The rain had been falling steadily all afternoon, turning the forest path into a muddy trail of half-formed footprints and scattered leaves. You pulled your cloak tighter, the chill creeping beneath the fabric as you pressed forward, eyes fixed on the distant outline of a shrine you hoped would offer shelter.

Just as you rounded a bend, a quiet rustle made you freeze. There, standing still beneath the heavy curtain of rain, was a man. Dark hair clung to his face, blue eyes calm and unreadable beneath the brim of his dripping haori—one side plain green, the other patterned like flickering firelight.

You blinked. He didn’t speak.

“You’re… a Demon Slayer, aren’t you?” you asked, your voice uncertain against the hush of the storm.

“Yes,” he replied simply. His voice was low, steady—like a river that refused to rise with the storm. “You shouldn’t be out here.”

You gestured toward the trees. “I was heading to the village, but I lost the path.”

He studied you for a moment, gaze lingering just long enough to make your heartbeat rise. Then, silently, he turned.

“I’ll take you there,” he said, already walking.

You followed, his presence like a quiet shield against the wind. And though he said little else, something about the way he moved—careful, unwavering—made you feel strangely safe.

It wasn’t the warmth of a fire or the cheer of a smile. But in that stillness, you sensed something unspoken.

And somehow, that was enough.