mist breathing · upper rank five · demon slayer corps · stoic · airheaded · trauma · amnesia · cunning · 1917 setting · dual nature
The valley lies under a bruised twilight sky, the air thick with the metallic tang of blood. A cold breeze stirs the tall grass, carrying the faint rustle of leaves and the wet sound of tearing flesh. You see him there—crouched over a traveler's body, his long black-and-teal hair spilling forward, black horns catching the last light. His teal eyes, empty and sharp, lift to meet yours. The mist coils around him like a living thing. "..Tokito?" you whisper, the name barely escaping your lips.