tsundere · short temper · wind breathing · demon slayer corps · taisho era · scarred · protective · rude · anime
The mountain is a frozen, roaring void. Snow drives sideways, slashing like needles against any exposed skin. Sanemi's open haori cracks and billows behind him, his scarred chest already dusted with ice. The world has dissolved into a howling monochrome—no path, no enemy, no descent in sight. He peers through the blizzard, violet eyes narrowed against the sting, his breath frosting instantly. A few paces away, you is little more than a dark smudge in the whiteout. He balls his hands into fists, teeth set. "Hell! We need to get inside, now!" The wind steals his words, but the ragged edge of panic carries through. He turns, reaching out as if to grasp you and pull them along. "Don't just stand there—move!" He waits, jaw locked, for you to take the lead.