1A/N: Hello there. This is my first Bleach fic, but I have written several other stories (most of which are unfinished as of now, but feel free to get caught up while you have time between updates!) I got this idea after reading volume fourteen of the manga. I don't know why this came to me. It just seemed like an interesting story to tell, and it was far less involving than another one floating around in my head (this one involving Yoruichi (a girl! Insanity!), Kisuke Urahara, and some interesting clientele. It just seemed like one that had to be told. I was also intrigued by the information about zanpaku-to that Yoruichi gives to Ichigo, and I have always wondered how a Soul Reaper comes to be in posession of a zanpaku-to. This is what I came up with.
Please note that I know absolutely no Japanese, so I very much doubt that the zanpaku-to names I have created are correctly translated, to say nothing of being Japanese words in the first place! I just tried to make them sound sort of Japanese, but I don't promise a masterpiece.
Also note that I do not own Bleach. I only wish I could design characters as cool as those of Tite Kubo. He is a genius, and we should all bow down and worship his mastery of insane characters. (Urahara+Yoruichitotally cool!)
The Shrine of Forgotten Blades
There is a famous shop in the Soul Society. It is situated in the heart of the Seireitei, within walking distance of the Soul Reaper training grounds, the living quarters of the Thirteen Companies, and the towering monstrosity of the prison district. In a city made of white stone and glistening marble, it seems absurd that the street that led to the shop be suffocated with shadows, but it is nevertheless. The darkness there holds a constant grip on that alley, refusing even to allow torches within its sight.
This shop isn't really a shop, in the truest sense of the word. It does not sell anything to anyone, nor do the owners purchase anything from patrons. Merchandise comes and goes from its shelves, and it is never quite the same store twice.
The storefront is ordinary. If you could see it through the shadows–as most new Soul Reapers can with their second sight–a simple, wooden sign reads thus:
DANGER! THIS DOOR GUARDS THE MOST DANGEROUS WEAPONS IN THE ENTIRE SOUL SOCIETY. ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK. -MANAGEMENT
It is designed to scare first-time visitors and would-be patrons. It usually succeeds in doing so.
Those brave enough to enter the store, however, encounter something of a surprise.
The interior of this store is bright and cheery. A window in the ceiling lets in the sunlight, which spills warmth over the cold, hard steel of the store's merchandise.
Weapons. Hundreds of weapons. All sheathed and shelved, in no particular order. These are no ordinary weapons, however.
These are zanpaku-to. The weapons of an army of future Soul Reapers. Each one containing the soul of a powerful spirit, with whose help and wisdom a Soul Reaper could crush an army of hollows.
And who, you might ask, would be the proprietor of such a store? Well, he is certainly an interesting fellow. A former Soul Reaper, he was, a Captain of the 11th Company to boot. Back then, he was a handsome, powerful young man with strong features, sky-blue eyes, and sharply cropped, dark brown hair. His name is Koshiro Togarashi.
Time has painted a considerably less endearing portrait of Koshiro today, but his appearance manages to recall the man he once was. His hair is graying, but he hides it under a hood to keep others from noticing. His blue eyes have darkened after years of service to the Soul Society, but they still shine with keen intensity. His muscles have long since reverted to their original strength, but no one can tell by looking at him. The night-black shi-hakusho he wears like a kimono hides all but his thin, nimble hands. He walks with a limp, courtesy of a long-ago battle with a vicious Hollow, but his zanpaku-to, Niisuke, Black Raven, still hangs proudly from his belt. All in all, he looks like an elder warrior, still trying to shine in the light of his long-faded prime.
On this day, he sits idly on a chair in the entrance to his shop, waiting. He has little else to do, after all. The daily chores about his home in the back room require little time or effort, and the zanpaku-to he cares for need none, save that they give themselves. And so Koshiro finds himself occupying time by waiting. Waiting for a new batch of customers to arrive.
His blue eyes stare out into the darkness of the street. Something is moving there, for certain, but his aging second sight finds it impossible to make out. It could be a new arrival of fresh recruits, yes, but it could also be a common bandit, looking for a dark corner to hide out in.
He sniffs the air. He does not smell fear, or madness, or any other tell-tale emotions. He senses calm, resignation. Now he can feel them. Two, three,no–five spiritual pressures, all relatively close to each other. One gigantic pillar of pressure. Hakudo moving rapidly. A ranking Soul Reaper, at least Fourth Seat, possibly as high as Assistant Captain, is leading a group of new graduates to his store. To their destinies.
Perhaps it is cliched, but Koshiro cannot help but smile at his thoughts. He had always thought of being the zanpaku-to master, even while he was still with the 11th company. He liked the thought of seeing fresh, new faces being overcome with awe, fear, and amazement as they first called upon their own zanpaku-to.
They are getting closer now, the Assistant-Captain and his young charges. They are almost at the door. Now the fear comes, as they see the warning sign with their second sight. Koshiro almost chuckles, but decides against it. It seems to ruin the mood.
Then, after a few brief seconds of silence, the doorway opens.
First, the new recruits file in. Three boys, one girl, all about the same age. The boys are determined not to look as afraid as they are. The girl is anxious to call her zanpaku-to. She is worried that she will not choose correctly. Koshiro smiles. Their worries are unfounded. All those who enter the Shrine of Forgotten Blades find what they have been searching for.
The Assistant-Captain walks in. Koshiro nearly balks in shock. Renji Abarai stands in the doorway, a scowl permanently etched across his tattooed face.
"Gramps," he says, using a cheeky name that Koshiro cannot stand. "I brought you some new recruits. I thought you might outfit them."
"I do not 'outfit' them as you say, Assistant-Captain Abarai," Koshiro answers smoothly. "The zanpaku-to choose their masters. I have no say in the matter." He stands up, then adds, "When did the old man let you near new recruits?"
Renji shrugs, in his ambivalent way, and leans against the wall. "We all have bad luck sometimes, Gramps."
Koshiro nods sympathetically. He feels the tug of a strong, young hand on the hem of his robes. He turns.
"Togarashi-sensei, sir?" The girl is the one speaking, a pretty voice for a pretty girl. Her black hair is tied back in a sensible bun, but her bangs drape over her shoulders, disappearing against the black fabric of her shi-hakusho.
"Call me Koshiro, my dear," he says. "I am not the teacher of anything, not in this place."
She smiles sheepishly. "Koshiro-san...I was wondering. How do we choose a zanpaku-to?" The boys nod in accord. They wish to know, as well.
Koshiro smiles warmly, his best and brightest, reserved in his heyday for the swooning ladies of 4th Company. Now he flashes it on any occasion. "My dear, you do not choose a zanpaku-to. You have little say in the matter, as it is. You would not have it any other way; they can choose far better than you ever could. And even though you may not like it in the beginning, you may come to find that you become best friends."
"With a sword?" one of the boys says, sounding disgusted at the thought.
Koshiro sighs. Another budding Zaraki, he thinks. But this one will grow out of his opinion. I do not see the bloodlust in his eyes that clouded the young Kenpachi's vision. In his most gentle way, he answers, "In time you will understand, young one. You are not the master of your zanpaku-to. You are allies in the fight against darkness."
The boy looks skeptically at the old geezer in the hood, but says nothing else. He didn't care what the man said; he would never be mastered by a blade.
The girl raises her hand tentatively. "But, sir...Koshiro-san...how do we know? How can we tell if we have...met the right zanpaku-to?"
Silence, almost reverent, falls on the face of the elderly Koshiro. Then, almost in a whisper, he says, "They are calling to you, even now. Listen, and you will hear the call of destiny. Heed its words. The strongest call will come from the zanpaku-to that has chosen you...Go on. Listen."
He watches as the girl stands still first. Then she closes her eyes. Suddenly, as though she is in a trance, she begins to walk, as graceful as a swan, down the aisle, followed by the frightened looks of the other three recruits. They are too terrified to listen.
"Get on with it already," Renji says, making them jump. "I haven't got all day to be with you brats. I'm supposed to be on watch at the prison again soon. Let's go."
The three boys close their eyes. One by one, all descend into a trance. All begin to walk, heeding the call of the zanpaku-to.
Koshiro feels a surge of spiritual pressure in the corner of his store. He hobbles back, far to the left side of the store. The girl stands there, staring at her hands. They grip two sheathed shortswords, curved in the blade and the hilt, like the waxing and waning moon.
"Can you hear it calling you, my dear?" Says Koshiro. He cannot help it; his mouth is dry with anticipation. He is always excited to see new awakenings. "Do you know their name?"
She nods, her brown eyes wide. She is too speechless to say anything.
"They are the Zekimaru Shunkai-so. The Tears of the Moon." He smiles. He can hear the voice of the Zekimaru Shunkai-so. That is his gift. He hears it purr with gratitude for its new friend. "I can tell you two will be close."
The girl nods again, with a faint smile crossing her face. "Yes...we will."
Koshiro smiles and limps over to the other boys. One by one, they all meet their zanpaku-to. Senpon Gikkaku, the Whistling Dart. Kirakkusuke, Phoenix Feather. Shikaramaru, Pale Ghost. All sing with happy delight at meeting their new allies, their joy filling the store–and Koshiro–like they have not sung in a long time.
Koshiro watches as they leave, their new zanpaku-to hanging by their sides. He watches, and he wonders. Which of these newly found weapons, so happy with their new owners, would once again return to him at the Shrine of Forgotten Blades?
He has no way of knowing, but he smiles all the same. Destiny could wait. Friendship, for now, was all that mattered.
Koshiro walks back to the entrance of his store. He sits down and waits again. Even though he knows he may wait another eternity before seeing another customer, he is still happy. He still has the zanpaku-to to converse with. And they have plenty of stories to tell...