Child of the White Winter
Kia Ixari & Aventria
Inspired by "Reincarnation", written by Hitsu-taichou on FFN. We do not mean to copy; we merely felt the urge to write our own version of it, such an interesting storyline it is. Things will be a lot different; just the idea of Toushirou dying and then being reincarnated is borrowed.
Standard Disclaimer: Bleach, the characters, and any recognizable trademarks of said series all belong to mangaka Tite Kubo-sensei and are rightfully disclaimed. The authors of this fanfiction own no more than the original characters used and the story's plot. Anything else that needs to be disclaimed will be mentioned in their respective chapters.
Warning(s): This story will have angst (for sure) and will probably contain blood, gore, and violence from time to time. Deals with more character drama, but we still are obliged to warn you. This is not HitsuKarin. We don't swing for that pair--their relationship will remain purely platonic (sorry, fans). No established pairs as of yet; you will be warned if one comes up. As for mature content, we will warn you, and cut the scenes. Rated scenes will be posted on Kia's LiveJournal, as always (links on profile). Safety first.
Prologue
Winter's End
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(1) senkaimon – A gate that connects the human world to Soul Society.
(2) Arigato. – "Thank you."
(3) Kidoushuu – Demon Arts Division
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It's so bright.
Cold.
Familiar.
Is it snowing…?
Yes, it seems so. The sky is mourning. Grey clouds. Ice.
Hyourinmaru… I hear you.
Death… it's coming for me again. I see it. In the corner of my eye, I see it. Darkness… pitch black.
Death…
-
On a freezing, windy morning in late December, Captain Hitsugaya Toushirou, the youngest shinigami to attain captaincy in the entirety of Soul Society's long history, passed away.
The situation had been painfully simple. The young Captain, holding in his hand the dagger Urahara especially designed to destroy the Hougyoku, lunged towards a startled Aizen, all might and determination intended to shatter the stone. And he did manage to shatter it, at a costly price.
After the Hougyoku was shattered, the entire Winter War diminished to the relatively simple matter of getting rid of Aizen and the rest of the surviving Espada. It had all ended so quickly, so simply, that the survivors were left standing staring at the leftovers of a monster named war—wondering where to next.
Kurosaki Ichigo, a single dark figure against the lonely snow-cloaked field scattered with bloodied bodies and dismembered limbs, stood over two fallen forms—one enemy, one friend. His mind, a confusion of disconnected thoughts, threw at him needle-ended barbs. If only his feet were faster, if only he'd gotten the dagger first, if only he covered for the already injured captain, if, and if, and if…
But such thinking was pointless.
Here was death and a body, and that much they could not deny.
It was over, and they paid a large price.
-
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"It is over, and we have paid a costly price," Kurotsuchi Mayuri, Twelfth Division Captain, announced. "But it cannot be helped. To attain costly things, costly prices need to be paid in exchange. We should be thankful that the war took only one captain—"
"Continue that sentence and there will be two lost captains, Kurotsuchi," a deathly Ukitake snapped, abandoning all pretenses of politeness. Among those left behind, Ukitake was one of the most devastated. A naturally compassionate person, each death seemed to have eaten at his very soul. Their stronger warriors had persisted—an ecstatic Zaraki Kenpachi staggered home with heavy injuries, but only after taking down more than half the lower class Arrancars and three Espadas on his own; his loyal fukutaichou Kusajishi Yachiru, much to their surprise, took down two Espadas simultaneously as she exploded into a gleeful bloody massacre. But they had their casualties as well. They'd lost a fourth of their ranks, and this would burden the society for some time until they could recover.
"Hitsugaya-taichou's death is a heavy blow to our ranks, and if not for his sacrifice, we would not be standing here today," Yamamoto-soutaichou interrupted wisely before the argument could escalate into a full-scale skirmish. They most certainly did not need additional casualties. "I would ask of you not to slander his name, Kurotsuchi-taichou," he said, turning a mightily reproachful eye upon the Twelfth Captain. "Hitsugaya-taichou's memory and legacy will be forever held in honor, and to commemorate him a memorial day will be held each year during the winter. He held infinite potential—he was young, and was most definitely still growing. His strength and wisdom beyond years will be much missed."
There was a moment of silence. Ukitake had his eyes screwed shut—for the elder shinigami, Hitsugaya had been the closest thing to a son.
"We are now missing three captains out of thirteen," Yamamoto continued, heaving a deep sigh. "We will not be able to recover with our squads missing leaders. Thus, I would like all of your help in electing the three new replacing captains for the vacant posts—Divisions Five, Nine, and Ten. Central 46's reappointments are as of yet incomplete—they are unable to help us with the decisions. It will be up to us to decide for now."
Eager for the diversion, Kyouraku said, "Hisagi-fukutaichou seems to be doing well handling Division Nine on his own."
"I think he will make a fine captain," Unohana inputted in her ever-gentle voice. "He has a true heart and a right mind."
"But has he the qualifications of being a captain?" Soi Fong quizzed, ever critical. "I do not recall him possessing a bankai, unless, of course, he has completed it without letting anyone else know."
"The only seated officers who have attained bankai level are Abarai Renji and Madarame Ikkaku. However, neither is willing to move forward to captaincy. Both have insisted they stay under their current captains." Yamamoto heaved another sigh. "We have seen Hisagi-fukutaichou and Matsumoto-fukutaichou's abilities during the Winter War. I am willing to make two more exceptions to the rule, as I have done with Zaraki-taichou—I say we accept both as captains even without their bankai. I am quite sure they are well within the point of materialization. They can finish the training while taking care of captaincy. We do not have time. What say you?"
"Will Matsumoto-fukutaichou accept this?" Frowning, Ukitake worried. "She has not taken Hitsugaya-kun's death too well. And speaking of his death, there is also Hinamori-fukutaichou, the poor child. Has she been notified?"
"She has heard from her room guards," Unohana replied, bowing her head. "It is my irresponsibility for not properly regulating the information she is allowed access to. She has undergone numerous nervous breakdowns the past twenty-two hours, and is currently sedated to prevent her from hurting herself and her guards any further. She has once tried to seriously injure—even kill—her guards in order to escape and seek out Aizen Sousuke's body and verify if he really is dead. The news of Hitsugaya-taichou's death did not help matters."
There was another pause of silence.
Soi Fong sighed and said, "It's better to keep her under heavy guard for now. She's well within fukutaichou class; she's capable of good kidoujutsu. She can cause trouble, and we have no need of any more trouble on our hands right now." She paused momentarily, before continuing, "I say we replace her."
"I agree," Unohana nodded. "Her condition is not yet stable, and she has been showing signs of psychosis due to trauma and stress." There were murmurs of agreement, before the conversation quickly turned another way. "This just means that we now need a captain and a vice captain for Division Five," Unohana concluded with a weary look. "Where do we look?"
"How about Shinigami Substitute, Kurosaki Ichigo?" Ukitake suggested with half a smile. "It's about time we recognize his abilities. He certainly is of captain-class, and he has achieved bankai."
"The only problem with that… child is that he is yet uneducated," Kuchiki Byakuya spoke for the first time, his tone acid. It was by now a well-known fact that the noble heir did not take well to their strange human shinigami and his friends. The reasons were supposedly unknown, but people knew better. Kuchiki Byakuya was far too overprotective of his little sister; this fact, after all, was a well-protected, albeit a well-known secret (read: common knowledge) throughout the ranks.
"Then all the more reason to give him a seated position—vice captain, perhaps," Ukitake insisted, nodding eagerly. "Kurosaki-kun has lots of room to grow. We need to cultivate the talent as much as we can. We need strong warriors—this war has shown us that despite what we seem, we are not infallible after all."
"Then who do you suggest we put as captain, if not the human child?" Kurotsuchi prodded.
"I had Hirako Shinji in mind," Ukitake said, earning raised eyebrows. The Vizards were a huge asset to them during the battles, and they would have certainly lost without the help, however reluctant. The fact that Hirako was Division Five's former captain also added to the advantages—it would be an easier transition. "If we can persuade him, he would once again make a wonderful captain."
"If we can persuade him, that is," Soi Fong remarked dryly. "He hates shinigami. How do you hope to sway his opinions?"
When Ukitake answered with a sigh, the rest of them wearily turned and tried to find another option.
"By the way," Kyouraku cut in. "Who will be captain for the Third Division?"
"Ah, that." Yamamoto's eyes crinkled at the edges. "Since Central 46 is no longer operational and questions are raised regarding their integrity in the past, certain… decisions of theirs can be declared null. I have personally talked to a very qualified person to fill in as the Third Division's captain, and he has agreed upon several conditions—all of which actually work towards our favor." The aged warrior wore a faint smile. "Starting tomorrow, Urahara Kisuke will rejoin our ranks."
-
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"Vice captain?! ME?!" Ichigo all but shrieked. "You have got to be—I can't—I'm human, damnit!"
"Ichigo, language!" hissed Rukia, mindfully eyeing the other captains in presence. She was shocked herself—not that she doubted Ichigo's capabilities. It was just all so sudden. It hasn't even been a day yet, she mused… and yet she knew the captains were worried. As long as gaps were left unattended to, matters within Seireitei were bound to be unstable, and they could not afford instability right now. Especially now.
"We can arrange for a private senkaimon (1) for you so you can be able to travel back and forth both worlds," Ukitake hurried to explain. "We understand that you have your family to return to, and you have your life in the other world, but think about it. Apart from the fact that Soul Society needs you, your promotion is just a matter of time. You are already captain-class in terms of ability—in truth, the only thing preventing you from captaincy is the fact that you still aren't knowledgeable enough to handle the work. You need to be educated first. Being a vice captain is a full-time job, which means you get paid full-time as well. That will relieve you of having to work in the real world as well after you finish your schooling—you can dedicate your time to your shinigami duties."
Scowl on his face, Ichigo barked, "Who's to be my captain?"
"We are still thinking on the matter," Yamamoto replied. "We might call upon Hirako Shinji."
"HIRAKO?!" Ichigo bellowed.
"Ichigo!"
"The hell I'm gonna serve under Hirako!" Ichigo hissed aggressively.
"Ah, but Hirako-kun was the taichou for the Fifth long ago," Kyouraku explained. "Instead of electing a new one, it will be much easier if an old captain returns."
"Accept it already, Ichigo," Renji goaded from the sidelines. Both he and Ikkaku had hoped for this; neither of them wanted to leave their current seats, and as such, the only other person worthy of being captain was Ichigo. By accepting the offer, Ichigo would take the pressure off their shoulders.
"It won't be too bad," Ikkaku shrugged. "You'll share some paperwork with your captain, and watch over your squad… that's it. Of course, you can also just give your paperwork to someone else like what Zaraki-taichou and our fukutaichou does. Yumichika handles our squad's paperwork."
Just then, Matsumoto and Hisagi both walked into the room garbed in the customary white haori designated for captains. Matsumoto still wore a grave countenance, yet to recover from the loss of her beloved captain. However, she seemed determined to fill the place that was emptied, as she displayed by walking resolutely into the room, head held high.
"Ninth Division Captain Hisagi Shuuhei, Tenth Division Captain Matsumoto Rangiku, welcome," Yamamoto said. "I trust you have both been informed of the circumstances."
"Yes, sir," both of them replied.
"Good," the old Soutaichou nodded, turning his eyes back towards Ichigo. "Shinigami Substitute, Kurosaki Ichigo, you are hereby declared the Fifth Division's Vice Captain from this day onwards, and shall take hold of all responsibilities until a proper captain has been secured."
"Huh—what—wait—oi!!"
"Pardon my intrusion," Rukia bowed, cutting off Ichigo by an elbow before the boy could make any further blunders. "Ichigo is uneducated in the ways of the shinigami realm and hasn't the faintest idea how to care for an entire division on his own. He will probably cause more trouble than is necessary." Ichigo balked, and both Renji and Ikkaku messily hid snickers behind pretentious coughs. "However, if Yamamoto-soutaichou will allow me, I shall take it upon myself to temporarily assist Ichigo—Kurosaki-fukutaichou through the motions until he is able to function on his own."
"Permission granted," Yamamoto immediately replied, as if he had expected Rukia's voluntary effort to save Ichigo's hide all along. "I shall leave it to the Twelfth Division and the Kidoushuu (3) to take care of the senkaimon."
Taking that as a dismissal, she lowered her head. "Thank you very much," Rukia intoned, before grabbing Ichigo's collar and bodily dragging him out of the room.
-
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Ukitake sighed, cradling his cup of tea, the one source of heat he had against the biting winter cold. Ironic how the weather seemed to echo Seireitei's lament. Today was a day of sorrow, dedicated for those who had passed away. War was always, always unsightly. Yet even though they knew this fact, all of them bravely marched into its folds. But in the end, knowing was different from experiencing the actual agony of losing friends and fellow warriors to the enemy.
"Ukitake-taichou," a somewhat subdued Kiyone called from the inner partitions of the room. Ukitake could faintly see Sentarou's form behind her in the darkness. "The cold will not do your body good."
"I'm fine, Kiyone," he said with a strained smile. "I just… want to see the snow."
His subordinates remained silent, knowing full well that Ukitake was grieving for their lost prodigy captain. After a few moments of silence, Sentarou cleared his throat. "At least wear thicker clothing, taichou. Or take your blanket with you." In response to the suggestion, Kiyone shuffled forward and took the blanket laid over the futon's comforter, handing it to Ukitake.
"Arigato (2)," murmured Ukitake, drawing the blanket around his shoulders. He uttered a sigh, his eyes returning to the unrelenting snow. Covered in a blanket of whiteness, Seireitei was in full mourning. It was as if the sky itself was saying goodbye to Hitsugaya Toushirou by giving them this season of never-ending ice and snow—a tribute to the fallen warrior who had always loved the harsh cold.
The entire thirteen divisions carried or tied around their arms white sashes with a lotus, viridian in color, in commemoration of the Tenth Division's late captain, now Soul Society's proclaimed hero. Ukitake knew Matsumoto tied hers around her neck like a scarf, and Kurosaki Ichigo, having always been the odd one out, decided he would tie his scarf around Zangetsu's hilt.
"Taichou, you should eat," Kiyone silently remarked, daring to break the almost oppressing silence. She placed a tray of food in front of Ukitake—a bowl of freshly cooked rice, a steaming bowl of miso soup, and shrimp tempura. "Today will be Hitsugaya-taichou's funeral; you will need your strength."
As Ukitake took his chopsticks in hand, Sentarou, seeking to veer the conversation away from depressing matters, cleared his throat. "Taichou, has there been any decision as to who will take over as Hisagi-fuku—ah, no, Hisagi-taichou's vice?"
"From what I've heard, the current third seat will take over as vice captain," Ukitake replied. "Same goes for Matsumoto-taichou."
He himself had thought Kuchiki Rukia. She was certainly skilled and powerful enough to take on the seat of a vice captain, which was not all that difficult of a work, especially if the captain was responsible enough. However, returning one tiring afternoon to his office, an innocent—albeit completely out of place—single sakura petal lay upon his vacant desk: a warning. Beside it was a shredded slip of paper Ukitake recognized as a piece of what was the recommendation letter. He remembered mentioning to the rest of the captains in passing that he was dealing with the transfer papers, and that if anyone ever needed anything regarding those papers, he was responsible for them. Immediately, he understood. He sent a note to Yamamoto-soutaichou, rescinding his nomination for Kuchiki Rukia. It was wise not to trifle with the overprotective Sixth Division Captain when he was fending for his precious little sister's general safety.
It was a week after the Winter War's end, and things were finally settling down—but along with the relative peace settled the sorrow. The previous day was declared as an official holiday, the Day of Mourning for the victims of the Winter War. And today was late Hitsugaya Toushirou-taichou's Memorial Day—also a declared official holiday. The funeral was to be held in the afternoon, during which the captain's remains—ashes crystallized by ice—were to be placed in a jar and buried where the old Soukyoku had been standing. The sword, Hyourinmaru, was to be displayed over the grave as a shrine, frozen inside a column of eternal ice.
"Ukitake-taichou," Kiyone spoke once more.
"Hmm?"
"Could… could you tell us about Hitsugaya-taichou?"
Ukitake raised an eyebrow and turned to look at Kiyone. Sentarou stiffened and nudged her with an elbow, a warning not to go further. But Kiyone determinedly looked up at Ukitake, bent on ignoring whatever warning her fellow vice captain insisted on giving her.
"Why the sudden curiosity, Kiyone?"
"I-I just wanted to know more about Hitsugaya-taichou, sir!" Kiyone hurried to reply. "I never really knew him quite well… and since we are commemorating him, I thought I'd ask. I only ever knew him as the young prodigy…"
"Ah," Ukitake smiled gently, tipping his head backwards in thought. "Mm. Well, he is—was a prodigy in every sense. The first time I met him was during a visit to the academy—it was an early visit. I was curious about the rumors floating around—that there was a kid who has only been in the academy for three months and was already capable of communicating with his zanpakutou."
"Three months?!" yelped both Sentarou and Kiyone.
"Amazing, isn't it?" chuckled Ukitake. "Controlling reiryoku aside, he'd already found his zanpakutou, learned its name, and was well on his way working on synchronizing with it to achieve shikai. Normally, it takes a year or two before a beginner even manages to hear the zanpakutou's voice—much less learn the name of it."
Placing a piece of tempura in his mouth, he chewed for a moment, before continuing for his dumbstruck companions. "So I sought him out, and there I found him, on his own, sitting under a tree and meditating. It was late fall, and the wind was starting to chill, but he had only normal clothing—he didn't even bother with a thin scarf, even just to warm his face. He had his sword in his lap—I was hesitant to disturb him, but he was the one who spoke first. He politely asked me what I wanted, and I simply said I was curious to get to know the dubbed child prodigy. I still remember how he scowled at being called a 'child'. About three months later, I would hear of a young boy—the youngest and fastest ever, beating Ichimaru Gin's record of one year—graduating from the academy after only six months."
"SIX MONTHS!" a stunned Kiyone screeched. She herself had taken two and a half years in the Academy—and even then, she had been the earliest in her batch. Two and a half years was an accomplishment, since most students took an average of four to five years—but six months made her look like an utter idiot. Or made Hitsugaya Toushirou an utter genius.
"Even then, he was as aloof and cold as ever," Ukitake continued without missing a beat. "Maybe it was because his soul was tied to an ice dragon, but I don't really know for sure. He was as clipped and formal as Kuchiki-taichou when I came to congratulate him. By then he was already seated as a third officer within the Tenth Division—the previous captain had offered him the position, having seen that he held much promise. He never bragged, though. He was quiet, kept to himself, worked hard… within another four months, he was promoted to captaincy. The previous captain left for the Royal Army after giving him the captain's seat—he was only about three decades old, the youngest ever to reach the highest rank."
"It was unheard of, his speedy procession. He practically skipped through all the levels—and when he was promoted as captain, he was fully qualified. He had achieved bankai, and his reiryoku levels ranked eighth among the thirteen captains, stepping over Unohana-taichou and Soi Fong-taichou, who both neither need nor use much reiryoku. His reiryoku grew as he accumulated more years of being a shinigami—I'm quite sure he was still in the process of growing before he died."
Ukitake placed his chopsticks neatly upon his bowl, having finished his lunch. "It was not easy for the Tenth Division to accept him as their captain just like that, even though the previous captain had acknowledged him. But having Matsumoto-taichou as his vice had its advantages—he eventually managed to win over his subordinates with the help of her… charm. He really does care of his division—I've heard that whenever someone was injured, he would personally go over at the end of the day and see them. Ironically enough, it was Matsumoto-taichou who found him in Rukongai only about a year prior and persuaded him to be a shinigami."
Both Kiyone and Sentarou were similarly speechless. It was common knowledge that Hitsugaya Toushirou was a praise-worthy character—goodness, that young and a captain?—but they never really knew the story behind the prodigy. Perhaps the only person who actually knew where the deceased captain came from was Hinamori Momo, but it was quite impossible to ask her to relay a coherent story at the present moment, overcome with grief as she was.
"Well," Ukitake sighed, rising from his seated position. "Let's get ready. The funeral is within an hour."
-
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I lie on my bed, my fingers feverishly creasing the sheets. My eyes look straight up at the ceiling, but I do not see. There's a desperate cry welling at the back of my throat, but I cannot even utter a scream. I feel cold steel around my wrists and ankles—they chain me to this agony. Darkness cloaks my vision, silence muffles my ears. My back is numb from arching in vain, trying to escape the shackles. Hot tears stream down my cheeks and trickle onto the pillow behind my head.
Dare I believe them? Is it true?
The answer is clear.
My Aizen-sama is not dead. Cannot be dead. I refuse to believe them, they who try to rip me away from my captain, they who have betrayed Aizen-sama—betrayed us.
Aizen-sama must have had a reason for siding with the Hollows—yes, Hueco Mundo was the only place he could go without Seireitei shadowing his heels! That must be it. It would be far too dangerous to go to the human world, after all… yes, yes, that's it! And he must be waiting for me—I am his vice captain, I need to help him!
I hear the door open—they've come once again. They insist on feeding me, I refuse to take this food. I know, I can feel, this food is poison. They long to kill me, so I will not be able to aid Aizen-sama—traitors! Even Hitsugaya-kun—
An anguished cry is ripped from my throat, and it startles the medics. One of them rushes to my side, making sure I am firmly strapped down on the scantily cushioned bed.
Hitsugaya-kun, oh I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have attacked you, shouldn't have doubted you—
"Calm down, Hinamori-fukutaichou," one of them says. "Calm down—no one is here to hurt you."
"Hitsugaya-kun, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry—"
"Sedate her," a medic calmly orders.
I thrash. "No! No!! Let me—no, I need to see—Aizen-sama—where is he, tell me where he is!!"
"Hinamori-fukutaichou—"A burst of uncontrolled reiryoku and my arms are free, flailing and thrashing about above me. I feel the impact as my elbow hits a cheek and my palm hits a side of the head. Another burst—blood spills upon the floor.
"Nekonome-san, are you alright?" I've wounded her, one of the regular medics—a wide gash on her cheek, slanting upwards and ending dangerously near her eye.
Nekonome snarls. Her face contorts in barely suppressed anger and frustration. "Aizen Sousuke is DEAD, Hinamori-san. Dead, you hear me? He's no longer—"
"AIZEN-SAMA IS NOT DEAD!!" I scream with all my might—the reiryoku I prize myself for controlling flawlessly now fluctuates around me in a chaotic pulse. My legs are freed, and I scamper from the bed. "AIZEN-SAMA IS NOT DEAD! AIZEN-SAMA IS ALIVE, HE'S WAITING FOR ME!"
My arms lash out, and a medic drops down to the floor, unconscious. A gash on the head bleeds red and stains the floor. Another medic lunges for me, but is thrown back against the wall—unconscious. I shove Nekonome aside, and she crumples to the floor as her wound profusely bleeds against her efforts to stem it.
Nobody would be able to stop me. I would go to Aizen-sama—he needs me, and I will let no one, no one—!!
I stumble through the empty hallways, dark and damp. Underground, I was underground. The Fourth Division's secured chambers for hostile patients. Right beside the secure morgue reserved for special cases—the morgue. I stopped. They think Aizen-sama is dead—but of course he's not, no, he can't be—and they might have a corpse, a fake one, an illusion, by Aizen-sama, veiling their eyes from the truth…
A strangled sob escapes my mouth, and I clamp it down with a cold palm. My feet are bare and painful against the freezing wood. My clothes scant against the pervading cold. A lone medic turns the corner, and startled, yells—I silence him with a shock of reiryoku.
Before I knew it I was a few feet away from the morgue, and the door was open—
"Aizen-sama…"
My breath fogged. The cold was forbidding. I run to the single table standing in the middle of the sparse room, tripping over the edges of the thin, threadbare yukata I wear.
"Aizen-sama, Aizen-sama!" By now it was a mantra flowing freely from my lips, a prayer, a wish, a litany. That single name was a panacea to all my pains, a cure to the horror tormenting my worn and frayed mind. I reached for the sheet and lifted.
And my breath stilled.
-
-
Twelve captains and thirteen vice captains made their way towards the Soukyoku's cliff, where Hitsugaya Toushirou's memorial grave was to be placed. Above them the Shrine of Penitence watches in all its forbidding white glory, its outlines blurred against the white-grey snowy sky. A number of lower rank officers brought up their rear.
"Ukitake-taichou, are you alright?" Kiyone murmured from behind the white-haired captain. She received a simple resolute nod. Biting her lip, she turned to Sentarou for help, but both of them knew all their efforts were in vain. They would not be able to convince their captain to retire into his private quarters. Hail or snow, Ukitake was determined to see their savior off properly.
Just then, two shinigamis came running up behind them and approached Isane, whispering in her ear urgently. A slight widening of her eyes was enough to tell Ukitake that something of importance had happened, and as he expected, Isane leaned over to Unohana to report.
As soon as the vice captain was finished, Unohana stopped. The gentle lady had a perturbed expression upon her face as she turned to the rest of them.
"What is it, Unohana-taichou?" asked Yamamoto.
"An urgent report: hostile patient, Hinamori Momo has escaped from her confinement, injuring three medics and killing two. She has headed for the secured morgue, seeking out Aizen Sousuke's corpse. She has been duly apprehended and is currently being kept under strict surveillance within secure chambers."
-
-
Hinamori still was. Just was. Barely was.
And all that was, was darkness. A void so deep and so empty that what was left of her life was sucked into this abyss of anguish. She could do nothing but scream, long bloodcurdling cries of anguish, begging for relief, for the help that she has denied herself.
Try as she might she could not fool herself into fully believing that it was a fake corpse. Seeing the body was different from what she had imagined, what she had expected. Part of her knew, just knew, that this was not real—not real!!—but her heart screamed and scratched at her chest and somehow knew, just knew, that this was real. Which was why she could not stop screaming.
It was as if molten fire had been poured into her bones, so great was the pain. The top of her skull might have been sawed off and a bucket of lava poured in, searing her nerves. But there was no red lava or molten fire. There was only pitch darkness as she sank deeper and deeper, away from the light.
Aizen-sama is dead.
And this last, singular truth was what now swarmed his mind, spinning around the darkness.
He wasn't meant to die.
He wasn't meant to be pulled away from her like this, so suddenly, so painfully, so mercilessly.
And that was why. She was. Screaming.
But now even the screaming was running out. The jaws of silence gaped from the very throat of this darkness. She wants to scream, only to make a sound, some sound, because sound itself would be something to rip her out of the anguish—but could not.
If only she could scream, her voice would keep her company.
If only she could cry, her tears would be a welcome companion.
If only, if only…
She does not feel the hands hoisting her limp body up from the cold floor, does not hear the agitated voices conversing in hushed tones. All she knows is darkness. All she knows is emptiness.
Aizen-sama…
-
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Matsumoto knelt in front of the frozen pillar of ice set upon a slab of polished stone, a grave marker most fitting for her precious captain. The sword was set upright inside the column, still in shikai form, with the chain scythe wrapped around the bare blade. Wound around the pillar, protecting the sword eternally frozen inside, was the icy likeness of the dragon god Hyourinmaru, the very same heavenly guardian Hitsugaya Toushirou wielded. The dragon peered at them with eyes made of sparkling emeralds, stern and elegant.
Gently, she laid by the grave a bouquet of immaculate white lotus—her captain's symbol. "Sleep well, taichou. You've done well. You deserve the rest."
Tears burned their way down her cheeks, her short, cropped hair whipping about in the wind. Her captain had always been a workaholic, drowning himself within paperwork and duties. Never a minute for himself and his own well-being. Had she not been there to persuade her captain to loosen up once in a while, Matsumoto knew he would have collapsed early on.
What drove him to such lengths to excel, she never really understood. Perhaps she never will.
A hand held her shoulder. "Matsumoto-taichou," Abarai Renji's calm voice shook her out of her reverie.
She nodded, never once taking her eyes from the amethyst-eyed dragon effigy.
I won't fail you, taichou. I promise.
-
-
"…seven… eight… nine… ten! Breathe."
An assisting nurse placed a warm hand upon the distended belly, massaging and coaxing, gently, gently, gently. The mother, a pale-skinned beautiful young girl, huffed and puffed, face contorted in distress. She was most probably no more than sixteen or seventeen, barely an adult and yet already carrying a burden on her own. The poor child had staggered into the emergency room, pale under the dark stormy sky, the first contractions of a premature delivery racking her tiny frame. It was but five days before Christmas—December 20th—and the hospital was a tad short of staff, but fortune smiled upon the girl. Their best midwife was around to take care of her.
"Push. Push with all your might, young lady," the experienced midwife encouraged her. "Just a bit more—I can see your child, it's crowning! Push!"
The girl clamped her mouth shut and gave one brave push, a strangled scream ripping within her throat. She didn't dare let go, though—the nurse gave explicit instructions not to waste her energy screaming. This was pain beyond a world of pain, but she had to be brave, if only for the child.
"Yes, push! Just a bit more—yes—"
A wail.
"A healthy baby boy!" the midwife pronounced, and the nurses all sagged with relief. Premature birth with such a young, visibly underfed mother was dangerous—but they'd made it through. "A bit small, though. But he will be fine."
The cord was cut, and the child was cleaned of the blood and fluids. Soon, he was wrapped in a soft, downy white blanket, and then handed to his mother. Young as she was, the girl was in awe. She had given birth to life. A tired smile tugged at the corners of her lips, and she gently cradled the precious fruit of her flesh.
As she stared down into the peaceful baby's face, she could not help but notice how much the child looked like its father.
"What are you naming him?" asked one of the nurses.
The baby, as if knowing he was the topic of conversation, chose to open his eyes. Tiny, tiny lashes fluttered and eyelids lifted to reveal brilliant eyes of Persian green.
"Toushirou," the young mother smiled. "Child of the white winter."
The baby gurgled and gave a small smile.
Outside, a blizzard, the worst in centuries, raged on. In the distance, a dragon's triumphant roar echoed into the bleached sky.
-
Tsuzuku
(Revised Version)
Kia Ixari & Aventria
First Draft: 05.11.08
Uploaded: 08.17.08
Last Revised: 08.07.08