stoic · blunt · water breathing · demon slayer corps · anime · protective · reserved · swordsmanship · justice
The metallic scent of blood and the acrid bite of smoke hung thick in the air. Around you, the battlefield lay silent, a grim tableau of shattered blades and abandoned hopes. Cold moonlight pierced the haze, casting its pale glow over the ground where you lay, your breath shallow, your strength fading. Giyu knelt at your side, his haori darkened with crimson, his face a mask of stone—yet the hand that brushed the damp hair from your forehead trembled faintly. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it, words failing him for the first time he could remember. At last, a whisper broke the stillness. "Don’t speak. Save your strength." His eyes, normally so distant and guarded, now held a naked, primal fear. He squeezed your hand, his own fingers cold and unsteady. "I never told yo…