I arrived some time before sunrise. The first thing I noticed was the change in the air. The slight humid forest air tinged with the scent of pollen was long gone, replaced by the cool, faintness of air from high elevation.
The slow decrease in Sugi trees wasn't obvious, but the grass becoming far more manageable was. By the time the grass was ankle height at best, the trees also became far less dauntingly tall.
A path opened, a straight dirt path far more straight cut than the maze-like forest of before. Following along the dirt path with trees to the side, almost like a fence under the last rays of moonlight, was a lot less taxing than trying to avoid overgrown roots. I wish I had been on this path far earlier; another tragedy of not knowing the true path to get here.
Then the scent of flowers hit, at first it was faint, almost diluted by the now mountain air. But as the first hint of lilac entered my sight, the scent almost overwhelmed me. Not in an unpleasant way, the fragrance was faint and sweet, almost feminine, but in the night it carried an undercurrent of something wild. Sight of the flower-filled trees followed right after. Wisteria-filled trees stretched past what I could see, their drooping blossoms cascading in pale violet curtains that swayed softly in the mountain breeze. They framed the path like a tunnel of hanging silk, the moonlight slipping through the petals and scattering across the ground like silver dust. For a moment, it felt ethereal as though I'd stepped out of the forest and onto some painted scroll, something sacred and untouched.
Every step forward disturbed the petals at my feet. They lay in soft bunches on the dirt path. With every step, the scent deepened; it was like breathing in serenity itself. My lungs filled with the crisp mountain air tinged with sweetness, so different from the heavy, damp earth of the forest I'd crossed through. The quiet hum of insects, the rustle of branches from a distance, replaced the suffocating silence.
The wisteria trees grew denser the farther I walked, branches arching toward one another overhead until the sky disappeared completely behind a canopy of purple. For a moment, everything felt suspended: Time, sound, thought.
Then the path steepened.
The dirt underfoot gave over to stone steps, old and weather-worn, rising steadily toward the heart of the mountain. Moss clung to their edges, glowing faintly in the moonlight, and the air cooled even further as I climbed. Higher and higher, step after step, my breath came out visibly once again. The cold here felt clean, refreshing, almost ceremonial.
I finally saw the torii gates at the end of the steps. The moon was still up, though it was about to fall below the horizon soon. The sight of the moon between the torii gates looked almost symbolic, but strength had left my body as soon as my feet touched the last step; there wasn't enough brain power left to think about the deeper message now.
A small opening in the wisteria trees was what rested on top of the mountain. There were a few people, but they all looked like the silent, brooding types. Although there was still an entire day before the selection began so there was still time for more examinees to show up. My social battery died halfway up the step, so it fell in my favour, plus more than half of them were still asleep.
There was a rock nearby under a tree, perfect for shade when the sun rose, meaning perfect for me to get some beauty sleep in. Nothing looked exciting right now, so why not fall asleep under the disappearing stars.
My eyelids fell shut almost instantly, my back touch the cool rock surface, and the last thing I saw was the fading moonlight tangled in wisteria.
* * *
Birdsong dragged me back from sleep, followed by the rustle of fabric and footsteps on gravel. Morning light filtered through the blossoms, bathing the world in soft lavender. The clearing, empty and quiet before, was now crowded; dozens of new faces, all wearing the same anxious stillness.
Time had slipped past like a breath. Now looked like only hours remained.
Stretching, every joint popped stiffly as I sat up. The sun had risen higher than I expected, turning the wisteria canopy into a moving sea of violet and gold. Petals drifted down continuously, catching in hair and clothing. They never seemed to stop falling.
More people continued to arrive, each climbing the long stone steps with faces pale from exhaustion or determination. Some muttered quietly among themselves, others stood alone, gripping the handles of their blades until their knuckles went white. Their uniforms varied wildly, some in standard hunter clothing, others wearing worn and ragged kimono, proof of the desperate struggle it must have taken to get this far.
Watching them stirred something in my chest. So many dreams burdening one mountain. So many who wouldn't see the sunrise after the next. My hand went to my blade.
I exhaled slowly, letting my breath steady, feeling the familiar rhythm fill my lungs. The chill breeze brushed across the surface of my skin, carrying the scent of wisteria and distant soil. A reminder of where I stood. A reminder of why I came.
Eventually, the conversations faded. A quiet ripple spread through the crowd, sharp and sudden like the moment before lightning strikes.
An old woman stepped out from behind the largest wisteria tree at the centre of the clearing. Positioned perfectly to address us all, dressed in a pristine white kimono patterned with delicate purple. Her eyes were kind, sympathising with all of us; something only possible from a deep understanding of why one would put their life for this unforgiving lifestyle. A stark contrast to the unspoken panic hanging in the air around them.
The crowd shifted uneasily. Even breathing sounded dangerous.
Her voice came out soft but carrying effortlessly across the mountaintop, as if the wisteria itself delivered her words.
"Thank you for gathering here today," she began. "This is the place where Final Selection will be held."
A ripple of movement ran through the assembled examinees, some swallowing hard, others straightening their spines, most gripping their weapons tighter. My own hand rested lightly on my blade. I could feel the old worn-out tsuka warming beneath my palm.
"In order to pass this selection, you must survive seven days on the mountain behind us. A mountain filled with demons that have been captured and trapped here over many long years."
Seven days. Man isn't seven days inside a mountain a little bit too much. I just got here, and I'm right back to the wild, how unlucky.
She lifted her chin slightly. "All demons within have been unable to escape because they are contained by the wisteria that blooms across the mountain's foothills. But once inside, there is no wisteria to protect you."
I glanced behind the other torii gates. The path leading into the mountain forest seemed to swallow all light, a dark corridor untouched by the gentle purple glow surrounding us now. A threshold between worlds.
"You are free to use any method you choose to survive. But if you wish to return alive, you must endure until the seventh sunrise."
There was a shift in the group of people after that, some whispered prayers, others quietly shaked.
Her expression now was unmoving.
"Those who make it past these seven days… will be accepted into the Demon Slayer Corps."
Silence. Cold and absolute.
There was a gentle hush after that; no one wanted to move after.
I rose to my feet, brushing petals from my shoulders.
The torii gate loomed ahead.
Beyond it waited a collection of evil.
Seven days.
They never said I couldn't kill all the demons.
Seven days were plenty.