Chapter 1: The Second Sunrise
The scent of pine and charcoal drifted through the misty mountain air. Tanjiro Kamado stirred awake, not in pain or darkness—but in warmth.
The familiar creak of wooden floorboards met his ears. Light filtered through sliding doors. A soft snore came from across the room—his younger brother, Rokuta, drooling on his blanket.
Tanjiro sat up slowly, heart thundering.
"...Rokuta?"
The boy groaned and rolled over, still very much alive.
Tanjiro's breath hitched. He stumbled out of bed, flinging open the paper door to find Nezuko humming softly in the kitchen, hair tied back, sleeves rolled up, preparing breakfast with a peaceful smile.
"Nezuko!" he gasped.
She blinked. "Um… Good morning?"
He dropped to his knees and hugged her tightly. She yelped, then laughed.
Behind him, his siblings stirred. "Tanjiro's being weird again!" "Is breakfast ready yet?" "Nezuko, he's crying!"
He was. He couldn't help it. They were all here. Mother was alive too—he could hear her voice outside with the hens. There was no blood. No snow stained red. No demon.
This wasn't a dream.
Or maybe it was. But if it was, it was the kind of dream he'd fight tooth and nail to keep.
Later that morning, Tanjiro slipped into the forest alone. His mind raced, fragments returning in flashes: blood. A temple. Giyu Tomioka. Muzan's eyes. Nezuko turning into a demon. All of it had happened. Yet somehow, he was back—before it all.
"Why…?" he whispered, hand gripping a tree trunk. "Why me?"
The wind whispered no answers, but one thought was loud and clear:
"Protect them. This time, no one dies."
He returned home with new eyes, his usual kindness now backed by quiet intensity. He helped chop wood, sharpened knives, fixed loose planks in the floor. His mother joked that he was acting like a warrior. He only smiled.
By evening, he sat on the roof, watching the stars. Nezuko climbed up beside him, munching a rice ball.
"You're weird today," she said, mouth full. "Weirder than normal."
Tanjiro chuckled. "Just glad you're eating rice and not people."
She blinked. "What?"
"Nothing!"
They sat in silence a while before Nezuko leaned her head on his shoulder. "You're always trying so hard. Just promise you'll rest too, okay?"
He swallowed hard and nodded. "Promise."
But he knew rest wouldn't come easy.
---
Meanwhile…
In a hidden part of Tokyo, a man in white sat beneath a parasol, sipping wine. His eyes—cold, cruel—glowed faintly red as he looked up at the moon.
For the first time in years, Muzan Kibutsuji felt something strange stir in his gut.
An itch. A flicker. Like something was… off.
He narrowed his eyes toward the distant mountains.
"Something's shifted," he murmured.
---
Tanjiro lay awake that night, staring at the ceiling, heart thudding with questions and possibilities.
This time, I can train early.
I can reinforce the house with wisteria.
I can find Urokodaki before the demon attack.
I can change fate.
As dawn approached, he whispered aloud:
"I won't let anyone die. Not them. Not the Hashira. Not this time."
The sun rose, golden and slow, bathing the Kamado home in light.
The second chance had begun.