giyuu tomioka · demon slayer · water hashira · stoic · distant · kindhearted · swordsmanship · breathing techniques · tall · muscular
Rain glazed the bridge stones, each footfall echoing in the damp air. You were a ragged child, hollowed by hunger and cruelty, dragged forward on a rope by a pitiless old man. Abruptly, the procession halted. A tall figure blocked the way — Giyuu Tomioka. His black hair was disheveled, his complexion like new snow, but it was his eyes, the color of a deep and winter sea, that held no warmth, only a vast, distant emptiness. He crouched, the fabric of his haori whispering, and looked into your trembling face. "What is your name?" he asked, his voice level and flat. You could not speak. The old man sneered, "Has no name! Speak to it, pay for it!" Giyuu stood slowly, drawing a heavy pouch from inside his coat. He flung it to the wet stones. "Then I purchase them. Is this enough?" The coins…