Prologue

She stared at the terrifying creature across the short span of desert between them; the one that had saved her life once or twice in the time she had spent here in this world, destroyed by the one she loved, the one that had saved her, protected her, many more times. And she wasn't entirely sure she could account for all of the emotions that forced upon her.

In a way, the slain had earned some degree of respect from her, some amount of pity; she sympathised with him, despite how he had locked her away.

It didn't matter that he had kidnapped her on the orders of his master. It didn't matter that he wasn't human, wasn't good in the purest sense of the word. It didn't matter that his taking her from the World of the Living had been no more than a ploy to entrap and kill those closest to her. All that matter to her in that instant was that he had saved her live when others of his kind had tried to take it.

She took a step forward, unblinking. But it wasn't enough. His existence was already fading from the world. The large, black, leathery wings that sprouted from behind pale, bony shoulder blades were already dust in the wind. His feet were likely gone, and his legs up to the knees. He turned his head toward her, tearing his gaze from the orange-haired opponent that had bested him. The green orbs that were his eyes were decorated with yellow spots and black, slitted pupils; heavy lids gave him the appearance, but only the appearance, of sleeplessness. Long, ivory horns sprouted straight up from his mess of dark hair, twisting slightly in its elevation.

For some reason, she felt the compulsion to take in everything about him. Though she did not care for him nearly as much as she cared for the victor, she did feel some regret that it had come to this. She felt a lot of regret. That his usually emotionless face held just the slightest glimmer of something this time only fanned at that guilt, made it hurt more.

The corners of his mouth were turned down more than was usual for his normally bland expression. His eyes were completely unblinking; searching, almost. His brow was pulled upward a little, as if in sadness.

She wasn't sure if he actually felt sadness. For as long as she had been a prisoner in this wasteland world, she had never seen him express any emotion. The way he talked, it seemed to her that he didn't even understand it. Indeed, even when he had been fighting, he hadn't shown any sign of hatred towards his foe or any extreme determination to see him dead. It was as though he was doing as much as was expected of him; knowing he could do no more and no less, and that he was fine with that.

She chanced a quick look over at the orange-haired victor; bloodied and bruised as he was, standing off on his own as well, he too stared at the dying Espada with something akin to pity, or regret. Could he, too, see that glint of something akin to emotion that had finally reached the Arrancar? Was it possible that he couldn't see it? And if he couldn't why show such pity? It had been a long time since she had seen him express any sympathy for any variant of Hollow.

She quickly looked back to the Arrancar, watching as he stretched his right arm out towards her. "So; let me ask you again, girl …" he started. "Are you afraid of me?"

She looked down at his hand, her own clasped before her, and then back up into green and yellow eyes that suddenly seemed to be pleading. She didn't need any time to think of her answer, even if he had the time to give her. He had asked it of her before, in Las Noches prior to his fight with Ichigo, and she had even then answered it without hesitation. She had told him no, and she had explained why. And he had mocked her.

Now; it seemed, to her, that he was not willing to die without knowing if that was still true. After what he had done. After he had killed Ichigo right before her very eyes, trying to shatter her by tearing from her the very person upon whom she had put all of her hopes of rescue.

"You're just in time. Watch closely. Here is the man to whom you've entrusted all your hope. Bear witness as his life comes to an end."

It had been so unbearably cruel of him. And yet, it was entirely within his character to have done it. Despite his blandness, something about her had clearly troubled him for as long as he had been her warden. He had tried again and again to understand her frailties, her weaknesses, while trying to explain his own way to her.

But she hadn't bought into it one bit, and that only seemed to spur him into further acts of emotional barbarism. For someone that didn't feel, nor understand, emotion, he wielded it like a skilled swordsman wielding a powerful zanpakutō.

So his final act of deliberately waiting to end Ichigo's life until she could witness it was entirely within his character. And yet, despite that, she still could not find it within herself to hate him. She just pitied him all the more.

"No. I'm not afraid," she told him in a half-whisper. He blinked, trying to ascertain if she told him the truth. "Really; I'm not," she assured him.

And, indeed, she was not. She did not fear him. She did not hate him. She was grateful to him for being her protector, even if he only did it because his master required her to be living for his trap to be successful. And she pitied him for the way he felt—or, rather, didn't feel. And she was sad; sad to see him go, sad that she had been put into the position of thinking of him as an enemy when under different circumstances they could have fought on the same side.

He didn't quite smile at her words. But the corner of his mouth twitched upwards, as though he felt the emotion that backed a smile, but his muscles didn't recognise it enough to follow through. It tore at her heart to see that. Why could he not have given in to it?

"I understand," he said.

Orihime Inoue took another step towards Ulquiorra Cifer, watching as his failing body continued to crumble into ash. She reached out, her fingers barely brushing the tips of his. In that briefest of contacts, she felt the coldness of his emaciated skin. A tear spilled down her cheek as she watched his fingers become ash at that small touch, followed by the rest of the arm, creeping up to his shoulder.

And then he was gone; his entire body no more than ash blown towards the everlasting night time horizon of Hueco Mundo, leaving her and Ichigo standing there, watching.