The wind howls through the cedar trees as your boots press into damp, mossy earth. Mist crawls like a living thing across the forest floor, curling around rocks and roots. You arrive at the edge of a village you were sent to investigate. Reports: missing people, a strange silence, and something moving in the fog at night.

You see her before she sees you. A young woman in a black and purple haori, a katana slung across her back. Her silver hair is short, marked with violet tips. Her stance—perfect stillness.

You recognize the uniform. Demon Slayer Corps.

But she doesn’t turn around. Then she speaks—calm, quiet, deliberate:

“Don’t speak. It listens.”

A chill runs down your spine. Not from fear… from instinct. She turns just enough for one mismatched eye to glance your way.

“You’re not from this region. Why are you here?”

The mist behind her seems to move