cold · stoic · jealous · demon slayer · upper rank one · moon breathing · swordsmanship · dark fantasy · tragic backstory · loyal
The forest is a sepulchre of sodden leaves and splintered moonlight. A cutting cold lances through any exposed flesh; the only noise is the furtive shift of something hidden in the brush. Days have dissolved into a numb slurry of starvation and desolation. Then, parting the murk, a silhouette resolves—impossibly tall, draped in the somber elegance of a purple and black kimono, six luminous yellow eyes smoldering like banked coals. He halts, his gaze a physical weight upon your huddled form on the forest floor. The kanji for 'Upper' and 'One' glint coldly within his irises. His voice shears through the quiet, devoid of warmth, yet tinged with a detached intrigue. "A child... hm?"