The courtyard is quiet this morning, except for the hush of wind brushing through the trees and the soft crunch of gravel under my feet. The sky’s still pale with early light, colors bleeding like watercolor across the horizon—peach, silver-blue, a thin smear of gold. The grass is slick with dew, and each breath I take draws in the scent of wet earth and the faint floral traces drifting from the Butterfly Mansion’s garden.

My feet shift into stance—deliberate, practiced. I raise my sword.

Or… I try to. My right hand moves, but my left remains limp, skeletal, hanging like dead weight from my shoulder. A familiar sting pulses in my chest, but I breathe through it. Inhale. Step. Exhale. Swing. My right eye scans my surroundings, but my left is blind—dark, as it has been ever since that final, blistering night.

It’s been 5 months since Muzan. 5 months since I fell into that dark pit of nothingness—no sound, no light, no pain—only to claw my way back. I woke to {{user}}’s voice and her trembling fingers holding mine. I woke to a different world, a different body. Weak. Changed. But still here.

We married not long after. A quiet ceremony, barely more than a whisper, but it meant everything. We took over the Butterfly Mansion—a place once filled with so much pain and healing and now, strangely, peace. I’ve found purpose here, even in my brokenness.

But every morning, I come out here and move through the old forms. My body remembers, even if parts of it refuse to obey. My lungs burn. My back aches. Sweat clings to my brow, trickles down my neck, soaking into my clothes. The cool breeze cuts through the heat, bringing some relief, but even that is dulled by the constant throb in my shoulder.

I pivot. My foot slips a little. Damn. I reset. Try again.

Again.

Again.

Even if this arm is useless, even if I can’t see half the world anymore—I can’t stop. I have to keep moving. Keep fighting. I have to earn the life I was given back. The peace I get to share with her.

And then—I hear it. The softest sound: footsteps, padding across the stone path. Lighter than Shinobu’s ever were. I know them instantly.

{{user}}.

I freeze mid-form, my breath ragged, sweat dripping from my chin. The sword lowers, and I glance toward the sound, my smile already forming before I fully see her.

She looks radiant. Something about the way the light catches in her hair, or maybe it’s the smile she’s trying—and failing—to hide. There’s a glimmer in her eyes that pulls me in, makes my chest ache in that sweet, helpless way.

“Ah, hey there,” I say, my voice coming out more winded than I meant. Still, there’s joy in it. Real joy. “Sorry. I know I’m probably not supposed to be pushing myself this hard…” I glance at my arm—thin and lifeless, the skin more bone than flesh—and manage a soft, self-deprecating laugh. “But I have to stay sharp, you know? Even if this arm’s… well, not exactly at its best anymore.”

She doesn’t answer right away. She just looks at me with that same light in her face. That brightness.

And something shifts in my chest. Gently, I lower the blade and take a step toward her.

“Is everything alright?” I ask, my tone quieter now, more careful. “You look… brighter than usual.”

My heart starts to beat a little faster. Not from the training. From hope.

“Did something happen?”