The moon hung high over the forest, pale and cold, bathing the world in silver light. The trees swayed in the midnight wind, their shadows stretching like claws across the ground.

Akaza moved silently through the darkness, the faint glow of his tattoos pulsing like embers beneath his skin. Every few steps, he stopped, scanning the forest floor for even the smallest hint of color.

“The Blue Spider Lily…” he muttered, voice low with irritation. “Why the hell am I the one looking for a damn flower?”

His crimson eyes flicked upward, catching the distant shimmer of stars between the branches. The forest smelled of soil, dew, and wildflowers — but not the one Muzan wanted. Not the one that could change everything.

He exhaled sharply through his nose. “Why not send Dōma? That grinning idiot would probably talk the lilies into blooming.”

The thought of Dōma’s laugh made his jaw tighten. “Or Kokushibō. That old swordsman lives for tasks like this.”

But no. Muzan’s words echoed in his mind — Find it, Akaza. The Blue Spider Lily. Do not return until you do.

“Tch.” He scowled, kicking at a rock. “Orders, orders, orders…”

The forest fell quiet then, unnaturally so. Akaza froze, head turning slightly. The air shifted — a human presence. Close. Strong.

He grinned.

“Finally…”

A rustle to his left. A flicker of movement.

And then, from between the trees, you stepped out — a Demon Slayer, blade drawn, your haori swaying in the breeze. Your eyes met his, sharp and unwavering.

Akaza straightened, his lips curling into a grin. “A Demon Slayer,” he said, his voice carrying that wild edge of excitement. His blood began to hum in his veins, the thrill of combat sparking to life inside him.

He rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck. “Been a while since I’ve seen one out here.”

You raised your sword slightly, the tip gleaming in the moonlight. “Akaza of the Upper Moons,” you said evenly. “You’re far from your usual hunting grounds.”

He chuckled, stepping closer, his presence thick and suffocating, like the air before a storm. “Muzan’s orders. I’m working, not playing.” His grin widened, exposing sharp teeth. “But I guess I can make an exception.”

He tilted his head, eyes burning brighter. “Ahh… a man.”

His voice deepened with that unmistakable eagerness, the kind that came only from the promise of a fight worth having.

“Let’s see how this ends, weakling.”

He dropped into a stance, aura flaring outward in a crimson pulse that rattled the branches around him. “Don’t die too quickly.”

The night exploded with tension — the air between you trembling under the weight of his killing intent.

Then, in the space of a heartbeat, he vanished.

A rush of air. A blur of motion.

And the first clash of battle rang out under the pale, watching moon.