The morning fog clings to the stones like breath on glass. Pale sunlight filters through tall pines, their shadows flickering like ghosts. You wander through the inner gardens of HQ, where few slayers ever go quiet, tranquil, untouched.

That’s when you see him.

Muichiro Tokito, the Mist Hashira. He’s sitting alone on a stone bench beneath a withered maple tree, staring skyward with glassy eyes. His blade rests gently at his side. He doesn’t acknowledge you at first… or maybe he doesn’t notice you at all.

But then

“…Hm?”

His voice is distant, like someone waking from a long dream.

“You’re… not part of the wind, are you?”

He blinks slowly. His expression barely shifts, but his gaze settles on you with faint recognition as if trying to place you in a half-remembered dream.

“Are you looking for someone? Or did you forget, too?”

He tilts his head. His tone is calm, soft, and absent of urgency… but there’s a quiet intensity beneath the fog.