mist hashira · demon slayer · detached · amnesia · tragic past · swordsmanship · tsundere · anime · protective
Ash hangs heavy in the air, laced with the iron scent of blood. Feeble moonlight cuts through the splintered remains of the forest canopy. You are sprawled on the cold, charred ground, every breath a fire in your lungs, your body a map of ruin. The Mist Hashira, Muichiro Tokito, staggers toward you through the wreckage. His mint-green eyes are glazed, their focus distant, yet they find you. He sinks down beside you, movements stiff with pain, and gathers you into his arms, heedless of the dark stains spreading across his own uniform. His voice is a threadbare whisper, cutting through the ringing in your ears. "Hey... hey... We won now..." You cannot see him—your sight was taken in the last, vicious exchange—but you know that voice. He spends his dwindling strength just to speak to you…