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On a cold autumn night, the full moon illuminates the purple wisterias that swayed in the cool breeze, surrounding the Ubuyashiki estate with its gentle and comforting smell. The quiet for once, was not eerie with the lingering fear of demons, but tranquil. The Ubuyashikis enjoyed a peaceful sleep, even Amane who would usually stay up late to attend to her husband. All of them succumbed to the fatigue and exhaustion brought by the day, except for the head of the clan.
It was odd, Kagaya thought. Of all the places he could have visited, he got up and let his limping, yet still-functioning feet slowly walk him towards his father's office. Even though it is so near to his bedroom, it has been years since the last time he visited. He decided that he might as well use his feet while they can still serve him.
The scent of sandalwood, mixed with the scent of wisteria entered his nose, yet he felt no comfort in them. He can only focus on the cold touch of thee wooden floor, as he looked forward with his sightless eyes. Though he is blind, he knew his house like the back of his hand. He didn’t want to wake up his wife or children to help him in such a trivial matter, so instead he felt his way around with his hands. The silence of the night gave way to an uneasy feel on his stomach, and an almost unnoticeable change in the wind. It was an inevitable truth and an unavoidable fate, yet still doesn’t make it easier to face.
He was going to die soon.
Kagaya then placed a hand on the ugly, discolored scar that covered almost half of his face. Countless times have the doctors said it to him, yet it was the first time that he believed it himself. Though no whisper told him a ss on, and no gut feeling told him how it would feel, he just knew that he wouldn’t be able live long enough to feel the next autumn breeze bringing a chill to his spine, and hear the laughter of his five children accompanied by the sound of crushed piled leaves.
Kagaya stopped his step, and he didn’t need to wave his hands in front of him to know that he was here. In the dead of the night, he stood in the front of shoji door that he himself ordered to be sealed shut and barred anyone from entering. His hand slowly stretched out and tentatively touched it. Dirt and dust accumulated on his fingers. Yet none of them ever came near the handle; he didn’t need to open the door, for he already knew what was inside.
It was a memory like a vignette, and clearer than even the happiest of his memories. He remembered that there were shelves upon shelves where his father’s written work reside, and on the middle was his desk made of dark oak wood. Small stacks of paperwork were arranged neatly on it, and the smell of freshly made ink collided with the wafting scent of the sandalwood floor. There was a small square table beside the desk, where a bonsai was put. A few scrolls hang from the walls, and he remembered that one of them had the kanji “bravery” written on them. The office lacked decoration, yet it was simple, pristine, and clean. But on that day, it was ruined by his father who lay unmoving on the floor, beside a small, shattered vial of arsenic that mixed with his blood.
On that day, his father left all of his beloved children and crossed the Sanzu River without warning. On that day, he finally let himself snap from all the burdens the world has put on his shoulder. And on that day, he passed all of those burdens to his four-year old son’s care
The burdens of being the leader of the Demon Slayer Corps. The burdens of sending his “children” one after another, only for them to never return. The burdens of not being able to defend them with his own body. The burden of helplessness and hopelessness that has almost pushed him down his father’s path multiple times. And countless other more than he could never enumerate.
Aside from getting the important paperwork, when he became the official clan head, he left his father’s office as it is. He got a priest to perform a ritual to remove the bad omens his father’s suicide had left in that office before it was sealed shut. It was as if nothing ever happened. It was as if he had never left.
But every year, his children and wife offered incence sticks and prayed for his late father’s soul. He never joined them.
A great hatred in his heart that has receded in the years, but has never disappeared.
After all, he had faced the same trials, obstacles, and problems his father had faced. He had grived with the same intensity on death of his slayers, like him. Like his father, he had sent countless slayers that might as well be his children to their deaths, and to a much worse fate. They have experienced the same things over and over again.
Kagaya then smiled. And it was not filled with the usual gentleness, compassion, and kindness. It was of bitterness.
After all, a real father never leaves his children.
He remembered the little, wisteria-eyed boy that fiercely swore a vow on his father’s grave on a cold autumn night, tears pattering the ground. And many years later, that little boy, now a grown man will renew that vow on a same cold autumn night.
The only difference is that this man won’t shed tears. He has long learned that it is a privilege he cannot afford.
Kagaya retreated his hand from the door. He then sat on the porch, and let the cool wind again send shivers to his spine. His bitter smile then turned to one of determination, as he looked at the sky, imagining the glowing moon and the twinkling stars that was sure to be out tonight.
“The wind is changing, Father,” he said. “We might share the same blood, but we will not share the same fate.”