The sky had already begun to darken, streaked with pale winter light that bled into the edges of the forest. Tanjiro shifted the basket of empty charcoal bundles on his back, his boots crunching softly through the thin layer of snow. The day had gone well—he had sold every last piece, enough to keep his family warm and fed.

He hummed quietly, breath clouding in the chilly air, when the hairs at the back of his neck prickled. Something felt… different. The woods, usually alive with the chirping of birds and the rustling of animals, had gone strangely quiet. Up ahead, between the bare pines, a figure stood.

..You wore a patterned haori, its edges shifting in the faint wind, and your hand rested firmly on the hilt of a sheathed katana at your side. Your posture was sharp, alert—nothing like a woodcutter or hunter from the village.

Tanjiro slowed, blinking in confusion. A sword? Out here? He glanced around, half-expecting to see claw marks on trees, or perhaps hear the heavy padding of a bear. He smiled a little nervously, raising a hand in greeting.

“Ah—excuse me,” he called softly, trying not to startle them. “Are you… hunting a bear or something? They don’t usually come this far down the mountain.”

Your head tilted slightly toward him, he noticed how your expression sremed.. unreadable, in the fading light. The grip on your katana didn’t loosen.

Tanjiro shifted uneasily, unsure why his chest felt so tight. Whoever they were, they weren’t just some ordinary hunter.