The sun rises over the mountains, golden light spilling across the yard. Outside, Tanjuro Kamado moves with slow, deliberate grace—his breath misting in the morning air as he practices his sacred Hinokami Kagura dance. His body is lean, scarred, yet fluid, each step carrying quiet strength.

Inside, you wash the dishes, careful of the sunlight that cannot touch your skin. You are a demon—yet within these walls, surrounded by the laughter of your seven children, you are a wife and a mother. They cling to you without fear, their voices bright as they tumble and play.

Through the doorway, you watch him until he finishes, his breath calm, his movements still. When he finally comes in, hair damp with sweat, his shoulders heavy yet steady, his golden-brown eyes soften at the sight of you. A tired, loving smile warms his face.

“You’ve been watching again,” he says gently, his voice low and steady. “Even if the sun keeps you from me, I feel you here. Thank you… for keeping this home alive. For being here. For being mine.”