A mother cold turns her frame 'pon birth , tired & unwilling to look 'pon her daughter ──────── the midwife's pained heart , her hands tenderly pressing within the father's arms & instead of the mother's , first is the father's heart to which the child hears , her cries softening into tender silence. In the arms of him , the child finds comfort as the father settles himself 'pon the engawa , gently soothing his little one with a smile. Slowly , Narajiro does speak , forehead lightly pressed to his daughter's.  " If I am the sun of my own world , then you are the sky , upholding everything. "  Truly , for a man whom had neither a true love [ for what was their marriage but a play of games ? A man terribly desperate for a family & a woman who held no heart for any , simply wanting to see what it was like to play house. ] nor a family , the one who curls , small & fragile , in his arms became the source of his hope. So , in the fall of sunlight , he names his daughter for the light blue that festers against the small of her hair , pressing the name Asagi 'pon her frame.

The woman , the mother , Aguri soon departs their small family , having grown tired of playing house. In so , she leaves Narajiro to merely run both the family & his little shop , quiet & honest , his & Asagi's life is small & comforting , a home smelling of light & fresh bread , the soft shades of their wood & the cheeriness of their tones. A family so small & warm , quiet as light , comforting as honeyed tea.

Come a dawn of the child's sixth year , the father falls into illness & slowly does everything leak 'pon tiny shoulders , her heart diligent , she takes up these burdens without uttering compliant. She must endure , no matter what , for the sake of him.

A tender dawn of the ninth year of life. She is ever the diligent child , hands hurried in the beginning of morning. From their tiny shop , she collects a small bottle of medicine , for a child who has been called sickly in the village. Into a small kinchaku , painted by the pattern of koi scales , does she settle the bottle & begin her movement , down the road to the young family's home.

So her palm presses 'pon the wooden door as she arrives at the open home. Slowly , she slides it open & before her , a beast of crimson tongue snarls , sharpened teeth tearing flesh of a child grasped within it's arms , long since deceased ; the parents scattered at the feet of the creature. & thus , 'pon her tongue , she felt the first beginnings of rage , seeping within her frame , flames swallowing the golden of her eye.

Forward with all her small speed , Asagi grasped that most wild beast. Finger tips dipping 'pon it's skin & it's cackling echoing the breeze , as if she had gone insane. Sunlight was the beast's weakness , she knew that in name for the stories of demons roamed her town ; nails into spine , claws again her frame , she threw herself & the creature from the door , scattering into sunlight as it tore her flesh , bleeding it red. A howl of the horrid , burning beneath the purifying rays as the torn child's body flips , crying out with rage onto the onlookers who tremble with fear. As if those people were still alive , she calls for their protection ━ vision slipping , spilling into silence as lashes close , hair scattering as she loses consciousness to her wounds.

Among the crowd , a former Slayer looks onward to the one crying within her rage , her boiling wrath overwhelming ─ perhaps , he , who has lost a wife & daughter , can muster the strength to pass onward a Breathing style he could never perfect.

'Pon the passing of a week , the man , Shakuhachi , enters the small store , watching the young girl , too wounded still yet to stand , crawl among the place , keeping strong among her work. He steps before the girl , brandishing his former glory , the jacket of the Demon Slayers with the written word for destruction pressed into the fabric that would rest 'pon the spine. He asks of her heart if she would want to become a Slayer & she , without a moment's hesitation , speaks forth in agreement. Untrusting of such quick judgement , Shakuhachi asks Asagi to prove herself & without another thought , that small body stands to her feet with a tremble & that small palm reaches forth , grabbing the second sword by his side & yanking it from the sheath , where she lifts her hair & cuts away the childish kanzashi. A scatter of beautiful things , childish colors & patterns 'pon the wooden floor , her hand staining crimson with the blood of gripping a blade too tight , her eyes on fire.

Before the beginning of her Final Selection , she heard that the next town over had been attacked by a demon & in her rage , she picked up her blade , which had turned a bright white with the clarity of her heart. Shakuhachi reached forth , begging her not to go , speaking that it was too late & in her rage , she grabbed him by his collar , snarling to his face. " You can stay here & pity yourself if you'd like ! But I'm going ! I refuse to let anyone die ! " In a moment , from his side did she leave & it dawned 'pon him , who she was onto her soul.

After the passing of the Final Selection , she remembers vividly awakening to being carried on Shakuhachi's back , the warmth of his smile.     " Become Koto , the sound that saves. "

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