Kimtaru, a young girl born into a prestigious noble family, was cherished and pampered like a precious gem. Each day spent with her parents was a gentle, warm melody. This life seemed destined to last forever, like a dream that would never fade.
Until that fateful day, the day she and her mother, Lady Takahashi Tokihoshi, set off for Sensōji Temple to pray for peace. The lavishly decorated carriage, pulled by a pure white horse, trotted along the snow-covered road. They were headed to Tokyo, a place likened to "fairyland" with red lanterns hanging in front of houses, casting a soft glow, where cherry blossoms bloomed... and where steaming hot rice ball shops and plump, round mochi cakes in white ceramic bowls could be found. Nanaoko (Kimtaru's real name) gazed intently at the snow-laden sky through the carriage window. She imagined every scene, feeling as if she were stepping into a fairytale where life was filled only with joy and peace.
As they approached Tokyo, the already narrow and slippery snowy road became dangerous, bringing an invisible sense of fear and anxiety. The carriage traveled on a deserted road, quiet to an eerie degree. Suddenly, the white horse slipped and fell down a cliff, dragging the entire carriage with it. Fear engulfed Nanaoko; she panicked, not knowing what to do. Inside the carriage, it swayed and shook wildly, and the strong wind howled through the windows, chilling her to the bone. Tokihoshi held her daughter tightly, who had her eyes squeezed shut – though only 23, still a young woman with a will to live – but her maternal love was greater than everything else. She used her body to shield Nanaoko, who was still trembling violently, and then both fell to the bottom of the ravine.
The carriage fell from a height of 15 meters, shattering into pieces. Many fragments pierced her skin, causing her to cry unconsciously... Hot tears fell on her daughter's cheek, as if to transmit her last warmth amidst the biting cold of death. Although she knew she might not survive, despite the fear and pain from the splinters like needles drawing blood, she stubbornly protected her youngest child with all her heart.
"You won't die," a faint, weak voice whispered, "Mother won't let that happen."
Yet... fate was too cruel. Everything happened quickly, in a matter of short seconds, like a slap to the illusion of happiness, instantly shattered. On the bone-chilling snow lay a wreckage: a lifeless carriage driver, a dying woman still trying to protect her child, a child on the brink of freezing to death... Would they be buried here? Blood mixed with snow, the child screaming in despair... but would anyone listen? The little girl's eyes were hollow, as she burst into tears, hugging the body...
Here's the continuation of the story, translated into English:
The mother still trembled faintly. Beneath the withered ginkgo tree, the thick, cloying smell of blood filled the air, gagging her with its horrid stench. That foul odor drew predators... wolves.
They eyed her with ravenous gazes, staring as if they wanted to devour her alive... They backed up to gather momentum... preparing to pounce. The child panicked, shutting her eyes and clutching her mother's body.
"Mommy... I... I miss home... I want to go home..."
The words cut like a knife.
When a child who has only known love and warmth stands on the brink of life and death, with no one to answer, no one to reach out and save her, only the slowly chilling embrace of her mother, then the phrase "I want to go home..." is no longer simply a wish – it's a cry for salvation from the depths of a fragile soul, the ultimate despair as all illusions of happiness crumble.
"Home" in that sentence wasn't just a place with a tiled roof, a dining table, or beloved toys... it was a place with a mother, a father, with safety and love. But now, all of it was shattering before her eyes, amidst the chilling snow and the lurking wolves.
Nanaoko cowered, her body trembling violently. Her mother no longer responded; only her arms, embracing her, grew cold as ice. Her mother's eyes were half-closed, no longer holding a gentle gaze – only silence, forever.
"Why don't you open your eyes... why don't you say anything anymore...?" "Mommy... I'm so cold... I'm scared..."
She trembled as she hugged her mother's body, as if trying to cling to the last bit of warmth – but the tighter she held, the more the warmth vanished, like a dream melting in her palm.
The wolves howled hoarsely, slinking forward step by step, saliva dripping onto the snow. Their eyes were white, hungry, and emotionless – no different from the fate about to devour her.
Nanaoko tightly shut her eyes, waiting for fate to arrive. But... fate loved to play tricks...
She could no longer cry. Tears had frozen on her face. Only a faint heartbeat remained, mingled with the chilling howls – like a clock counting down her life.
A figure passed by. Someone approached the wolves, and with a swift movement... blood splattered everywhere, a painful howl echoed, then fell silent. The wolves were killed so quickly they didn't even realize how they died. Fresh blood splattered onto a white kimono. The frightened child trembled, slowly opening her eyes... Before her stood a young male swordsman with a blood-stained blade. His long black hair was tied in a ponytail.
(Historically, Japanese men often kept long hair as a symbol of status, maturity, and the samurai spirit. This hairstyle also showed respect for rituals and traditions.)
Continuing the story:
He was tall, about 1.8 meters, wearing a pristine white Haori jacket over a white and blue kimono. He appeared slender and elegant, yet also humble and a little cold.
He looked down at the tear-stained child:
"Will you come with me?" "Will you sell me to human traffickers?"
He smiled at the child's naive question, gently wiping away her tears, and joked, "That's bad karma, I can't carry that burden..."
"Will you sell me to human traffickers?" – it sounded like a soft whisper, but it pierced the heart. A child who had just experienced her mother's death, left amidst the white snow and lurking wolves, yet still had to be wary and suspicious of others' kindness... No one should have to grow up like that. No one should have to learn self-defense before understanding how the world works.
That naivety wasn't due to ignorance, but because she had known too much fear and pain — enough not to dare to trust anymore. It was a kind of stolen innocence... a crack in her tender soul.
And at that very moment, a demon more deranged than ever...
Muzan Kibutsuji, the Demon King of Darkness.
He had killed countless people, trampled the world in search of immortality, yet there was something he could not touch.
Memories of his lost wife and daughter haunted him.
Muzan hated human weakness, but on long nights, he still recalled a fragile time that even he dared not admit. A family. A happiness that had died prematurely.