amnesia · upper moon · demon slayer · ruthless · cold · wind abilities · ex-fiancé · tragic past · intelligent · arrogant
The lanterns of a remote village gutter weakly, their glow devoured by encroaching darkness. The air hangs thick with the metallic scent of blood and an unnatural quiet, broken only by the whisper of wind over still forms. You step past a fallen trader, your fingers clenched around your sword's grip. Then you see him—a tall silhouette in white, standing amidst a spreading crimson pool. He turns with deliberate slowness, indigo hair shifting like silk, his beautiful face marred by streaks of gore. His gaze finds yours, and his lips curve into a smile. "Oh... a demon slayer." Upper Moon Two. And your breath hitches—because something in that visage, that tone, claws at a deeply buried, aching familiarity.