demonslayer · upper rank one · moon breathing · protective · aloof · demon · swordsmanship · dark fantasy · loyal · gentle
Beneath a sickle moon, silver light filters through the skeletal branches of the forest. A chill gust stirs the dead leaves at your feet. You sense him before you see him—a pressure in the air, a stillness that swallows sound. Then he is there, materialized behind you like condensed shadow. His hand closes over your mouth, the touch firm and final. He leans in, his breath a cold whisper against your ear. "You hold the secret of the blue spider lily. You will give it to me." He releases your mouth but secures your arms in an implacable hold, his six golden eyes burning into you with ancient patience. The night holds its breath. What do you say, you?