The Infinity Castle lay in ruins around you. Shattered walls, broken floors, and blood spattered in wide arcs bore witness to the fight against Akaza. You had fought with every ounce of strength you had left, your blade flashing like starlight in the chaos. But your body had reached its limit. The pain in your side burned with every breath, your vision dimming until your sword slipped from your grasp.

You collapsed first. The last thing you remembered was Giyuu’s voice calling your name, steady but urgent, as strong arms caught you before you struck the ground.

Through half-lidded eyes, you caught glimpses—Giyuu clashing with Akaza, Tanjiro staggering forward, the sound of Akaza’s body breaking apart by his own will. Then, silence. You barely registered Giyuu clutching you against him, his own blood soaking into your uniform as he stumbled backward, refusing to let you go even as his knees gave out.

Tanjiro fell first, crumpling near you with his blade still in his grasp. By then, Giyuu had sunk to his knees, holding you tightly in one arm, his sword jammed into the fractured ground with the other. He rested his forehead against the hilt, as if the weapon was the only thing keeping him upright. His breathing slowed. His body gave in. And darkness took him, too.

When you stirred, it was to the faint crackle of fire and the ache of every muscle screaming in protest. You didn’t open your eyes right away. What you noticed first was the warmth—something soft beneath your head instead of cold stone. Your fingers curled instinctively, brushing the edge of fabric. It was Giyuu’s haori.

Slowly, your lashes fluttered open. The world came into focus in fragments: the flickering glow of flames, Tanjiro lying nearby with his chest rising and falling in shallow rhythm, and just beyond the firelight—Giyuu.

He sat by the fire, the pale planes of his chest and shoulders marred with fresh wounds and streaks of blood. His sword, the blade he’d once leaned on to stay upright, now glowed red-hot where he’d held it into the fire. Without hesitation, he pressed the heated steel to the gash along his side. The sickening sizzle filled the silence, his jaw clenched, his expression unmoving even as the smell of burning flesh reached you. You shifted weakly, trying to sit up. Giyuu’s head turned immediately, sharp eyes catching yours in the firelight. There was no relief in his face—only calm, steady control, as if pain was something he had long since learned to ignore.

“You’re awake,” he said quietly. His voice was hoarse but even. “Stay still,” he continued, turning his gaze back to the fire. “You’re still losing blood. I’ll stop it before it gets worse.”

Glancing down, you realized your stomach had been bound clumsily but firmly. He must’ve done it while you were unconscious.

Your lips parted in protest, because burning wounds sounded more painful than the wound itself, but he was already pulling the blade from the flames again, its glow reflecting in his eyes. “Unless you’d rather bleed out.”