Work Text:
He was not the eldest, nor was he the youngest.
He was not born second either.
He was the third to be born.
He wasn’t exactly planned or expected, what with him being born barely a year after his elder Brother, but his parents and siblings loved him all the same.
His name was something given with love, if with a slightly nonsensical meaning. “Kamado Tanjuro”.
His family name, the one that showcased the fire-blessed bond between all of them, was Kamado. “Kama”, meaning charcoal cook-stove, or furnace. And “Do”, meaning door.
His first name, the one that would be unique to him and him alone, given with no strings or expectations attached, was Tanjuro. “Tan”, meaning charcoal. “Ju”, meaning ten. And “Ro”, meaning son.
If put together, his name meant, “Tenth son of charcoal from the furnace doors”.
He was three, perhaps four, the first time he remembers winter snow, dark skies, and torches encircling a figure that jumped and twirled to the sound of ringing bells. (That was the first time he felt the warmth in his chest stir, he knows that much for certain)
He had another sibling born, just before he turned six.
She was a small, squalling thing. But he wouldn’t trade his sleepless nights for the wonder and joy that she brought for anything.
She was the first one he Danced for, or, tried to, at least.
He barely made it through the third movement before he collapsed, ears ringing and vision going dark.
He awoke to her crying. (The feeling of curling warmth folding back into his chest)
He was taken aside and scolded, but underneath he could hear their awe and disbelief.
That was the first time he had Danced. And he had made it to the third movement before he couldn’t move anymore.
Apparently, no one else in their family had ever been able to manage to get that far the first time they tried.
He loved his family more than anything else in his life.
Sure they fought sometimes, but they always, always, came back. The fence mended, the hatchet buried.
He was not alone.
At least…
He wasn’t supposed to be alone.
He was twelve when the sickness hit.
Otou-san had gotten an invitation from a wealthy man.
One who was interested in their charcoal, and was seeking to potentially create a larger business out of it. “To help meet the demand of our changing era.” the missive claimed.
He didn’t like it.
Something felt, off, wrong, about that piece of paper that cost more than their entire family could make in a year.
He even said as much.
But his Otou-san was so excited, that his concern was brushed aside.
Otou-san returned almost two months later, just as summer was getting into full swing.
He was weary, at first. But that was to be expected, with how far he had travelled, and the deal falling though. But he felt something off, with Otou-san. (Something that made the distant warmth he playfully chased when he Danced, twist)
And despite being glad that Otou-san had returned safely home, he kept his distance.
He was practicing the sixth movement of their Kagura, he couldn’t quite get the wooden rod to move properly, it kept wavering and fading so he couldn’t tell where it truly was - he had whacked his eldest Sister earlier that week, and although she was fine, if sporting a rather nasty lump on her head, he wanted to make sure it wouldn’t happen again - when he heard his Brother shriek.
Otou-san had collapsed. Hands scrabbling at his chest as his body shivered and shuddered like he had just gotten inside from a snowstorm, before with a final, raspy wheeze, he fell still.
He stood in the door, wooden rod loosely grasped in hand, ears ringing like someone had replaced his ears with bells. (That distant warmth writhed)
That was when they realized that it had not been something so simple as travel exhaustion.
The next to show those same symptoms - lethargy, shortness of breath, paled and cooled skin while simultaneously burning with fever - was his little Sister.
She was so miserable, unable to do anything to help them as they tried to help her get better.
He did not keep his distance this time, unwilling to let her suffer alone. In an effort to distract her, he Danced.
It was the only thing that made her smile as she swiftly grew weaker and weaker.
He Danced, and Danced, and Danced. Even going as far as to take the Shichishitō they used on New Years and Dance with it as well. (The warmth in his chest spread, it felt like it was trying to reach for someone, he liked to think that it was reaching for his younger Sister as he Danced)
She still grew weaker - but it was slower than Otou-san who had faded and died less than two days after he came home - until she could barely sit upright without help, and he was still unable to move through the entire set. But oh, did she smile.
It made the bitter taste of failure more than worth it.
The evening she died - almost two and a half weeks - he had made it to the tenth movement - the farthest he had ever gotten - before he felt something ephemeral snap. (The warmth retreated and coiled away, as if struck)
He stumbled to a halt, muscles screaming and lungs failing to intake air for a few moments.
He did not hear her clap, though it had become more of a rapid tapping on the engawa as the sickness grew worse and stole her strength.
He looked to the engawa, chest heaving, sweat stinging his eyes and tasting sour on his tongue.
She had died smiling.
Despite how his chest hurt. How the warmth spun, and spun, and spun until it, too, was painful. He screamed out a sob that silenced the evening fox cries, and sent birds into the air with panic.
It made his ears ring. (The warmth raged for an instant in a way only fire could, he could have sworn he heard a melodic, mournful wail, overlaying his own cry)
He was the next one to exhibit the symptoms. (The warmth flickered, it felt alarmed)
He was not allowed to Dance any more. (He understands, but by Hinokami does it hurt)
Not allowed to assist in any heavy labor that his older Brother took on, despite him having more endurance. (The warmth twisted and shrank slightly, like it had dodged)
Not allowed to help forage with his eldest Sibling, despite him being able to traverse more ground then her. (The warmth turned, like it was trying to shake something off)
He was only allowed to assist his Hahaoya in mending things and tending to the fire that they always joked was the longest-living family member, but never with cooking. (The warmth writhed and shook, almost like it was pushing against something made of ice)
He didn’t resent them for it. He understood, truly, he did. But there was simultaneously so much and so little to do.
He meditated during the day, if only to pass the time. (The warmth rattled against something, it felt like a wall of ice)
(He snuck outside on more than one occasion as what was left of his family slept, despite how exhausted it made him, he always felt somewhat lighter, warmer, after he Danced)
He did not succumb to the Affliction next.
His Brother did.
He had been coughing for a few days, but that had been explained away by him getting a facefull of smoke and charcoal dust when he opened the kiln too early one day.
He was found next to that same kiln by their elder Sister. Chest cold and stiff like frozen flesh despite the Summer and kiln’s heat. (Why did he ignore how the warmth reacted and felt whenever his Brother came to check on him, how it twisted and recoiled like it was dodging, if only just)
Desperation has his only remaining sibling, the eldest, his Sister, running to Saburo’s family.
They may not be healers anymore, but they do hold many, many, journals and hand-written books on medicinal plants and recipes. (Something about that box with a rusted lock made him feel uneasy, the warmth felt wary but also longed for whatever hid therein)
“Big Sister’s going to take care of this. Just hold on a while longer, alright?”
Those are the last words she says to him, as he lays gripped in the throes of a fever. (The warmth screeches, writhes, and desperately extends towards her, his fever lessens as the warmths’ focus turns away from the strangling ice and towards her)
She never returns.
Five weeks later, it is the young woodsman, a joyful youth with a small scar on the lower right side of his cheek and close-cropped, black hair, that finds her body.
He had heard his Hahaoya cry before. Had heard her sob and wail in grief as his family dropped like flies to this almost-curse.
Nothing could have prepared him for her scream that day.
(It reminded him of that melodic wail he heard when his little Sister died but so much more tangible)
Hahaoya takes on all the work and chores, but she was never truly able to get the art of charcoal-baking quite right, though she did try. (By Hinokami did she try)
He couldn’t just sit there and watch as she slowly pushed herself to an early death because of this cursed Affliction that felt like a death knell, a noose slowly tightening around his neck.
He pushed past the ice that slowly crept into his bones, minimalizing every single movement to absolute efficiency so get each task and chore done with minimal energy. (He didn’t want to leave his Hahaoya alone, not after everything)
Summer bows to Autumn, which in turn steps aside for Winter’s gentle yet harsh embrace.
The chores build up, and his energy wanes. He still tries to Dance, but can barely do a single move before he collapses. (The warmth is waning, and so is his strength)
He meditates again, when the ice grows in his bones and even sitting up is a mountainous task, with the fire in the irori crackling.
He watches the fire rise and fall, and before he knows it, his Breaths are matching it.
He straightens from his partial-hunch, energy and warmth flowing once again. (The warmth doesn’t quite sing, but it moves easier than a moment prior)
Almost in a trance, he stands. (Arms come up in front of his chest, like he is cradling something, the warmth trembles in excited anticipation )
Hahaoya enters the small room before he can move further (His feet and limbs feel like they are itching, but not, he wants to move, do something, anything to release this buildup of, of… something)
She tries to convince him to not Dance that year.
He says he won’t. (That is a lie, he may not traverse to the clearing, may not have torches, but, limbs fumbling, Breath catching, he Dances under the Moonless sky)
Springs runs in without apology, chasing Winter away with enthusiasm he no longer has energy for.
It continues like this for two years.
Him doing his best to assist his Hahaoya. Finding new ways to use as little energy as possible for maximum effect. Dodging and hiding that he still Dances. (The warmth is fading, but slower, rushing back whenever he Dances despite how it leaves his limbs shaking)
He is fourteen, a few months shy of fifteen, when he see through skin for the first time.
He had been out on a hunt, more like checking snares that he had set up earlier that day, when he came upon a missing, and obviously broken, snare.
He did not have anything on him to replace or repair it. But he looked about for the missing thing anyway. He stumbled, ice spiking in his ribs, and braced himself against a tree when he saw it.
Orangey-red fur and slitted amber eyes. A fox had been the one to be entrapped.
Cautiously, he approached the scared creature, and when the poor thing lunged it happened.
At first, it was moving slowly, like it was caught in mud or honey.
He blinked and fibers of pinkish red muscle replaced ruffled fur. Then purple-red and blue veins. Then bone.
He was startled enough that it actually managed to bite him.
He had the fox pinned and carefully released the creature from its binds in the next heartbeat, muscle memory taking over even as his mind whirled at what he had just seen.
He looked through the Record Scroll, as Hahaoya, despite being happily married to his Otou-san for twenty years, she did not know their history or legends by heart. (And oh, did that make his heart ache, so much of his family was lost, much more than anyone else realized)
He found no true answers, but he did find an odd note, looking almost like a Title, carefully inscribed next to Sumiyoshi’s name. (The warmth paused for an instant, before rushing again, like it had been startled into stillness, but had to continue running from the encroaching walls of ice)
‘The secrets of the Child of our Kami lies hidden where ancient trees suffer from Drought’
It was foolish, he knew, to hope that something as nonsensical as that would hold the answers he sought, but he looked anyway.
‘Ancient trees’ referred to their family’s first choice in wood type to be cut.
‘Suffer from Drought’ referred to where they seasoned and dried those pieces of wood.
He did not know what, ‘Child of our Kami’ meant, but he presumed something about their lineage, or a secret that was supposed to be shared among them only. (The warmth almost felt as though it was eager, but it was too diminished for him to truly tell)
The storage cave was dim and cool, but dry as ever. The almost bench-shaped stone in the back had always looked somewhat out of place to him, but there was no true evidence of it not belonging, so he had never investigated.
He looked closely at it now, intensely analyzing it. Racing, really, against the ice that was burning and freezing him from the inside out.
In a burst of frustrated violence that left him on the ground, shaking from exhaustion, he struck at the stone.
There was a great rasp of river stone on granite as it moved.
There was a wooden chest hidden behind it.
He reached towards the chest, hands shaking from anticipation, exhaustion, and cold.
It held only an empty scabbard, and a worn journal.
He recognized the writing. It was Sumiyoshi’s. His ancestor’s.
Inside was a tale of a great man, almost a Deity made flesh.
“Tsugikuni Yoriichi”
He rolled the name across his tongue and out his mouth. Testing it. (The warmth was spinning, the cage-like ice stopped spreading)
It was from him, that their Dance came. (Never before did the warmth react like this, with glee and hope, renewed struggle against the ice that burned and froze, the ice that was beginning to crack)
“Sun Breathing. Breath of the Sun.”
He whispered their Dance’s true name. (The ice splintered and gave slightly, the warmth had more room to move)
It was from his Divine Father, that their Dance and its accompanying Breath, drew its power from. (A final movement, feeling like the first and twelfth form, and the ice shattered, it was still there, but it was no longer a cage, all that was left of it was strings)
He made a promise. More than that, a vow, as he kneeled in that forgotten nook and silently cried.
“So long as I live, so long as I Breath and Dance, I will work to uphold that which you have given us.”
He says nothing when his Hahaoya sobs in disbelief when she sees him standing tall, Dancing in front of their home.
Making his way through the entire set.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Again and again until he hits thirteen repetitions. (He loves her more than his own life, but she does not need to know the promise that was made, the vow that fuels the warmth and is entwined in his very soul)
He just looks at her, smiles serenely, and Dances even more.
Shichishitō in hand, bells chiming. A pale imitation of a song only he can hear now.
(They were born of wood and fire.
Others would not fare well, he knew. Burning up and fading away like ashes on the wind.
But they knew the right balance of fire, wood, and pressure to avoid that.
They took two things that would otherwise destroy each other, and combined them into something new.
Something that may look plain at first.
Perhaps even fragile, or useless.
But in truth, it could be used in so many different ways.)