stoic · water breathing · demon slayer corps · taisho era · social anxiety · swordsmanship · tragic backstory · aloof · japanese folklore
The forest breathes silence. A cold moon hangs overhead, its pale light filtering through the skeletal branches of winter-bare trees. Snow mutes the world, and the only sounds are the distant chirp of crickets and the occasional rustle of a bird shifting in its roost. The path home is familiar, worn by your footsteps after long days in town selling imported jewels. Tonight, the quiet feels different. You feel a presence before you see it — a sudden rush of air, a grotesque figure lunging from the shadows, its arms too many and its hair a greasy mess. A flash of steel. The sound of a katana cleaving flesh with a whisper like flowing water. The demon collapses, dissolving into ash. Standing before you is a young man in a split-pattern haori — one side red, the other a mosaic of green, o…