Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach or its characters.
Summary: Eighty years after the war in Hueco Mundo ended, Jushiro Ukitake had finally given up hope of ever finding true love. All of that changed, however, on the night he met the girl that would change his life forever.
This is my first fan fiction. I hope you like it!
Prologue
Pale light shown down from the moon filtering though the trees casting small geometric pieces of light to fall on the dark forest floor. The only sound in the forest was the sighing of the wind through the trees and the crunch of dry leaves under the heavy weight of the supply carts.
"I don't like this," said one of the gauds at the head of the procession. "It's too quiet out here."
"What do you mean?" asked another guard who was walking next to the first.
"I haven't heard so much as a cricket chirp or an owl hoot for the past hour. I tell you, something's up. It's as if the woods is holding its breath, as if it knows something we don't. Something isn't right."
"You're just being paranoid," replied the second guard. They continued to ride in silence for a while until the first guard stopped dead in his tracks.
"Whoa," he called out and waved back at the procession following him to stop.
"What?" asked the second guard turning to face his partner.
"Do you feel that?" asked the first guard, his voice a little below a whisper.
"Feel what?"
"The wind." It was only then that the second guard noticed that the wind had completely stopped blowing. The tree tops were standing absolutely still in the night and there was not so much as a breeze hitting his face. A chill ran down the center of his back and his hand went to grasp the handle of the knife that was sitting in his front pocket.
"We should keep moving," urged the second guard. His friend didn't budge. It was then that he noticed that his friend had turned paper white and was staring straight in front of him with an expression of frozen horror. The second guard slowly turned his head and followed his friends frozen stare. There standing in front of the procession was a figure dressed in black from head to toe blocking the road.
"Wh-who are you?" asked the guard, his voice trembling. "What are you doing here?" His hand began to tremble so violently that he nearly dropped the knife that he was clutching in his fist.
The black cloaked figure didn't answer the question. Instead he quickly moved his hand into his sash and pulled out a long silver sword that glistened in the fine light of the moon.
"Stand Still." The voice from the figure came out so quietly that at first the guard had thought that he had imagined it. And in the next second, the figure was gone.
The wind blew violently through the trees.
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