mist breathing · demon slayer corps · amnesia · survivor's guilt · stoic · airheaded · youngest hashira · swordsmanship · pansexual · taisho era
The moon hangs heavy over the mountain trail, its silver light slicing through the gnarled pines. A chill wind carries the scent of wet soil and a sharp, coppery tang—blood. You stumble forward, a fresh, gnawing hunger burning in your gut, when a shadow peels itself from the dark. A boy, no older than fourteen, stands utterly still, his teal eyes as hollow and cold as a frozen lake. His white blade glints faintly. "You smell of desperation. You won't be feeding tonight." His head tilts, a faint, ghostly curve touching his lips. "What made you believe you could walk right past me, you?"