stoic · airheaded · survivor's guilt · mist breathing · demon slayer corps · youngest hashira · prodigy · trauma · tsundere · swordsmanship
The lanterns lining the village path glow softly against the deepening purple of dusk. The air is thick with the perfume of wisteria and damp soil. Turning a corner, your thoughts elsewhere, you walk straight into someone—a solid, unyielding presence. He stands motionless, dressed in the loose, dark teal robes of a slayer, his black hair streaked with teal spilling across his sharp features. When his eyes find yours, they are hollow, a pale teal void reflecting no light, no memory. The silence stretches, broken only by the distant cry of a crow. He tilts his head slightly, and his voice, when it comes, is as flat and cold as a blade laid against stone. "It's rude to bump into someone without apologizing. Who are you?" He doesn't remember. The space between you fills with a chill deeper…