The Undying

by ShadowThorne

Long ago in a far off land, there lived a lonely king, a young prince, and a knight in shining armor. Ichigo was a good son and brother, and a promising heir to the throne, but he was naive like the well-meaning often are. And like all fairytales, darkness lurked in his shadow, older and more cunning than he could fathom, and it had its eyes set on a most handsome prize. GrimmIchi.

1. Chapter 1

I have been working on this forever... This right here is why my updates take so long. More than 15,00 words, (I actually have almost 20k of it written...) and it's not even complete. And to think, I was originally going to make this a oneshot. OTL

ANYWAY. So I have no idea how long the second part will end up being, but yeah, here ya go have fun
Enjoy~ :D

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The forest he dwelt most often in was said to be where he made his home. It curved around half the village, before giving way to roads and fields. An old forest, the trees were large and gnarled, the trunks twisted and the bark thick and rough. Thick leaves on skeletal branches created a dark and shadowy place even during the sunniest of days and a low hanging mist seemed to ever encompass the lower reaches and dips in the forest floor. During the nights, the fog would grow and spread. Tendrils of thick, hazy moisture would seep from the tree line, reach out toward the castle's yards where the forest and the village melded, as if seeking to expand.

Later, it would be said that the reaching fog had been an ill omen unheeded.

This forest was forbidden at night. Haunted, they said, by the creature that lived within and the things he meddled with. During the day, however, it was safe enough, and since it bordered the castle grounds, it was nearly impossible to keep curious little boys from wandering into its edges.

Despite how often his father and the maids warned against it, young Ichigo was always drawn to its mystery. They were content to let him explore the edge, so long as he remained within sight of the castle and was always back before night fell. But like all little boys, the prince had an explorative streak in him and rules were made to be broken.

One day while he roamed between thick trunks and crunched over dead leaves, he managed to get himself turned around and lost his way. As day turned to evening, and evening began giving way to the night upon the horizon, he called out for his keepers, for his father and his mother -though she was sick with baby- but no one answered. He'd wandered too far from the edge and now he was swallowed within the forbidden forest's darkness.

A single light stood out in the dark, but it wasn't a candle, nor a fire at all. Instead, it was a figure, pale-skinned and aglow under the moon's feeble light and the last of the sun's dying rays.

"A-are you a ghost?" The little boy, yet to even see his first decade, looked up at a tall, slender man wrapped in black. Long, pale hair fell loose to frame narrow but not hawkish features. All white, the figure was colorless and erie.

A small smile slanted bloodless lips, "No, child, I'm not ghost nor ghoul, nor even vampire." The man said. His eyes were a sliver of gold against a lightless background, flashing and bright even in the darkened evening air. The boy before him looked skeptical, but awe shown in his young features. The man continued, "I'm but human, like you are."

Still, the boy looked skeptical, for he'd never seen a person look so strange before.

The man merely chuckled a silvery, lilting sound that seemed to haunt the evening air. "What know ya of necromancers, Prince Ichigo?"

Brown eyes widened, orange brows arching in surprise. "You know who I am!"

Again, the man merely chuckled, "I do. I know a lot a things, prince, I am old like the forest. Older still. I was around before your father was king, before his father's father was even born." As he spoke, the man turned and resumed his easy, silent walk through the darkened forest that surrounded the castle grounds. Ichigo trailed at his heel like a well trained pet, ever looking up at him with curious wonder. "I have seen the rise of your kingdom, prince, and I will see its fall."

"You don't look old…" Ichigo's eyes narrowed slightly, and there was that skepticism again.

A smart boy, the man took note of, but in this case, suspicious of all the wrong things. They continued on, through the thick, gnarled trees and Ichigo hardly seemed to even realize he walked at the man's side, away from the castle and those that would protect him.

"No, I do not." The man agreed, that little slant to pale lips still present. "You didn't answer my question, Ichigo, know ya what a necromancer is?"

Young Ichigo nodded, but his brows knotted slightly in thought, "It's… a necromancer is… like a priest, right? They talk to the dead."

The colorless man laughed an erie but not unpleasant sound. It wrapped around the trees like fog and tinkled in the air. "You are partially right, little prince." He praised with a small, curt nod to the lad at his side. "A necromancer does indeed talk with the dead, but, I think, we are the opposite of a priest."

"The opposite?"

"Indeed."

A wave of curious excitement seemed to flow through the young prince, "What is the opposite of a priest?"

"Well," the man smiled almost patiently down at the boy, as all old beings do when faced with the wonder of youth they can hardly remember, "a priest lays the dead to rest, yes?"

Ichigo nodded.

"Then what is the opposite of resting, I wonder?"

Ichigo thought for a moment, his hard-soled shoes crunching quietly through dried leaves and over small twigs. At his side, the necromancer made not a sound as he floated through the forest. "To be woken up?"

The man nodded, "To be woken up." He confirmed, "A necromancer is the opposite of a priest, in that we do not lay the dead ta rest, but rather raise them."

"And you're a necromancer?" Ichigo asked in near awe, his eyes wide as he looked up at the colorless figure at his side. Even in the shadows of the canopy above, he looked like a ghost.

"Indeed I am, a very powerful necromancer, Prince Ichigo." The man glanced down at him, his golden eyes flashing in the dark. "I am now called Shirosaki the Undead, but once, long ago when I was young and first awakening my true power, I was known as a mender of broken, wounded spirits. A bridge between this world and the next. Many people did I help reach peace through waking the dead."

A wide and amazed smile split Ichigo's young features. Likely he didn't fully understand what was being told to him, young as he was, but it was magical and fascinating all the same, and he was intrigued. "You can help people talk to anyone?"

"Almost anyone, yes."

'What about… The old man that died in the gutter last night?" Ichigo asked.

"Oh yes, someone so freshly lost is a simple task indeed." The necromancer smiled, indulging the boy's curiosity as they walked. "But why would you wish ta speak to a village drunkard?"

Ichigo wrinkled his nose, "I wouldn't." Then he thought for a moment more, and, "What about animals?"

"Even more simple," The necromancer told him with a nod.

"…my puppy died a few months ago," Ichigo sounded surprisingly somber as he looked up at the man in his company. "could I talk to him?"

"What a lonely thing it must be to be a prince." The necromancer mused with a small, ironic shake of his head, "For you, Ichigo, I would bring the dog back to life so that you might play with it again."

"You can do that?!" The amazement in the boy's voice was obvious.

Not so far in the distance, a parting in the trees and dark leaves showed a dirt footpath. It twisted its way through a black iron gate that yawned in a buttressed wall of hewn stone. Beyond that, a mighty fortress of carved black brick stood; a castle to rival the king's own. In parallel rows along the path that led to the entrance, twisted trees grew to just over the height of a man, their trunks thin but sturdy. The bark peeled and the leaves were near black, but waxy and shinning with life restored. In the vast yard, flowers grew in neat, cultured rows and patterns, their colors starkly brilliant compared to the dark contrast of the building and gate and even the trees. It was beautiful, but it was very strange indeed. Frighteningly raw and foreign.

"I can do that, child." Shirosaki inclined his head, smiled, and pushed the piked gate open with a gentle wave of his hand. Ichigo watched in awe as it floated noiselessly back and spread wide to allow him and his new friend entry, "But I need your help."

"Ok!" Ichigo followed through the gate and when a pale, long fingered hand was held out to him, he wrapped littler fingers around it.

"Excellent," The necromancer smiled, "stay close, yes? Wouldn't want to get lost within the walls of my home." His words were accompanied by a grave shake of his head, like monsters roamed the halls.

Ichigo nodded his agreement and the two continued through the front entrance. They made their way up a winding staircase of cold stone, half melted candles leaving dried trails of colorless wax along the railing. The small flames flickered with hungry life, but all the candles were the exact same height and no new wax rolled down their sides. Up on the next floor, the necromancer carelessly beckoned with his free hand, in the direction off to their right, and took a turn toward the left. Ichigo jumped when a figure stepped from the shadows at their right and fell in line.

Built exactly like the necromancer himself, this man was also tall and lean, his features sharp. His hair was a sandy blond, long and straight, and his eyes were a strange crimson. He said not a word as he followed, not even a whisper of greeting nor the inclination of a nod, and his attention never fell toward Ichigo. There was an unnerving calmness to him, a lifelessness that was yet restless as well.

The necromancer smiled down at him, and didn't relinquish his hold on the boy's hand. "Fear not, little prince, he is merely a helper. A maid of sorts, you have those, yes?"

Ichigo nodded numbly, and looked up at the newcomer, his orange brows arching in slow realization, "He looks just like you do…"

Again, the necromancer smiled a small, almost charming expression and chuckled a silvery sound. "He does, doesn't he?" But that was all he said on the matter as they followed a curving hall clear to the end, before entering through another door on the left.

In this room, the air was cool but not dank. Row upon row of shelving lined the walls, like a library, but only one wall held books. The others were lined with jars and chests and containers of all shapes and sizes and colors. Some of the contents were dry, some wet. Some smelled spicy, like perfume, others fruity, still others like rot. In some of the jars, things moved and stared back at them.

Ichigo edged closer to the necromancer's side as he stared at all the strange and frightening things.

Shirosaki led him to a large desk of blood red, polished wood. Upon its top, wax papers were laid out, a strange, arcane script in elegant handwriting marking the smooth parchment with dark ink. A heavy, iron chandelier with tall, white candles lit the room from above. More candles danced calmly upon the desk's surface.

Shirosaki sat Ichigo down at the high backed chair and began carefully rolling up his documents, tying them off with ribbons of various colors, and storing them out of the way. Next he turned towards a shelf on the far wall and Ichigo spun in his seat to watch as the colorless man smiled at him over his shoulder, and selected a jar from the shelf.

"What's that?" Ichigo asked as the jar was brought to the desk. Inside, a dry, yellowed powder filled nearly to the halfway mark. The jar itself was big enough around that Ichigo could just barely wrap his hands around it and have his fingers meet at its thinest part. He picked it up, careful of its weight, and turned it this way and that.

The necromancer indulged him as he brought a silver tray to the desk next, the rim upturned just slightly to form a shallow bowl of sorts. "Bone."

Ichigo set the jar down, jerked his hands away, and stared.

"Worry not," Shirosaki chuckled, "it's merely canine. -Yylfordt, the heart- This is what we'll be using to bring back your dog's body." He explained as he twisted the top from the jar. Dipping a pale hand within, he pulled free a small handful of powder and held it in a cupped hand out to Ichigo for the boy to see. "Would you like to feel it? It wont harm anything to do so."

With wonder in his gaze and carefulness to his motions, the prince reached out and very gently trailed one fingertip through the off-white powder. It was cool and surprisingly soft to the touch, like finely ground grain for bread.

"Seems a good substance for a dog, yes?" Shirosaki asked as he upturned his hand over the silver dish and let the powder filter through his fingers. Ichigo nodded and watched as the strange, silent servant brought forward another jar.

This one was filled with a watery, muddy green liquid, a knot of muscle and shriveled meat floating within; a heart that had been wrung dry, preserved, and left to marinate. "This," Shirosaki explained as he worked, his slim fingers deft in their motions, like it was a simple task that he completely regularly and had long since mastered, "will bring back its soul."

"Father says animals don't have souls…" Ichigo muttered, enraptured as the necromancer pulled forth a glass pipette of sorts, and drew greenish, sickly liquid into it.

"Your father is a wise king, Ichigo, but he's wrong in this." Shirosaki said as he worked, adding several precise drops to the tray. They rolled down the small mound of powder, before the dried, crumbled bone drew it in like a thirsty creature. "All living things have a soul. Tis true, some are easier to find and see, while some are barely there at all, but still, a dog has a soul in the same way that you or your father does."

Ichigo drank in the information as he watched the necromancer put the lid back on the jar and handed it back to his silent servant. The man obediently placed it back in its spot on the shelf.

Shirosaki brought one last ingredient over, pulled free from a iron-banded, wood chest, and dropped the small items onto the tray. They rattled against the fine silver, rolling until they drew up along the base of the small mound of yellow tinted bone powder. Teeth, Ichigo could see, big ones like the sharp canines of a wolf.

"What are those for?" The necromancer had already told him what the bone was for, and the life blood.

"Why, for bite, of course." Shirosaki chuckled and almost fondly threaded his fingers through the prince's soft, orange hair. "Now then, are you ready to see your puppy again, Ichigo?"

Ichigo nodded, watching intently the pile of seemingly random and macabre items upon the silver dish. The necromancer's small, steady smile widened to a grin, verging on wicked, as he pulled his hand from the prince's head, and whispered what seemed like nonsense into his closed fist. The language was old, older than even the man preforming the ritual, and when he was done, on his last word, Shirosaki motioned toward the tray, as if flinging his chanted words into the pile.

Almost right away, the bone powder began to bleed, thin, watery red trickling from the small mound. Soon, it found a steady rhythm.

"…what's it doing?" Ichigo asked in a whisper, his fingers clenched tightly on the edge of the desk. He watched intently as the whole tray filled with thin liquid, like watered down wine. Sitting in the center, the lump of saturated powder seemed to constrict, to writhe like it was trying to draw breath.

Shirosaki grinned as he watched, "Listen, Ichigo." He bid, resting his hand between the boy's shoulder blades and nudging him closer, so that the young prince leaned further over the desk. He tilted his ear toward the tray and its contents, held up his hand like he was listening. "It's beating, prince."

And sure enough, the steady rhythm took on a familiar pattern and a healthy thump-thump thump-thump.

"Like a heart." Ichigo breathed, watching as the soaked mound of powder began smoothing out and taking shape.

"Indeed, child, we've made your dog a heart."

Not more than an hour later, the necromancer led Prince Ichigo by the hand through the night darkened forest and back toward the castle. At the boy's side, a medium sized dog trotted happily, its tongue lolling from its mouth and its ears relaxed. It's thick, shaggy coat was glossy and shimmering and a long tail wagged out behind it. A wide, overjoyed smile spread across young Ichigo's face as he tangled the fingers of his other hand in his freshly raised dog's fur.

The walk back to the castle was a longer one than the walk out to Shirosaki's home. The dark hid many dangers on this side of the forest. Very few, if any at all, could pose threat to the powerful necromancer and the dark magic he commanded. Even fewer would have dared try, but little Ichigo was still vulnerable and the necromancer had plans for the boy, plans that would be ruined should he be killed. Death was the pale man's business, but for this ritual, he needed life.

Before they made it through the parted trees, Shirosaki smirked to himself and listened to the frantic calls of men and women searching the grounds ahead. They dared not enter the forest, not after dusk. When they pulled free of the forest's boundaries, the necromancer released the prince's hand, and Ichigo shouted a happy call to his father the king as he raced across the vast yard.

As Ichigo rushed to his side, the king knelt to grab his only son by the shoulders and look him over, fearful he had been harmed. He'd yet to see the feared necromancer slowly, confidently floating his way. His steps made not a sound as his black, flowing robes trailed like smoke behind him, his fluid stride like an erie fog.

Upon seeing his heir was unharmed, the king leveled a stern look at his child, "Ichigo, where have you been? We were worried. I was just about to send men into the forest to look for you…"

"Sorry father…" Sheepishly, Ichigo ducked his head a bit, but turned to find his new friend.

Shirosaki halted his easy pace just outside of arm's reach of the crouching king, and gave a curt nod in greeting when the elder Kurosaki straightened to give him a hard stare. There was an accusation in his eyes, a demand for answers.

The necromancer tilted his head just slightly, his odd eyes panning over the king, the people around them, and back again. Despite that nearly everyone gathering around them was armed, veterans of the royal guard one and all, there was not a trace of unease to be found in the pale man. "I assure you, good king, I was merely helpin' the little prince find his way."

Isshin was quiet for a long moment, then, "…you have my thanks. Now leave."

There was a darkness to the slant of pale lips.

At the king's side, Ichigo looked up at his father and proclaimed happily, "Look father! He's brought back my puppy!"

As he did so, the dog trotted from behind the necromancer to sit at Ichigo's feet. It looked up at him with all the excitement and happiness of a dog in love with its owner, tail waggling and all.

Appalled and shocked, Isshin pulled his boy away from the animal, "That cannot be your dog Ichigo, your dog died."

"No, Shiro brought him back for me." Ichigo explained, reaching out to run his hands over the dog's head and down its neck. The tail wagged all the harder for the attention.

Isshin looked up sharply, his dark eyes wide and a mix of fear and anger on his features, "Leave. Now." He commanded of the necromancer, "You only walk free of royal grounds because you have brought my boy back safely. You are not welcome back."

The pale creator smirked a dark and foreboding expression, his head tilting to the side as his strange eyes coasted over Isshin, then strayed toward the castle. "I can bring her back." He all but whispered and there was darkness in his quiet, lilting voice, spoken as if he hadn't heard the king's demand.

Isshin recoiled as if physically struck, his dark eyes widening. "…no. Lea-"

"She's still nearby. The price to pay would be small for one such as you." Shirosaki continued, his unnerving gaze hard and gleaming where it held the king's eyes. He did not speak what that price would be, though. "Surely worth it to see your beloved wife once more. To live with her, love her. I could give the prince his mother back, the kingdom their queen. Perhaps she could bring you more children, another heir."

"M-my wife is…" Isshin insisted, the line of his jaw clenched hard. His fingers tightened around his son's shoulders, keeping the boy tugged close and away from the powerful man standing before them.

"Yes. During childbirth just the night before last." The necromancer nodded slightly, his gaze again cast toward the castle looming behind them, not so far away. It was as though those otherworldly eyes could see beyond what mortal vision could detect, like he saw this world and the next. "And your infant daughters lay sick and fevered without her. The midwife and priests are not enough, if I can already find them among-" He paused abruptly, expression shifting just slightly, and eyes falling toward Ichigo again.

Standing with his father, Ichigo looked up at the king with wide eyes, not really understanding fully what was transpiring. Isshin looked truly horrified.

"Oh." The necromancer breathed, a bit of a chuckle in his voice, "He knows not." Strange, inverted eyes looked almost remorseful as they studied young Ichigo's features. Almost. There was also amusement there. The man shook his head in a mocking parody of tragedy, "When will you tell him his mother has di-"

"Enough!" Isshin's fury rang through the yards, making everyone flinch, but not the necromancer. The necromancer merely smiled. "Leave." The king demanded in a rough, thick voice, "Remove yourself from my company before I change my mind, creature, and do not return."

The necromancer gave the slightest of bows and again everyone flinched, "As you wish, m' king." But the polite words held a wicked snarl and the smile that parted pale lips bared teeth.

"But, father-"

"No, son." Isshin snagged hold of the heir to the throne and began pulling him back toward the castle, leaving the necromancer and the abomination of his son's dog behind. "He is not a good man. He is not a man at all." He cautioned, his voice a low and unhappy rasp. "And that is not your dog, it is a construct, a monster."

As he watched the retreating forms of the king and prince, Shirosaki smirked, "I believe the term ya seek is ghoul, King Isshin." He informed. Then his eyes flickered to Ichigo and his smile turned almost gentle, reassuring, "Fear not, little prince, we will meet again. And remember what I told you."

Ichigo nodded, before he was dragged from the castle gardens and locked away inside. As Shirosaki left, guards parted around him. The forest seemed to welcome him back and its shadows swallowed him up like he was but a ghost.

The very next day, his dog at his heel, Ichigo raced from the castle grounds and down through the streets of the village. He was warned by his father's advisors against ever entering the forest again. By the time he made it to the butcher, the young prince was panting for breath, but a pleased smile rode his boyish features. The dog seemed equally as happy. With a few coins, he purchased a fresh, still bloody sheep's heart and had it wrapped up. He took the fresh meat home. At his side, the dog licked its lips and whined a hungry sound.

He snuck his way into the kitchen once back at home, and used a knife to cut the heart into smaller pieces. The woman working there gasped an appalled sound and quickly hurried over to take the large knife from him, "Careful!" She scolded, "What are you doing here, prince? Tis my duty, not yours, to be in the kitchen."

"I was feeding my dog…" Ichigo explained, handing over a bloodied strip of fresh heart. The animal snapped his jaws around it so quickly the sound of teeth echoed in the room. Ichigo picked up the next piece.

The woman watched in near horror, but the animal's vicious teeth never found Ichigo's skin, only raw, bloody meat.

That night, Isshin confessed to his son what the necromancer had spoke of. Distraught and horrified over the unexpected loss of his mother, the young child retreated within himself. His grief was obvious, and only his dog seemed capable of bringing a ghosting of a smile to his features.

The dog was present during the funeral services, and from then on, couldn't be separated from Ichigo, ever at the boy's side.

Later that week, Isshin found his son out in the yard, throwing a stick for the dog to chase after. The child of a man that worked in the castle was present. The boy was only a few years older than the prince, and often enough kept the young prince company when Ichigo's father was busy. But this day, the peasant boy seemed distrusting of the dog, and so merely stood at Ichigo's side and watched, rather than joined in on the play.

The animal certainly did look just like Ichigo's dead dog. It even had the same demeanor and followed at the prince's heel like it always had. But the dead do not rise again, not truly, and not without a price. While he watched the monstrosity, he spoke to his boy. "Do not feed it, Ichigo, that is not your dog."

"I have to feed it, father." Ichigo looked up with wide eyes at his father, "Shirosaki said that it must eat a fresh heart everyday, or it will die again. It already died once, how can I let it die again?"

Isshin realized then that his son knew much too intimately death at such a tender young age. He feared what such a close relationship with so dark a thing would do to his boy.

The next day, Isshin consulted a priest. "Destroy it." The old man whispered as he watched the dog play with the young prince. It was gentle with the boy, and ever loyal like a dog should be, but it was unnatural. Not right. "Burn it and scatter the ashes far away. It is a monster in dog's fur, a demon like the Undead himself."

That evening Isshin attempted to do just that. Catching on to his father's plans to have his dog killed, Ichigo ran out into the yards to save his beloved pet. With the prince in the way and stubbornly unmoving, the animal couldn't be shot and killed. When Isshin tried to physically pull the boy away and Ichigo protested, struggling against his father, the dog turned on Isshin with a menacing growl and raised hackles, prepared to defend its owner.

The king's next goal became starving the creature. The kitchen maid had expressed her concerns about Ichigo's pet's eating habits and, not knowing better, the young prince himself had expressed as much on several occasions. The dog ate fresh hearts that Ichigo himself picked up from the butcher each morning. While impressed that his son was taking on the responsibility each and every day, Isshin was as leery and fearful of the dog's nature as everyone else, and he knew nothing good could come out of the necromancer's gift to his son, the heir to the throne. Should the Undead be attempting to make another power play, an impressionable young boy so close to the throne was a good place to start. And Isshin knew, Shirosaki had all the time in the world at his disposal. A few years for Ichigo to mature, to grow into his role, would be as nothing to the necromancer.

The king locked his only son away, and forbid him from leaving the castle that next morning.

With a nanny posted to keep an eye on him, Ichigo fought back tears of worry and anger as he watched his dog whine that morning. The animal paced by his closed bedroom door, located on the second floor of the castle. It hung its head and pawed at the door, before returning to Ichigo and nosing at the prince's hand as if asking to be fed. The only thing it ate all day long was a single, fresh heart each morning. Even the few times Ichigo had tried to sneak it table scraps as it laid at his feet in the dinning hall, it had merely sniffed and turned its head.

Ichigo couldn't imagine how hungry the poor thing must have been by morning, and then to be refused its only meal? He threw his arms around his beloved pet's neck and whispered apologies until the dog quit whining for food. After a few hours, the animal seemed to give up, or maybe even forget that it was supposed to eat, and when Ichigo was allowed from his room, it trotted at his heel like always and the two went about their day.

The next morning, Isshin again locked his son and the dog away. Again, it whined and scratched at the door for hours, before seemingly forgetting about its hunger. By the third day, it no longer trailed behind Ichigo quite so happily, but rather with its head down, shoulders hunched, and a still tail. By the fourth day, it began flashing teeth at anyone that dared come near it that wasn't Ichigo.

Knowing the dog was acting strangely, the prince begged his father to let him return to the butcher with the coming of dawn. It did him little good. Isshin knew he was hurting his only son with this, and he truly felt horrible for what he was doing, both to Ichigo and to the dog, but he also knew that this was likely his only way of destroying the monster Shirosaki had planted in his home.

Little did he know that the revived dog was not the danger Shirosaki had corrupted the sanctity of the castle with. No, the necromancer's influence was far more subtle than that. All he needed to give Ichigo was ideas, thoughts. A nudge in the direction he sought. The dog was just a dog.

At the week's end, the animal snapped and snarled and barked at anyone that came within sight. It's once large, soft eyes grew cloudy and cold and clear mucus dripped from its nose like it was sick. Another day of its starvation and the dog was chasing servants and guards from its sight, frothy, red flecked foam dripping from its jaws. Still, it was gentle with Ichigo. As Ichigo mourned the animal's fate, it laid at his side as he sat on his bed or in the grass outside and breathed in a labored wheeze, and wagged its tail with each and every stroke of the prince's hand against its course, dry fur.

A few more days and the dog's fur began shedding in clumps under Ichigo's hands. It foamed at the mouth and trembled in jerky, uncontrolled movements. Ichigo and the dog stayed mostly upstairs where his bedroom was located, so that the sickly animal didn't have to struggle up and down the stairs.

Having kept an eye on the beast and his son, Isshin began fearing for the boy's safety, despite that the dog still tried to waggle its tail whenever Ichigo was near. It snapped and snarled at everyone else. It even bit one of Ichigo's handmaids. The woman nearly lost her hand and would likely not be returning to her duties.

A group of guards were rounded up. Under strict instructions to capture and kill the dog, and keep Ichigo safe through the entire process, they set out upstairs to find the monstrosity. By then, the undead dog had been driven mad. When the guards set foot on the second floor landing, it charged from Ichigo's room, barking and growling and snarling in misguided over protectiveness. It bared half rotted teeth, its gums raw and bleeding, and attacked. There was no fear in its movements, no hesitation to attack a large group of men, only mindless aggression.

Isshin rushed around the guards while the animal was busy, and hurried to find his boy, terrified of what the mad creature may have done to his son. He found Ichigo frightened but unharmed, huddled in a corner of his room. Wet clumps of fur decorated the floor nearby, blood flecked drool in puddles. The room was a mess. The floor showed where the creature's claws had worn trails against the wood. The door was nearly ruined from the animal scratching and chewing at it each morning.

In the end, the guards didn't capture the risen dog, nor did they kill it. It killed itself. After chasing them, after attacking and biting mindlessly, the animal had begun to run circles, its movements aimless. It was as though it had simply lost its mind and gone mad. It jumped and jerked and its limbs shook and trembled. Muscle twitched unhealthily under its dry, patchy hide. Eventually, whether by accident or on purpose, it threw itself through the railing that kept people from falling over the edge of the high staircase, and plunged to the first floor. Neck snapped, the dog whined a long, shrill sound, its back half twitching, legs scrabbling as its broken jaw fell open and foam coated its neck and chest.

When it fell still, Isshin hoisted his son, nearly too big to carry anymore, and made sure his face was hidden before rushing the boy from the castle so that the dead creature and the evidence of its decent into madness could be cleaned up.

A deep pit was dug off castle grounds, the location never told to the young prince. The dog's body was lowered into it, before dry straw was dropped to cover it. It was set on fire and left burning until nothing but ashes remained, then the pit was filled in and the incident became nothing more than a tale, whispered about at night.

The handmaid the dog had bitten died of infection the next day. Her body was burned and buried as well.

"This was not your fault, Ichigo, my son." Isshin told the young, upset prince one night as he tucked the boy in for bed. Ichigo had been distraught over the second death of his beloved pet. "This was the necromancer's fault. His black magic is a horrid, cursed thing, Ichigo."

"No father." Ichigo muttered sullenly, "Shiro did exactly as he said he'd do. He gave me my dog back so that we might play again. You killed it a second time."

It would be years before Ichigo would see the necromancer again. In that time, the prince grew and matured into a handsome and wise young man. He was slowly being groomed for the role of King and his father was proud of the ruler he would surely be. The incident with the dog was never forgotten, but as he grew older, Ichigo came to realize why his father had done what he had. He wasn't pleased with what his elder had done, and he would never be, but he understood the paranoia and fear that ran deep in virtually all the kingdom. Magic was something strange and powerful. Dark magic was frightening and taboo, unknown. His father was as much subject to that fear as anyone else.

There was a reason the necromancer lived all alone in his dark forest, Ichigo suspected, but he thought it a different reason than what others thought.

There were rumors aplenty about the mysterious, ageless man. Like a legend or a myth, he was said to have come from nowhere, but he'd been around forever. For as long as anyone could remember and longer. Long enough that his name, once popular and well known, had disappeared from the books and was now only whispered in dark corners. Like a specter in both appearance and manner, he drifted through the forest that surrounded the village or through the cobbled streets near the castle. He was ever present, a pale shadow, but he was taboo and powerful, the way myths often are. It was said that to deal with the creature was to invite madness and eventually a fate worse than death. He was a cunning man. As smart as he was powerful, and when he set his sights on something, he let nothing stand in his way.

Or so the stories said.

Fear often followed in the shadows of such driven, strong-minded people. No, Ichigo began to suspect the necromancer was not as horrid as everyone thought. He merely avoided those that feared and loathed him. He spent all his time alone because, even when he ventured into the village among the other citizens, he was left an outcast, a monster.

In the prince's experience, Shirosaki was fascinating and strange, but honest and reliable even. He'd been nothing but kind and helpful to Ichigo when he was but a boy all those years ago. There was scarcely a day Ichigo hadn't thought of the pale man and the promise to meet again. It hadn't seemed an ill boding prediction, but rather a friendly one. He was certain his father would have disagreed, but after a couple years of the promise going unfulfilled, Isshin had eventually let his guard lower.

One day, on the prince's sixteenth birthday, just before he became a man, the necromancer returned. Ichigo, in the fine clothing of a prince and with an escort in the form of two royal guards trailing him, wandered about the village, mostly in boredom. He perused a few random roadside stalls, smiling cordially when he was greeted or acknowledged by his proper title. He wasn't given many days off, where he was free from tutors and advisors that coached him in how to be a fine monarch. So when he did find himself with some free time on his hands, he chose to escape the castle walls while he had the chance.

However, as he walked and entertained the citizens that recognized him with his friendly smiles and a few words, a figure that he'd initially overlooked spoke from nearby, and called him by something he'd not been referred to ever but once and only when he'd been a child. The strangeness of it caught his attention and made orange brows arch as the future king turned to find the source of the voice.

"My my… haven't ya grown, little prince." The voice was unmistakable, even after nearly 9 years. Dressed almost the exact same as what Ichigo remembered, the figure was cloaked in all black, richly decorated robes. The hem nearly brushed the dirty cobbles, hiding all but the toes and soles of dark leather boots. The sleeves were long and fluttery, wider than need be in a showy way. Clasped snuggly around the necromancer's lean torso, the abdomen of the dark robe was in an almost corset fashion, with silver fixtures and hooks to keep it wound tightly about him. Unlike the fashionable articles worn by women, the ribs of the corset structure were obvious and prominent. Sharp, even. The one that followed the necromancer's spine was even barbed, as if to ward off attack or some other nonsense. Along the front, sparkling gems of blood red and deep purple decorated it. A cowl was pulled over the man's stark hair, hiding equally pale features in deep shadows. From within, the glint of golden eyes was just barely visible, catching the light of the sun like a cat's.

Ichigo turned to the man with a genuine, if not a bit surprised, smile. "Good ne- …priest! It's been a long time."

Pale fingers emerged from the concealing sleeves as the man reached up and drew back his hood. Long hair fell free to hang around his shoulders and cascade down his back, a stunning contrast to the darkness of his clothing. The smirk that played at colorless lips was amused. "Now, child, we've had this discussion. Or have ya forgotten that opposites are a priest and a necro-"

"No no." Ichigo interrupted, waving a single hand a bit in a staying motion. He turned to continue down the street, motioning for the man at his side to follow. "I remember well our short time together, but now I understand the negativity that so many affix to your true title. Priest is much more widely accepted, yes?"

"Indeed." The necromancer inclined his head in a slight nod, and easily fell in line at the prince's side. "How fairs your pup?"

Ichigo frowned a bit and glanced over at the man, the oddest feeling that he was letting the man down creeping up in his gut. "…my father would have none of it." He said quietly, "The dog was killed long ago."

"Ah." Shirosaki nodded a small motion, and didn't seem put off. His hands eased to his sides, the long sleeves again hiding all traces of pale skin. There was an effortlessness to his motions, as there had been years ago.

"You're not surprised." Ichigo stated more than asked. "You suspected he'd kill it?"

"I had my suspicions, yes." The necromancer admitted, "Not many would so willin'ly accept a ghoul inta their homes. Fearful, ya see, of what they don't understand."

It was Ichigo's turn to nod. They were quiet as they walked, the prince lost in thought. Then Ichigo shook his head a bit and looked back to the man in his company. He didn't miss the way the citizens around them gave the necromancer a wide birth and plenty of less than kind attention. "You haven't aged a day. Nine years, and you look exactly the same." There was a smile to his voice, "Are you truly undead? Do you feed on hearts like your ghouls?"

An erie laugh floated through the air around them as a wide grin split pale features. There was madness in the over-wide expression, should one take the time to look closely enough. "Oh no, dear prince, as I told ya, I am but a man. Your father the king, and most everyone else," A single pale hand appeared from the cuff of one sleeve and waved a vague, dismissing motion, "calls me Undead out of ignorance but I'm not Undead, I am undying, and they don't understand that distinction. Undead implies that I have died and risen again, and I have never experienced death, I can assure ya."

Fascinated, though less obviously so than when he'd been just a child, Ichigo shook his head, a bit of a smile playing on his handsome features. He turned their trek down a different path of the village, headed toward the edge of town where the streets would be less crowded and where their walk would be quieter. The two guards appointed to the prince's escort trailed behind them, quiet and unobtrusive, but watchful and maybe just a bit nervous now. The king would not be pleased with this meeting.

"It must be an amazing thing, to transcend death." Ichigo mused. He was young still, not even an adult yet, but he was privileged and so, because of his wealth and his status, educated. In the castle, his room was filled with books and writings. Tutors visited almost daily, instructing him and his sisters in new lessons and subjects. "Is it not what all scholars inadvertently seek? So that they may further their learning, and indeed some insist that the pursuit of their knowledge will live on even after them, so claim that they have found the means to continue living through their work. Alchemists and priests, too, though they seek it more literally, I suppose."

Shirosaki smirked and seemed content to let the prince ramble. Young and naive as the boy may have been, he was indeed better company than the necromancer's usual audience.

"Yet you seem to have accomplished what they've failed in, and they cast you out for your success." A disgruntled frown settled on Ichigo's handsome features.

At his side, the necromancer lilted a soft but amused laugh, unperturbed, for it was no news to him. Long long ago perhaps he'd wished for unity, for a place to fit amongst his fellow citizens. If that time existed, it no longer carried any weight in Shirosaki's mind. He was not so frail as that. All the few things he'd told to the young prince had been truth, but his truths were warped, twisted and not entirely whole, but rather only segments and vague. There were reasons for that; Shirosaki was every bit the monster people whispered of. "Worry not, young prince,-"

But as the necromancer began, his intent to ease the young lad's mind for a while longer, Ichigo continued. His words silenced Shirosaki in a way no one yet had been capable of.

"When I become king, I will welcome you back." Ichigo proclaimed, his youth showing through. "And, I think, in time, so will the others."

"It is a pretty thought." The necromancer mused after a few moments. The prince's footsteps echoed softly off the cobbled street they walked upon. Shirosaki's made not a sound, his robes trailing out behind him like black smoke from a burning building. "I truly value our few conversations, Prince, I would welcome more."

Taking the man's words at face value, Ichigo smiled. "Than it's settled." He all but proclaimed, "In the coming years, ready yourself to leave the damp old fortress. I will find for you a proper home upon the street nearest the castle."

Shirosaki chuckled an erie sound. "I hope it will be a large one. I have many things that pertain ta my line of work in that damp old fortress."

A slight reddening rose in Ichigo's features as he smiled a sheepish expression, only now realizing he'd unintentionally insulted another man's home. "Forgive me, I hadn't meant-"

The necromancer grinned and waved it off, a careless motion of his hand.

A curious frown tugged at Ichigo's smile, as he gave long, slim fingers a subtle once over. The motion, one that he'd seen the necromancer go through a couple times so far this day, was nearly the same as he'd done years ago, on the evening the two had first met. Before, the simple, gentle motion had opened a gate. There had seemed so much power in the man's every move. Yet now, it affected nothing.

Not much escaped his attention, and the necromancer bemusedly brought both hands up, and splayed his fingers out in front of himself. Nails as black as his clothing glinted in the sunlight of a fair weathered day. Gems of red and purple and black set into silver bands decorated his hands and wrists, sparkling richly but strangely, as if drawing in the light rather than reflecting it.

Realizing he'd been caught, Ichigo hastened to explain, dragging a hand through his hair to keep himself busy. "Uhh…I was only curious…" There was the unsureness of youth in his voice, and the necromancer hummed a sound to tell him he could ask as he pleased. So Ichigo continued, "The night you brought my dog back, you, um… Well, I remember there seemed so much power in your hands alone. But just now…" He waved his hand out, in a much less graceful parody of the necromancer's motions.

"Ah, I see." Shirosaki grinned, bringing one hand up to motion with a single finger toward his head, "The power is here, my hands, and indeed anythin' else I should choose, whether a part of my person or not, are merely conduits. A way to give better direction to my magic."

Fascinated, Ichigo drank in what he was being told. He knew next to nothing about magic and how it worked. Knowledge of its existence was slowly disappearing, as the church began weeding out practitioners and banishing them and their craft as taboo and work of the devil. All he knew about it was that there were supposedly different types, different channels and levels, and that they were all off limits to goodly people. "How does one go about learning magic? Is it even something that you can learn?"

The necromancer graced the prince with an almost charming, sly little smile. "Generally, one doesn't go about learning magic, since the church has declared it evil. But long ago, when it was still a reputable art, a person wishin' ta learn about it would find a tutor, just as they would for any subject. And yes, young prince, most anyone can be taught the basics, though only the truly gifted get very far."

"I suspect you're one of the gifted few, then?" Ichigo smirked as he asked it, really just making conversation.

It was beyond obvious to Shirosaki that the prince was becoming infatuated with him, though, and it brought a dark sort of glee to him. The seed he'd planted all those years ago was paying off, and in only a few more years, the young man would reach maturity. And so would his plans, already set into motion.

"Indeed." The older man confirmed, nodding. "I was considered quite talented in my time." He eyed the prince speculatively and did nothing to hide it. Everything he did was for show, after all, meant to be seen and noted. If he wished his comings and goings to be in secret, they would be. Then he smirked and faced forward again, keeping his pace leisurely and confident at the future king's side. "Before ya ask, only the very, truly stubborn and dedicated get anywhere at all without a tutor, and while I am not the best for schooling, I would consider it."

Ichigo arched orange brows and stared at the necromancer like his mind had been read. Before he could say anything, however, Shirosaki held up a single finger in a motion to tell him to pause.

"You are not yet of age, prince." The powerful necromancer bluntly halted Ichigo's tumult of no doubt wild fancies. "There're two windows of opportunity in which to begin learning the arts. The first is when one is very young, a babe still. The other is with the out growing of adolescence. You've a couple a years before I could begin teachin' ya."

Ichigo did well at hiding the slight look of disappointment that wanted to settle on his handsome features, but it was there all the same and the necromancer didn't miss it. He said nothing, however, turned forward to appear as if he weren't paying as much attention as he actually was.

"Could you…" Ichigo hesitated, thoughtful, "Perhaps, would it be possible to point me in a direction? So that I might begin gaining a basic understanding, books, or something maybe?"

Shirosaki tipped his chin up a bit, still walking in that easy, effortless way of his. His hands slid behind his back and clasped casually as he hummed a thoughtful sound. Then he turned a speculative eye on his young companion and one corner of his pale lips quirked at the hint of eager excitement and pleading Ichigo couldn't quite hide. "Sadly, I cannot give ya the name of any books nor scrolls that would help ya… Most have been lost or destroyed." He paused, watching a crestfallen look crease boyish features for a moment. "But…" And he tilted his head a bit, like he was putting serious thought into his words, "I suppose that should ya still be interested in learnin' the arts in one year's time, I shall have been able ta collect what ya'd need ta find an understanding of the basics."

"A year…?" Ichigo asked, a bit dismayed perhaps.

The necromancer chuckled and nodded, "A year seems so long when you're young," He said as if reminiscing. "A year," He confirmed, "In one year, if you're still interested, come ta my home -ya remember where it is? - and I will have ready what you'll need ta get started."

"But you wont teach me then?" Ichigo asked, still walking at a leisurely pace with the necromancer.

"No, ya still wont be quite of age, but you'll be old enough to start learnin' the basics on your own." The man was quiet for a few strides, before he turned a serious look on the young prince. "When ya come, bring no one with ya." His strange eyes cornered, to look back behind them at the two guards shadowing the prince. "No one." He repeated when Ichigo frowned a bit. "Ta bring an escort along would be ta invite tragedy upon them, and danger upon me. When ya cross inta the forest, it wont be safe for them and should they lose their lives, I would surely be held accountable."

Brown eyes widened a bit. Ichigo understood the logic and truth in the necromancer's words. He knew the man was feared and loathed, and most thought that he controlled the forest and the darkness it held. But still, even though Shirosaki wasn't the danger that lurked the misty woods, there was still something within… "But the forest…" Trailing off, he shook his head a bit.

"Worry not." The necromancer let a slight smile interrupt his stern expression and turned forward again, "I would not have you wander the forest alone. Come by dark and I will have an escort awaiting you at the tree line. Somethin' that knows well the forest and the dangers within."

Ichigo quirked a brow, something like unsureness settling in the tightness to his jaw. "But my escort isn't to be you?"

"No." Gold eyes edged away from the prince, almost as if he was embarrassed and hesitant to admit it. The necromancer pushed the expression away quickly, but he watched as the young prince's expression changed, telling him the lad had caught it, as he was meant to. "I will be…" A pale hand appeared, waved a careless motion, "unavailable for such crusades at the time."

Ichigo frowned a bit, and looked as if he would ask, but Shirosaki merely turned a surprisingly charming smile on him and pulled to a stop. The prince halted as well, standing to face the necromancer in the middle of a mostly deserted section of road. Behind them a few paces, the prince's guards watched but remained unobtrusive, there to keep the prince safe should something unexpected occur.

"I must take my leave now, young prince." Shirosaki announced with a slight bow, as a lower standing citizen should have normally admonished on royalty. The polite gesture seemed almost mocking though, strange like it wasn't something one such as the necromancer would normally have done. Ichigo didn't say anything about it, and the powerful elder straightened and turned away to take his leave.

The prince watched the man's sharp features shift, watched bloodless lips move as Shirosaki walked off, as if speaking to himself. Ichigo shook his head a bit, and turned to return to the festivities of the main road, his guards following behind him. One cast a glance over his armored shoulder toward the wicked necromancer, and only then did Ichigo hear the whispered words the man had spoken in parting.

"One year's time, dear prince, alone or my escort will not bring you to me."

Ichigo smiled, and hid his chuckle as the guard on his right moved up to his side. There was a happy spring to the prince's step as he walked between carts and the bustle of the city seemed to filter back into existence.

"Sire." The guard's voice was a deep sound, his un-visored features pulled into hard, disapproving lines. Fierce, blue eyes turned upon Ichigo.

"You don't have to call me that, Grimmjow." Ichigo smiled at the guard.

Only a handful of years older than the prince, the prince's favored and most trusted guard was but a young man as well, fresh into adulthood. He'd been the son of a lowly man that had worked manual labor around the castle grounds and, determined to be better than his father, Grimmjow had worked his way through the ranks until he found himself in the heir's personal guard at just twenty years of age. Though they were never exactly good friends, he had known the prince nearly all his life and sometimes it seemed Grimmjow knew more about Ichigo than those that were closer to equals with the future king.

"Ichigo, then," The guard corrected. The light armor he wore did little to hinder his movements. The weight was a familiar one by now. At his side, the decorated hilt of a sword shone in the morning light. "Don't go with him. In a year, lock yourself within the castle, don't go near the forest. Stay far away from that creature."

The heir to the throne looked almost disappointed and shook his head, "So you're as paranoid as everyone else, are you? I would have expected differently from someone so hot headed."

Something of a sneer flashed over the guard's features, but he didn't fall back with his fellow guardsman and stubbornly hung at the prince's side. "There is a reason he's avoided and feared, Ichigo, you've heard the stories."

"Yes, I have." Ichigo nodded, "But I've seen no evidence of them being true. For as long as I can remember, his ill deeds have only been in spoken rumor of long ago times. Tell me, Grimmjow, can you ever remember hearing of him doing something untold in your actual lifetime?"

The guard frowned and had it been directed at anyone else, it truly would have seemed a frightening expression. "No, but the stories-"

Ichigo raised a hand and silenced the young man. "Are just stories, as far as I'm concerned." He turned what he hoped was a reassuring expression on his worried guard. The man was only doing what he was sworn to, after all. "The church needs an example to convince the people that magic is evil. Who better to use than an already outcasted man? And even if the stories have root in truth, that was so long ago. Another life time. Who's to say that he couldn't change if only given the chance? He doesn't seem like such a bad man."

Severe, blue brows furrowed further. Grimmjow shook his head, "Don't go with him, Ichigo." He said again, but the matter was already closed, and he fell back in line with the prince's other guard. Their day continued as if nothing had happened and nothing had changed. The people of the town were happy to see their future king among them.

Trailing through his shadowy forest, Shirosaki smiled to himself and in the dark, his grin flashed white teeth. The low lying fog crept from his path, slinking away like a frightened creature as the darkness of his robes seemed to bleed into it. A horrid creature of white bone and dead, corse hair wandered up to his side like a well trained pet. The sharp ridges of its fleshless ribs and spine glistened with the moisture from the mist around them. It's stringy, pale mane cascaded around it's shoulders in a mocking parody of a person's hair.

The necromancer glanced down at it, curled his lip like its form offended his senses, then waved his hand, his dark nails shining in what little light could be found. Bone crunched, flesh bled from between its ribs, smoothing over the frame of its body. As they walked, something that looked much more like a man began to take shape.

"Ah, Yylfordt, you're lookin' rough these days." The necromancer said to his silent servant, his lilting tone dry. "I know I'm stretchin' ya ta the limits of your pitiful soul, but best last a couple more years, dear servant, than you can retire."

Walking at the necromancer's side, the lean figure Shirosaki took his appearance and youth from said nothing, and was as if incapable of even hearing the powerful man.

In that next year, Ichigo was a busy young man. He held audience with tutors and scholars, servants and advisors near daily, learning and being groomed into the role that awaited him. He was taught the fineries of penmanship and of language, and even the arts, such as music and painting. No longer was he a little boy. No longer was he afforded time to roam and to play. When he wasn't sitting inside, drinking in all that those around him could teach him, he was being coached in other things; swordsmanship, defense, battle strategies, horse training and riding.

There was a lot to learn about being the future ruler of the kingdom. The date Shirosaki had set for them fast approached; the young prince's seventeenth birthday.

Late that night, after the castle fell silent and his sisters and father had gone to bed, Ichigo slipped from his room. Careful of the sound his hard-soled boots made upon the stone and wood flooring, he crept through the halls and down the stairs. He was unsurprised when a dark figure stood awaiting him at the front entrance. The young man had forgone his usual armor, but his sword was still belted to his hip and the hilt and scabbard caught the light of the single candle left burning nearby.

As Ichigo approached, he shifted to block the doorway, as if he would stand in the prince's way. Despite the lack of armor, he was still bigger than Ichigo, broader and more thickly built. In the shadows, Ichigo took note that his loyal guard wore his thick leather under padding, and boots meant for travel and riding.

"Return to your bed, Prince." Grimmjow warned as Ichigo paused before him. His voice was a quiet growl of a sound in the dark. All this time and he hadn't forgotten what the future king had been tasked with on the night of his next birthday. Being at the young heir's side nearly everyday, he knew Ichigo hadn't forgotten either, nor given up on his silly dream to pursue the outlawed darker arts. "Nothing good will come of this."

Ichigo let a disapproving expression cloud his boyish features, and looked up at the guard. "Stand aside." The tone he used made it obvious that it was less of a request and more of a command. When the guard remained unmoving, Ichigo's frown deepened. "Going against orders from the heir to the throne is treason, Grimmjow…"

Even then, the young man remained unmoving for a long moment, before blue eyes slid away and no longer matched brown. "If I cannot convince you not to go, then I would accompany you instead."

Ichigo's unhappy scowl melted away, "Would that I could let you." but he shook his head a bit. "You know I can't bring you. Alone, he said, or his escort will not lead me to his fortress. His reasoning and logic was sound."

"The forest is dangerous at night." Grimmjow growled, his stance squaring like he would physically hold the prince back if he had to. "He is dangerous."

Ichigo stood his ground, looking up at the taller man. He could see stubborn ice and hot fire in the crystallin gaze boring through him, but if their was one person more stubborn than the young guard, it was the prince he was sworn to protect. "Stand aside, Grimmjow." He ordered again, lowly, "I will see you in the morning for my sparring lesson."

Grimmjow frowned and drew in a deep, even breath, but there was little he could do. He snarled a quiet sound and as he turned so that he no longer blocked the prince's path, his motions were jerky and aggressive. "If you're late," He started as Ichigo walked by, "I will find you, and I will kill the necromancer."

Ichigo didn't look back at him, but a slight smile tilted his lips, "If I do not return, I will expect nothing less."

He felt blue eyes track his movements, follow his every step all the way across the castle grounds and to the forest's edge. The feeling only dissipated when he took his first step across the border, and was lost in cold shadows. The lightlessness was erie and a chilly mist swirled and undulated about his legs, so thick that he could nearly kick swaths through it.

After he'd walked for several minutes and could no long turn to peer over his shoulder and see the castle looming beyond, he paused and cast a slightly wary gaze around his surroundings. As far as he could see in the near impenetrable shadows, no man stood waiting for him.

"Hello?" He called quietly, carefully picking his way a few more steps. It wasn't until he was nearly upon the creature that he saw the bone white horse standing near a tree. Fog rolled under its belly, between its legs but the thick moisture didn't seem to bother the animal.

As Ichigo approached, a frown on his features, the animal turned to regard him and its eyes were a familiar gold, though they swam in milky white and not black. A bridle of worn leather adorned the animal's muzzle, but no reins or other tack marked it as having an owner nor rider. Yet, when he got within reach and laid a hand on the creature's warm coat, it didn't spook nor twitch unhappily under the touch.

"Haven't you a master?" Ichigo asked quietly, moving up to the horse's head. The fur under his hands was course, kind of dry, but warm and shiny. As if in answer, the animal tossed its big head.

Ichigo patted its neck and looked around, seeking sign of the horse's rider. Surely whoever had brought the animal was meant to be his escort.

After a moment, the horse seemed to grow impatient and it sidestepped, nearly pushing Ichigo over with its weight and strength. Stumbling under the unexpected push, Ichigo stepped back and looked up at the animal. As he did, the horse pushed its nose against his chest and pushed again, though much less roughly this time. It didn't stop, despite the prince's attempts at calming the animal, until fingers wrapped around the leather halter in the effort to pull the horse's head away.

When Ichigo pulled to the side, trying to guide the horse away from him so that it would quit, the horse pulled the opposite direction, and took a step further into the forest. When Ichigo released the halter, confused by the animal's strange behavior, the horse stopped and again tossed its head, snorting a protest.

"Whatever are you doing…?" He asked aloud, and moved to grab the horse's halter again. Looking about, he again attempted to find a rider hidden somewhere in the dark. "Hello? Is there anyone out here?"

Yet again, when he grabbed the leather halter, the animal began walking, half pulling him with it. Ichigo pulled back for a moment, until he was able to drag the big animal to a halt. Shaking his head like it was ridiculous, he slowly asked, "You're meant to be my escort, aren't you?"

The horse tossed its mane and sidestepped again, until its rump nearly overbalanced the young prince again and Ichigo was forced to grab hold of the animal to keep from being knocked to the ground.

"You could have just said so…" He half laughed under his breath, then moved up to the animal's side and awkwardly fisted one hand in the base of the horse's white mane. Sighing, he admitted, "This would be much easier with a saddle…"

The horse whinnied an almost annoyed sound and dropped its head like it would attempt grazing from the forest floor for a moment, but as it raised its head again, its back convulsed. The motion was startling and harsh enough that Ichigo jerked his hands away, and took a step back from the animal. As he watched in mixed fascination and shock, a saddle horn of bone pressed through the horse's white fur, right between its shoulder blades. Next, the concave shallow that made up the shape of a normal saddle began to bulge and press against the horse's coat from the inside. The skin stretched around it and the animal's only sign of discomfort was a small shifting in its steps as the saddle formed.

When it was done, Ichigo was faced with a horse that had a built in saddle. Staring on at an utter loss for what he'd just witnessed, the horse grew impatient again and pushed its nose against his chest until he wrapped his fingers around the halter.

"Ok, ok…" Ichigo mumbled to it as he very tentatively wrapped one hand around the bone saddle horn. It was smooth and cool below his palm, but still had a lively feel to it. It was so strange, repulsive even, but it was amazing. He laughed a small sound in the darkness and swung himself up into the saddle, fisting his hands into the horse's dry, white mane. "A magical horse. I should have expected as much."

When his weight was settled, the animal started up in a light trot. It deftly maneuvered between trees and waded through the thick fog like the darkness and obscuring mist didn't hinder its senses. After only a few minutes, the animal shifted seamlessly from a trot, to a swift canter and Ichigo bent closer against its neck as he held tight to the animal's mane. If the rumors were true, and there were indeed monsters and demons lurking about in the forest, the young prince found no sign of them. The shadows around him weren't empty though, of that, he was certain. Perhaps it was the same magic that had created the horse that kept the demons at bay.

The journey seemed farther than Ichigo remembered from when he was a child, and much lonelier, but the strange horse made swift and easy work of the uneven terrain. It only slowed when the massive, black fortress was in sight. The heavy gate swung open to allow them entry and the animal didn't require any guidance from its rider to trot up the narrow path, between rows of black-barked, twisted trees, and to the front entrance.

When the animal stopped, Ichigo stared up at the intimidating structure the necromancer called his home and slid from the odd saddle. He took a moment to inspect the entryway and glance to either side, following the stretch of black brick with his gaze. Grimmjow's warning and all the stories and rumors he'd heard over the years flooded back and he swallowed, a flicker of doubt worming into his mind.

He quickly quelled the feeling, and trooped up the few cobbled stairs to the massive, wooden door. Just as he raised his fist to knock, the portal swung open on silent hinges and Ichigo flinched, though he supposed it shouldn't have surprised him. Surely he was expected, after all.

Taking a fortifying breath, the young prince stepped through and yawning doorway and made his way into the main entrance. The inside was exactly as he remembered; a rounded grand hall of sorts, lined with doorways. On one side, a staircase worked its way up to the second story. Candles lined the banister, each burned to exactly the same height as the one next to it. The flames flickered and danced with an invisible current of air.

Ichigo frowned a bit, searching for pale skin and dark robes. Turning back toward the door, though, he was greeted only by Shirosaki's silent servant. The man's appearance seemed sudden and out of place.

"Uh… hello…" Ichigo greeted awkwardly. His unease merely grew when the man said not a word, nor moved, or acknowledged him in anyway. "Ok then." Ichigo half whispered, and turned back towards the stairs. He looked up their length, to the landing above, where he'd been led the first time he had been allowed into Shirosaki's home.

Sticking to the middle of the staircase, he steadily made his way up, then turned left at the top. It felt strange to wander the necromancer's abode without the man in attendance, but it wasn't an obtrusive or unwanted kind of strange. The doorway at the end was open, and Ichigo poked his head inside the study he'd seen before, "Good necromancer?" He called, letting his gaze sweep the room. Like before, rows of shelves were lined with jars and chests and boxes of all sizes and shapes. The bloodwood desk occupied one wall, a high backed chair facing it. All the candles had been extinguished, but the smell of smoke was absent.

Backing from the room, Ichigo turned and made his way back down the stairs, where he hesitated before the main doorway again. Unsure what to do and not wanting to intrude upon the man's home, the prince turned to the silent servant that still stood beside the now closed front door.

"Umm…" Ichigo hesitated again, feeling almost silly for trying to speak to the man. He couldn't remember the blond speaking before, when Shiro had recreated the prince's dog, and certainly had yet to show that he could speak or even hear as Ichigo spoke this time around. "Could you perhaps show me where Shirosaki is?"

To his surprise, the lean man nodded a single motion, then stepped past Ichigo and headed further into the fortress, silent and without a word. Ichigo quietly followed behind the servant, led towards the back of the main hall and through a corridor of dark stone and flickering candles. The air was cool, unwarmed by the small but many flames. There was an underlying dampness to it, like one would expect from an underground area, but no actual moisture or evidence of water could be found.

When they made it to their apparent destination, the servant stopped to stand straight and silent beside a doorway, and Ichigo glanced up at him, before he quietly thanked the man and pushed the heavy door open. Light spilled out into the shadowy hallway and the smell of warm paper and ink drifted about the prince as Ichigo stepped inside. A library, Ichigo saw, filled with books and scrolls and instruments, the nature of which Ichigo was unsure of in most cases. The middle of the room was dominated by the large fur of a creature he couldn't identify, turned into a plush and expensive rug.

That was where Ichigo found the necromancer, seated crosslegged upon the warm rug with a mountain of books and rolled scrolls spread out around him. He looked up as the prince stepped through the door, the silent servant trailing behind him.

Smiling, Shiro motioned for the young man to draw nearer, "I see Yylfordt didn't entirely fail in leadin' ya. I hope he didn't give ya too much trouble."

"No, none at all." Ichigo informed, moving closer. He found it strange how the necromancer remained seated upon the floor. In fact, perhaps it was silly, but he found the idea of the man seated and still at all strange. He always seemed moving and animated in a fluid way, from Ichigo's impression of him, at any rate. He dismissed it, though, and glanced back at the silent servant with a speculative look. "Is he…" Pausing, he looked back to Shiro, "Is he one of your ghouls?"

"Him?" Shirosaki let out something of a lilting chuckle and shook his head, "Oh no. Rarely do I make humans inta ghouls. No, he's like that through no fault of magic." The necromancer shifted like he would stand, then hid a wince, his hand going to his chest. "Yylfordt." He called after a short moment, his voice holding a pinched quality to it.

The servant moved closer and extended a hand, helping the necromancer to his feet. There was an unusual stiffness to the man's motions that Ichigo had never seen before. He frowned, and waited patiently as Shirosaki straightened and seemed to take a moment to adjust to standing. Then the prince moved closer, disregarding the servant, and turned a look of concern upon the necromancer, "Are you unwell? I can come at another time, if you-"

"No no." The necromancer shook his head a bit, dismissing Ichigo's suggestion. "Timing is everything in this stage," He said with something of a smirk. Then he turned toward the door Ichigo had entered, "Bring these along, Yylfordt." and led the way from the library.

Ichigo followed at the necromancer's side, but glanced over his shoulder, back at the silent servant as the man began collecting up the books and scrolls Shirosaki had been looking over.

The necromancer smiled a sly expression and addressed the prince as he walked, "You are too kind for your own good, dear prince."

"That's a lot for one man to carry…"

"Nonsense." The necromancer admonished, "Yylfordt possess more strength than he looks."

The colorless man, his dark robes almost shimmering in the darkness of his home, led them to another room. He pushed open the door with a vague wave of his hand, and allowed Ichigo to proceed him through. Within, a set of plush chairs of rich red material circled around a long, oval shaped table. A large fireplace took up nearly the entirety of the far wall, flames dancing warmly and much more lively than the candles about the fortress. Upon the mantle sat jars filled with small, smooth stones of various colors. Ichigo assumed they were more than just stones, or perhaps stones used in some sort of ritual, but he didn't yet ask.

Another deft motion of pale fingers and two chairs eased back, away from the table. "Make yourself comfortable, good prince." The man bid as he walked the length of the table, towards the chairs he'd pulled out. On his way, he tapped one black nailed finger against the table's polished top. "Set those here, Yylfordt, then go to the cellar and fetch some wine." He paused, thinking for a moment, then, "And three chalices, if you like."

Ichigo started to take a chair, assuming it mattered little which of the two he chose, but paused and frowned again as he watched the necromancer begin easing himself down into the other. Pale features took on a very slight pinch of discomfort and when Shirosaki made it into the plush chair, he leaned back and seemed worn out, as if the walk from the library to the room they were in now had been too much for him. A lot could happen in a year's time, true, but Ichigo had never seen him seem so drained of energy and life.

"Are you sure you're well?" He asked quietly, finally taking his own seat at the necromancer's side.

The pale man seemed to hesitate, before his strange, inverted eyes lifted to match the prince's, "Speak of this ta no one, Ichigo, swear it and I will confide in you."

Ichigo frowned all the harder, but of course he nodded, "I swear."

"Good." Shirosaki nodded as well, yet still he seemed to hesitate. He leaned back in his chair, taking a few moments to simply breathe, then glanced at Ichigo again. One hand moved up to clasp pale fingers around the collar of his robes. A simple motion unhooked the small buckles that fastened closed the front, and he peeled back the edge to reveal the stark white flesh of his throat and chest, as well as sickly black lines that seemed to be growing through his skin. It almost appeared as if they writhed under his skin, like dark tendrils trying to squeeze tight around his heart.

Brown eyes widened as Ichigo stared for a moment, then his gaze shot back to the necromancer's, meeting vivid, sickly gold.

"It's something of a condition, ya see," The man began explaining, "it happens regularly, every thirty years or so, and there is only a small window of opportunity in which I can do anythin' about it, even with all my magic. Should I miss that window, it would kill me."

"This is why you told me last year that you would be unable to escort me through the forest."

"It is," Shirosaki nodded, "I knew it would be either this year or next."

Ichigo shook his head a bit, still frowning, "And yet you agreed to teach me, even knowing that you would be unwell…"

The necromancer chuckled, his hand dropping from the edge of his robes to settle upon the arm of the plush chair he sat in. "I find myself enjoyin' your company, Prince. And it's not often I find someone so eager ta learn the arts, let alone from myself."

"What causes it, do you know?" Ichigo asked curiously, his gaze following the tendrils that spidered over the pale skin of the necromancer's chest and up his throat.

"It was not always thus," Shirosaki shrugged, "Too many centuries of backed up magic, I suppose. There is a reason my talents are regarded as dark magic. Necromancy is a dangerous and often messy thing. Worry not, though, I can teach you the arts without it being specific to necromancy and in any case, you would have to live and practice many many decades for this build up to occur."

Yylfordt returned with a carafe of wine and three stemmed glasses. He wordlessly set them upon the table in front of his master, and Shirosaki nodded his approval, reached for the wine to begin pouring three glasses. Ichigo was a bit surprised when the man passed a hand over one of the glasses, then handed it to his servant, before handing a different one to Ichigo, and pouring one for himself.

"What did you do to his?" Ichigo asked, glancing over at the blond servant as the man moved to stand at the far end of the table quietly, the wine in hand.

Shiro smirked conspiratorially, "Though it's hard to see, he worries terribly about my condition. I've made his a touch stronger, so that he'll get some sleep this night. But never mind all that, there is nothing I can do about it just yet, so let us get started."

Ichigo smiled at that, finding it an oddly sweet gesture. He sipped at his wine as the necromancer pulled a scroll toward them, and began unrolling it.

They sat there in the glow and warmth of the hearth for many hours, as the necromancer pointed out certain information and suggested what Ichigo should focus his attention on more so than what he would ultimately find useless just yet. Many of the books and scrolls Shirosaki had were written in the same penmanship and the intimate familiarity of which the man knew them led Ichigo to believe Shirosaki had probably written them himself. Decades of hard work and study sat opened up before the young prince, knowledge that the rest of the world would likely never know of.

At some point in the night, the necromancer got up to stock the hearth with more wood to keep the warm flames alive. Ichigo helped him after seeing how physically weakened the strange man seemed. After reclaiming his seat, the necromancer sent his servant away for the night. The silent man bowed ever so slightly as he was bid a restful slumber, then turned and left the room.

"Does he speak?" Ichigo asked curiously, watching after the servant's retreating form. It didn't really occur to him that he could have been asking inappropriate or private questions, he was simply curious.

The necromancer seemed not to mind, "Rarely. Only when asked a direct question that requires a worded response."

"Might I ask how he came to be under your care?" Ichigo asked. He'd seen the servant years ago, when he'd been but a boy and he'd even asked a few questions about him then as well, but Shiro hadn't seemed forthcoming with answers. This past visit, however, the strange necromancer seemed far more friendly and less mysterious. Ichigo didn't know if it was an effect of his illness, or perhaps simply that he'd better gotten to know the man, and thus formed something of trust between them. Whatever the case, it only fed the young prince's curiosity.

But like before when he'd asked too invasively about the servant, Shirosaki merely smiled, "That is a tale for another time."

"Oh, yes," Ichigo chuckled a sheepish laugh and rubbed at one arm, "my apologies."

"No need, dear prince." Waving it off, the elder turned back to the books spread out in front of them. After going over a few more things, and giving out a few more pointers, Shiro decided to wrap things up. He was confident that he'd given the prince plenty to think on and more than enough to keep him intrigued and infatuated with magic and the necromancer himself.

As he stiffly straightened from his chair, he and Ichigo began stacking the books and rolling the scrolls back up. "I will send these with you. Feel free to take notes and even write in them, but do not let them be taken from you. I will expect you to bring them back upon your return." Easing away from the long table, he crossed the short distance to the fireplace, and pulled a satchel from it's top, then returned and began carefully arranging the books and scrolls within. "In one year's time, you will return as ya did this time. My escort will be awaiting, but will only guide ya if you come alone. Come the night before you turn eighteen, prepare to stay a bit longer. I will need help, and we will need time ta prepare for the ritual that will awaken your greatest power. Then we will begin your training in ernest."

Ichigo nodded, committing the instructions to memory as the heavy bag was passed to him.

With the elegant motion of one hand, the necromancer showed the prince from the room and began guiding him through the fortress, back toward the entrance. Shadows seemed to roll in behind them, thick and impenetrable, the kind that hid monsters. Ichigo thought himself childish for thinking such things, and banished the thought.

As they walked, the necromancer deftly refastened the front of his robes, hiding the sickly black that coiled tight around his neck and chest. When they made it to the front entrance, he manually pulled open the heavy door and let it remain obvious as he winced under the strain.

Outside, standing exactly where it had stopped hours ago, the strange magical construct that had brought Ichigo there was waiting. It tossed its mane impatiently and Shirosaki chuckled. "He will take ya back, and stop at the edge of the forest again. Unfortunately you'll have to carry those the rest of the way into your home, good prince."

"It's no trouble." Ichigo smiled brightly, and hefted the satchel up so that it hung around the strange saddle horn jutting from the creature's back. He turned a bright smile over his shoulder as he began mounting up, "Thank you for this."

"It's my pleasure, Prince. You've true power in you, I look forward to our next meeting."

Seated in the makeshift saddle that protruded from the horse's back, Ichigo fisted his hands in the creature's mane as it turned about without prompt and began the trek back to the castle. It trotted down the long path that led through the necromancer's land, between the rows of twisted black trees and Ichigo looked back over his shoulder to see the pale man grinning at him as he left.

It wasn't until the naive young prince was out of sight that Shirosaki turned back to his fortress like home. The heavy wooden doors swung shut behind him, noiseless despite their weight. The castle of black stone had sat there undisturbed for generations untold. He'd had it built when he'd still been included among the living, back when he'd been a young and wealthy baron just starting to dabble in magic. The ruling king of the time had gifted him with a hefty sum of gold for his services, and Shirosaki had put it to good use, building himself a home to rival the king's own, and one that was far more defensible should the need arise.

He'd been right to do so. As it turned out, that king had quickly found out the down side of bringing back the mistress who'd been killed by her jealous husband. Thinking himself slighted, the king had come after Shirosaki, and very nearly killed him. But it was hard to kill a man learning to master the magic of life and death.

The necromancer smirked to himself as he traversed his abode, back to the hall he'd entertained the young prince in.

In those times, he'd gone through a soul nearly every year to keep himself from succumbing to the life stealing wound the king's assassin had inflicted upon him. But that was long ago, when he'd been young and still looked young. Now he was an ancient man, a being that could likely no longer be called a man at all. He'd only managed to make a single soul last about thirty years, roughly half of the unfortunate victim's life span, in all his centuries of practice, but he not only used those souls to fuel his life and his power, but he used them to keep his youthful appearance as well. Through his unrivaled magic, he used that single soul to sustain himself in many ways, and yet he still split the power, and kept the soul's body as a near mindless servant too.

His power was indeed great.

Shirosaki chuckled a darkly amused sound and with deft motions, he yanked the heavy robes from his shoulders, dropping them to lay across the back of the chair the prince had occupied. Like smoke, the edges seemed wispy, and to bleed into the shadows creeping out from under the table. The six black tendrils that spidered across his chest throbbed through his pale flesh, converging in the very center, like they could bore a long overdue hole through his body and seek a heart that was no longer there.

He ignored the unwelcome but familiar ache, and picked up the prince's forgotten wine goblet from the long table. He peered within as he sloshed the last swallow around in the bottom, and his smirk only grew all the wider. Binging the glass up under his nose, he inhaled deeply the flavor. The smell of it was like a powerful aphrodisiac to the power-hungry man.

Pulling the glass back again, he upturned its contents into the palm of one pale hand. Vibrant, blood red wine trickled between his fingers, warm and unappetizing, but heady all the same. The glass dropped from his other hand, shattering across the stone flooring. He paid it no mind as he clasped his hand overtop the other, like he could trap the wine within his closed palms and hold it close.

Behind him upon the mantle, hundreds of little round stones worn smooth shone in the light of the dying fire, reflecting the dance of the flames from within their glass jars. Rolling his hands together, like trying to ball up dough between them, he turned to leave the room. His bare feet crunched over the broken glass but gashes the shards tore through pale flesh healed before they could even bleed. The extra damage inflicted upon his body wasn't good for the dwindling soul he was living off of, but he had only another year to stretch out Yylfordt's weakening life.

The necromancer worked his hands together as he walked up the staircase that led to the second story of his home. He grinned the whole way. The expression was pleased in a sharp way, dangerous and manic and filled with white teeth. The muscle of his lean arms strained as he pressed tight against the spilled wine in his hands. His jaw clenched under the effort but still he rolled his hands together, kneading and shaping what lay between them.

When he made it to his destination, the room he called his own, he was panting through flared nostrils. Harsh breaths hissed between his clenched and bared teeth and he shouldered the door to his personal chambers open, nearly collapsing in the process.

Knelt and miserable in the middle of his master's room, Yylfordt slowly looked up with glittering, yet dull red eyes. Deep crimson, nearly black, dripped from between his lips, running down his chin and neck in thick, tar like rivulets. The wine Shiro had given him was no longer digestible to the silent servant, as the necromancer knew it wouldn't be, and now it was forcefully rejected. In the back of his magic-laced mind, Yylfordt had known it wouldn't be either, but he was incapable of going against anything his master bid.

"Clean that up when you're done." The necromancer rasped, stumbling past the silent man, his hands still clasped out in front of him. He curled his lip at the black, sticky mess in the middle of his chambers, but dismissed it in favor of the heat and steady pulse of the object held between his hands.

When he made it to the massive straw mattress in the center of his room, he dropped upon it to sit at its edge, then finally opened up his red stained hands. Nestled in one palm, a small, rounded stone sat. Smooth like he'd pulled it from a river, it sparkled in the dim lighting. Nearly white, like an unmuddied diamond from the treasured jewels of the king's coffers.

Shiro grinned down at it. What a pretty color for the prince's soul to take. "True power, indeed."

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Ta da~ Hope it was worth the read. I would love to hear what you think so far c: