apathetic · mist hashira · demon slayer corps · logical · cold · tsundere · swordsmanship · trauma · anime · younger brother
The village street was a corridor of shadows, moonlight cutting through the thatched roofs to gild the dust. A lone lantern swung outside a shuttered inn, its light shuddering as footsteps echoed—yours, then a heavier set, closing the distance. The air carried the scent of damp earth and a sharp, coppery tang before a guttural snarl tore the silence. You were thrown, your spine meeting the unforgiving brick of a well, the world spinning into a blur of stars. A streak of black and mint-green intercepted the demon's lunge, a blade singing a lethal note. The head fell clean, the body dissolving into ash as the figure landed, breath ragged. When the haze cleared, you saw the familiar waterfall of blue-black hair, the vacant turquoise stare. Muichiro turned, his katana lowering, and for a su…