routa will be back," Kazuki murmured, his voice filled with hope he barely believed. "He'll bring us lots of food. Maybe even those sweet potatoes again."

Otomoe sniffled, her tiny hands clutching his worn sleeve. "Really...?"

Kazuki nodded, brushing her hair aside. "Really."

But his stomach growled, and he knew it had been three days since any of them had eaten properly. Routa had gone hunting in the early hours, taking with him a handmade spear and a sling, promising he'd return by noon. Now, the sun had nearly touched the town's rooftops, and there was still no sign of him.

Kazuki stood abruptly. "You stay here, Otomoe. I'll go look for brother."

She stood with him, alarmed. "I want to come too."

Kazuki shook his head. "If big brother comes back and sees no one here, he will be worried. You go prepare the wood to light the fire. It will be cold soon."

Otomoe nodded slowly, accepting the duty. "Okay... but come back soon."

"I will," he promised.

Kazuki stepped out into the street, the air dry and warm. He pushed through narrow alleys and winding paths until he reached the town center, where the crowd buzzed around Yae Kamiki like bees to honey. The scent of roasted meat drifted through the air, making Kazuki's stomach twist. But he wasn't here to eat.

Yae, standing tall beside his cart, was animated as ever. He wore a bright vest patched with fabrics from different regions, evidence of his travels. He was telling a joke to a group of children, miming a wild bear chase and making exaggerated roars. But the children, like the rest of the town, were too tired to laugh.

Kazuki approached, waving his hand. "Yae-san!"

Yae turned, his face lighting up. "Kazuki! Just the boy I wanted to see. Special discount today! You want some rabbit leg or mountain boar?"

Kazuki hurriedly asked, "Yae-san, have you seen Routa? He went up the mountain this morning to hunt. Have you crossed paths with him?"

The merchant's smile faltered, ever so slightly. He held the meat in his hand a little tighter.

"No," Yae said slowly. "Maybe he hasn't found anything yet. Hunting's tricky this time of season. The beasts hide deeper. But he should be back soon. Don't worry."

Kazuki looked down, worry etched into his face. Yae, noticing the boy's thin frame and shaking hands, sighed.

"Tell you what," he said, grabbing a smaller portion of meat and wrapping it in cloth. "Take this. For you, Routa, and Otomoe. No charge. Just give it back when you can."

Kazuki's eyes widened. "I don't have any money..."

"I said give it back when you can," Yae said, pressing the bundle into his hand. "Family always comes first. Now go warm it up. It won't taste good cold."

Kazuki bowed deeply, gratitude choking his words. "Thank you... Yae-san. Thank you so much."

Yae smiled, but behind it, something dark flickered in his eyes. He watched Kazuki leave, and his hands trembled slightly. Panic would serve no one. Not yet.

Back at the worn-out house, Otomoe had managed to gather a modest pile of firewood. She started a tiny flame, waiting for her brother. They did not return.

 

[aizenDuchiha0]

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The scent of dried meat lingered in the air, sharp and smoky, as Kazuki clutched the bundle tightly in one hand. But he didn't go home.

His sandals kicked up dust from the sunbaked trail as he ran, heart pounding with something he couldn't yet name. He could still hear the laughter of his older brother Routa from days before—vivid, like a song etched into the sky. But that song had gone silent.

His destination was clear: the jagged silhouette of the mountain that loomed behind their village like an ancient sleeping beast.

Earlier, the villagers had whispered that a boy hadn't returned from the hunt. Routa. Kazuki had hoped it was a misunderstanding. Now, dread gnawed at the edges of his thoughts.

The narrow dirt path that led into the mountainside forked at a cliff's shadow. Kazuki took the steeper path, one that Routa had spoken about—the route the older boy believed led to a hidden plateau rich with prey. The dry meat in his hand was now cold, forgotten, the bundle darkened with sweat.

Wind whispered through the trees above as Kazuki climbed, the rocks loose and sharp underfoot. The mountain, massive and gnarled, blocked the westering sun despite it being just past 3 PM. Shadows crept faster than they should have.

It wasn't long before he began to sweat.

The slope was merciless. Each step was a battle. His thighs burned, breath shortened. Loose gravel threatened to undo his footing. He used his free hand to grab twisted tree roots or jutting stones for balance, refusing to drop the meat even though his fingers ached.

The air thinned. His lungs worked harder. Sweat blurred his vision.

Halfway up, he paused.

A glint of color caught his eye against the grey stone. He dropped to one knee and reached out. A scrap of fabric—faded red and frayed at the edges—was tangled around a rock's jagged edge. Kazuki's heart seized.

He knew this cloth.

It was from Routa's sleeve—the bright crimson lining of the light jacket their mother had sewn from old festival garb. The hem was torn, and the threads were stiff with dirt and dried sap.

A tremble spread through his limbs.

He stood there for a long while, the fabric crumpled in one fist, the dried meat still held stubbornly in the other. The sun, now slipping behind the jagged ridge, cast the world in cold hues.

His thoughts turned to his sister. She would be looking out the window, wondering why neither brother had returned. Maybe she'd even begun preparing the evening stew with what little they had. A dull guilt gnawed at him, but Kazuki shook it off.

Not yet.

He wrapped the fabric and meat together with the leather strap from his belt and tied them to his side, freeing both hands.

And then he climbed higher.

The trail disappeared the deeper he went. Twisted pines reached out like claws, casting long, eerie shadows. Rocks jutted out in unnatural shapes, the kind that made the mind see figures when there were none.

Birds had gone silent.

Kazuki gritted his teeth and pressed on.

Further up the mountain, the terrain turned cruel. Razor-sharp rocks and steep inclines made every movement a calculated risk. He used a stick to steady himself as he ascended, scanning the ground for footprints, torn cloth, or any trail.

Then a sound broke the stillness—something rustling ahead, heavy, ungraceful.

Kazuki froze.

He crouched behind a boulder, his heart hammering like a taiko drum.

From behind a clump of brush, a brown bear emerged. Its massive shoulders swayed, and its nose twitched in the air—searching.

Kazuki didn't move.

The beast paused, sniffed again, then ambled away toward a stream in the ravine below.

He waited a full five minutes before rising, every joint stiff with tension. This mountain was not theirs. It belonged to beasts, to spirits, to things far older than their village.

And yet Routa had come here. Alone.

Kazuki's throat burned, but he forced himself forward.

As the sun dipped behind the peak, the world changed color. Blue shadows bled into purples, and then darkness swallowed the path. Kazuki reached a narrow ledge and paused to light the small oil lamp he'd tucked into his pouch. The flickering flame gave him little comfort, but it was better than blind searching.

He explored an outcrop where the cliff's edge dipped into a bowl of mossy stone, half-choked by undergrowth.

Here, he knelt, brushing away leaves and stones. He found claw marks on a tree. Old? New? He didn't know.

Nearby, a footprint—small, light, and barely pressed into the earth. Too small for a grown man.

It was Routa's.

He followed the trail, marking each step with care. The forest thickened again. Branches slapped his arms and face. The lamp's light danced wildly as he pressed forward, heart alive with hope and fear.

Suddenly, he found it.

A crude trap Routa had once built with Kazuki's help. Two sticks, twine from an old sandal, and a carefully dug pit. The mechanism had long since failed, the bait half-rotten.

But it meant Routa had come this far.

Kazuki crouched, checked the area, then scanned upward. There was a small cave hidden behind a narrow break in the rock wall above. No trail led to it. He would have to climb bare-handed.

He tied the lamp to his belt, slipped his fingers into the stone's cracks, and pulled himself up.

The climb was short but grueling.

At the cave mouth, he pulled himself inside. The air was damp. The smell of old earth and animal droppings lingered.

"Routa?" he whispered.

Silence answered.

He held up the lamp.

The cave was shallow but had clearly been used recently. Ashes from a fire. Scattered bones of birds. A few sticks tied into shapes Routa used to make as good luck charms. And there, in the very corner, a strip of cloth and a small satchel.

Kazuki dropped to his knees.

Inside the satchel was a broken water flask, a few wild herbs, and Routa's carved wooden talisman—the one shaped like a fox, their family's protective symbol.

But no Routa.

Kazuki swallowed the rising panic and sat still for several minutes, his mind running in circles. The fire remains weren't older than a day or two. That meant Routa had stayed here—but left. Or worse, had been forced out.

He stood and stepped out of the cave, eyes scanning the mountainside.

Far below, a flicker of movement. A distant silhouette, then gone.

Kazuki didn't think. He descended fast, scraping his knees and palms on rock as he slid down toward the lower ridge. His feet thudded into the earth, nearly toppling him.

He searched wildly, lamp swaying. "Routa!"

A bird burst from a tree nearby, its wings slapping the air.

He pushed forward again.

The undergrowth grew thicker, thorns tearing his sleeves. The air buzzed with insects. His throat stung with dryness, his legs wobbling from fatigue.

Then—he found a trail of disturbed leaves. Fresh. Heading downhill.

He followed it.

And then he trailed vanished.

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