Bleach: The End

Tales

Chapter II: City

The ancient city was lifeless, quiet, dark, painful. Old memories lived silently in the shadows, too weary to speak again. Nothing moved, except for one.

And to think. This was once the home of spirits.

The boy was young, steel blue eyes taking in the ancient city with the same weariness this place echoed. He didn't speak aloud, it seemed wrong to disturb the silence that had settled upon this place. A city of life had become a city of bones, but even those weren't left to tell the tales.

The boy found his seat next to a dried up pond. He gazed into space, trying to imagine what life had been like before. Trying to imagine if there had ever been any warmth to this cold and barren place.

Maybe I should fade with it... he picked up a flower that still had some color. Rather surprising that it would have any life in it after all this time.

In the back of his mind he could hear his mother's ancient stories. Tales of a place wondrous and terrible all at once. Where life and death lived in harmony.

Look at what it had become.

The boy closed his eyes and tried to imagine the place as it had been. For a moment he could picture the life and color flowing back into the world. The scent of fresh grass filled his nose, the gurgling of the brook came to his ears. For that one moment, he was at peace.

Then the screams came the metallic taste of blood and the rotten stench of the dead. A roar echoed in the distance, it ran through him, filling his heart with fear, making his body tremble from it's anger...

The boy sat up with a start, breathing heavily from his ordeal. The memories, the dreams of the old world were imprinted firmly against his mind, as was its death. He closed his eyes, tried to stop the shuddering of his breath, and then felt something cold sliding through his fingertips.

He glanced at his clenched fist, watched as something rich and cold slid through his fingers. Hesitantly, he slowly uncurled his hand and stared. The flower was colorful again, a rich blue not unlike his own eyes. He stared in dumbfounded amazement, trying to reaffirm to himself that this was indeed real. A cool breeze brushed against his skin and he raised his head.

Again he stared. He stared at the lively market before him filled with bustling souls going about their daily lives. Not one glanced in his direction nor at his torn clothes and ragged hair. They simply went on walking, not a care in the world.

He blinked.

A vast empire spread below him, spiritual pressure echoing all around. It looked beautiful, but wherever he was was dark. He slowly turned, and stopped.

A woman with raven black hair sat next to him at the only window in the dark tower. Her eyes were hidden behind the black bangs, but the aura around her was distanced and mournful. She was beautiful, and so very sad.

He reached out to touch her, and gasped softly as she whirled to stare at him. Her piercing violet gaze bore into him, suddenly harsh and cold with none of the frail beauty she'd shown before. He stared as she rose gracefully and her white robes spun with a sudden fury of snow.

The man shielded his eyes, feeling the bitter chill cut into his skin and sink into him, into his heart.

…

When he opened his eyes, this time he knew that he was back.

The man slowly sat up, rubbing at his face, tugging at his skin as if to reassure himself that he was indeed there. The wooden blade at his side hummed softly and he felt himself relax.

Slowly, tentatively, he opened his hand and saw the crushed flower again. This time there was no surge of color, no refreshing cold, it remained its dull pale blue.

"..." the man took the flower and pushed it into his pocket, slowly rising to his feet.

A few steps forward and suddenly he disappeared. A moment later the rumble of the earth filled the ancient land. As it watched, the buildings slowly began to rise up, restore themselves. The land sighed, breathed deeply, returned to it's ancient slumber.

The child would restore the city.