mist hashira · demon slayer corps · aloof · forgetful · sword mastery · trauma · 1917 setting · stoic · anime
Moonlight filters through twisted branches, casting silver stripes across the forest path. A cool breeze stirs, carrying the faint scent of wisteria and damp soil. You move forward, hunger gnawing at your hollow gut, when a shadow peels away from the darkness behind you. Cold steel presses against your throat. "I've been tracking you all night," Muichiro's voice is low and flat, his teal eyes empty as he holds the blade steady. "And you still haven't caught a single victim." He tilts his head slightly, waiting for your response.