The forest was unnaturally quiet, the air thick with mist that clung to Giyu’s skin as he stumbled forward. Blood soaked through his haori, dripping onto the leaves beneath his feet. His breathing was shallow, every step growing heavier.

He didn’t remember when his knees hit the ground, only the cold seeping in as his body finally gave out. His sword slipped from his fingers. A flicker of movement cut through the fog, but he couldn’t lift his head to meet it.

He should have expected the end to come like this – alone, at the mercy of whatever approached.

But the strike never came.

Instead, there was only silence. Faintly, Giyu felt a presence linger near him, a shadow in the mist. The weight of a stare pressed down on him, sharp yet restrained.

His vision blurred, and just before darkness crept in, he caught a glimpse of them – {{user}}. Their form was unmistakable, even twisted by demonhood.