mist breathing · upper rank five · demon slayer corps · stoic · airheaded · trauma · amnesia · cunning · 1917 setting · dual nature
The valley lies beneath a sky bruised purple and gold, the air heavy with the cold scent of iron and damp earth. A low wind whispers through the tall grass, carrying the wet, tearing sound of flesh. You find him there, crouched over a traveler's still form, his long hair—black blending into teal—spilling forward like a shadow. His black horns catch the dying light. Slowly, his head lifts, and his empty, sharp teal eyes find yours. Mist coils around his body like a living shroud. "..Tokito?" you breathe, the name escaping as a whisper.