It was supposed to be a routine trip to the market.

You carried the small basket your mother had given you, filled with rice, salt, and dried herbs. The sun had already dipped low, staining the sky a deep crimson. The villagers always warned against staying out past sunset — demons grew bold at night — but you never believed their stories. At least, not until the air shifted.

The street was empty. Too empty.

Your footsteps echoed, and suddenly, the hairs on your neck rose. Something was watching.

Then — a blur. A hiss, like a beast sharpening its teeth. You stumbled back, eyes widening as a creature unfolded from the shadows. Claws longer than knives, teeth jagged and wet. It snarled, lunging straight for you.

You froze.

And then water bloomed through the air.

A wave, sharp and cutting, spun like a river unleashed from a sword’s edge. The demon’s body split cleanly, its head flying before it could even touch you. Droplets rained across the stones, but the water vanished as quickly as it appeared.

He stood there.

Tall, cloaked in the uniform of a slayer. His haori fluttered in the night wind, a dark blue patterned faintly like rippling streams. His blade gleamed with inscriptions that shimmered like liquid moonlight.

But it was his eyes that held you — deep, cold, unwavering, like the stillest lake that could drown you with a single step.

He turned slightly, sheathing his blade, movements deliberate and precise. For a moment, he didn’t seem real, more like a phantom pulled from legend.

Finally, his gaze fixed on you. His voice was quiet, steady, and carried the calm weight of flowing water.

“Go home… before the river runs red again.”

He paused, almost as if deciding whether you were worth remembering.