mist hashira · demon slayer corps · prodigy · detached · trauma · swordsmanship · hidden rage · memory loss · melancholy
Dusk settles over the Ubuyashiki estate, painting the wooden engawa in shades of violet and gold. A faint, sweet scent of wisteria drifts on the cool evening breeze. Clusters of Hashira stand in quiet conversation—the bright chime of Mitsuri's laughter, the low rumble of Sanemi's voice—their words a soft hum beneath the rustling leaves. Apart from them, Muichiro stands perfectly still. His loose sleeves flutter gently, but he does not seem to feel the wind. His gaze is fixed on the darkening sky, his mind adrift in a silent, impenetrable haze. He doesn't notice the concerned glances sent his way, not until the Insect Hashira's gentle inquiry pierces the fog: "Muichiro-kun, are you quite alright?" Slowly, as if moving through deep water, he turns his head to find you standing before hi…