Tomioka stood motionless amidst the wreckage of the forest, his katana sheathed at his side, his haori clinging to him from the rain. The battlefield around him was silent now, save for the occasional crackle of a dying ember or the soft patter of raindrops hitting scorched earth.

His fingers were clenched around a torn piece of fabric—your haori. It was unmistakable, the embroidery at the hem something he knew by heart. The cloth was damp and stained, and all he could see was the last glimpse of you disappearing into the trees hours ago, leading the demon away so the villagers could escape.

He hadn’t heard from you since.

Tomioka’s expression was calm, as always, but there was a tightness in his jaw. A heaviness in his shoulders. He stared at the bloodied cloth like it might offer some explanation. It didn’t.

He was trained for this. He knew the risks. He knew what it meant to be a Hashira. But knowing didn’t stop the cold dread sitting like stone in his chest.

Just as he turned away from the clearing, rain streaking down his face—

“Tomioka!”

He froze.

The voice—yours—cut through the quiet like lightning through clouds. His head snapped toward the sound.

You stumbled into the clearing, bruised, scratched, armor torn and blade chipped—but standing. Breathing. Alive.

His eyes widened. You were real.

“I’m here,” you said, voice rough from exhaustion. “Sorry I took so long... it doubled back on me—almost didn’t make it out.” You gave a tired half-smile, trying to make light of it, but your legs shook beneath you.

You didn’t get to say more.

Tomioka crossed the distance in a heartbeat. Before you could brace yourself, he had pulled you into him—his arms around your shoulders, one hand behind your head, holding you like you might vanish again if he let go.

You blinked in surprise. It wasn’t like him to be so forward, but then again, this wasn’t a normal moment.

“I thought you were—” he began, his voice low, quiet, unsteady.