It had been nearly two months since the swordsmith arrived.
One could feel that summer was approaching. The spring wind came less frequently, leaving the heat unattended. The summer air was knocking at this point.
The expected date that Akuru was meant to get the blade passed, but it didn't surprise him too much. The longer it took to make the blade, the better. There was no need to rush brilliance, especially when that brilliance is the only thing between you and a murder happy demon.
The crow that had been assigned to him, now named Huginn, was one of the few constants throughout his days. Huginn was unusually perceptive for a crow, watching Akuru with keen intelligence and rarely making noise unless necessary. Added to the fact that he was unbelievably cute, there were few moments when Huginn wasn't near Akuru.
Plenty of time was drowned caring for the neglected garden, coaxing life out of the stubborn plants that clung to the soil like lingering memories was far more difficult then he had initially assumed. Then, when his hands were not dirty with earth, he trained relentlessly, pushing his body enough to aid his growth.
Days started to bleed into one another in sweat and silence, broken only by the rustling wings of the crow or the creak of old floorboards beneath his feet.
Yet there had been something he needed to do almost immediately upon returning home, something that lay beyond the boundaries of training or waiting.
The morning after Akuru's arrival, before he had even fully settled back into the rhythm of his home, he set out to visit the village where he had grown up. The path wound through rolling green farmland full of freshly planted rice and narrow dirt tracks carved by centuries of footsteps and cart wheels. All he could think was that it felt like a lucid dream that one would get stuck reminiscing about.
The village itself had changed little. Farmers still bent over in their fields just as they had when he was a child. Thin trails of smoke rose gently from thatched rooftops, and the faint smell of miso lingered in the air. When the first of the villagers saw him approach, faces brightened with stunned delight, and greetings rang out before he even reached the main square.
To them, Akuru was still the boy who used to race, barefoot, through the fields, who chased dragonflies along the stream and climbed trees he had been strictly forbidden to. They had watched him grow, and more importantly, they had cared for him after tragedy left the house on the hill unbearably quiet. They welcomed him with open arms and watery smiles, insisting he sit and eat, insisting he tell stories of his time away, not of demons they didn't know, but of travel and people and places.
Hours slipped away unnoticed. The sun fell low, painting the village in a soft orange glow, but no one allowed him to leave yet. They cherished the presence of a boy who had once belonged completely to them and were reluctant to release him again. Children pulled his sleeves, requesting stories, while elders thumped his back proudly, amazed by how strong he had grown.
Eventually, escape required a strategy.
An overly generous old man, eager to celebrate Akuru's return, tried to push a small bottle of sake into his hands, all but shouting that a returning man needed a proper drink. The laughter that ensued when he stood up quick enough to stumble in surprise drew the attention of the man's wife, who descended upon them with a scolding fiercer than any demon. In the chaos of her berating and his panicked apologies, Akuru managed to slip away, bowing repeatedly as he retreated down the road.
His sacrifice will be remembered.
The lights of the village fell behind him, and the night air cooled against his skin. Akuru walked home with a quiet smile, the echo of old laughter following him long after the path grew dark.
The rest of the time, solitude was his only company.
CAW
Oh, sorry, Akuru's time was spent between solitude and Huginn.
Life passed by gently and without issue.
On a random weekday, Akuru woke up to the sun blazing outside his window. He had been waking up early to get a run in during the cool morning spring air, but it seemed today the world didn't want him to go out. Akuru walked outside to the garden to get a stretch in, but could only spend a few minutes outside before it got uncomfortable under the sun. He could only grumble about the heat.
He decided to cook up a large breakfast in an attempt to forget the heat. It seemed today would be spent primarily inside. Heat and he didn't mix too well; he didn't dislike it per se, just would rather be under the sun when there was a breeze present. Today was a humid day where the leaves didn't rattle. Basically, his weakness.
Breakfast took him an entire hour to both make and then fully finish. He would have to go out soon to restock some of the ingredients in his kitchen, but that was a future him problem.
By the time he finished washing and putting away all the dishes, he heard a sharp knock at the door.
Odd, he wondered the only people that had shown up at his home were a few of his old childhood friends. Why would they show up on a smouldering day like today? As he started to walk towards the door, he sensed that the person at the door was no average civilian. Today might finally be the day he gets his blade. He wiped his hands to dry quickly and went to open the door.
As the door slid open, Akuru saw Jūbei standing outside, sweat dripped down his iconic mask, but it couldn't hide the pride that he stood with. Today, Jūbei could finally present what he considered his masterpiece to its owner, the heat be dammed.
Akuru spoke out with some surprise, "Jūbei, please come in. You must have been walking for a while now," Akuru opens the door completely, stepping aside "Come in before you melt in this heat."
Jūbei stepped in quickly, seeking the shade he dearly missed in his walk over. Akuru followed him inside and guided him to the room connected to the engawa. Even if the air remained motionless, the sight of the now green garden acted as a cooling effect. Akuru went to get a glass of water for the poor man who had travelled so far for him. He could only wonder how Jūbei found his way here at the perfect times both times he came over.
After Jūbei finally sat down and had time to cool down with a glass of water, they both entered a lull of silence.
The silence between them was comfortable. The soft ticking of young cicadas from outside could be heard; their droning hum clung to the unmoving air. Summer now had its foot in the door. Jūbei set the glass down carefully, steadying his hands against the low table.
Finally, he reached behind him and lifted the long, cloth-wrapped object he carried. He placed it before Akuru with great care, as if setting down a living thing.
"This," said Jūbei in a hushed tone, his voice muffled behind the mask, "has taken longer than any blade I have forged in twenty years. Not because of difficulty alone."
He took a long pause, and suspense built up in the air like a mirage.
"But because a sword must wait until it can respond to the spirit of the one who will wield it."
Akuru felt his chest tighten. His eyes locked onto the cloth bundle, hardly believing that the day had come. Two months of waiting suddenly felt like two seconds.
Jūbei continued, sliding the blade forward.
"It is time. Please, draw it."
Akuru reached out, steadying his hands to conceal the excitement that threatened to seize them. The fabric fell away beneath his fingers, revealing the simple yet elegant scabbard. Dark lacquered amber wood, polished smooth, not to a shine but to a matte finish. What really caught his eye was the small gold plate that crowned the small opening at the bottom of the scabbard; a marron cloth that looped through the wood and linked a sky blue tsuba that depicted flowing clouds. The memento was perfect in its presentation. But he never had a thought that it could be anything else but.
Akuru could only look up at Jūbei in gratitude. Jūbei gave a nod of understanding, but his entire frame reeked of impatience. Akuru could only smile and proceed, finishing inspecting the sword as Jūbei clearly wanted.
He slid the blade free.
A faint whisper of steel filled the room, a sound sharp enough to silence even the cicadas. The exposed metal gleamed in the light, perfectly straight, single-edged, in the traditional shape of a Chokutō. It was exquisitely made, the edge was precise to a tee. The sharpness looked to cut through space itself just by being held.
But the steel remained pale, indecisive. Its surface shifted faintly, as if it waited.
Akuru stared, tongue-tied. He remembered each cut he had practised with the broken sword his father left behind, the chipped and battered edge he had used to create his own breathing technique. This blade was that memory reborn. He could only appreciate the magic that Jūbei's craftsmanship held.
Jūbei watched him carefully.
"As you know, Nichirin swords absorb sunlight. When a Demon Slayer grips theirs, the blade changes colour, revealing the path destiny intends for them."
He spoke slowly, reverently even.
"Some say the blade reveals the truth one hides."
Akuru wrapped both hands around the hilt and settled his grip. The silence deepened.
Nothing happened for a moment.
Then, like frost coursing across glass, light raced up the metal. The colour bleached into brilliant white, pure and striking. Almost painfully bright even against the sunlit room. Ethereal radiance glowed along the blade, cold yet breathtaking as if it were moonlight on freshly fallen snow.
Jūbei inhaled sharply behind his mask, and Akuru felt his surprise.
"A white blade."
Jūbei was whispering, his voice shaking in incredulity.
"A true rarity. A blade that represents subtlety, mystery, evasiveness and calmness. The ones who wield white blades are said to carve their own fates."
Akuru exhaled slowly, unable to look away from the living light that somehow existed within his hands.
"I will," he said softly, his voice unwavering with determination. "I will be someone worthy of this."
Seeing Akuru deeply bowing his head, he was filled with pride that his work could end in this young boys hands.
"Then… may this sword cut open a future no demon can withstand."
The cicadas outside began their young song once again. Bringing both of them back to the world at hand.
Jūbei bowed deeply, relief shaping the slope of his shoulders. Soon after he took his leave, disappearing up the gravel road until only heat shimmer remained.
* * *
One week had passed.
Summer fell heavily on the land, its breath thick and relentless. The cicadas cried through bright afternoons; nights fell without mercy, still clinging to the heat of day. Akuru spent those seven days training with his new sword until his muscles burned and the calluses reopened on his palms.
Huginn perched often on the railing, feathers glossy and sharp, watching with unblinking eyes as though memorising every pattern and step.
The routine finally broke on the eighth morning after Jūbei's visit.
Huginn suddenly lifted its wings, feathers bristling like drawn blades. A shrill cry tore the humid air as the crow let out a piercing call.
"Akuru!!" The bird cawed, its voice loud and ringing. "Mission! Mission! Report immediately!"
The sound struck something deep inside him, not fear, nor nervousness, but resolve.
Akuru rose slowly, sliding the white blade into its sheath along his hip. The weight felt right.
He took one last look around the quiet wooden home, the garden now green under the assaulting sun, the world that had shaped him into someone who could step beyond its borders. He bowed once, deeply, to the place where innocence ended and purpose was born.
Then he turned to Huginn, who flapped onto his shoulder.
"Lead the way," Akuru said softly.
And with that, he stepped forward out of the stillness of waiting and into the beginning of war.