As night fell, preparations for the promised Dance of the Fire God were complete.
In the clearing outside the house, twelve torches, each a little over half a person's height, formed a circle.
Tanjuro had changed into ceremonial clothing in predominantly red and black. Holding an oddly shaped wooden staff, he stood quietly at the center of the circle, his head tilted slightly upward, seemingly offering a prayer before the kagura dance.
The autumn night breeze stirred the flames, lending Tanjuro's figure a sacred air in the flickering firelight.
Kanzaki Kumo stood to one side, watching Tanjuro's movements without blinking.
Tanjiro and his younger sister Nezuko were watching as well, while Kie was inside settling the other, younger children to sleep.
A long time seemed to pass, yet it also seemed like only an instant.
Suddenly, the evening breeze stopped, and the torch flames burned straight upward. Tanjuro's breathing changed as well, and Kanzaki Kumo knew he was about to move.
At first, Tanjuro moved slowly, raising his arms, touching the ground with his feet, turning. Every movement was natural and fluid, like an elderly person doing gentle exercises in a park.
The surrounding firelight remained soft, as though it were not fire at all, but a ray of newborn sunlight.
Gradually, however, the firelight began to sear the eyes, and Tanjuro's movements took on a sharp edge.
As his staff swept through the air, even the bright moonlight seemed to be cleaved in two. As his feet shifted, the fallen leaves crushed underfoot were swept into the air.
The flames burned brighter and brighter, and the dance grew faster and faster. Amid his fluttering sleeves and hems, Tanjuro's moving figure seemed to leave trails of afterimages.
The air from his breaths condensed into a thin white thread in the