The night passed.
The sun finally rose.
The first rays brushed the ruined village, casting long shadows across the village. A stillness settled over everything. The soft sounds of birds waking up echoed, and an odd sense of calm and stillness entered the air, the sort that lingers after a storm has passed. A cleaner, fresher air tinged with coolness, without the oppressive humidity. Smoke curled lazily from long extinguished candles and lanterns; the scent mingled with the metallic tang of ruptured soil. Every drifting particle a soft ember.
At last, dawn had arrived.
Haruto sat on the broken steps of the same shrine that had been the centre of attention last night. Breathing slow, controlled breaths. His blades cleaned, resheathed, and resting along his hip. They felt heavy, but this weight had become his usual now, arising from purpose. The previous night still danced behind his eyes. Illusions that had twisted like serpents, the flaming tornado of his strike, the timid trembling voice of a child. Trapped inside a monster's body, irrespective of its will. No matter how many demons he faced, dawn always left him with a soft ache afterwards. A reminder that behind every horror, there had once been someone innocent.
Demons were an illness.
He had grown up thinking he would grow up being a just samurai, ridding the world of evil.
But Akuru had purposed his own thoughts. Each demon was sick. Every one of them fell to the demons inside their minds long before they became demons. Those unfortunate ones who turned into demons without their control were far more pitiful. Cursed into an existence, years spent without free will, acting more like a beast than a human.
We existed to save humans from demons, but we also existed to help demons escape their own 'demons'.
We existed to wipe out all demons.
He dipped his head, and the early light warmed the bruises along his cheek. His uniform held a small tear at the shoulder, stained with soot and ash. He would have to mend it before reporting back.
For now, though, his job wasn't yet done.
The village was stirring.
Soft footsteps and hushed voices drifted from behind doors and around corners. Survivors peered outside, their nervous hesitancy like that of wild animals emerging from hiding. Mothers clutched their children close, fathers checked the damage with grim, hollow-faced acceptance. Some wandered the streets with lanterns still in hand, held out of habit, or out of fear that full daylight might still not be enough.
But there was movement again.
That was something.
A thin column of masked figures materialised on the road, straw sandals and soft earth muffling their footsteps.
The Kakushi, in their black uniforms and white masks.
He had asked his crow to go back to headquarters and ask them for Kakushi before he entered the village. They would know best how to help the poor villagers after they had killed the demon. It seems they had finally arrived.
They moved with quiet, practised efficiency, carrying crates, satchels, medicine kits, bundles of folded cloth. None of the villagers noticed their arrival until the Kakushi were already among them, offering comfort, guiding the wounded toward safer ground.
Haruto rose to his feet just as the Kakushi commander approached, bowing with silent respect before moving past him with a small gesture of gratitude. They never spoke unless it was necessary, but their presence alone lifted a weight from Haruto's shoulders.
The cleanup had begun.
Kakushi teams broke off into smaller groups, some to check over rooftops and alleyways for anyone who had yet to wake up. Others went around the fallen structures to make sure no villagers had gotten trapped beneath beams or fallen walls. A group mapped the boundaries where the demon's illusions had been the strongest, noting distortions and residual markings for Corps records.
Haruto walked the perimeter with two Kakushi at his side. The earth still bore faint burn marks from Akuru's final strike. A clean, circular scar of light-driven heat. Birds perched along the treeline, hesitant but alive again. The forest held none of the oppressive weight of the night before. Nature was returning.
"Everything's clear," Haruto murmured. The Kakushi nodded in silence, marking the perimeter map.
The danger had passed. No longer was this a battlefield, but a place where healing could begin.
In the middle of the town square, an improvised first-aid station had been set up. Villagers were standing in line, some limping, others quivering, still others carefully transporting the wounded on makeshift stretchers. The Kakushi moved with calmness, their hands soft and sure. They cleaned wounds and applied salves, wrapped bandages, and comforted families with gentle touches.
Children cried into their parents' shoulders, the fear loosening only now that the sun was firmly above them. One Kakushi knelt beside a young girl who had scraped her arm while under the illusions. The masked attendant wrapped it carefully, then produced a small wooden toy, a rabbit carved with round ears and a smiling face.
The girl hesitated, then took it. Her sobs subsided. She clutched it tightly.
Haruto watched the exchange, feeling a quiet warmth bloom in his chest at the sight. The Kakushi rarely received recognition, yet they consistently offered the kind of kindness that kept villages whole.
As he looked thoughtfully at everything, he heard steady footsteps behind him. As he turned his head, anticipating a kakushi, he found Akuru instead.
"Have you finished with the grave?"
"I have, I made sure to keep it far from the village. I don't think these people can hold grace for the child this soon after what happened," Akuru whispered with solemnity.
His eyes wandered over the entire village a small smile emerged on his face.
"It seems the Kakushi arrived; they truly are our backbone."
Haruto also smiled, looking over the village.
"Yeah, they're definitely helpful"
They stayed where they stood. They both knew they were meant to kill demons; they couldn't help the way the kakushi did.
As the initial panic began to subside, a small group of elders approached Akuru and Haruto. The lines on their faces were drawn with grief and exhaustion.
"Slayers… are we safe now?" one asked, voice cracking.
Haruto looked over to Akuru.
Akuru, with a smile brimming with gentleness, replied.
"Yes," he spoke softly. "There aren't any demons around anymore. You're safe."
The words sounded almost too fantastical to be real to them. One woman pressed her hands to her mouth, shoulders shaking in relief. Another man sank to his knees, mumbling prayers of thanksgiving. It was a simple reassurance, but one that villagers needed above all else.
A few began asking questions.
Why had the demon come? Why was it targeted at them? Had it been sent as punishment?
Haruto answered now, patiently. Dispelling superstition with careful truth.
"This demon… was never born from malice. It was once a child. Lost. Confused."
He took a deep breath.
"It remembered joy and lights of celebration, it let its instinct drive its illusions. But the child did not remember the meaning behind the celebration. It caused damage because it could no longer comprehend. Not because this village did something wrong."
Silence ensued.
Akuru spoke up right after.
"What happened to you was something no one deserves. But I hope you can all move forward. Maybe one day, remember the child's suffering the same way you remember yours"
Akuru didn't want to shove his ideals down these people's throats, who had clearly suffered, but he also wished that these people didn't develop a heart full of hatred. It clouds people, acting like a demon on one's shoulder.
Some bowed their heads in sorrow, for their losses and the tragedy that had befallen a child. Some looked wronged. Others whispered prayers of safe passage. Though shaken, the villagers began to replace fear with understanding. That was the first step toward healing.
The Kakushi began distributing supplies next. Quietly and efficiently, without asking for thanks.
Large bundles of cloth unwrapped in the middle of the square:
Fresh water in clay jugs.
Rice, miso, dried vegetables.
Spare blankets and simple clothing.
Firewood and early tools.
Lantern oil and kindling.
The villagers gathered. Relief flashed in their hollowed expressions.
One Kakushi gestured politely to a group of young men, handing them wooden beams and rope. Within minutes, teams formed to begin reinforcing any damaged homes. The Kakushi guided them through safe repairs, lifting heavy beams with surprising strength, stabilising walls, and ensuring roofs would last through the coming weather.
Haruto joined them, helping two men raise a support pillar. His arms shook under the fatigue.
Akuru joined in to help.
The work grounded them.
It was a physical reminder that survival meant more than slaying demons.
The bodies of the dead, by mid-evening, were gathered with respectful solemnity.
These were the people who had gone missing. They had died before Akuru had even entered the village.
A tragedy.
The Kakushi laid them on tautly spread white cloth sheets, their hands folded in peaceful repose across their chests, and tokens were placed beside their family. Wooden charms, beads, and flowers were gathered.
A quiet procession formed.
Priests and villagers lit incense. Akuru and Haruto kept their distance, respectfully allowing the rituals to proceed without interference, yet supporting anyone if their grief became overwhelming.
Small pyres were prepared in the fields nearby.
Cremation had not been solely a question of tradition; it remained a vital precaution, preventing the dead from ever being put to misuse by the forces of demons. The flames burned cleanly, each rising spark drifting into the darkening sky.
They stood with their head bowed in respect to the memory of all those unknown men, women, and children whose lives were ruined. They both felt the weight fall onto their shoulders. This, too, was part of their duty.
The ceremonies over, Haruto gathered the remaining leaders of the village.
They sat on their heels around a low table outside the mended hall, maps and charcoal sticks spread before them. Akuru was already sitting there waiting.
"We'll assign rotating patrols to this region for the next several weeks," Haruto explained, "You won't be unprotected.
"You mean, more Demon Slayers will come?" a woman asked.
Akuru replied with patience in his voice.
"Yes, Silently. You may not see them, but they'll be watching the surrounding forest, the roads, and the trails up the mountain."
A sigh of relief passed around the group.
"We will rebuild," said one elder. "Slowly. But we will."
Haruto nodded. "You've already begun."
Indeed, the village was in transformation before their eyes.
Walls were rising again, smoke wafted from repaired chimneys, and children, although subdued, were no longer in hiding. The Kakushi were watched with wide curiosity by some of the more mischievous kids.
The worst was behind them; time would continue to heal.
* * *
The Day After.
By noon, the sun hung high above the village, bathing everything in its warm, steady glow. The oppressive darkness of the previous night was now already turning into a bad memory.
Akuru sat under the partial shade of an awning, half-repaired, and watched villagers work together. His limbs were heavy with help, and exhaustion still clung to him like a dull ache, but seeing life return to the village filled him with silent satisfaction.
The Kakushi moved among the people, still offering silent help in the form of bracing ladders, lifting beams, and handing out food parcels. Masked faces revealed nothing of emotions, yet their actions spoke volumes.
Haruto let himself take a slow, deep breath as he sat down beside Akuru. The demon was gone; the people were safe; and the village would stand again.
A child ran past, clutching a carved wooden rabbit, smiling for the first time that morning.
Haruto's lips arced into the faintest smile in return.
A small pause of silence passed by between the two.
"You know your crow was really helpful yesterday, figured out the fake you in second," Haruto uttered to pass the time.
Akuru still gazed over the village.
"Huginn's really good at observing. At this point, I'm fully convinced he's a genius stuck inside an adorable crow"
Haruto chuckled as he was about to reply, Akuru spoke up again.
"You know I never knew you were a two-sword type of dude. I'm impressed, you're clearly way stronger than you were during Final Selection."
Haruto held his mouth open in shock before a smile crept over his face.
"Yeah, I have gotten stronger," Haruto couldn't help the grin that spread over his face.
Akuru chuckled as he saw the huge grin on his face.
Silence once again consumed the conversation between them.
But the silence was nice, it was peaceful.
Demon hunting often meant confronting fear, death, and despair, but mornings like this reminded him why the Corps continued to fight in the shadows.
Not for glory. Not for fame.
But for these simple moments, for villages reclaiming life, for families finding hope, for sunlight falling on a world no longer under threat.
Life was returning. Akuru and Haruto, though fatigued, felt ready to rise again.