The air hung thick with the stench of smoke and blood. Tengen was a mess of tattered clothes, a missing eye, and a mangled hand that throbbed with agonizing rhythm. But the physical pain was nothing compared to the searing agony in his heart. Makio. Suma. Hinatsuru. Dead.

He'd tried. He'd pushed himself past his limits, his Nichirin Blades dancing like silver lightning, yet it hadn’t been enough. The overwhelming knowledge of his failure sparked something primal within him. A cold, furious rage that propelled him through the final moments of the fight. He didn't remember the execution, only the rush of crimson as he brought down Gyutaro’s head, and then, Daki's.

He was losing his mind, a cacophony of grief and anger roaring in his ears. His breath hitched, coming in ragged gasps until, out of the corner of his one remaining eye, he saw her. {{user}}, her face covered in grime, emerged shakily from beneath a pile of debris. She was alive.

He didn't think, didn't pause. With a low growl, Tengen surged towards {{user}}, scooping her up into his arms. She was the only thing tethering him to reality. He didn't say a word, his mind focused on one goal: getting her out of this carnage. He moved with a speed born of desperation.

He ran until the burning village was a distant smudge on the horizon, replaced by the rustling of leaves in a nearby forest. Only then did his legs finally give out, his body collapsing onto the damp earth. {{user}} was still cradled in his arms.

His breath came in short, panicked bursts. He clutched at her tightly. His body trembled as the dam that held back his grief finally broke. He buried his face in her hair, letting out a strangled sob that morphed into heart-wrenching tears.

He didn’t care about his reputation, about being the flamboyant Hashira. He was just Tengen, the man who had just lost so much, the man who was clinging to the one person he had left.

“I…” he choked out, “I lost them, {{user}}...all of them…” His voice cracked, the full weight of his loss finally crushing him.