A Meeting Foretold

Giyu Tomioka walked ahead, his steps steady as he led the way to his secluded mansion. The night air remained crisp, undisturbed by the passage of time. A gentle breeze wove through the towering trees, rustling their leaves in hushed whispers. The moon hung high above, its pale glow barely piercing the dense canopy, leaving much of the path shrouded in shadow.

Beside him, Yoriichi moved with effortless grace, his presence silent yet commanding. His expression remained unreadable, untouched by the world around him, just as it had been since their encounter. There was something about him that unsettled Giyu—not in fear, but in a way that demanded quiet contemplation. The weight of his presence was unlike anything Giyu had known, as if he did not belong to this night, this place, or even this era.

Giyu had already made up his mind. This man—this enigma of a swordsman—needed to meet Oyakata-sama. His very existence posed questions too great to overlook. But for now, until the world stirred once more with the coming dawn, they would take refuge at Giyu's residence. The journey to the Slayer Headquarters could wait. The night was still, and it was far from over.

After a silent walk through the forested outskirts, they arrived at Giyu's residence. Nestled within the quiet embrace of nature, the mansion stood modest yet well-maintained, a stark contrast to the grand estates of nobles. Its dark wooden exterior blended seamlessly with the surrounding trees, as though it had always been a part of the landscape. The air was still, carrying only the distant murmur of rustling leaves.

Giyu stepped forward, pushing open the wooden gates. They creaked softly in protest before settling into silence once more. Without a word, he moved aside, allowing Yoriichi to enter first. The swordsman did so without hesitation, his presence as fluid as the breeze that whispered through the trees.

"You can stay here for the night," Giyu said, stepping in behind him. His voice was quiet but firm. "At sunrise, we will leave for the Slayer Headquarters."

Yoriichi gave a small nod in acknowledgment, his crimson eyes unreadable in the dim light. He neither questioned nor hesitated, simply moving forward with the same effortless grace he had displayed since their encounter. Giyu observed him closely, still unsure of what to make of him. There was a serenity about him—calm, unwavering—but beneath that tranquility lay something else. A presence so profound, so absolute, that it felt as though the very air shifted around him.

Without another word, Giyu led him deeper into the mansion, the wooden floor cool beneath their feet. The house was quiet, absent of unnecessary ornamentation, much like its owner. The faint scent of aged wood and faintly burning incense lingered in the air, blending with the crisp night breeze that slipped through the open corridors.

For now, the questions could wait. The night was long, and dawn was still far away.

Inside, the mansion was sparsely decorated, its simplicity mirroring its owner. A faint scent of pine lingered in the air, mixing with the coolness of the evening. The flickering candlelight cast soft shadows across the wooden floors.

"You can rest in this room," Giyu said, sliding open a door to reveal a neatly arranged futon.

Yoriichi turned his gaze to the room, his crimson eyes scanning it with quiet appreciation. "Thank you."

It was the first time Giyu had heard him speak since their walk. His voice was gentle yet firm, carrying a weight that made Giyu pause for a moment before nodding.

Leaving Yoriichi to settle in, Giyu quietly stepped away, making his way toward the small kitchen. He wasn't one for elaborate hospitality, but offering a meal felt like the right thing to do. No matter how enigmatic this man was, he was still a guest under Giyu's roof. 

The quiet mansion stirred with the sounds of preparation. Water bubbled as it came to a boil, the faint clinking of utensils echoing through the halls. Giyu moved methodically, assembling a simple meal with practiced ease. He wasn't a skilled cook, nor did he have much reason to prepare meals for others, but the task grounded him in something tangible—something normal in contrast to the lingering unease brought by his mysterious guest.

Before long, he had finished. On a lacquered tray sat a modest yet balanced meal: a bowl of steaming rice, a serving of miso soup, and a small dish of pickled vegetables. No more, no less. It was the kind of meal a traveling swordsman might expect, plain yet sufficient.

Taking the tray, Giyu walked back to Yoriichi's room, his footsteps muted against the wooden floor. Sliding the door open, he stepped inside and knelt before the man, placing the tray down with quiet precision.

"It's not much, but eat," Giyu said, his voice even, yet watchful.

Yoriichi gazed at the meal before him, his expression as unreadable as ever. He neither expressed gratitude nor disdain—only silence, as if the act of being served food was something distant, unfamiliar. Giyu remained still, observing him. Would he accept the meal? Would he eat like any other man, or would this moment reveal something beyond Giyu's comprehension?

The night stretched on, quiet and unbroken, as he awaited Yoriichi's response.

Yoriichi looked at the meal for a moment before picking up the chopsticks. His movements were careful, deliberate. He took a bite of rice, chewing slowly. Giyu watched, half-expecting some reaction—perhaps surprise or a quiet comment—but Yoriichi simply continued eating, his face unreadable as ever.

"…It's good," he finally said.

That was all, but coming from him, it felt significant. Giyu nodded slightly, taking his own meal in silence.

The night stretched on peacefully. A soft wind brushed against the paper doors, and outside, the moon cast its silver glow over the mansion. For the first time in a long while, Giyu found himself in the company of someone who did not seek unnecessary conversation.

A swordsman with a presence that felt like a ghost of the past, yet more real than anything he had encountered.

The night deepened, its silence stretching between the two swordsmen as they remained in their respective spaces. Yoriichi sat calmly in his room, his crimson eyes reflecting the faint glow of the paper lantern beside him. Giyu, on the other hand, lingered in the corridor outside, his mind weighed with thoughts.

Just who was this man? His presence was unlike anything Giyu had ever encountered—like a ripple in time, standing in quiet defiance of the world around him.

Before he could dwell on it further, the soft fluttering of wings broke the silence. A Kasugai crow swooped down gracefully, landing on the wooden railing just beside Giyu. Its glossy feathers shimmered under the moonlight as it ruffled itself before speaking in its sharp, distinct voice.

"GIYU TOMIOKA! MESSAGE FOR OYAKATA-SAMA?!"

As Giyu prepared his message for the Kasugai crow, he made sure to include every important detail:

"He appears unlike any swordsman I have encountered before. He wears an old-style haori which is distinct red, His hair is long, reaching past his shoulders, and his eyes are a deep crimson, carrying an intensity I cannot place. His demeanor is calm, yet his presence alone commands attention. There is something… unshakable about him, as though he exists outside of time itself.

"But there is one more thing—something I cannot overlook. On his forehead, he bears a distinct mark, resembling a red Mark. It is unlike any I have seen before, and yet, he carries it effortlessly, as though it has always been a part of him. This alone raises many questions.

"And his blade—when I saw it, it was unlike any Nichirin sword I have encountered. It glows a deep crimson, radiating a strange energy. When he wielded it, I felt a heat unlike anything I've experienced before, almost as if the very air around him was burning. The technique he uses… I do not recognize it. It carries the force of flames, yet it is not Flame Breathing. It is something else entirely beyond my understanding as it doesn't look to familiar to kyojuro's Flame Breathing ."

The crow flapped its wings, processing the information.

"MYSTERIOUS SLAYER! RED EYES! OLD HAROI! MARK ON FOREHEAD! CRIMSON BLADE! UNKNOWN TECHNIQUE! MESSAGE RECEIVED! ACKNOWLEDGED!"

With that, it soared into the night, carrying the message to Oyakata-sama—the first step toward unraveling the mystery surrounding the man named Yoriichi.

The crow tilted its head before flapping its wings. "MYSTERIOUS SLAYER? REQUEST FOR MEETING?! ACKNOWLEDGED! ACKNOWLEDGED!"

With that, it took off into the night, its wings cutting through the dark sky as it soared toward the Demon Slayer Headquarters. Giyu watched it disappear, his thoughts still clouded by uncertainty. Would Oyakata-sama believe such a claim? Would he recognize something about Yoriichi that Giyu himself could not?

A few hours passed in silence. Giyu remained awake, occasionally sipping on tea as he kept an ear out for any returning message. Yoriichi, however, remained in his room, undisturbed, as if he were merely a fleeting shadow resting within these walls.

Then, just before dawn, the familiar sound of flapping wings returned. Giyu turned his gaze upward as the Kasugai crow circled overhead before descending once more.

"OYAKATA-SAMA AGREES! AGREES TO MEET THE MYSTERIOUS SLAYER!" the crow cawed. "HEAD TO SLAYER HEADQUARTERS BY SUNRISE! DO NOT DELAY!"

Giyu exhaled softly. The request had been granted.

As the first light of dawn began to pierce through the horizon, he rose to his feet, stepping toward Yoriichi's room. With a quiet knock against the wooden door, he spoke.

"It's time. Oyakata-sama has agreed to meet you."

The door slid open soundlessly, revealing Yoriichi already standing, as if he had been waiting for this moment. His expression remained calm, unreadable, yet something in his presence felt… unwavering. As though this was a path he had always known he would walk.