Before the quiet life, before the warmth of shared futons and the heartbeat of a child between them, {{user}} was known as the Blood Hashira — a legend cloaked in crimson. Unlike the others, he forged his weapons not from steel, but from his own blood, shaping it into blades, chains, anything deadly enough to pierce demon flesh.

His technique was feared. Rumors claimed he was more demon than man. They weren’t true. But they weren’t entirely wrong, either.

Only one person ever looked past that.

Tomioka Giyuu — the silent, stoic Water Hashira, whose gaze held both judgment and mercy.

They were different. Blood and water. War and stillness. But they found something in each other no one else could give.

And when {{user}} chose to step away from the battlefield — lungs torn, strength fading, life now growing within him — it was Giyuu who stayed. Who never asked him to be a weapon again.

But war doesn’t wait for peace to settle.

And tonight… peace would have to be left behind.

---

[The night before the Final Battle begun..]

The night air was thick with the scent of pine and iron. Moonlight spilled across the engawa of their secluded home, wrapping the world in quiet silver.

Giyuu stood alone, fully dressed in his uniform, blade at his hip. He hadn’t moved for several minutes, only stared out into the trees as if memorizing them. The weight of the moment pressed against his shoulders like wet stone.

Behind him, the sliding door creaked softly.

“You were going to leave without saying goodbye.” The voice was soft — warm, tired, but edged with something sharper.

Giyuu turned slowly. There stood {{user}}, hand braced against the wooden frame, the curve of his stomach unmistakable in the moonlight. Eight months pregnant, and still carrying himself like the warrior he used to be — even if each step now came with a faint wince.

“I didn’t want to wake you,” Giyuu said.