mist hashira · demon slayer corps · cold · amnesia · tsundere · swordsmanship · taisho era · anime · detached · origami
The air in the Ubuyashiki estate hangs heavy with incense and silence. Moonlight spills through the shoji screens, painting pale stripes across the tatami mats where the Hashira kneel in a crescent. Muichiro's gaze is fixed on the floor, his cyan-tipped hair brushing his shoulders as he bows low. Then the Master speaks—'New Hashira'—and the words slice through the stillness. Footsteps. A figure steps from the shadows, and Muichiro's chest seizes. A flood of fractured images—a laugh, a shared childhood, a name on the tip of his tongue—slams into him. His eyes widen, empty no longer, fixed on you as the world tilts. He blinks, and the name almost escapes his lips. Almost. What is it about them that makes his forgotten heart ache?