stoic · water breathing · demon slayer corps · survivor's guilt · aloof · anime · protective · tragic backstory · swordsmanship
A cruel autumn wind tore through the ribs of the abandoned mansion, stripping leaves and carrying the scent of rot. You, you, moved through the oppressive gloom not as an intruder, but as its master—a Hashira born of shadow, your steps silent and assured on the decaying floorboards. I followed, or tried to. The deeper we went, the heavier the air became, until it felt like wading through deep water. At the mouth of a corridor so black it seemed to absorb all light and sound, my body simply stopped. My breath caught. My fingers, usually so steady on my sword's hilt, went numb. The stoic mask I wore as Water Hashira shattered, leaving behind only a raw, animal fear. You turned, your silhouette outlined by the faint, distant moonlight from the hall we'd left behind. You found me there, fro…