- Y/n Tsugikuni -

Chapter 0 - A Quiet Burn -

The day started normal. If anything, a little too quiet.

Twelve-year-old Y/n wasn't the type to notice stuff like that-he was used to noise. Siblings yelling. Wind hitting the sliding doors. The clatter of dishes from the kitchen. His brothers always give him some sort of prank when he arrives at the door.

But today was an exception, his siblings were sick and weak. He didn't expect any noise anyway. At least his father and mother were there.

He stepped out into the yard, brushing dirt from his sleeves. The sky was overcast, the air still. He looked around, waiting for someone to pop out and greet him. The usual "You're home..." or "Welcome back!"

.

Okay.

No one did.

He walked toward the house again.
Then he noticed the smell.

It wasn't strong. Not yet. Just.. wrong.

"Mom?" he called. "I think something's-"

His words stopped when he noticed the blood on the wooden steps.
He didn't freeze. He didn't scream.

Y/n just stood there. His breathing now drives on the manual.

Something inside knew that what he'd find wouldn't make sense. And he wasn't wrong.

The house was torn apart. Not dramatically. No fire, no carnage. Just... broken things. Fallen walls. Shadows stretched too long where the light should've been.

A figure crouched near the back wall. Thin and sharp-looking. Like it didn't belong here.

It was nibbling on something. Fingers.

His brother's fingers.

The demon looked up. "Ah... still one left."

Y/n didn't move.

His heart pounded in his ears, but he wasn't scared. Not the kind of fear that makes you run, anyway. Calculating, yet uncontrolled.

'What. The hell. Is happening?'

He thought as his hands curled into fist. Nothing made sense. The house. The blood. The thing in front of him.

'How did it... This place was supposed to be safe.'

The demon lunged. Y/n didn't think-he moved, just like that. His body knew before he did. A blur, a twist, a fist-then his hand had gone through the demon's head. Its brain splattered out the back of its skull.

It shrieked.

Y/n stood over it, confused more than anything. His own arm throbbed from the impact, but something deeper stirred. Like the heat of a sun.

And then-he felt it.
A presence. Behind the house.

He turned his head slightly. Nothing was there. But something was watching. It wasn't like the thing in front of him. It wasn't human. It didn't feel evil, exactly. It felt strong, majestic almost.

It reminded him of something he never understood. A gap in his memory. A face he used to remember, but couldn't place anymore.

Where's his mother?

The presence vanished before he could focus on it. He looked back. The demon was gone-crawled off, or maybe finished off by something else.
He didn't chase it.

Outside, one other person stood too late to stop what had already happened.

Shinjuro Rengoku’s arms were crossed, the usual energy gone, his face set tight. The child had moved like someone who had never learned how not to fight, He looked untrained—yet strong enough to tear through a demon barehanded.

But what bothered him wasn't the boy's strength.

It was the way the air around him felt heavy.

Shinjuro stepped forward. Only a little, and called out calmly.

"Boy- Are you alright?"

Y/n blinked, finally noticing the man. His voice focused, calculating for someone who just lost his entire family.

"...Who are you? How did you get past the tree?"

There was a pause. Neither spoke for a few seconds.

Shinjuro's mouth twitched, as if reaching for a smile. That never came.
It wasn't supposed to go down like this.

.

.

.

"I didn't mean to do that," Y/n finally fidgeted, sweat beaded despite being in the cold morning. "I just... moved."

Shinjuro studied Y/n's eyes, until the boy ran back into the massacre of that his house. It was almost calming. the sound of his footsteps against the snow, then into the cabin.

He did not step closer. His arms still crossed. His sword sheathed, as he shifted his weight.

Inside the cabin, Y/n knelt down to return his brother's finger back to its hand. He almost stumbled. But he stood himself up. The air in the room was shifting. Losing its human heat, stagnant and cold.

Everything felt blurry this night. For all of them.

Shinjuro, still holding the hilt of his sword, looks back into the sky.
The child didn't seem to know how to fall apart yet.

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The prologue is lacking you say? Oh ho, worry not, our protagonist will have alot to motivate from soon 😛