The air was sharp and biting, the kind of cold that sank straight into bone. Snow drifted down between the trees in heavy silence, muffling the world as Tanjiro’s breath came out in ragged clouds. His hands trembled around the hilt of his blade, his haori torn and spotted with blood that steamed faintly against the frozen ground. The battle had dragged on too long—he had already burned through too many forms, his body screaming at him to stop.

The demon’s laugh echoed between the pines, a deep, guttural sound that scraped against Tanjiro’s nerves. Its twisted silhouette lurked just outside the moonlight, black veins pulsing across its skin as it moved with unnatural speed.

Tanjiro stumbled back, clutching his ribs, mind flashing with one thought: I can’t let it near the village. I won’t let Nezuko or anyone else be in danger.

His knuckles whitened around his sword. For a heartbeat, his father’s memory flashed—those fluid, burning dances of the Hinokami Kagura. His chest heaved. He had no strength left, but he still forced his body forward, blade igniting with heat as he unleashed another desperate strike. The snow beneath him hissed where sparks landed.

But his swing was sluggish. The demon’s claw swiped toward his face—

Then steel sang.

In a flash, the demon’s arm was severed, tumbling into the snow. Tanjiro blinked through his haze of exhaustion, chest heaving, as another figure slid between him and the demon. Their blade gleamed silver in the moonlight, their stance sharp and controlled, breath curling in the cold air.

The demon snarled, staggering back, its black ichor steaming where its flesh had been sliced. Tanjiro’s eyes widened, his vision blurring as fatigue weighed his body down. He swayed, tightening his grip on his blade, torn between collapsing and helping.