The Hidden Demon Slayer (DEMON SLAYER X OC)

Chapter 23: Where the Storm Returns

The path to Natsukawa was less a road and more a whisper, one only someone like Nariko could follow. She kept to the trees, the air thinner this far north. The mountain ridges loomed in the distance like silent sentinels, dusted with snow even in summer. The village itself was small, nestled in a valley surrounded by pine and mist, forgotten by time and untouched by war. A good place to vanish.

Nariko paused at the edge of a cliff overlooking the valley, the cold wind tugging at her hair. Three months. Three long months of searching. Of dead ends. Of walking into ruins hoping to find a trace of her, only to find dust, old ash, and the smell of abandonment. Still, something about Natsukawa stirred memories.

She closed her eyes. Ritsuka's voice, low and dry with sarcasm: "This place is good for meditation. And hiding. People forget it exists."

Nariko opened her eyes again. She descended the slope quietly, boots skimming loose stone. As she approached the village's outskirts, her senses sharpened. No human scent nearby. No demons either. Just smoke that was fresh, faint, and controlled. Not a wild flame, not an attack. Someone had a fire going. Someone who was very careful.

She followed it to an old shrine, half swallowed by ivy. It sat in silence beneath the mountain's shadow. Nariko stepped closer, gaze narrowing. On the shrine's side was a prayer rack that was dusty, but not abandoned. One of the wooden placards had been wiped clean and freshly tied. Her eyes scanned the small script.

"To those still searching: the lightning always returns to its cloud."

Her breath caught. That phrase. Of course it had to be that phrase.

Nariko stared at the wooden placard like it had personally offended her. "Seriously? You still talk in riddles, even when you're not here?" She could hear Ritsuka's voice in her head. She was calm, distant, maddeningly cryptic.

"You're a storm, Nariko. But even storms return to the sky they came from. Don't burn out before you figure out where yours is."

Nariko groaned and slapped a hand to her face. "Great. That's just what I needed. Philosophical weather metaphors." She leaned in, brushing her fingers along the edge of the placard. It felt warm. Not literally, just familiar. Like Ritsuka had been standing right there, thinking of her.

"Ritsuka-san?" she muttered, glancing skyward. "Why did you always have to say something so wise when I barely understood a thing you said?! I'm not a poet! I hit things with a sword!"

The wind picked up gently, ruffling the paper prayer slips around her. Nariko stepped back from the shrine, arms crossed, heart pounding with something dangerously close to hope, and annoyance. "Couldn't just say 'I'm alive' like a normal person, huh? Nooo, gotta be all cryptic and dramatic. She has got to be a very old person to say stuff like this. I should call her a grandmother once I finally see her."

She turned toward the trees, smirking despite herself. "Yep. Definitely still alive. Only Ritsuka-san could leave an inspirational weather haiku as a breadcrumb trail." She stepped back from the shrine slowly, her heart pounding with something dangerously close to hope.

The forest was quiet, save for the rhythmic crunch of Nariko's boots against the mossy path. She was still buzzing from what she read at the shrine, the placard etched with her master's cryptic old phrase: "The lightning always returns to its cloud."

Her mind raced. "Ritsuka-san... Seriously, am I supposed to be a storm or a weather forecast?!" she groaned, rubbing her temple. She turned sharply down a narrow path, her head still clouded by thoughts.

Then—WHAM! Nariko collided straight into someone coming from the opposite direction. Both let out a grunt as they stumbled back from the impact. Something splashed against the ground with a pitiful splat.