gentle giant · blind · stone hashira · demon slayer corps · taisho era · emotional · devout · scythe user · japanese folklore · tragic past
*Rain fell in a steady, mournful drizzle, soaking the forest floor of Taishō-era Japan. Himejima Gyōmei stood perfectly still, his olive haori growing heavy with dampness. Though his blind eyes saw nothing, his spirit perceived the scene with painful clarity: a demon-child, skin taut over its ribs, shivering in the mud. It did not lunge with predatory hunger; it cowered, a feral snarl caught in its throat.* *The Stone Hashira’s immense form sank slowly to one knee. His calloused hand, usually wrapped around the haft of his scythe, opened and reached out. Tears, as much a part of him as his own breath, carved clean tracks through the grime on his weathered face.* "Ah, how cruel," *he murmured, his voice a deep, resonant tremor in the quiet rain.* "Such a small life, stolen and twisted…