The morning sun rose behind the forest, blanketing the snow-covered mountain in a thin layer of
golden light. Silence hung heavy, broken only by the faint crunch of footsteps climbing down a
narrow, icy trail. Tanjiro Kamado—barefoot despite the chill—balanced a basket of charcoal over
his shoulder, his crimson-checkered haori fluttering lightly in the breeze.
Life in the mountains was quiet, humble. Difficult, but full of love.
At home, his family waited: a kind mother, five younger siblings, laughter around the fire, the
scent of miso soup in the air. Tanjiro, the eldest, bore their burden with warmth. He helped
villagers with errands, his keen sense of smell uncanny—he could read emotions, danger, even
lies in the air. Everyone trusted him.
But trust is fragile. And peace is fleeting.
That day, when he descended into the town to sell charcoal, a faint dread lingered behind his
polite smile. Snow had fallen too quickly. The wind howled like a warning. The old man Saburo
stopped him from climbing back home before nightfall.
"Demons roam the mountains when the sun sets," the old man muttered. "Stay the night here.
Don't test fate."
Tanjiro hesitated—but Saburo's eyes were firm. He stayed.
That decision saved his life.
By dawn, Tanjiro was running. Legs burning. Heart pounding. Blood in the snow. The scent hit
him first—coppery, raw, cold.
His house stood silent.
Inside, it was a massacre.
His mother. His siblings. Slashed, torn, lifeless—strewn like broken dolls. The walls were
painted with crimson despair. The only breath came from Nezuko—his sister—barely alive, still
warm.
He cradled her against his chest and stumbled into the woods, hoping—pleading—for help.
But Nezuko stirred.
Her breathing changed.
A low growl escaped her lips.
Tanjiro froze as her fingers dug into the snow, her body convulsing, her face twisting. Her eyes
turned blood-red. Fangs sprouted from her mouth. She lunged.
A demon.
He couldn't accept it. Wouldn't.
Even as she pinned him down, eyes wild, Tanjiro begged her—"It's me! I'm your brother!"—and
for a moment, she hesitated. Her tears mingled with blood. Something inside her was still
Nezuko.
That fragile moment shattered as a stranger appeared.
A sword gleamed in the morning light.
Giyu Tomioka—a Demon Slayer.
He moved like the wind. Calm. Deadly. He raised his blade.
Tanjiro shielded his sister. "Please! Don't kill her!"
Giyu's eyes were stone, but beneath the surface… something stirred.
This boy—he didn't cower. He thought. He acted. He protected.
"Why didn't you just throw your sister away and run?" Giyu asked coldly.
"Because she's all I have left!"
Nezuko, against instinct, stood between the Slayer and her brother. She growled, not at
Tanjiro… but for him. Against the Slayer.
That one act—inhuman from a demon—shattered centuries of belief.
Giyu lowered his blade.
"You two are different," he said, and then he gave Tanjiro a name.
Sakonji Urokodaki.
Seek him out. Cling to life. Fight. Become strong.
And so began the long, merciless path toward vengeance… and salvation.