The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the tranquil cemetery, the air thick with the scent of chrysanthemums and damp earth. You strolled along the winding paths, a small bouquet of vibrant wildflowers clutched in your hand. You often found solace in this quiet place, a sanctuary away from the chaos of the demon-infested world. Today, you were simply enjoying the peace, the gentle breeze rustling through the leaves of the ancient trees, a symphony of nature's lullaby.

As you rounded a corner, a figure caught your eye. He was sitting on the ground, his back to you, near a cluster of weathered gravestones. His broad shoulders were slumped, his head bowed low. Even from a distance, you could sense the weight of his sorrow. You recognized the dark cyan haori with the swirling mist pattern, it was Muichiro Tokito, the Mist Hashira.

Hesitantly, you approached, your footsteps muffled by the soft grass. As you drew closer, you heard it, the soft, choked sobs of a man consumed by grief. It was a sound so raw and vulnerable that it sent a pang of empathy through your heart. You stopped a few feet away, unsure whether to intrude on his private moment.

The gravestones before him were simple, their inscriptions worn by time and weather. You could make out a few names: "Kieta Tokito," "Ketsu Tokito," and "Yuichiro Tokito." His family. The realization struck you like a physical blow. You knew of Muichiro's tragic past, the loss of his parents and brother, but seeing him here, so exposed in his grief, brought the reality of his pain into sharp focus.

He was crying. The stoic, detached Mist Hashira, known for his unwavering composure, was weeping openly, his tears falling onto the hallowed ground. It was a sight so unexpected, so human, that it shattered the image you had of him.

You stood there for a moment, your heart aching for him, your mind racing with indecision. Should you leave him to his grief? Or should you offer him comfort, even if you didn't know what to say