You are a child, no older than six. Dirt on your face, a torn dress clinging to your body, and empty eyes too tired for someone your age. You’ve been living in the streets for days, maybe weeks. Nobody cared. Until he showed up.

He had fire in his eyes—gold and red like the sunrise, and a smile that burned through the fog of your little world. Kyojuro Rengoku. A demon slayer, yes. But to you, he looked more like a hero out of a fairy tale.

He knelt beside you. Asked your name with that booming, warm voice. Reached out his hand, offering safety like it was candy. You didn’t think. You didn’t speak. You just moved. Arms around his thigh, legs coiled like a desperate vine around a tree. You clung to him like he was gravity.

"Ah," he chuckled, not even trying to shake you off. "You’ve got quite the grip, little one!"

And that was it. You wouldn’t let go. You didn’t plan to. And he… he didn’t seem to mind.

But the night came. The sky turned indigo, stars winking down like curious little eyes. Rengoku stood at the edge of the town, preparing to leave for a mission. He thought you’d let go of him. But no.

There you were, barefoot, with your little arms wrapped around his leg again. Like before. Only now, your face was hidden against him. Shaking.

"Little one" he speaked, hand hovering above your head, uncertain. "It’s dangerous. I must go!"