A Rift in Time

The snow crunched beneath Yoriichi's sandals as he made his way through the wintry forest. The cold air stung his cheeks, but the chill of the night could not compare to the icy memories stirring in his mind. Visions of his last battle with his brother flickered like ghosts before his eyes—the clash of blades, the sorrowful melody of that flute, and the heartbreak that followed.

The sun dipped low, casting long shadows across the snow-covered ground. Yoriichi quickened his pace, knowing he needed to find shelter before nightfall. As the last rays of sunlight vanished and the moon began its slow ascent, the air grew colder. Frost clung to the branches, and the forest seemed to hush in anticipation of nightfall.

As Yoriichi continued onward, a sudden sensation gripped his chest—a presence, dark and familiar. His amber eyes narrowed as he halted mid-step, scanning the moonlit woods. The air grew heavy, thick with a demonic aura he had encountered only once before.

"Muzan…" Yoriichi whispered.

From the shadows ahead, a figure emerged—the pale skin and crimson eyes unmistakable Kibutsuji Muzan.

The Demon King stood frozen, terror gripping his heart as his eyes locked onto the man who had nearly ended his existence centuries ago. Panic surged through him as the memory of his near demise resurfaced, his very cells trembling uncontrollably in fear.

Without wasting a moment, Muzan spun around and bolted into the night, his speed distorting the air around him. Yet Yoriichi gave chase, his movements swift and relentless, closing the distance between them ease.

"You cannot escape your fate, Muzan!" Yoriichi's voice rang out, calm yet unwavering. "No matter how far you run, the end will come. Your sins will be judged, and the countless lives you've stolen will find justice through my blade!"

Desperation clawed at Muzan's mind as Yoriichi drew closer. The Sun Breathing forms burned within his memory, amplifying the terror that gripped his core.

"Nakime!" he bellowed, his voice cracking with fear. "Open the door—now!"

Distorted biwa strings reverberated through the air, and in an instant, a portal to the Infinity Castle materialized before him, its twisting void the only salvation from the nightmare pursuing him. Without hesitation, Muzan lunged forward, diving into the dark expanse as Yoriichi's outstretched hand grazed the air where he had stood.

The echo of his footsteps faded into the void, but Yoriichi stood still, unshaken. His eyes, burning with the weight of his duty, gazed into the depths of the portal as it vanished.

'You can hide in the shadows of your castle, but you cannot erase the mark of the sun from your soul. No matter how many doors you open, no matter how deep you bury yourself in the abyss… I will find you, Muzan. I swear upon the lives you've taken, I will bring an end to your darkness'.

His words hung in the night air, a solemn promise that echoed through the silence long after the portal had closed.

Halting in the clearing, Yoriichi clenched his fists. His heart pounded not from exertion but from the realization that fate had granted him a second chance.

'If Muzan was here, Yoriichi knew Kokushibo would not be far behind. A shadow of sorrow flickered within his heart—a silent ache born from the memory of the brother he once cherished. Yet, the man who had once stood beside him, bound by blood and shared dreams, now walked as a demon cloaked in darkness'.

Though grief lingered like a faint whisper in Yoriichi's soul, a deeper resolve burned within his heart. 

Turning back toward the path, Yoriichi resumed his search for shelter. The snow continued to fall in soft flakes, blanketing the world in white. After some time, the faint outline of a house appeared in the distance, its warm glow a beacon against the cold night. As he approached, memories stirred within him—there was something familiar about this place.

Yoriichi approached the wooden door of the humble house and knocked gently, the faint sound echoing through the quiet air. Moments later, the door creaked open, revealing a woman standing in the doorway. Her warm, gentle eyes met his, and a flicker of familiarity crossed her gaze, as if distant memories stirred within her heart. Yoriichi stood silently, his crimson-tinted haori draped over his shoulders, and the hanafuda earrings swaying softly against his cheeks. The woman's eyes lingered on the earrings, her breath hitching slightly as recognition began to dawn upon her.

A memory surfaced—words once spoken by her husband, Tanjuro Kamado. "There is a man," he had said, "a swordsman who wears hanafuda earrings. He is not only a close friend but a distant relative of our family. If fate ever brings him to our doorstep, treat him with the kindness of kin."

Now, standing before her, was the very man her husband had described—his presence both solemn and comforting, as if carrying the weight of countless lifetimes within his gaze.

Without hesitation, the woman stepped aside and gestured warmly for Yoriichi to enter. The faint aroma of burning charcoal and freshly brewed tea lingered in the air, reminding him of days long past. As he crossed the threshold, a wave of memories washed over him—the faint laughter of children, the warmth of a shared meal, and the soft, crackling fire within the hearth. The images of Sumiyoshi Kamado and his family emerged in his mind—his closest friend outside the world of swords and demons, a man who had offered him solace when the world seemed too heavy to bear.

Yoriichi settled onto the tatami mat as the woman quietly placed a steaming cup of tea before him. The warmth of the porcelain seeped into his hands, grounding him as he gazed at her with gentle curiosity.

"May I ask your name?" he inquired softly, his voice carrying the calm strength of a man shaped by time and loss.

The woman offered a gentle smile, her eyes reflecting both kindness and resilience.

"My name is Kie Kamado," she replied.

Yoriichi paused, the name echoing through the corridors of his memory. After a moment's thought, he asked, "Do you know of Sumiyoshi Kamado? He was a dear friend of mine, and his family… they welcomed me as their own."

For a moment, Kie looked puzzled. Tilting her head slightly, she replied, "Sumiyoshi Kamado was our ancestor. His stories have been passed down through generations—tales of a warrior who wore hanafuda earrings and wielded the sun's power to protect humanity from demons."

Yoriichi's hand stilled against the ceramic cup as a faint tremor coursed through his fingers. 'Ancestors?' The realization settled heavily upon his chest as his gaze drifted to the flickering fire within the hearth. The warmth of the tea, the soft hum of the house—everything felt familiar, yet distant, as if tethered to a world he could no longer touch.

'This is not the Sengoku Era…'

The thought echoed within his mind, the weight of centuries pressing upon his shoulders as the truth became undeniable. Somehow, against the laws of nature and time itself, he now stood within a future he could neither comprehend nor explain.

But Yoriichi quickly masked the shock that flickered in his eyes, his composure settling as effortlessly as the stillness of a calm lake. Offering a faint smile, he bowed his head slightly and said, "Oh, my bad. It seems I've confused the passage of time. Forgive me if I startled you."

Kie shook her head gently, her smile warm and reassuring.

"There's no need to apologize. It's quite touching that you remember our ancestors so fondly. My husband, Tanjuro, often speaks of the strength and kindness that runs through our family's history."

Yoriichi's gaze softened at her words. Though centuries had passed, the legacy of Sumiyoshi Kamado still lingered within this household, like the faint embers of a fire that refused to fade. Yet, beneath his calm exterior, questions stirred within his mind. 'How had I arrived in this time? And for what purpose?'

As silence settled between them, broken only by the faint crackle of the hearth, Yoriichi took a slow sip of tea, the warmth spreading through his chest. For now, he chose to push those questions aside. Whatever fate had woven into the fabric of time, he would meet it with the same unwavering resolve that had guided him through the past.

---

As the household drifted into slumber, Yoriichi remained awake, seated beside the crackling hearth with his sword resting beside him. Outside, snowflakes fell soundlessly, blanketing the world in white as a calm stillness settled over the forest. Yet, within that veil of silence, Yoriichi's mind stirred with thoughts that offered no rest.

He gazed into the flickering flames, their warm glow dancing across the walls and casting faint shadows that seemed to echo distant memories. The faint creaks of the wooden house and the soft, rhythmic breathing of the Kamado family provided a fragile harmony to the night, but the peace within these walls could not quiet the questions that now weighed upon his heart.

'How had I come to this time?'

The thought repeated itself as Yoriichi traced the fragments of memory that led him here. He remembered the clash with Muzan—the Demon King's eyes wide with terror before vanishing into the night. Yet what followed remained a haze of confusion, as if the fabric of time itself had shifted beneath his feet, carrying him beyond the world he had known. No longer was he in the Sengoku Era, where his battles had shaped the fate of humanity. Instead, he now sat within the home of descendants whose faces echoed those of a dear friend long gone.

'Sumiyoshi…'

The name lingered in his heart, conjuring images of a man who had offered him solace when the world had grown heavy with sorrow. Yoriichi could still see Sumiyoshi's kind smile, the warmth of his family, and the laughter of a child who had once clung to his haori. Yet now, generations had passed, and the Kamado family before him knew those moments only as distant echoes of their ancestry.

Yoriichi's gaze softened as he listened to the faint breathing of Kie and her children, their peaceful slumber a testament to the life they had built despite the shadows that still clung to the world. The warmth of their home, the faint scent of burning charcoal, and the soft hum of the night stirred a longing within him—one he had thought buried beneath the weight of duty and loss.

Yet, for all the warmth that surrounded him, Yoriichi could not shake the uncertainty that now clouded his path. Time had carried him beyond the world he had known, into an era where the faces of his past existed only in memory. And yet, one truth remained unchanged—Muzan still lived. His escape had not been a final defeat, but a delay in the battle that had yet to reach its conclusion.

Clenching his hands gently against the fabric of his haori, Yoriichi allowed himself a slow breath, steadying the thoughts that threatened to weigh him down. He had always walked a path of solitude, guided only by the promise he had made—to end Muzan's reign of terror and bring peace to the world, no matter the cost. Even if time itself had shifted beneath his feet, his purpose remained unshaken.

Outside, the snow continued to fall, each flake a fleeting whisper against the earth. Yet, within the stillness of that night, Yoriichi found a fragile sense of clarity. Though the past had slipped beyond his reach and the future remained uncertain, he would not waver..'This time, I will see the battle to its end.'

Morning would soon break, and with it, the next step of his journey. But for now, Yoriichi allowed the quiet hum of the fire to lull his thoughts into stillness, his eyes reflecting the faint glow of dawn.