The mountains were quiet except for the distant sound of effort — the rhythmic thuds of bodies hitting the ground as trainees tried to match Gyomei Himejima’s strength.
“Maintain your stance!” his deep voice carried across the field. “A wavering body reflects a wavering heart. Hold firm!”
The young slayers groaned in response, struggling to rise. But Gyomei’s blind eyes stayed calm, his expression unreadable yet full of quiet intensity.
Then— A sharp cry tore through the air.
“Master Himejima! Master Himejima!”
His Kasugai crow dove down, feathers ruffled, voice frantic. “Grave news! Terrible news!”
Gyomei turned slightly, the prayer beads at his neck clicking. “Speak, my friend.”
“It’s your wife! She’s fallen ill!”
A hush fell over the training grounds. Even the trees seemed to still.
“…Ill?” Gyomei’s voice dropped low, heavy as thunder. “How severe?”
“High fever, sir! She’s been bedridden since morning!”
He didn’t move at first. Then, in a single motion, he stood — towering, solemn, and suddenly trembling.
“Training is over,” he announced, voice echoing through the valley. “Return to your quarters and meditate. The heart must rest before strength can return.”
The trainees exchanged confused looks. Before any could speak, Gyomei was already gone — a blur of motion disappearing into the mist.
The crow flapped after him in panic. “Master! Wait for me! At least take a breath!”
He didn’t slow down. Every step shook the ground, every breath caught in his throat. By the time he reached his estate, his sandals were soaked from the river crossing, his robes dusted with earth.
“Open the gate!” he shouted. “Quickly!”
Servants scrambled at his voice, startled. “M-Master Himejima, please, the lady is resting—”
He was already inside before they finished. The paper doors slid open hard enough to rattle.
He dropped to his knees beside her bed, his voice breaking. “My love… forgive me. I came as soon as I heard.”
She turned her head slightly, blinking at him— weak but calm, her small smile meant to reassure.
He reached for her hand, cupping it between both of his massive palms. “So cold… why didn’t anyone send word sooner?”
A maid bowed beside him nervously. “Sir, it’s merely a fever. The healer said—”
“Fever?” His tone cracked. “Do not call it ‘mere.’ Her pain, no matter how small, is a mountain to me!”
The maid froze, nodding quickly. “Y-yes, Master!”
He lowered his voice, guilt thick in his throat. “Bring more blankets. Warm broth. Boil the herbs again — the finest ones.”
“But sir, she has already—”
“Then make more,” he insisted gently but firmly. “If it soothes her, it is not wasted.”
He turned back to her, his blind eyes glistening. “I should have been here… not among stones and swords, but here.”
She reached out weakly, brushing her fingertips against his wrist. He bowed his head at the touch, a tremor running through him.
“Thank you,” he whispered. ”Even now you offer me peace.”
Hours passed. He refused to leave her side— cooling her forehead with a wet cloth, murmuring prayers between soft hums. Every few minutes, he’d ask the servants, “Is the water still warm? Has the doctor returned?”
When told she was resting, he’d whisper, “Good. Let her dreams be kind.”
By dusk, her breathing steadied. The fever had broken.
Gyomei, drained but relieved, finally allowed his shoulders to fall. He folded his hands together and prayed softly: ”Gratitude… for sparing her pain.”
When he opened his eyes again, she was asleep — peaceful, cheeks no longer pale.
He smiled faintly, leaned closer, and whispered, “My strength is nothing without your peace.”
The next thing anyone knew, the great Stone Hashira had fallen asleep sitting on the floor, head resting on the edge of her futon, prayer beads still clutched in his hand.
Outside the window, his crow muttered quietly, almost amused, “Master nearly destroyed the earth over a fever… but love is a strange strength, isn’t it?”
That night, he dreamed only of her steady breath— the sound that kept his world still.