The Crystal's Whisper and The Wind's Embrace

Chapter 61: Embers Beneath the Ashes

The Swordsmith Village burned.

Though the flames would later die, the echoes of the battle would remain for weeks—ghosting through the soot and steel.

Upper Moons Four and Five had fallen.

Mitsuri Kanroji and Muichiro Tokito had returned bloodied but alive. Tanjiro and Nezuko too, injured but smiling through it.

Victory, yes. But in its shadow, healing was still far away.

---------- At the same time ----------

Tsukiyo had not fought in battles. She had been sent away from the front lines—an unusual order for someone of her strength, but one that had come with quiet approval from Ubuyashiki himself.

"Even the strongest blades," he had told her gently, "need time to cool, lest they shatter."

So, while the village fought, Tsukiyo had retreated—physically and emotionally. She remained at a remote outpost tucked along the mountains, where the mist was thick and the silence uninterrupted.

She hadn't touched her blade since Hiroshi's death. It sat propped against the far wall of the guesthouse, clean but unused. Its sheen no longer shimmered to her the way it once had.

There were days she simply sat beneath the pines, her knees drawn up to her chest, staring into the fog until dusk.

And there were nights when she woke from sleep breathless, fingers twitching for a brother who was no longer there.

But she wasn't alone.

Sanemi was never far.

He didn't hover. He didn't pressure. He wasn't made for soft reassurances or gentle coaxing.

But he stayed.

He brought her food—handmade rice balls, shaped by quiet love. She never said anything, just ate them with a soft smile.

He sat beside her in the quiet, sharpening his sword, or dozing in a chair nearby.

And when she cried in the dead of night, thinking he was asleep, he'd slide his hand gently into hers under the blanket and say nothing—just hold on.

Because sometimes, that was enough.

One afternoon, after days of wordless grief, Tsukiyo finally spoke.

It was soft—barely more than a whisper. But it was a start.

"I still see him sometimes," she murmured. "In dreams. Not the demon he became. Just Hiroshi... smiling. Before everything fell apart."

Sanemi said nothing for a while. His gaze stayed on the horizon.

"I still see them too," he said eventually. "My siblings. My mother. All of them."

Tsukiyo turned to him. "Even now?"

"Especially now," he admitted, voice low. "The ones you love... they don't leave you. Even when they're gone. Sometimes it's guilt. Sometimes it's comfort."

A silence settled. Then he added, quieter, "Sometimes it's both."

Her hand reached for his, instinctively this time, and he didn't flinch.

Days passed. The fog began to lift.

Tsukiyo started walking farther each morning. Then stretching. Then swinging her blade again—just a few movements at first. Controlled. Simple.

But it was a beginning.

Sanemi watched her from the edge of the field, arms crossed, face unreadable.

She glanced back at him. "You're staring."

"You're slow," he grunted.

"Would you like to demonstrate?" she asked, raising a brow.

"Tch. I don't spar with half-healed drama queens."

Tsukiyo narrowed her eyes. "Care to repeat that?"

But she was smiling—genuinely, for the first time in weeks.

Sanemi smirked, faintly. "You're getting stronger."

"No," she said softly, lowering her blade. "I'm remembering why I want to be."

Later that week, Sanemi returned from a brief patrol with dirt on his boots and a paper-wrapped package in his arms.

"From Genya," he muttered, tossing it onto the table between them.

Tsukiyo blinked. "Genya sent something?"

Sanemi scratched the back of his neck. "He probably heard you were recovering. He insisted, and left it on the side while I am not watching."

She opened the parcel gently. Inside was a small charm—a delicate braided cord with a carved wooden crystal affixed to the center. A silent, awkward but sincere token.

Tsukiyo smiled. "That's... actually very sweet."

Sanemi looked vaguely disturbed. "Tch. Don't say that."

"He cares about you."

"He's annoying."

"You're just afraid to care back."

That earned her a sharp glance—but he didn't deny it.

Instead, he sat down beside her, quieter now.

"I've spent so long thinking the only way to protect people was to push them away," he said. "Genya. You. Everyone."

She turned toward him, listening.

"But when I saw you bleeding that day—when you stood between me and Hiroshi—I realised I was wrong. You protect what you care about by standing with it. Not behind it. Not away from it."

Tsukiyo reached up, cupping his face gently. "You're allowed to care, Sanemi."

He leaned into her touch, eyes fluttering closed.

"I don't want to lose anything else," he said. "Not you. Not him."

"You're not going to," she whispered. And he believed her.

The following morning, a crow arrived.

"Upper Moons Four and Five—defeated. Victory at Swordsmith Village."

Tsukiyo read the note in silence, her fingers tightening slightly.

Sanemi glanced at her. "You ready to head back?"

She didn't answer immediately.

Then, slowly, she stood and lifted her sword from the wall. It felt different now—not a weight, but a purpose.

"Yes," she said. "I think I am."