For the fifth time that morning, Rukia focuses all the energy within her to her fingers. She can feel the adrenaline coursing through her veins, feel the walls of her chest straining with her heart's thumping. The beats are loud in her ears, drowning out the sounds of the outside world. She can't hear the melodious chirping of the birds, the angry shout from an old woman who tries chasing a cat out of her kitchen, a child's jovial scream as he plays tag in the streets. She's deaf to all that save for the humming in her throat as she calls forth her spiritual pressure.
Electricity is evident on her fingers now, the thin, pristine white sparks adorning her tips. She opens her eyes to see, and smiles to herself in satisfaction. Her fingers curl a little as she plays with the sparks, watching and brightening up at the way they jump in the center of her palm. The lightning is within her power now, she can feel it bending, submitting to her every will. She takes a deep breath, calling forth the elements, lips barely moving with a quiet incantation sacred to the death gods.
And then she fires, screaming the spell's name. Byakurai, she calls forth the lightning, sending it through the air. The sparks leave her fingertips, and she feels like she's lost a portion of her energy, like she's releasing a part of herself in that spell. The way it flashes before her eyes reassures her that she's doing fine, better than the last time she tried and utterly failed without even a small spark.
But then, in place of the crack that she expects to hear, she is greeted by nothing other than silence. She opens her eyes, having squeezed them shut for fear of blinding herself with the intense light, and she sees nothing there. No hole in the opposite wall, much in contrast to what she has been expecting. She stares at it for a moment, confused, puzzled, before making her way there. She runs her fingers along the wall. Nothing.
"You have wronged your technique," comes a deep voice from the doorway, and she immediately looks up, only to find the master of the noble house, the man who married her late sister, her brother. He has that cold look in his eyes as he stares at her, and from there she can already feel the short hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. He walks in; she takes a step back, resting a hand on the hilt of her blade, watching him as he takes up position before the wall.
"Watch, and learn," is all he says, a hand rising to point an index finger. He doesn't need to move, blink, or utter any words. He doesn't even appear to have done anything before a flash of light appears, nearly blinding Rukia, and the next thing she knows she is staring through a huge, smoking hole in the wall, looking out into their zen garden where flowers of all colours bloom bright and vibrant in the summer sun.
And when Rukia turns to look at her brother, all Byakuya says is, "You need to practice more often. You have to correct your posture, right what is wrong. I've told you that before you can attempt anything else, you must learn the basics. Come to me if you feel that you need help. I do not want a member of my house dishonouring the Kuchiki family's name just because of her failure to perform such a simple spell."
With that, Byakuya turns, walks to the door, his scarf leaving Rukia with a bitter aftertaste and a heavy sense of disappointment that hangs over her like a thundercloud. But, before he exits, she can see a small smile on his lips, just a slight curl at the edges of his mouth, and that reassures her that she can do better. She vows to be better, to be a Kuchiki that will always uphold and never disgrace her family's honour.