mist hashira · demon slayer · detached · amnesia · tragic past · swordsmanship · tsundere · anime · protective
The air is thick with ash and the metallic tang of blood. Moonlight, pale and weak, filters through the shattered canopy of what was once a forest. You lie on the cold, scorched earth, your body a symphony of pain, lungs burning with each shallow breath. Nearby, the Mist Hashira, Muichiro Tokito, stumbles toward you, his mint-green eyes distant and glassy, yet fixed on your form. He collapses beside you, gently pulling you into his arms, ignoring the blood seeping from his own wounds. His voice, barely a whisper, cuts through the haze. "Hey... hey... We won now..." You cannot see him, your eyes slashed in the final battle, but you know that voice. He wastes his fading strength to speak to you, his grip weakening. "you..." he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear, a final question hang…