Disclaimer:
I do not own nor claim all the rights to 鬼滅の刃 | Kimetsu no Yaiba | Demon Slayer; all rights are reserved to its respective creator, Koyoharu Gotōge. This is purely a work of fiction; names, characters, businesses, events, localities, and occurrences are all extrapolated from the author's writings and imagination or utilized in a fictitious manner. As such, any direct or indirect references to actual entities, dead or alive, or events do not, in any shape or form, resemble the opinions of the author.
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"..." = Dialogue
'...' = Internal monologues
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A Promise:
This summer's day was nigh upon end.
As the sun's oppressive rays slowly concealed itself beyond the horizon, the vicinity's temperatures oversaw a noticeable drop; in the absence of sunlight, heat is no longer abetting by its tremendous power.
However, the sticky humidity of this warm season was to remain a source of irritation for the people of the land.
The fresh scent of the evening dew served to substantiate these palpable conditions wrought upon the environment.
Especially for three young, aspiring slayers who have spent the better part of the day trying to survive their sensei's onerous training routine.
Near the summit of Mount Sagiri, these students trained restlessly under the tutelage of Urokodaki Sakonji.
One of these students lay supine on the ground, completely and utterly exhausted.
A gentle breeze brushed along Giyuu's callused, bruised skin as his body sojourned itself on the dirt—bringing a semblance of relief to his fatigued body.
He was panting heavily and sweating profusely, all symptoms of a strained physical state pushed to its limits.
It felt as if his lungs were set aflame, prompting him to hitch furious cycles of inhales and exhales.
"Are you alright, Giyuu?" a soft, reassuring voice asked—though there were hints of weariness present in the cadence.
Giyuu opened his eyes, glancing at the figure in question.
It was Makomo, who was bending slightly downward and expressing a look of concern on her countenance.
In spite of this considerate gesture, Makomo was also visibly worn out; she, too, had grimes dirtying her fair skin and mild contusions intermittently spread across her arms.
"You should be worrying about yourself..." Giyuu answers weakly.
"But—"
"Still stuck to the ground, Giyuu?" another equally weary, but hardened, voice called out—although espousing a more mocking tone.
"Shut up, Sabito..." Giyuu groans.
"You won't be able to master Total Concentration Breathing if you keep your lazy ass on the ground, eh?" Sabito answers sardonically.
"Sabito, we are all struggling," Makomo took the liberty of reminding her peer. "It can't be helped that we were each forced to spar with Urokodaki-sensei while mastering Total Concentration Breathing all day; it's a very demanding task."
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