As Tanjiro's horse slows to a stop above a small cliff, Tanjiro observes the dunes, the moon and the chilling air his only accomplice for now.
Al-Adjar, Mesopotamia, 1917.
It's been a year.
Surveying the land, Tanjiro spots a cloaked figure wandering the cold Arabian desert. Against his better judgement, the teenage Demon Slayer dashes off on foot to catch up to the figure. Tanjiro reaches out to touch him, but his hand is pushed away in a flash, the cloak flying in the wind, still on the figure, but revealing yellow hair.
No fucking way.
"Z-Zenistu?" He questions.
Those gold eyes.
The yellow hair, the sword. There was no doubt. But how? No, his mind is just playing tricks on him. The figure also looked surprised. Almost relieved.
"Tanjiro?" Zenitsu also questions, his tone a bit happy.
"No. Nonononononono- I SAW YOU DIE! I FUCKING SAW YOU DIE!" Tanjiro says, pulling out his newly-acquired M1911, the gun still smelling fresh as he points it to Zenitsu in a crazed stupor, clicking off the safety, much to the latter's surprise.
"What the hell are you doing?! What's gotten into you?!" Zenitsu exclaims, looking at the other teen, his eyes filled with tears, his usual dark red eyes now bloodshot.
"NO! YOU CAN'T BE REAL! YOU'RE JUST A FUCKING TRICK!" Tanjiro yells. God, the War has really got him. The tears began to flow down after bubbling up in his eyes for about 10 seconds. In another crazed stupor, Tanjiro punches Zenitsu, his cloak hood falling down, and instead of fading right through, it makes contact with his speechless friend.
"What the hell, Tanjiro!" Zenitsu exclaims, looking at his friend in utter horror.
"IT'S BEEN A FUCKING YEAR SINCE YOU'VE DIED, YOU SHOULD BE NOTHING BUT BONES BY NOW! I WATCHED YOU SUFFOCATE ON YOUR OWN BLOOD! YOU CAN'T BE REAL!" Tanjiro yells, completely having a breakdown as he clicks the safety back on, tears still streaming.
"Look, Tanjiro I am real-"
"No! Th-this has to be some sort of dream, like the fucking Mugen Train mission, I have to be fucking dreaming-"
"You're not dreaming." Zenitsu consoles.
"Look at me, Tanjiro. I'm right here. Feel my hand," Zenitsu says, reaching out to grab Tanjiro's wrist. The warmth of Zenitsu's skin, the pulse beneath his fingers, it's real. More real than any illusion or dream.
Zenitsu takes a deep breath. "After the gassing, I woke up in an infirmary tent. I don't remember much, but there were medics... and then I was moved. I've spent months recovering, trying to get back to you."
"I thought... I thought I fucking lost you," Tanjiro murmurs, his voice breaking up.
Zenitsu gives a soft, shaky smile, his own eyes misting over. "You're not getting rid of me that easily."
as tears still stream down his face, the burgundy-haired teen lets out a choked laugh. "Damn it, Zenitsu. Don't scare me like that again."
"God, I turned into a fucking monster, Zenitsu. I killed so many. I just wish I could go back," Tanjiro whispers, looking out at the vast expanse of desert before them. "Before all this."
"I've heard rumors about what you've been doing since we got separated. At first, I didn't believe them. I thought there was no way you could do those things." Zenitsu says, cautious as to not rile his broken friend up.
"Fear Tactics? Killing without hesitation? That's not the Tanjiro I know. The Tanjiro I know would always try to find another way, a way that didn't involve so much pain." But all Tanjiro could do, was let it all out. Tears. Zenitsu's cloak flows in the wind, as he comforts his traumatized friend. The flow and ripple of the cloak was all they could hear, and for the first time in a long while, Tanjiro felt a shred of hope. His friend had returned. He didn't care if he was trembling due to the freezing nightly temperature the Arabian desert hits. His friend had come back, from the dead, it still seemed.
28 years left.....